Shades of Tatooine - TheAceOfShades, orphan_account - Star Wars (2024)

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“So, Kenobi, is this your first time out to a Hutt controlled planet?”

Obi-Wan tried to mask the withering glare he shot his copilot. He and Vos had always been somewhat at odds with each other ever since their days as initiates. He wasn’t sure who exactly he had to thank –strangle – for assigning them a joint mission, but he was almost certain his former Master had something to do with it. It wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, sending two Jedi on this mission. Neither of them had padawans to drag around, and the Kiffar’s tracking abilities would certainly come in handy when it came to finding the source of this sudden upwelling in Force activity. The Council believed an incredibly powerful Force Sensitive had been born. And with the ever growing threat of the Sith looming in the Outer Rim, swift action had to be taken.

As such, Obi-Wan found himself reluctantly paired with Quinlan Vos as their borrowed luxury skiff sped through hyperspace on the way to Tatooine. Their cover was that they were some high-rolling off-worlders who flew in for a local festival of some sort. They’d have a few days to poke around and if necessary, settle themselves in until they found the source of that massive Force presence.

Obi-Wan drew a breath and released his frustration. “No, it’s not my first Hutt planet.” Vos had spent much of his Knighthood in the Outer Rim; he was something of an expert. “But I was only a Padawan, and it has been several years.”

“Good thing I came along for the ride, then.” Vos grinned and leaned back in his seat, kicking his feet up onto the console. He launched into a long, and oftentimes tangential, explanation about Hutt planet culture.

Obi-Wan tried to listen, but Quinlan’s train of thought jumped around more randomly than a kangarat and it was hard to keep track when one anecdote abruptly segued into an “oh by the way, don’t forget this” warning, which then turned into another story what had nothing to do with the previous story. It was confusing, and frustrating, but in the end, Obi-Wan was almost certain he picked up on the important points.

Vos seemed to have no shortage of material to talk about, though. He had managed to fill the silence of the nearly two day trip with nothing but Outer Rim tales.

Obi-Wan prayed that this was going to be a short mission. He wasn’t certain how well he’d tolerate spending weeks or possibly months, in Vos’ company.

The Mos Espa space port was insanely busy. Obi-Wan could sense the thrumming lifeforms surging through the city before they even made land fall. When he stepped off the ship, he had to stop for a moment to let his shocked lungs adapt. He was certain he had just breathed in a lungful of scorching hot sand by the way he coughed and hacked himself through his first few minutes on the planet surface. Obi-Wan had been to deserts before, he was aware of how hot and dry they could be, but he’d never experienced anything like this.

Vos patted him on the back gently. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, “Tatooine’s a nasty place. It’s a binary system, complete desert. Only the northern hemisphere is habitable, and that’s still a small amount of territory near the pole. Even in the city, double noon can kill you if you aren’t prepared.”

“Who would possibly want to live here?” Obi-Wan choked out after his lungs stopped spasming.

Quinlan shrugged. “People who don’t want to draw attention to themselves.” He pulled his hood over his head and walked towards the docking bay doors. “Come on, it’s mid-afternoon, we should have time to poke around and see what we can dig up.”

Obi-Wan hurriedly took a swig from his flask of water and followed. They stepped into the closely pressed crowds of myriad species. The smell was the first thing to hit Obi-Wan, that many bodies close together, sweating and reeking gave the city a distinctly nauseating tinge to the air. The noise, and physical closeness, and the presence of so many people in the Force was just too overwhelming. It shouldn’t have been. Obi-Wan had been raised on Coruscant. The city-planet had four times the population squeezed into an area half the size of Most Espa; the multitudes should not have bothered him. He was going to blame the heat and leave it at that.

“Is it always so crowded?” Obi-Wan managed to sidle up to Quinlan and mutter in his ear.

“No,” the Kiffar shook his head. “There’s a preliminary podrace starting in an hour or so, but the big one isn’t for a few days. Most of these people are here for that.”

“Podrace?”

“You’ve never seen one?” Quinlan seemed quite surprised, then after a thought shrugged. “Then again, they aren’t very popular in the Core and Inner Rim. They’re extremely dangerous and the body count is on par with gladiatorial combat.” Quinlan laughed. “I’ll be damned if they aren’t entertaining though.”

“People die?”

“There’s usually one fatality per race. More with the big races like the Boonta Eve Classic. ‘Playing fair’ isn’t really a viable concept with this sport.”

“Sounds barbaric.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“Could be worse,” Vos offered. “It could be gladiatorial fights. Though, that’s not nearly as lucrative a sport as podracing on Tatooine. Aside from the krayt dragon’s, there’s not a lot of natural predators that make a fun fight. And watching slaves beat on each other gets old after a while.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know whether to be horrified or infuriated. He looked at his companion, and saw by the set of Quinlan’s jaw that he was equally displeased with what passed for “sport” out in the uncivilized reaches of the galaxy.

They walked in silence for several minutes, pushing deeper into the city. Obi-Wan was beginning to feel parched, but he knew better than to flash his canteen on the crowded streets. On desert planets, water was more precious than platinum, and certainly worth killing over. Not to mention, he would need to conserve it, until he knew they’d be returning to the ship. As time passed, the crowds on the street begin to thin, opting to gather in buildings and under awnings around clunky, fuzzy, old vidscreens.

“The race will be starting soon,” Vos commented, leading them off the street. “I know a place we can watch from.”

Obi-Wan hoped it would be someplace shaded. They ducked into a packed cantina. The general atmosphere was cheerful if anticipatory. Nearly every open space was filled with bodies, and several vidscreens hung high on the walls and over the bar. They were all tuned to the same channel that appeared to be doing some kind of pre-race report on the racers.

Obi-Wan followed Vos up to the bar, where they squeezed into the elbow space between a Wookie and a Chiss. It took a moment for the bartender to see them, but when she did, she was less than happy.

“Vos you son of a massif, I thought I told you to never show your face around here again!” the old Theelin snapped.

“Mikanet, my desert flower, you’re looking as radiant as ever,” Vos gushed, leaning across the counter and flashing a charming smile.

“Save the flattery, you sycophantic Jedi,” Mikanet grumbled, snapping at Vos’ arms with her towel. Their exchange was playfully antagonistic and obviously one they had done several times before. “You here for the Classic?” she asked, pulling two glasses from under the counter. She filled them with an odd, green liquid. “Tyrak is still taking bets.”

“Your husband still owes me from last year’s Classic.”

“You skipped town right after the race. That forfeits your winnings.” The Theelin slid the full glasses towards Vos.

“Ah, I’m sure you put them to good use.” Quinlan waved his hand dismissively before sliding one of the glasses over to Obi-Wan.

“I got a new pair of boots for my birthday.”

“Well consider it my gift to you.” Vos raised his glass in a small toast to the bartender before taking a drink. “Who’s in the lineup today?” he asked, nodding towards a vidscreen.

“Skywalker’s racing today. She’s had an undefeated season, so that’s making folks pretty happy. She’s slated to take the Boonta Eve Classic by a landslide. Only a moof-milker would bother betting against her at this point.”

Vos nodded in agreement. “She certainly is talented. Any surprise upstarts this season?”

“Well, there’s a new Dug who looks promising, but-“ Mikanet cut off abruptly as someone called her name from the opposite end of the bar. “Duty calls,” she sighed before hurrying off.

“Thanks for the drinks!” Quinlan called after her.

“You’re paying for those!” she shot back.

The Kiffar chuckled and turned around to skim the bar. “Hey, I just saw a table open up.” He nudged Obi-Wan with his elbow before squeezing through the crowd. Obi-Wan followed, bring his untouched glass with him.

They did come across a table in the back corner, set into a small alcove. It didn’t offer a good vantage on any viewscreens, but Obi-Wan could see enough between several to get the full picture.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked before taking a sip of his drink. It was some kind of liquor, with a horrid, sharp, and sour taste. He nearly spat out his first sip, but after he choked it down it left a mellow, cool and sweet aftertaste. He must have made a face, because Vos was smirking at him.

“You’ll get used to the taste,” the Kiffar assured him. “It’s a local specialty distilled from some native succulents, herbs, and fungi.”

“The plan, Vos.” Obi-Wan repeated, not giving into the other’s ribbing.

“Almost the entire planet’s population is going to be pouring into Mos Espa over the next few days for the Boonta Eve Classic. If they show up, I’ll be able to catch their trail.”

“And if not?”

“That narrows down where we have to look.”

“Who wouldn’t make it to the race?”

“Mostly slaves. But poor moisture farmers out on the fringes of the habitable zone wouldn’t bother wasting the time or resources for the trip.”

“Are there any native sentients on Tatooine? Or is this an immigrated planet.”

Vos paused and rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “Well, there are the Jawas and the Tusken Raiders. I’ve never heard of any history of Force sensitivity in either species. Or else the Jedi would have taken notice long ago. However, it’s a possibility. Who we sensed may be the first of their kind, or Force Sensitivity is incredibly rare in their species.” He leaned back easily in his seat and took another drink. “We’ll see where the Force leads us.”

Obi-Wan’s response was interrupted by a blaring fanfare from the vidscreens and a sudden hush fell over the cantina. All eyes turned to the podrace.

Racers and their pods were being paraded onto the track. Beasts and heavy droids dragged the pods into position, they were preceded by banner carriers, and bringing up the rear of the procession were the racers and their sponsors. The announcers were introducing the racers as they took the field, each one being greeted with varying levels of enthusiasm. Eleven took the position and anticipatory eyes fell on the last open position; nearest to the starting line and closest to the inside. Then with a new fanfare, the last racer emerged from the garages.

Two female Twi’leks emerged first, carrying large flags that bore the symbol of the Hutt clan. The cameras took their time panning over their bodies for the audience’s pleasure. Following them, a pair of Nubian Gualaar pulled a surprisingly moderately sized pod into the sunlight. It had been polished to a high gloss and it shone in the bright sunlight. Then, with a roar from the crowd, the pilot stepped out. She was the only one to emerge solo, and the cameras ate her up. Her leather uniform also bore the same mark of the Hutt clan; it was oiled and well cared for, almost looking new. The pilot herself was a young human woman of proud bearing. She held her chin high, keeping her blue eyes focused on her pod. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a secure bun at the nape of her neck, and she carried a helmet under one arm. Her face was set like stone, her mouth a thin line, her jaw clenched, her eyes burning with the desire to win, and the promise to do anything to ensure that. She took a few paces before, almost as if belatedly remembering, she cracked a small smirk to the cameras. The crowd went wild, and cheers even went up in the cantina. Obi-Wan caught more than a few lewd comments. The pilot raised her free hand and waved to the crowd and the cameras. When she reached her pod, she turned directly towards the stands and bent into a deep bow. As she straightened up, she set the helmet over her head and climbed into her pod. The cameras swept away to get a wider view of the racers.

“That is Skywalker,” Vos said, once the noise in the cantina died down a bit.

“She seems to be quite popular.”

“Humans don’t usually make good podracers. Their natural reflexes are too slow, but Skywalker’s been racing since she was a child. And she never loses.”

“Is she only part-human?” Obi-Wan asked.

Vos shrugged. “She’s very private. Not much is known about her other than she races for the Hutts.”

On that note, the vidscreen switched to a view of a lavish viewing box where a couple Hutts gathered. They were relaxing in the shade and were being served and fanned by servants. One slid up to a microphone near the front of the box. Another silence fell over the crowds as he began to speak.

“Jabba the Hutt.” Quinlan explained. “He runs the show on Tatooine.”

The Hutt’s remarks were brief and he retreated back to his shade and snacks. However the crowds stayed silent and the anticipation rose. A tone sounded, and the pods surged forward, launching off at speeds that could harm anyone unprepared.

As soon as the race started, the crowd’s exploded. The cantina was filled with a cacophony of cheers and jeers as the pods wound themselves through obstacles and around bends and curves at breakneck speeds. Skywalker’s pod was easy to track. She broke off ahead of the group rather quickly, and a camera always seemed to be trained on her pod.

Vos was right, the race was exciting – not that Obi-Wan was going to admit it. He tried to get what little of a read he could on the racers as they flew across the track. A sport such as this and at these speeds would certainly be easy, if not fun, for some with Force sensitivity. There were several different species represented by the racers; all known to have naturally better reflexes than humans. But he kept finding his eye drawn towards Skywalker’s pod. What if…

A collective gasp rose up when two pods collided near the midway point of the first lap. One pod broke apart into several pieces, engines flying off in different directions, and the other just burst into a fireball. The race continued, the other pilots hardly giving the wreck a second glance, other than to make adjustments to avoid any further collisions. After the last pod cleared, several emergency vehicles swooped in, to put out the flames and recover the pilots. Obi-Wan found himself sighing with relief when the announcers assured the viewers that there had been no fatalities – other than the pods – in the crash.

Again, Obi-Wan found his eyes drawn to Skywalker. It dawned on him just as she crossed the finish line. He turned to Vos, and saw the Kiffar had turned to him at the same time.

“Skywalker’s our source,” Kenobi breathed. “All this time she’s been racing and nobody ever notice she was Force Sensitive?”

Vos could only offer a shrug. “She’s never resonated. I’ve watched her race before, in person. I never sense a thing.”

“So what changed?”

A cry of surprise and dismay rose from the cantina crowd as the racers flew into their second lap. The pods hid a wide open straightaway and one pod extricated itself from the cluster in the middle and blasted forward, kicking up a cloud of sand behind it. It was a small, beat up old thing, but it clearly had the guts to race seriously. The cameras zoomed in and Obi-Wan could see the pilot was a Dug; the same young upstart the bartender had mentioned. He zipped past the other racers, quickly sliding into the sizeable gap between Skywalker and the Xexto behind her. The cries only got more excited, and upset as the Dug closed the gap between him and Skywalker. At the midpoint of the lap, they were neck and neck, and the crowds did not like that. Then the Dug rammed into Skywalker’s pod, sending her careening off and forcing her to slow down. The crowd howled and Obi-Wan was fairly certain there was going to be a riot if Skywalker lost this race.

Fortunately for the crowd, Skywalker regained control of her pod and surged forward again. Due to the bump, Skywalker had fallen back into fourth place and the Dug had gained a bit of a lead, but she quickly made up for lost time. She got back into third as the pods were forced into a narrow canyon, but as soon as that cleared enough space for her to slide past the racer in second, she did, and the Xexto was forced to eat her dust. The next section wasn’t meant for speed, boulders and jutting rock formations forced the pods into slaloms, and here, Skywalker’s pod had a disadvantage to the Dug smaller pod. Hers wasn’t massive, but it just didn’t maneuver as tightly as the small pod did. The Dug maintained his lead, and managed to put some more space between him and Skywalker as he crossed the line and began the third and final lap.

Obi-Wan found himself silently egging on Skywalker, while Vos was quite vocal with his cheers. They broke onto the straightaway again, and Skywalker and the Dug pulled even farther ahead of the pack. Skywalker had a few tricks up her sleeve, and she managed to boost her speed and catch up to the Dug. The two parried back and forth, going nose to nose; Skywalker pulling ahead, then she had to dodge another ramming attempt and fall back, then she’d return the favor. They seemed evenly matched, and it was Skywalker who squeezed into the canyon just inches ahead of the Dug. She took the canyon even faster than her previous passes, and Obi-Wan winced as she hit the rock walls and sparks flew. Miraculously, she managed to maintain control and her recklessness gained her a lead over the Dug.

They reached the slaloms again, and the Dug closed the gap. They were even as they reached the home stretch and both pilots laid everything they had into their engines, going to a final sprint. Skywalker’s larger pod and engines had the advantage here and she began pulling ahead. Unwilling to face defeat, the Dug swung his pod, trying to sideswipe Skywalker and send her spinning off. She dodged without even looking over her shoulder, and the Dug spun out of control. He narrowly avoided smashing into a boulder, and managed to right his vehicle rather quickly, but the mistake cost him dearly. The other racers had given the final lap their all as well and they had caught up. By the time the Dug straightened out and finished the race, he was in fourth place.

Not that anyone cared what place the Dug came in. The entire Cantina, and what appeared to be the entire crowd at the racetrack were on their feet cheering for Skywalker. Even Vos was on his feet and shouting with the crowds.

Cameras followed her as she pulled her pod off the track and over to her pit crew. She hopped out of the co*ckpit and made a couple remarks to the droid in charge before she was swarmed. A male Human ran up and clapped her on the back rather enthusiastically. Skywalker removed her helmet, and took a moment to shake her hair out while the man muttered in her ear. She quickly tied it back up into a bun while the man shoved her away from the pod and towards a rapidly thickening crowd.

"Who is that?" Obi-Wan peered through the content crowd in the Cantina and up at the vidscreens.

The male Human paraded up to the winner's podium, positively basking in the attention, while Skywalker trailed behind him. She didn't look particularly pleased to have won. In fact, she seemed to be moving rather mechanically. She didn’t wave, didn’t make eye contact with her admirers or look at the cameras.

She was pulled onto the podium, and the man raised her arms above her head. The crowd cheered for their champion. As if jolted from a reverie, like any good champion, she smiled for her fans and the camera, but it didn't reach her eyes. The man, however, was loving every second of it.

“Is he her sponsor?”

“No.” Quinlan's face had lost his exuberance and had turned into a grim frown. “It's her handler. She's a slave.”

The crowds on the ground parted, giving a newcomer a wide berth. Jabba the Hutt oozed his way up to winner's podium whole the crowd called out congratulations to him. Obi-wan couldn't see his face, but by the way his arms were spread wide, he was quite happy. He climbed the platform and came up behind Skywalker, the handler stepped away, and the Hutt laid both hands possessively over Skywalker's shoulder. The crowd pressed close again, cameras and microphones swarming like gnats.

The Hutt spoke and Vos translated. “He's taking credit for the victory, mentioning that Skywalker was the best investment he ever made. Unimportant, self-inflating poodoo. But things just got harder. If she is our source, we'll need a miracle to get her out of Jabba's hands.”

“Couldn't we buy her freedom?”

Quinlan shook his head. “A slave that valuable would never be sold until her usefulness has run out.”

“Now what?”

“We need to make sure she’s actually who were looking for. We’ve got to get close.”

“But if she’s a slave, how are we going to get that close to her?”

“Easy, we just have to get into Jabba’s palace.”

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Getting into the Hutt’s palace was possibly the easiest part of their mission thus far. They left the ship secured in Mos Espa and took a speeder out into the desert. The palace wasn’t far from the city, but farther than anyone would want to walk in this climate. There was certainly a lot of privacy out there. The palace was a popular place that evening, revelers were streaming in to celebrate the podrace and spend the next few days in a drunken stupor until the Boonta Eve Classic. The guards were busy, and all Vos had to do was flash an identachip to the valet and they were practically given free reign.

“Do you think Skywalker will be out here?” Obi-Wan asked, eyeing the slaves that wound their way through the crowds, or lead guests off down corridors. They all seemed to be more for service than skillful racing.

“The Hutts like to show off,” Quinlan explained as they stepped around a group of Trandoshans. “Jabba will be parading her around all night.”

“And if she is the Force Sensitive we’re looking for, what’s the plan for wining her freedom?”

“That I don’t know. Not yet.” Vos smirked at Obi-Wan. “You’re the improviser, not me, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. He hadn’t been Master Qui-Gon’s apprentice for nearly ten years, and he still had to carry his Master’s reputation with him. He preferred a solid plan. “Where did you get that chip from?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I have rapport with the Hutts. I’ve never worked with Jabba directly, but I’ve done… favors for some of the other heads of the clan. They’ve put my talents to good use.”

“Favors?” Obi-Wan tried not to sound too judgmental, but Vos’ tone made ‘favors’ sound much more illicit than helping with an errand.

“Don’t get your tabard in a twist; they were all sanctioned by the Council. My mission out here has included garnering favor with the Hutts, so when things turn south we might be able to build an alliance between them and the Republic. I’ve done enough favors that they have granted me VIP access to any Hutt establishment in the galaxy.” Vos shrugged somewhat uncomfortably. “I may not use it for what the Hutts think I would, but it has come in handy many times.”

They stepped into a large room that was nearly packed with people. A band was centered in the room, and they played a jaunty, celebratory tune. Directly across from them was an opened area with a wide, raised platform. Obi-Wan figured it must be a small stage, as the room was arranged to the platform could be seen from anywhere. Close to the entrance was a bar that was currently very busy.

“Jabba’s not on his throne,” Vos muttered as he led them to a table near the back of the room. “Shouldn’t be long, though. He’s not going to keep his champion sequestered.”

They were tended to almost as soon as they sat down by a togruta woman. Vos flashed his VIP chip and asked for two glasses of pallie juice and to be left alone. The togruta complied quickly, and Obi-Wan could feel the gratitude flushing through her. By the look of other patrons, most preferred extra attention from their servers, not less.

The pallie juice was certainly more palatable than the liquor Vos had given him earlier, and it quite readily quenched Obi-Wan’s ever present thirst. He knew he had to conserve his water, but this planet was too damn dry. He was happy for a substitute. While they nursed their drinks and scanned the increasing crowd in the room, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but point out several known, and wanted bounty hunters to Vos.

“Well, yeah, the Outer Rim is where bounty hunters live. The Hutts are responsible for most of their jobs.”

“But they’re wanted criminals!” Obi-Wan hissed.

“Not out here.” Quinlan sighed softly. “I don’t like it either, Kenobi, but half of the people in this room are bounty hunters. If you go making arrests in the name of the Republic you’ll probably end up dead… at the very least, you’ll blow the whole mission.”

“I know; it just feels wrong to let them go freely.”

“Oh, I am keeping tabs on most of them. I just need to wait for the word when it’s the most opportune moment to take the out.” Vos assured him with a confident smirk.

Slightly assuaged, Obi-Wan returned to his crowd watching. Over an hour passed since their arrival and he was beginning to get antsy. They hadn’t seen hide or hair of the Hutt or Skywalker.

“Should we go looking for her?” Obi-Wan asked once the band wrapped up a particularly raunchy song – not that he understood the Huttesse lyrics, but the crowd had enjoyed it, and the context wasn’t too hard to figure out.

Quinlan checked his chrono. “Another fifteen minutes. Then we’ll go poking around.”

The words had barely left the Kiffar’s mouth when a sudden silence fell over the crowded room as a tan-skinned male Twi’lek stepped out onto the central platform.

“Bib Fortuna, Jabba’s majordomo.” Quinlan muttered quickly before the twi’lek began speaking.

Vos translated for Obi-Wan as Fortuna made an embellished speech about their host that evening. The Twi’lek practically oozed sycophancy, but as he wrapped up, the Hutt in question slithered out onto his throne. The crowd responded with appropriate enthusiasm and Jabba basked in it. After the noise died down and Jabba settled into his throne, Bib Fortuna gestured sharply across the room.

The band struck up a tune and lights dimmed, leaving only the space before the throne illuminated. A quartet of dancers in elaborate costume hurried into position before the throne and bowed deep before falling into provocative poses. The music picked up and the women danced for the Hutt and his guests. When they finished, a singer took the stage to perform a song. After him there was another dancer, her routine was even more risqué than the quartet’s.

“She’s not here,” Obi-Wan muttered after the dancer finished her routine.

Quinlan frowned. “She should be. Jabba should be parading her around and using the high of her victory to get patrons to buy more drinks. If she doesn’t show up soon, we’ll go find her.”

“How soon? We’re wasting time just sitting here.”

“Hold on, something’s happening.” Vos paused, as his eyes caught something. Obi-Wan followed his gaze and saw a human man had sidled up to Bib Fortuna and was muttering something in his ear. Whatever he said made Fortuna nod approvingly and gesture for the man to take the floor. As he stepped into the light, Obi-Wan recognized the man.

“That’s Skywalker’s handler.”

“She’ll be making an appearance soon, then.”

The handler beamed at the crowd, waiting for a moment to draw attention. “Ladies and Gentlemen, honored guests of the Great Jabba the Hutt, it has truly been a great day, has it not? And it’s not even Boonta Eve yet!” He paused for applause and the crowd responded. Obi-Wan had to admit, the handler seemed to be quite the charismatic character. “But, we all know you’re not just here to get drunk and get laid,” he paused again for a chorus of approving jeers. “You’re here for the truly rare opportunity to touch a distant, unreachable star. To dance with an angel – though if that’s all you have in mind, buddy I’ve got a few suggestions.” This raised laughter from the crowd.

Obi-Wan frowned at the impropriety of it all. “Is this typical behavior?” he whispered to Quinlan.

“We’re in a Hutt pleasure den, Kenobi. This is nothing.” Vos shot back before continuing his translation.

Obi-Wan frowned and sat back in his seat, suddenly very grateful his specialty was the Mid-Rim.

“Now, I won’t keep you waiting any longer.” The handler lowered his voice into a conspiratorial tone. “It’s time for the main attraction. My friends, this is the moment we have been waiting for, and it is my great pleasure to present to you your favorite pod racer and mine, the one who has secured the Hutt’s racing supremacy for five straight years, the Pearl of the Krayt Dragon and the most prized Jewel of Jabba’s treasury, our great Champion… SKYWALKER!”

The room was plunged into darkness and a spotlight shone to the main doorway. A drum roll started and the crowd fell into anticipatory silence. Sharp heels clicked against the stone floors and a young woman stepped into the spotlight triggering a roar of applause. The band began to play again and the tune made Obi-Wan feel like he was watching a cheap holodrama.

The Force Signature hit him like a punch, and he knew in an instant that that woman was the one they had been searching for.

Obi-Wan almost didn't recognize Skywalker. She had been stripped of her leather racing uniform and now wore an outfit that seemed more suited for a strip club than a celebration of her victory. Her shoes were impractically tall and strappy, with golden leather ties crossing and winding up her legs. They stopped just below her knees where the hem of her skirt hit... though calling it a skirt was being generous. A delicate golden chain rested on her hips, and emerald green silk strategically draped over the chain, wrapping around one hip. Her midriff was left bare, showing off her lithe, toned body and smooth, flawless skin. Only a bejeweled strip of matching green silk covered her breasts. A heavy, brassy necklace was clamped around her neck. Her face was heavy with makeup, smiling lips vermilion, batting eyes heavily lined with kohl and painted green and gold. Her long hair had been artfully braided and coiled around her head.

She would have been a stunningly beautiful sight of not for the choking waves of disdain rolling off her. Obi-Wan felt ashamed to stare at her and quickly looked away.

Skywalker began a slow, sultry walk through the room. She trailed a hand across several tables, teasing the occupants with a coy smile. Eventually she made her way up to the Hutt's throne, and she bowed low for her master. Jabba grunted something to her and beckoned her forward. Skywalker stepped up obediently and perched herself at the edge of the throne. The Hutt trailed a hand up her back and down her arm. Obi-Wan could see Skywalker flinch at the touch. Then he reached around her neck, holding a heavy chain, and made a show of linking the chain to her necklace – no collar.

Skywalker held her head high and proud during the whole ordeal, but Obi-Wan could feel the shameful resignation projecting from her. After the leashing, Jabba handed the chair over the Bib Fortuna, who passed it onto the handler. Skywalker followed the leash obediently and stepped into the center of the room. He walked her across the open area, and had her turn a few times for show. The crowd loved it.

“They’re auctioning her off,” Vos explained in a hurried whisper.

“Jabba is selling her? You said he wouldn’t.”

“No, it’s just for the night.” Quinlan paused as the handler spoke some more. A revolted frown pulled at his lips. “He’s saying things too disgusting to repeat.”

“You sensed what I did; she is the one we are looking for, yes?”

“Yes, she’d definitely the one.”

“Then how are we going to talk to her? She’s literally on a short leash.”

“We win the auction.” Vos stated it simply, so matter-of-fact that Obi-Wan got the feeling he had planned for a situation like this.

Whatever response he had though, was cut off when the handler opened up bidding at one wupiupi, and Vos joined in with forced, if not convincing enthusiasm. Nearly every table had at least one person bidding at the start, but they quickly fell away as the price soared.

After the initial round of bidding ended, and the contenders were down to ten, the handler took to walking Skywalker around the room. He made sure to stop her by every bidder’s table, taking his time to expound on her youth and beauty. The bidding was no less enthusiastic, but the prices started making greater jumps and the price climbed into the thousands.

Eventually only three remained. Vos, a female Zygerrian, and a male Theelin. The nature of the auction changed. The handler gave each bidder the opportunity to write down their final wager, and whoever paid the best, would win the prize.

“The Council will never approve to that sum!” Obi-Wan hissed as Quinlan penned down a sum of almost 13,000 Republic Credits.

“Can you sense how powerful she is?” Vos whispered back. “They’ll pay anything to secure her and bring her back to Coruscant before the Sith can take notice. Besides,” he nodded toward the Theelin’s table. “We’re going to get out bid. We just need them to take notice of us. If they think we’re here on Jedi business, they’ll watch us. If they think we’ve snuck out to the Outer Rim to blow off a little steam, they’ll leave us alone.”

“And do you have that much money on hand, because I don’t.”

Vos pulled his VIP identachip out and twirled it between his fingers. “I have a small ransom from favors I’ve done the Hutts. The goal isn’t to win though. She’ll never let us get close enough to explain if we buy her.”

The bids were collected, and the handler made an event of reading them aloud to the room. In the end, the Theelin won with a bid of 25,000 wupiupi.

“Now what?” Obi-Wan asked once the music had picked up. Skywalker had returned to her perch on Jabba’s throne and the triumphant Theelin was currently enjoying his victory by having the losers buy him drinks.

“We wait. Skywalker will be alone after our winner claims his prize. Might be a few hours though, have a drink Kenobi.”

Eventually the Hutt’s party did wind down, though not until late in the night. Obi-Wan spent most of his time watching the Theelin, waiting for him to leave the club room so he could follow him and leave as well. Finally, when he was nearly blind drunk, the Theelin stumbled over to Jabba and collected Skywalker from her master. The Hutt made some comment to the Theelin as he unhooked the chain from Skywalker’s collar. Despite the anger radiating off her, Skywalker kept an amorous smile on the Theelin and batted her eyes at him. The Theelin threw his arm around her, already making to grope her. Skywalker laughed and teased him, before putting her arm around him. She practically carried him out of the room.

By this point, half of the revelers were passed out at their tables or in corners of the room, the other half were stumbling their way back to someone’s bed. Quinlan had wandered off to the bar to chat with a group of bounty hunters he knew some time ago. Obi-Wan went to find him as soon as he saw Skywalker leave, and he was thoroughly surprised and annoyed to find Vos quite loud and drunk at the bar.

“Obieeee! My bezt friend!” Vos slurred, throwing his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder and dragging him in close. “I was jus’ telling my friends here a really funny story.”

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh. It looked like this mission had just fallen to his responsibility. Vos wasn’t going to be any help tonight. “Come on, Quin, it’s late. You should go to bed.”

Vos chuckled weakly and rested his forehead on Kenobi’s shoulder. “Heh, you haven’t called me ‘Quin’ since we were itty bitty initiates.” He looked up blearily at Obi-Wan and gasped softly, reaching a hand up to grope at the top of his head. “You were so short back then… what happened?”

“I grew up.” Obi-Wan said dryly. “Now come on.”

“Okaaaay, it’s bedtime I guess.” Vos trudged a few obedient steps before stopping. “I gotta say goodnight to my friends.” He twisted around to wave haphazardly at the group at the bar. “Goodnight friends!”

“You’ll see them tomorrow, Vos.” Obi-Wan tugged impatiently on Quinlan’s sleeve and his fellow Jedi finally gave up and followed. The remaining patrons at the bar all had a good laugh at their expense.

Obi-Wan dragged Vos out into the thankfully empty hall. Vos detached himself from Obi-Wan and stood up straight; his face lost the bleary, drunk glaze. Sobriety in a split second.

“Skywalker’s gone?” he asked, with no trace of the happy drunk he had just been.

“A few minutes ago. That was an act?!”

“Of course it was! We’re on a mission.”

Kenobi sighed and shook his head. “You make a very convincing drunk.”

“And you make a very grumpy, sober friend,” Vos quipped back with a smirk. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Obi-Wan could feel the Force settle around them. “I’ve got her trail. Let’s go.”

Sneaking through the palace was easy. The guests all seemed to have fallen into a drug or alcohol induced coma, the guards were easy to misdirect, and the service staff wouldn’t say anything to the two prowling Jedi anyway. They were honored guests after all.

And now that they had gotten a solid read on her Force signature, tracking down Skywalker was simple for Vos. By this point, most of the palace was asleep or otherwise preoccupied. Quinlan took the lead, and Obi-Wan kept his senses on alert for any raised suspicions. But even without Vos’ tracking talents, Obi-Wan could have found Skywalker on his own.

Her Force signature was so distinct and powerful! There was a lot of untapped raw power in that woman. Obi-Wan shuddered to think what it would be like to have that power turned against them. He considered it highly fortunate that the Sith apparently hadn’t taken notice of the slave either.

Their hunt led them into another corridor of guest quarters and to a door where some highly satisfied noises were unfortunately drifting out into the hall. Obi-Wan paused and shot Quinlan a look. Were they really about to walk in on that?

“Sense a little deeper,” Vos whispered.

Obi-Wan did, and mingled with the pleasured waves coming off one occupant of the room, there was the haze of sleep. And when he felt for Skywalker, he only sensed boredom, disgust, and stillness from the opposite corner of the room. That made things a little better. He didn’t think this Skywalker would take too kindly to them if they walked in on her in a compromising situation.

“Ready?” Vos asked, his hand hovering over the door’s locking mechanism.

Obi-Wan nodded, and kept his hand near his saber on his hilt. Vos unlocked the door and they rushed in. Skywalker’s anger was immediate and palpable as they entered the room. She shot to her feet, and glared at the intruding Jedi. She held a taser rod in her hand, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but briefly wonder where she had hidden the weapon in the skimpy outfit the Hutts had auctioned her in.

“What do you want?” she hissed, baring her teeth and the taser rod. “You lost the auction. Get out before I call security!”

“That’s not what we’re here for, I assure you,” Obi-Wan quickly explained.

His response obviously surprised her, because her concentration, and her hold over the Theelin in the bed, broke. He seemed to wake up with a sudden jolt and he sat up, looking around the room.

“What’s this!?” he demanded after spying Skywalker fully clothed on the far side of the room.

“Go to sleep!” Skywalker ordered sharply, gesturing harshly at the Theelin. He slumped against the pillows in a dead faint.

“Nice trick,” Vos commented with an amused raise of his eyebrow.

“He’s so drunk, he wouldn’t remember anything anyway,” Skywalker spat before turning and fixing the Jedi with a solid, determined glare. “Now leave and forget what you’ve seen.”

Obi-Wan felt her Force suggestion slam against his mind, and he did feel slightly inclined to just leave her alone – after all, she was only a slave. By the stars she was powerful! He mentally shook himself and fortified his shields. “I’m afraid that’s not going to work on us,” he offered neutrally.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Skywalker demanded.

“We are Jedi. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is Quinlan Vos.”

“What the hell are Jedi doing all the way out on Tatooine?”

“Looking for you, actually.” Vos offered with half a smirk.

“Why?”

Skywalker’s defensive stance hadn’t changed since they entered. Obi-Wan could feel her attempting to probe through their shields, and every second she couldn’t get a read on them, she grew more frustrated.

“That requires a bit of explanation, perhaps done elsewhere.” Obi-Wan offered.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!”

It was clear to the Jedi that Skywalker had a rudimentary grasp on her Force abilities. Obi-Wan made another offer. “If it will help, I’m going to lower some of my shields and you will see that we truly mean you no harm.”

A few tense seconds passed, and Obi-Wan tried not to cringe too much as Skywalker rooted through as much of his conscious that he dared to expose. She had no training, no sense of subtlety or gentleness, it felt like a child’s first clumsy attempts at Force Manipulation, but in his mind. Finally, Skywalker withdrew, and while she didn’t stop glaring, she did lower her stun rod.

“Why are you looking for me?” she asked, wariness still thick in her voice.

“We sensed an incredibly strong Force presence. The Jedi Council sent us to investigate and we found you to be the source.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means we’d like to speak to you. Preferably somewhere we won’t be interrupted,” Vos said, nodding towards the unconscious Theelin.

Skywalker cast a nervous glance to the bed. “You won’t report me?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

Skywalker drew a long breath through her nose and exhaled slowly. She was turning over the consideration in her mind, and the Jedi let her decide. After a long, tense moment, she shrugged and stepped forward.

“Alright, follow me.”

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Chapter Text

The palace’s subterranean slave quarters were cramped and still lively at this hour of the night. Obi-Wan expected to have to squeeze his way through crowds, and subtly move people out of his way, but the throngs parted for Skywalker. There seemed to be a mixed miasma of respect, fear, and awe as she strode through. Obi-Wan couldn’t be sure if it was due to her talent as a podracer, her strength in the Force, or the fact that she was apparently the Hutt’s favorite. If he was a betting man, he’d put most of his money on the latter.

They followed her, catching more than a few curious, wary glances. Some of the slaves called out things to Anakin in Huttese, and she often responded in a kind or neutral voice. Obi-Wan smelled food of varying types cooking, and several groups were in the middle of eating as they passed. He realized that despite the late hour, this was basically the evening for the slaves. Their days could only end after their masters’ did.

Skywalker led them to a nondescript door and they followed her into a tiny, cramped room. A small cooking area was squeezed into one corner, while a few cushions sat on the floor to make a seating area. The back corner seemed to be a workbench with various tools and parts strewn across the surface. The last corner was cordoned off with curtain, clearly a sleeping area.

An old, green-skinned Twi’lek was sitting on a cushion, thoroughly engrossed in mending a tunic, but she slowly rose to her feet when Anakin entered. Obi-Wan could hear her joints popping in protest even from several feet away. She exchanged a few hushed words with Skywalker, casting guarded glances to the Jedi.

“She doesn’t trust us,” Vos murmured. “She thinks we’ve coerced Skywalker.”

“Can you blame her?” Obi-Wan whispered back. “We don’t exactly look like we belong.”

Finally, Skywalker clapped the older Twi’lek on the shoulder, slipped her some money, and sent her out the door. She locked the door behind her and turned to face the Jedi, crossing her arms tightly.

“There’s going to be quite the gossip tomorrow,” Skywalker commented sardonically, “I’ve never brought guests home; much less two men.” She gestured to the cushions on the floor. “Sit. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Obi-Wan and Vos settled onto two cushions while Anakin disappeared behind the curtain. Obi-Wan studied the contents of the small hovel, but there really wasn’t much to see. A small cooling unit and cooking stove in the kitchen; varied half-disassembled devices on the workbench; the curtain was rough, opaque brown; mats covered the floor that seemed to be woven out of a plant-like material; a brightly colored scrap of cloth peeked out from underneath one of the worn cushions. Obi-Wan fished it out and found a rough-hewn doll. Its body was made from sackcloth and it felt like it was filled mostly with sand. A smiling mouth and eyes had been stitched on the face in black thread. The same black thread made a head of hair. A bright blue scrap of cloth had been sewn into a dress for the doll.

“What do you think of this?” Obi-Wan held the doll out for Vos. Skywalker was a little old for dolls, and seemed mature enough to move on from childhood sentiments.

“I’m not touching that,” Quinlan said quickly, recoiling slightly away from the doll. “There’s enough pain in the air down here. I don’t need that deep of a read on Skywalker yet.”

“Right, sorry.” Obi-Wan set the doll back down. “What kind of read are you getting?”

“Muddied and confusing.” Vos frowned. “In part, I think due to the multitudes in such close quarters. But there’s something specifically centered on Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. She was still a beacon in the Force, her signature glaringly bright, but things had felt somewhat shaded as they had entered the slave quarters. Something didn’t quite make sense to Obi-Wan. Skywalker had a rudimentary grasp of her powers, she was aware of what she could do. With her abilities, she could easily escape slavery or buy her freedom. So why hadn’t she?

Skywalker stepped back through the curtain, dressed in the standard sandy beige tunic and pants of Tatooine garb, her face was scrubbed of all make up, and she was working the braids out of her hair. In this state she looked far younger than Obi-Wan presumed.

She paused, looking down at the Jedi as she worked the last twist out of her long hair. “Can I get you something?” she asked after a silent moment.

“No, thank you,” Obi-Wan said.

“Do you mind if I do? I haven’t eaten yet.”

“It’s your home.” Vos gestured freely.

Skywalker turned to the kitchen area and pulled a small bowl and bottle out of the cooling unit. She settled onto the floor across from the Jedi and studied them silently while she pulled pieces of roasted vegetables out of the bowl.

“So why are Jedi looking for me?” she asked before popping a piece of food into her mouth.

Obi-Wan took over answering. “Well, Skywalker-“

“Anakin.”

“What?”

“My name is Anakin Skywalker. Call me Anakin.”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan nodded. “We’re here because we followed a trail in the Force and found you.”

“You said that already. What do the Jedi want with me?”

“The plan is to find the source of this Force signature and bring them back to Coruscant.”

Anakin scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that.” She took another bite of her food, chewed it thoughtfully and swallowed. “What is this ‘Force’ thing you keep mentioning?”

“The Force is all around us. It’s in everything. It binds the universe together and it unites all living things.” Obi-Wan explained.

Anakin responded with a skeptical, confused look as she chewed over a crunchy root.

Quinlan offered another explanation. “Some individuals have an affinity for the Force; it allows them to utilize certain abilities they normally wouldn’t be able to. For example, your ability to put images in the Theelin’s mind and make him sleep.”

Anakin pressed her lips together and looked down at the bowl in her lap. “But it doesn’t always work.”

“It wouldn’t,” Vos continued. “Some species are naturally resistance to Force influences. And you may be naturally talented, but ultimately untrained.” A pause, Vos studied Skywalker intently. “How long have you been able to manipulate people like that?”

Anakin shrugged. “I guess always… When I was younger, my Master would have me talk customers into sales. He said it was because I was young and cute, but I could usually convince the ones who weren’t even interested at all.”

“Your master… Jabba?”

“No, my previous Master; a Toydarian salvage shop owner. He owned my mother and me for about ten years.”

“And after that?”

“Watto bet against me in a podrace. He lost me to Jabba and sold my mother with me to avoid going bankrupt.”

Obi-Wan frowned at the casual way Anakin spoke about being owned and traded and sold. He couldn’t sense any shame or ire from her as she discussed her history. For all he could read from her, she was talking about previous employment or schooling, not being owned as a slave. It was disturbing and saddening to know this was daily life for so many.

Suddenly, behind Anakin, the curtain moved and Obi-Wan saw a little head peek around the edge. It was a little girl, around three years old, with black hair that was mussed and tangled from sleep. She met his eyes warily and Obi-Wan flashed a small, kind smile.

“Hello, little one.”

The child shrunk back and pulled the curtain over her face. Anakin stiffened and turned around.

“Ani?” the child asked quietly.

Skywalker beckoned her over and said a few words in Huttese. The child scurried over and curled up quite contentedly in her lap. Obi-Wan noticed that her wide blue eyes were the same color as Anakin’s as she shyly looked over the Jedi.

“My sister, Shila.” Skywalker explained while she smoothed down the child's hair.

"Hello, Shila, I am Obi-Wan and this is Quinlan." Obi-Wan's introduction was met with a blank stare until Anakin translated for her. Then the child muttered some words Obi-Wan could hardly hear and buried her face in Anakin's shoulder.

“She says 'hello',” Anakin explained with a small smile. “She doesn't know Basic yet, other than a few words and phrases.”

Quinlan looked somewhat confused. “If she's your sister, why does she call you ‘mother ‘?”

“Your translation’s a bit off,” Anakin explained, “she didn’t call me ‘mother’ … but I suppose I'm the only mother she's known.” She paused, and brushed her fingers through Shila’s hair. “Our mother was too old to have another child; she died in childbirth. I've raised Shila since birth."

"I'm sorry," Vos said solemnly. "How long ago was that?”

“Over three years ago.”

“Must have been difficult.”

“People die every day on Tatooine. Most of them are slaves.”

Obi-Wan found himself hiding a frown again. Women didn’t just die in child birth anymore not … not in civilized systems with things like healthcare. And young girls didn’t just have to raise their newborn siblings without any aid. The Outer Rim was such a horrid place.

Skywalker shot him an amused glance. “You’re clearly not from around here, are you Obi-Wan?”

“I will admit I primarily work in the Mid Rim.”

“It shows,” Anakin grinned slyly. “You’ve been pulling faces all evening. I saw you in the lounge. You can always spot the newcomers.” Her smile fell and her face turned harsh. “What exactly were two Jedi doing in a Hutt pleasure den?”

“Blending in,” Quinlan said.

“And attempting to buy me,” she finished dryly.

“That was to get your attention, and, if we were lucky, to get a chance to speak with you.”

“The people who throw the kind of money around that you do aren’t interested in talking.”

“You must not come across many Jedi.” Vos raised an amused brow. “That’s probably a good thing to hear.”

There was a pause when Shila nudged Anakin and muttered something to her. Anakin handed her a piece of food from her bowl. While the child gnawed on a piece of root vegetable, Anakin returned to staring down the Jedi.

“You said you sensed my presence… what does that mean exactly? How did you ‘sense’ me?”

“The Council did,” Obi-Wan said. “They are the wisest Masters of the Force and the heads of our Order. A few weeks ago they sensed a sudden upwelling in the Force out on Tatooine. Vos and I were sent to investigate.”

“But I’ve been on Tatooine my whole life. Why did they only sense me recently?”

“That I do not know. Most force Sensitives are born with a nascent awareness of their abilities. Infants will hover toys across the room to them, and such. But on occasion, a child will experience what we call an awakening. Something will happen to them and they will realize their powers. Oftentimes it’s a traumatic experience. Has… has anything happened to you recently, Anakin?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, reconsidered her words, and said “No. And I’m not a child either.”

“No, you’re not.” Obi-Wan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“How old are you exactly?” Vos asked.

“Twenty-two.”

Obi-Wan could sense the half-truth in her statement and quirked a curious eyebrow. He was going to ask for further clarification, but Vos beat him to the punch.

“Is that in galactic standard years, or by Tatooine’s orbital?”

Skywalker bit her lip and looked down. “By Tatooine’s orbit. In galactic standard I’m nineteen… I think.”

By the stars, she was so young. Obi-Wan felt a surge of protectiveness well up inside him. No person that young should have been put through what he had seen her go through that evening. Except, he realized, she had probably been put through ordeals like that for most of her life. He met Quinlan’s eye and saw the Kiffar was thinking along the same lines, though he seemed much less shocked.

“You said the plan was to take me to Coruscant,” Anakin said after a moment of silence.

“When we realized you were a slave, we thought we could buy your freedom,” Obi-Wan began, but Anakin interrupted him with a shake of her head.

“Jabba would never allow that. He’ll never sell me. Not until I’ve served out my usefulness or I’ve died.”

“And that is why we wanted to talk to you.” Vos said. “To figure out how we can free you so we can bring you to Coruscant.”

“What about Shila? I’m not going anywhere without her.” Anakin’s arms tightened around her sister, who had dozed off in her lap.

“Shila will come as well.” Obi-Wan assured her. “Is your sister free?”

“No.” Anakin drew a deep breath. “Jabba owned my mother at the time of Shila’s birth, therefore Shila belongs to him. But, I’ve bartered an agreement with Jabba. Shila won’t be put to work and she won’t be sold.”

Obi-Wan was almost afraid to ask, but they needed to know as much as possible. “In exchange for what?”

“Anything he says. Complete obedience.”

“We might be able to smuggle you both off planet,” Obi-Wan hypothesized. His mind was already beginning to form a plan from the information.

“No you won’t. All slaves have a tracker embedded somewhere in their bodies. It’s rigged with explosives. They can be programmed to activate if a certain distance is breached. Or an owner can trigger them at will with the master controls.”

“How big are these trackers?”

Anakin held up her fingers a couple inches apart. Obi-Wan swallowed nervously, depending on the material, a charge that size could easily kill. At the very least, it would severely main the slave, depending on the location of the tracker.

“And all slaves have these trackers?”

“Once they’re old enough.” Anakin gently lifted up Shila’s shirt to show a bandaged wound on her abdomen. “They use bacta so there won’t be a scar.” She dropped the fabric and smoothed down Shila’s hair again. “She won’t remember where it is. If we are ever separated…” she trailed off and squeezed her eyes shut.

The two Jedi waited for Anakin to collect her emotions. The intense bond they sensed between Anakin and Shila felt akin to that between a mother and child. Obi-Wan supposed that a bond like that could form, considering Skywalker raised Shila from birth, but… there were a lot of similarities between the two. Aside from the hair, Shila looked almost exactly like Skywalker, right down to the blue eyes.

Something settled over Skywalker. Her jaw tightened, her brow furrowed, and when she spoke, it was with firm conviction. “I’m sorry. You’ve wasted your time.”

“What do you mean?” Vos asked.

“I’ve already taken a great risk bringing you down here. If they knew you were discussing freeing me they’d-“

“They’d what?” Obi-Wan prompted.

“I can’t take the risk. I’m sorry. You should go.”

“Anakin-“ Obi-Wan tried to argue, but she cut him off.

“Guards are already on their way.”

“Guards?” Obi-Wan realized he had become so focused on Skywalker that he had completely ignored the thrill of alarm rippling through the slave quarters heading directly towards them. He and Vos shot to their feet. “Anakin, please, we can help you. We can free you.”

The girl shook her head, and rose to her own feet, still cradling Shila against her. “I’m sorry. I will say what I must.”

With a crash, the door was kicked in. Shila woke with a scream. Half a dozen armed guards crammed into the small room, immediately leveling spears and blasters at the occupants. The Jedi raised their hands slowly and they were roughly pulled out of the hovel and marched away. Shila was ripped from Anakin’s arms by a guard. The child barely made a noise as she was carried off, and Anakin followed obediently with the remaining guards escorting her.

00000

Anakin didn’t move from the spot she had been shoved onto. She stood there, head bowed, staring at the sandy floor, waiting. She had been brought to one of Jabba’s review chambers; one typically reserved for private business and more personal parties, or doling out punishments. The Hutt liked to make a spectacle, but sometimes he would rather keep slave containment behind closed doors. It could be a messy business, after all. She was alone in the room, but she knew there were several Gamorrean guards outside the door. The Jedi and Shila were in a separate, nearby room, and Jabba himself was on his way.

When she heard his mass slithering on the other side of the door, she dropped to her knees just as the door opened. The Hutt entered alone, but Bib Fortuna joined the waiting guards outside the door.

“Are you causing trouble again, Skywalker?” The Hutt’s voice was deep with disappointment.

“Not intentionally, Master.” Anakin said keeping her eyes trained on the floor.

“I know, my little Krayt Dragon.” Jabba stopped in front of Anakin and she dared to raise her eyes. He beckoned for her to stand up. She got to her feet, but kept her head bowed. “Now, tell me about these visitors.”

“They said they were Jedi. They made me take them to my quarters.”

“What for?”

Anakin swallowed nervously. “They wanted to free me.”

The Hutt made a discontented noise in the back of his throat. “Ani, Ani, Ani,” he sighed patronizingly, placing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Always people are trying to steal you away from me.”

“I am loyal to you, my Master. I live to serve you.”

“No you don’t,” Jabba chuckled and moved to slither a slow circle around Anakin. “I know you would leave me in a heartbeat if you could.”

Anakin had no civil response that wouldn’t get her punished, so she grit her teeth and held her tongue.

“My little Krayt Dragon, you know you are my favorite. I’ve never owned a slave who was half as lucrative as you.”

“You flatter me, Master.” Anakin risked a small smirk. This was an exchange they’d had countless times; it had a familiar flow to it. However, in this situation Anakin was unsure of how freely she could act.

Jabba rumbled unhappily and Anakin’s smirk disappeared. Wrong move.

“Perhaps I do flatter you too much, Skywalker. You are growing awful bold for a slave.”

Anakin swallowed her rising wave of fear and began to plead. “Master, please forgive me. I do not mean to overstep my bounds. I only wish to serve you.”

Jabba waved his hand dismissively and turned his back on her. “You would kill me where I stand if you were able to,” he snapped.

“No, Master!” Anakin dropped to her knees again, pressing her forehead to the floor. “You own my very life. I am at your mercy.”

“You seem to keep forgetting that.”

“I am only a simple slave, Master. There is much to remember.”

Jabba sighed again and ordered Anakin to her feet. When Anakin stood up, she saw that he had moved to his throne and looked down on her imperiously. This conversation was ending soon.

“You are only a slave, Skywalker. Your mind cannot possibly comprehend the complexities of life beyond Tatooine. But even you should know such a basic rule as that.”

Anakin nodded demurely and agreed. “I am grateful for your protection and kindness every day, Master, for myself and my sister.”

“And how do you show your gratitude?”

“With obedience, Master, and victories for your glory.”

The Hutt smiled at that, greedy and slimy. “You did race well today.”

Anakin bowed her head. “Thank you, Master, but I only raced as I was told.”

“It looked very convincing. That competitor almost won. Betting has increased tenfold with the Dug as a supposed challenger for the Boonta Eve Classic.”

“All due to your wisdom, Master.”

The Hutt wasn’t placated, but he played the part. “Sit with me, my Krayt Dragon.” Jabba beckoned her up to his throne. “We shall see what these would-be Jedi thieves have to say. And after that, I will decide your punishment.”

The little room they had been brought to felt more claustrophobic than it should have. It was Shila who made the room feel small. The child was projecting enough fear to make Obi-Wan and Vos feel anxious. She had curled herself up in the corner, keeping a wary eye on the pair of Gamorreans at the door and the Jedi in the other corner. Vos had tried to calm the child, but a warning snarled from the guard kept them in their respective corners.

Obi-Wan couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of life this child had lived to feel such abject terror at her young age. Obi-Wan projected feelings of calm and peace back to Shila, but she didn’t seem to be very receptive.

“So what’s the plan?” he whispered to Vos.

“If we’re lucky, I won’t have to talk a Hutt out of an execution. We may be able to glean enough information out of him to figure out how to get Skywalker out.”

“Skywalker won’t go anywhere without her sister.”

“I know. The child should be much easier to free than Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “The Council won’t be happy if we pay a fortune to free a child who isn’t our main objective.”

“If it gets us Skywalker, the Council will approve of anything. You’ve sensed her; you know how powerful she is. The Council will want to see her personally.”

“Skywalker can’t join the Order. She’s far too old.”

“The Council will want to meet her.” Vos stated with firm conviction. “We need to get them both to Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan didn’t get a chance to comment further. Bib Fortuna marched into the room and uttered a couple sharp commands in Huttese. Shila shot to her feet and followed obediently.

“We’ve been summoned by Jabba.” Vos muttered, following the Twi’lek and their guards into the hall. They were led into a small room and brought before Jabba. The Hutt sat above them on another raised platform, and Anakin was perched before him. Her tunic had been removed, leaving her in only a thin tank top and her brown pants. The Hutt was absently stroking the bare skin of her arms. She hardly moved or even reacted when they were set before the throne, but Obi-Wan could feel her fear at seeing her sister.

Upon seeing her Master, Shila fell to her knees and bowed low to the ground. Obi-Wan looked to Quinlan for guidance in this situation. Vos straightened his spine and rounded his shoulders, Kenobi did the same. Obi-Wan had never been this close to a Hutt before, and he would gladly live out the remainder of his days never getting this close again. The Hutt was absolutely revolting, and that was without the horrid smell wafting from him, and the sad*stic lust rolling off him in waves.

“So you are the scum who wish to rob me.” Jabba growled. This time, Bib Fortuna did the translating with his oily voice.

“We would never seek to rob you, exalted Jabba.” Vos said with a small apologetic bow of his head.

“Skywalker tells me you forced her to take you to her chambers.”

“To speak to her privately, yes. We did not wish to disturb any other guests.”

“She told me you have come here to free her.” Vos kept quiet, sensing that the Hutt had not completed his thought. “You understand that Skywalker is not for sale. There is no price you can name for my most lucrative slave.”

Vos nodded respectfully. “Yes, your eminence. We are quite aware of this.”

“And yet, you spoke to her about taking her away. You wanted to steal her.”

“No, lord Jabba-“

“Then what were your intentions, Jedi scum? You cannot have my Skywalker.” At that, he pulled Anakin closer to him, like a possessive child with his favorite toy. Anakin’s face remained placid, but the Jedi could sense her deep revulsion as she was pressed against the Hutt.

Obi-Wan could see this conversation was going to get them nowhere. They’d be kicked out of the palace with no way to get in contact with Skywalker again. He had to step in before they lost all leverage. “What about her sister?”

The Hutt gave Obi-Wan an appraising glance. Vos cast him a curious sidelong glance. Anakin glared at him.

“What about the child?”

“Truth be told, our interest in Skywalker was merely as a translator. Her sister is who we are truly interested in.”

“What interest do Jedi have in an untrained child? She cannot work, she knows no skills, and she does not speak Basic.”

“We have sensed that she is strong with the Force. The Jedi Order, naturally, wants to take her to Coruscant and bring her into the Order. She should be raised amongst her own kind.”

By now, Anakin was glaring so harshly at Obi-Wan that he was almost certain his robes would catch fire from the intensity of her glare alone. He dared a glance to her, and hoped she would see something of the plan that was forming in his mind.

Jabba hummed thoughtfully. “What is the child worth to the Jedi Order?”

“I believe the question is what is an untrained slave worth to you, mighty Jabba?”

The Hutt laughed, low and gravely, and lacking any mirth. “You are a cunning one, Jedi. Thieving scum, but cunning.” The Hutt looked down at the child, still in her bowed position on the floor. “Fortunately for you Jedi, she was born with a slave’s obedience.”

Bib Fortuna then barked a command and Shila shot to her feet, standing stock straight and waiting for Orders. Obi-Wan glanced between the child, trembling in fear before her Master, and Anakin, shaking with barely contained fury. He wanted to say something to ease their worries, but he wasn’t negotiating with them. Jabba didn’t care that Shila would be freed if she went with the Jedi, or that she’s be raised safe and secure on Coruscant. Jabba was selling his property and obedience was a selling point.

“I have no need for a useless slave.” Jabba said after observing Shila for a moment. “She is a drain on my resources.”

Obi-Wan hardly believed that a small child like Shila was much of a drain on anything. She couldn’t possibly eat or drink much, and without healthcare and schooling costs, where else would she cause losses. Still, he pressed on, sensing that the Hutt was growing warmer to the thought of selling the child. “We would gladly take her off your hands. Name your price.”

Anakin could no longer contain herself. “Master, please no!” She turned to face the Hutt, her hands folded at her breast as she knelt before her Master.

“Silence!” Jabba backhanded Anakin with enough force to send her tumbling off the throne and into the sand. Shila whimpered as her sister was struck, but didn’t dare move. Obi-Wan started forward, but Vos’ hand on his sleeve stopped him. They had to let this play out or else they would lose their chance.

Jabba growled down at Skywalker. “It is not your place to speak!”

Anakin scrambled back up to the throne on her hands and knees. “Master, please!” she begged, tears were rolling down her cheeks and she pawed desperately at the Hutt.

Jabba made a disgusted noise and gestured to Fortuna. The Twi’lek removed Skywalker from the throne with a hark kick to her ribcage. Anakin fell into the sand and stayed there. The kick had shocked the breath from her lungs, but she continued to beg even as she gasped for breath.

“Master, please. I will do anything you ask. Don’t sell Shila! Please, Master! I will do anything!”

“Enough, slave!” the Hutt snapped. “I will do as I please. Your behavior today has not garnered you any favor.” He turned to face the Jedi. “You can have the child for five thousand wupiupi. Bring the money at dawn and we will complete the transaction.”

Anakin’s desperation and pleading made the Jedi feel sickened to their cores, but they bowed deeply and thanked Jabba for his generosity.

“Now leave, before I change my mind.”

They hardly needed telling twice. The Jedi were hurried out of the room by guards, but they could feel Anakin’s hatred snapping at their heels like a massif. Obi-Wan hoped that whatever further punishment Jabba had in store for Anakin, it didn’t include hurting Shila. The child would still belong to the Hutt for a few more hours, and there was nothing they could do to protect her until they freed her.

They didn’t speak until they were in the room that apparently came with Quinlan’s VIP access.

“That was rough,” the Kiffar sighed, rubbing at his arms as if he was chilled. “I hope you have a plan Kenobi.”

“That depends. Do you have five thousand wupiupi?”

“Yes.

“Then I have a plan.”

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Dawn broke hot over Jabba's palace. After Obi-Wan had laid out his plan, the Jedi had managed to catch a few hours of sleep. Vos thought Kenobi's plan was risky, and hinged on a lot of small things that were out of their control going right, but it was their best chance to get Skywalker out alive. He had to laugh, Kenobi might deny his improvisational talent, but he was basically winging it when he negotiated for Shila and that worked out better than he expected.

A courier slave tapped politely on their door just as the second sun breached the horizon. He led the Jedi to an office where Bib Fortuna was waiting with a Mune. Vos thought he had the pompous air of a rich man's accountant. Had this been any other situation, the Mune would have been looking down his nose at the Jedi, but considering they were paying guests, he offered them a small, insincere bow.

"You have the credits?" Fortuna asked.

"We see the girl first," Vos shot back.

Fortuna pressed a button on the desk, and a moment later the door opened again. Shila was roughly pushed forward by the handler from the previous evening. She wore nothing but a chain around her wrists and was jerked to a halt by the handler. The poor child was rank with fear, but she kept her head bowed demurely and hardly trembled.

Quinlan sensed the shock well up in Kenobi, and his desire to cover the naked child. Vos knew it was customary to sell slaves naked, it made checking for any deficiencies easier, but it was a disgusting custom. He was going to make this as quick as possible.

Fortuna gestured to the child. "You can see she has been freshly chipped."

There was an old scabbed wound on Shila's side from the chipping. It was tinged with the telltale blue of Bacta, but on top of that, there were new, long scratches along her arms and legs. Claw marks?

"Where did she get those scratches?"

Fortuna curled his lip into a sneer. "You can thank her sister for those."

Quinlan nodded. "I've finished my inspection," he told the handler. The handler threw a ball of fabric at the child before he unchained her. Shila hurried to pull the shift over her head, and still, she did not look up at the Jedi. The handler did not move to re-chain her.

Only after Shila was dressed did Quinlan pulled his VIP chip from his sleeve. "Five thousand, as agreed upon."

The Mune stepped forward, picking up a chip reader tablet from the desk. Vos handed the chip over, and they all waited in silence while the transaction processed. Fortuna signed first and then Vos signed, the Mune acted as a witness. The reader thought for a moment more and then returned the chip with a quiet ping.

"She's all yours." Fortuna said. "Now pardon me, I have other business I must attend to this morning." The Twi'lek swept out of the room, leaving the two Jedi standing awkwardly with the child they just purchased and her slavers.

"Yerk will retrieve her tracker control," the Mune explained, nodding to the handler.

"Actually," Obi-Wan said with a subtle wave of his hand. "I would prefer if he took us there himself."

"He will take you there, himself," the Mune said back, genially if blankly.

The handler furrowed a confused brow and opened his mouth to protest, but Vos beat him to the punch. "Show us to the slave trackers now."

Yerk's face went slack. "Follow me," he muttered before turning to the door.

Vos turned to Shila. She stared up at them now, wide eyed and apprehensive. He crouched down to speak to her. "Come with us, Shila, we won't hurt you."

The child nodded mutely and obediently followed. They followed the handler through the palace corridors and down a couple floors. Most paid them no mind, but Vos caught a few disdainful, mental curses thrown their way by the slaves they passed.

The handler took them exactly where they wanted to go. It was an unmarked door in an empty hallway – it could have been a broom closet for all an outsider knew. The slave chip controls were kept behind heavy locked doors, but Yerk was more than happy to show the Jedi what the pass code was. There was an armed guard waiting in the room, but his mind was easily swayed by Kenobi.

The room was rather large, and almost entirely filled with shelves and shelves of small boxy devices. A drone retrieved Shila’s control on command, and Yerk was even compliant enough to show the Jedi all the features of the controls – including how to deactivate the explosives.

Once the Jedi had all the information they needed, he ensured that the handler and the guard would remember nothing of their encounter with the Jedi. They returned to their room, control in hand, and locked the door securely behind them.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Shila had said nothing. She didn’t fidget or cough or make any kind of sound – an accomplishment for a child her age. She was afraid of the Jedi, but curious as well. She had a sense of cautious familiarity, as if she could sense their intentions. Maybe Kenobi’s gamble hadn’t been too far off. The child might be Force Sensitive. Not as strong as her sister, obviously, but still Sensitive.

Vos and Kenobi looked down at the child, standing in the middle of the room, waiting expectantly for orders. Again, Quinlan knelt down to her level, and held out the controls for her chip. “This is for you, Shila. You’re free now.”

The child took the controls, still very confused. Of course, Vos had made sure to deactivate her slave chip and ensure that nothing could be done to reactivate it before he handed the controls over to a child. “Free?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yes.”

“I can go back to Ani?” Hope brightened the child’s eyes.

“Not yet,” Vos explained gently but quickly before the hope could leave. “We are going to bring her to you. But you must wait here quietly.”

The child beamed and nodded her head enthusiastically. “I can be quiet. If I’m quiet, I’ll see Ani?”

“Yes, you’ll see her soon.” Vos smiled sadly. “Obi-Wan and I have to go find her. We need you to wait here. Okay?”

More enthusiastic nodding. “Okay.”

“Do you know where she might be?”

Shila frowned, and looked down at the box in her hands. “Master sent Ani to the Pit for being bad.”

“Where is that?”

“Dunno.” Shila shrugged.

“That’s okay, we’ll find her. Now you just sit tight, and wait here. I’m going to lock the door, don’t open it for anyone, okay?”

“Okay.” Shila sat herself down right in the middle of the floor. Vos almost told her to sit on one of the beds, or the couch, but he doubted the child would actually stay on the floor until they returned. She was only three after all.

Vos led Obi-Wan back through the palace, following the trail Anakin’s Force signature left behind. Shila had mentioned a ‘pit’ of some kind, obviously a form of punishment for slaves. If she was still there, there would probably be guards which meant they’d have to be creative to get Anakin alone. If she wasn’t… well they’d find her. They walked deeper into the sub-levels of the palace; places not meant for visitors. The corridors were cramped and ill lit, more sand piled in the corners and along the walls than anywhere else, and there were hardly any slaves around. Vos just had time to wonder what Anakin could possibly be doing in this empty section when they rounded a corner and found their quarry.

She was waiting for them. Her stunner sparked in her hand as she stared down the Jedi. Quinlan tensed, sensing the hostility rolling off her. Beside him, Obi-Wan eased into a subtle, defensive position.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Quinlan offered, knowing Anakin wasn’t going to want to talk.

She advanced, raising her weapon threateningly. “Give. Shila. Back!”

“We need to talk, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said gently.

“The only thing you need to do is give me my sister back!” She waved the stun rod between them and Quinlan could feel the electricity raise the hairs on his arms as it passed. A shock from that would put them out for a good long while.

Quinlan raised his hands slowly. “Put that down, we don’t want to fight.”

“You give me Shila back, or you’re going to end up as rancor meat!” Anakin lashed out at Vos – faster than he expected – and he had to move defensively to avoid getting shocked in the chest.

He dodged her strike, hitting her wrist to knock the stunner loose. It fell to the sandy floor and he kicked it far away. Anakin was prepared for that though, and her left hand came swinging up and she managed to catch Vos in the face with her fist. It hurt!

Vos stumbled away a couple steps, his hand rubbing at his jaw. He was more than capable of taking a hit and rolling with it, but he had not expected there to be that much strength in Skywalker. She certainly didn’t look like she had that much muscle on her. He supposed he deserved the bruised jaw after underestimating her.

Obi-Wan had managed to grab one of Anakin’s wrists and tried to twist it behind her, but she kicked out at his shins and swung with her free fist. She missed, but Kenobi had to release her to dodge. Anakin launched herself at Vos with a howl, her fists swinging to try and hit anywhere she could. He blocked what he could and took what he couldn’t while Kenobi snuck up behind her. He threw his arms around her, wrapping her in a tight hold across her chest and pinning her arms to her side. That hardly seemed to slow her down one bit. She kept fighting and struggling and Kenobi wasn’t going to be able to hold her for much longer.

“Come on, Anakin, we don’t want to hurt you.” Vos said, stepping closer to get a more secure hold on her. Anakin kicked out, aiming for his groin. Vos jumped back and barely avoided the kick. “Hey, fight fair!”

“Get f*cked!” Anakin shouted. She sunk her teeth into Obi-Wan’s arm and then threw her weight forward, launching the Jedi over her back. He was thrown into Vos and they crashed to the floor in a winded heap. They were back on their feet in an instant. Obi-Wan barely moved out of the way before she kicked him in the head. Both Jedi fell into defensive positions again as they faced Anakin.

She stood with her fist ready, bouncing lightly on her feet. They had clearly underestimated her. She had been taught to fight, but clearly didn’t employ her skills very often. She was sloppy and out of practice, but, desperation was a strong factor when it came to combat. Vos could see her openings, he knew she would tire quickly, and eventually she would make a mistake. But if they beat her into submission, they’d lose any trust they had garnered with her – if there was any left after they’d bought her sister.

Vos shared a look with Kenobi, an unspoken plan sparked between them, and Vos nodded minutely. He lunged at Anakin first, a feint to distract her while Obi-Wan went in to try and catch her arms. They just needed her to stop fighting for two seconds so they could explain. Anakin fell for the feint, and Obi-Wan latched a vicelike grip onto her wrist. She tried to hit him, but he blocked the blow, and she tried to twist away, but he didn’t let go. Anakin rushed in close and drove her knee into Kenobi’s diaphragm.

With a wheeze, Kenobi lost his grip and fell to his knees. Vos hurried to grab Anakin, but she was still moving and he missed her by a hair. She stepped behind Obi-Wan and wrapped her arm around his throat in a chokehold. Kenobi grabbed at her arm, but couldn’t break her hold. After that kick, there wouldn’t be any air in his lungs, and his face was already reddening. He’d be unconscious in a matter of seconds. Vos pulled out his last resort.

He rushed forward, drawing his lightsaber and leveling it at Anakin. She froze and eyed the hot plasma blade, but her hold didn’t loosen.

“Let him go.”

Anakin growled, but opened her arms. Kenobi fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air. Anakin stepped back slowly, standing at her full height with her hands raised.

“Are you going to kill me now?” she hissed.

“We just want to talk.” Vos explained. He glanced to the side and saw Obi-Wan regain his feet, still panting and rubbing at his throat. “We were trying to find you to bring you to Shila.”

Skywalker gasped, her eyes widening, a horrified expression crossed her face. “Bring me to her?” she echoed weakly. Every ounce of fight left her and she fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands. “sh*t! What have I done?”

“You thought we would take her away?” Obi-Wan asked. He looked up from examining his arm – the bite was bleeding a little, but not enough for concern.

“You bought her!” Anakin cried. “I thought she was gone forever unless I could get her back.”

The Jedi shared a look, frowning at the despair rolling off Anakin. Vos finally deactivated his lightsaber and placed it back on his belt. “We said we were going to get both of you out,” he said. “Now come on, do you want to go see her?”

Anakin shot to her feet, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “You really mean it?”

Vos stepped aside and gestured for Anakin to lead the way. She hurried forward, explaining as she walked, “We’ll have to go the long way. We can’t be seen together or else Jabba will know and he won’t be nearly as forgiving a second time.”

They walked at a hurried, but not suspicious pace through small, cramped corridors – servant’s passageways, Vos realized; a whole series of passages mirroring the main halls so the slaves could travel unseen and without bothering guests. They stepped through a door into a large echoing chamber full of vile scents and a cacophony of cries. It looked, and smelled like a menagerie judging by the barred doors in the stone walls and the howls of varying creatures. They passed one pen that housed the Gualaar. They chewed placidly on some green hay, and Vos had to wonder how much it cost to feed them on this planet. Greenery such as that simply couldn’t grow here, it had to be imported.

“Stay clear of the rancor,” Anakin warned, moving to the far side of the path as they passed the largest door yet. “She’s brooding and territorial.”

Vos followed her closely and glanced through the barred door. He could see the rancor on the far side of a large pen. He’d never actually seen one of the beasts in person before, but he’d herd tale of their ferocity. He certainly wouldn’t want to be on the bad end of those massive claws. The rancor apparently took offense to his stare, because she growled and rushed across the pen, slamming into the barred door with a howl. Her claws slashed through the openings between the bars, but thankfully couldn’t reach very far. The beast huffed and stalked away, and Vos caught a glimpse of her two young, clinging to the underside of her belly, their eyes reflecting slightly in the dim pen.

“I guess even rancors can be protective mothers,” he mused aloud.

“Her keeper raised her from birth, and she won’t even let him near.” Anakin said, hardly stopping. “Not until her pups are weaned.”

They thankfully left the menagerie and its stink behind them quickly and walked their way back up to the guest areas of the palace. Anakin’s anxiety was almost palpable while Vos entered the lock code for the room. She hardly waited a heartbeat before rushing into the room.

Shila had curled up on one of the beds and fallen asleep, but she shot awake as soon as her sister entered the room. “Ani!”

“Shila!” Anakin ran to her and scooped her up off the bed, holding her close. She muttered rapid apologies and ‘I love yous’ to her sister in huttese while Obi-Wan locked the door behind them.

The Jedi waited patiently for the reunion to end and for Anakin to dry her tears and Shila’s. It only took a few minutes. Anakin examined the scratches she’d left on Shila and apologized profusely. Shila, in all the pragmatism of a small child, pointed out the smaller and lighter scratch lines she’d left on Anakin’s arms. Finally, after much hugging, Anakin sank onto the bed with Shila still wrapped securely in her arms.

“So you’re planning on freeing both of us? Do you really think you can do that? Jabba will never let me go.”

“We have a plan for that,” Obi-Wan said, taking a seat on the other bed opposite of the sisters. He began laying out the plan, and Anakin listened. It was obvious, after Obi-Wan had finished, that she did not like what she heard.

“Are you stupid or something? A plan like that is going to get us killed!” Anakin's arm tightened around Shila protectively.

Obi-wan seemed unsurprised by her doubt. “If you were anyone else, it wouldn't work. But Anakin you are strong with the Force and your reflexes are fast enough to keep you from harm.”

“It's a sh*tty plan.”

“It's the only way to secure your freedom.”

She paused, considering the plan again. “Even if it doesn't work, Shila's still free right? You'll make sure she's taken care of? You’ll take her away from this place and she’ll never have to come back.”

“You’ll both be coming to Coruscant with us.” Kenobi assured her.

“No, you have to swear that even if this doesn’t work you’ll get her away from here. If the plan fails or the Hutts catch on, if I can’t get out, you have to promise that you’ll keep Shila free. That she’ll never be a slave again!”

The Jedi shared a look. Shila wasn’t their target of interest; she was collateral that came with Anakin. But she was also a child, and leaving her to a life of slavery was cruel beyond all means, particularly when they’d already freed her. That certainly was not the Jedi way. There was never a question of whether Shila would be taken care of once they left Tatooine. But they weren’t going to leave Skywalker behind without trying everything.

“You have our word, Anakin.” Obi-Wan vowed solemnly.

Anakin breathed a huge, relieved sigh. “Your plan has issues and a lot of holes; you’ve assumed things that just won’t work.”

Vos nodded in agreement. “You’re more familiar with the palace workings than we are, Anakin. We’re relying on you to fill in the gaps and turn this into something that would actually work.”

Anakin paused, running over the plan in her mind. "You're going to have to leave the palace. VIP or not, you've already strained Jabba's hospitality. It would be best if you took Shila and left."

Obi-Wan rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, it would be easier to sneak around without guards and others watching our every move."

"You'll still be watched. But much less suspiciously."

"Not if they think we've returned to Coruscant."

Anakin's jaw tightened and the Jedi sensed the flash of doubt and fear course through her. "That would be more convincing. Beyond that…" she drew a breath. “The three of us aren’t going to be able to pull this off without raising suspicions. I have friends I can get on our side, but talking them into it will take time. And I still have my duties to attend to for the day. There’s a lot of prep work for the Classic.”

Obi-Wan said, “Tell us when and where to find you after we make sure Shila is safe. We’ll be there.”

“There’s a garage where my podracer is kept on the south side of the palace. I have unlimited access. Will you be able to find it?”

“No problem,” Quinlan assured her.

“If you meet me there at midnight, I can sneak you back in.”

“Then we’d better hurry.” Obi-Wan stood up. “It might still be early, but time is rapidly falling away.”

“Right.” Anakin hugged Shila tight. "I'll see you soon. I promise."

The child smiled brightly, and she practically oozed hope and trust. "Soon we'll be free."

"I hope so." Anakin pressed a kiss to the top of Shila’s head and let her go, setting her on her own two feet.

"We'll be back at midnight," Vos assured her, taking Shila’s hand. "Keep an eye out."

They had little trouble leaving the palace. Shila followed obediently, trying her best to contain her excitement. However, once they were clear of the palace and speeding towards Mos Espa, a stream of excited babble fell from her mouth. Vos answered her questions with amused patience. And even though Obi-Wan couldn't understand a word she said, he got the basic gist of the conversation. Children were children, be they slaves or Jedi younglings.

Shila fell quiet again as they entered the city, the crowds seemed to subdue her enthusiasm. They drove directly to the busy spaceport, even more bustling as the big race approached. They returned the rented speeder, made easily overheard conversation about looking forward to returning to Coruscant. Hopefully, to any onlooker it appeared that they were preparing to leave the planet. Obi-Wan sought out a vendor near the port and bought Shila a simple change of clothes while Vos settled up the docking fees and prepared the ship.

When that was all settled, Shila was whisked into the ship and they made their departure. They broke from the atmosphere and made a quick jump to the next start system. From there, they turned around and jumped back to Tatooine. They landed in another city, which was little more than a large spaceport. The three of them set out looking for the next piece of their plan. It would be foolish to drag Shila around for every step of the next couple days and even more so to leave her unattended on the ship. They needed a babysitter.

Compared to Mos Espa, Mos Eisely was practically deserted. There weren't many people out and those that were looked like sun scorched, sand blasted farmers. Still, in a place like this, there was always someone looking to pick up some extra cash for an odd job. They stepped into a cantina first. People shot them curious looks and eyed Shila, but said nothing. Vos went to interrogate the barkeep while Obi-Wan took Shila to a table in the back. Vos returned after a few minutes with three glasses of palli juice. Shila sipped hers carefully but enthusiastically.

"Any luck?" Obi-Wan asked before taking a drink.

"There's a place in town where unemployed young adults hang out. We should find someone there."

"Let's hope so. It's going to take most of the day to get back to Mos Espa. We can't spend too long here."

They finished their drinks in relative silence and then went searching for their unemployed youths. Hopefully one of them would be able to watch a child for a couple days. The building in question seemed to be an inn with a restaurant serving as its lobby – sandy and dusty as every other building on the planet. A group of teens to twenty-somethings occupied the far end of the bar and bantered quite cheerfully with the young woman who appeared to be working there. The group eyed the Jedi curiously, but only a slight lull in their conversation indicated that they were watching. The barmaid came over and greeted them cheerily as they walked up to the bar.

"Good afternoon gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"We're looking for someone willing and able to watch after a child for a couple days." Obi-Wan explained.

The barmaid's eyes flicked down to Shila at Vos's side. "My sister might. Go have a seat. I'll send her over."

The Jedi took a table away from the group at the bar and watched as the barmaid spoke quietly to a young blond woman. This time the conversation in the group died and more than a few obvious and suspicious looks were thrown at the Jedi. The blond woman stood up and a man in his early twenties stood with her, taking her arm and muttering in her ear. She muttered something back, pecked him on the cheek, and detached his hand from her arm. She marched confidently over to their table and stood there with a stern look on her face and her hands on her hips.

"I don’t work for slavers."

Obi-Wan raised a curious brow. "What makes you think we're slavers?"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe she's your daughter?" The woman responded with a glower.

"We're Jedi, actually." Obi-Wan said.

"Jedi don't come out to these parts."

"Must be a miracle that we got out here then," Vos quipped sardonically. He shifted his robes just enough to flash his lightsaber for the young woman to see. The woman saw, but she wasn't impressed.

"What are two Jedi doing with a slave child then?"

"Former slave," Vos corrected. "We freed her this morning and we're working on freeing her sister as well."

"What do you need me for then?"

Vos explained. "Freeing her sister isn't going to be a matter of money. It would be dangerous to have Shila around while we take care of her sister."

The woman scoffed in the back of her throat but softened and sat in the free chair. "No slaver would care about 'danger' so you must be Jedi." She looked at Shila and asked in Huttese, "Did these men free you?"

Shila smiled at the woman and explained in one excited breath. "The nice Jedi freed me and they're gonna free Ani. And then we get to go to Coruscant and see the stars!"

It was straightforward, completely guileless, and there was no hesitation or searching while the child tried to recall a rehearsed story. That convinced the woman more than anything.

"Alright, so what do you need me to do?"

Obi-Wan stepped in. "We need someone to watch the child for a couple days. We'll pay for food and lodging, and of course pay you for your trouble. If all goes well, we'll be back the evening of the Boonta Eve classic.”

“And if it doesn’t?” the woman asked.

“We’ll still come back for Shila.” Obi-Wan assured her.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Compared to the searing heat of day, the nights on Tatooine were blissfully cool, almost bordering on chill if the wind blew the right way. They were also pitch black. The sand seemed to completely absorb any star or moonlight and the Jedi stealing across the desert had to rely on the Force more than their other senses. They sidestepped rocks and moved swiftly and silently as easily as night born creatures, heading unwaveringly for the starless darkness against the night sky.

Why exactly Jabba’s palace had no eternal illumination, Obi-Wan had no bloody idea, but he doubted it was to save energy.

They approached from the south, near the base of the rocky plateau the palace sat upon. They were far below the body of the palace, probably close to the subterranean slave quarters. The Jedi hugged close to the wall, trailing hands across the rock to find a door in the dark. Suddenly, a muted sliver of light pooled out before them.

“Hurry up!” a terse voice called from the cracked open doorway.

The Jedi hurried forward, slipping through the door and into a dimly lit garage. “Took you long enough,” Anakin muttered. She slid the door closed behind them quickly and locked it before turning to raise the power on the lantern on the nearby workbench.

Obi-Wan checked his chrono, they were early, but given what exactly was at stake for Anakin, he’d forgive any snappish attitudes.

“Is Shila safe?”

“Yes, she is with a caretaker.” Obi-Wan said with a nod. “She’ll be quite alright for the next couple days.”

Anakin released a breath, slumping slightly against the mostly deconstructed pod engine behind her. “Good.” She straightened up again with a sharp snap. “We’ve got a lot to do, and not much time until dawn.” She crossed back to the work bench and pulled out two bundles of cloth from the lower shelf. The larger and heavier bundle she tossed to Vos, the substantially smaller one she threw at Obi-Wan. “Hurry up and get changed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Wait a minute, what is this?” Obi-Wan said, unrolling his disguise. There wasn’t much to it; a wide length of rough spun, sandy colored fabric, a long white sash, and a couple of armbands.

Anakin shot him an unamused look. “You wanted to pose as a slave. It’s your uniform.”

Beside him, Quinlan stifled what may have been a laugh. Obi-Wan shot his fellow Jedi a semi-reproachful look, suddenly wishing he had also volunteered to pose as a palace guard as well.

“Get changed.” Anakin stated before disappearing through the doorway that lead back to the palace.

The Jedi shared a look before dutifully turning their backs on each other and shedding their Jedi robes. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure why he was surprised that he’d be going shirtless. He had seen other male slaves around the palace and they were all mostly shirtless. He just assumed that if he was going to pretend to be a slave, Anakin would get him a uniform for one of the higher ranking slaves – one who got to wear a shirt.

At least his disguise was simple to put on. Judging by Quinlan’s mutterings on the other side of the garage, he was having difficulty figuring out which armor piece went where. The wrap was easy enough to figure out, it went around his waist, hitting just above his knees. The sash was another matter – it was almost twice as long as Obi-Wan was tall. He did his best to replicate what he’d seen on the other slaves – over the shoulder, around the waist twice, and knotted at his hip. It was more decorative than functional as a belt, but it made Obi-Wan feel a little better about the skirt’s security. The last thing he wanted was a wardrobe mishap. The past piece of his disguise was a pair of ill-fitting cloth shoes, secured with leather straps.

Obi-Wan had folded his robes neatly and helped Vos finish latching the armor plates to his back by the time Anakin returned. She had another slave with her, an older human man who carried a small metal case underneath one arm. “Let me see,” she demanded as an introduction.

Obi-Wan and Quinlan stood still for her inspection. She had a couple corrections of Vos’ armor, but she hardly had to look at Obi-Wan before she found a problem.

“Your sash is wrong.” She stepped close, her fingers pulling at the knot of fabric on his hip. Obi-Wan tried to protest and insist that he was capable of untying the knot himself, but Anakin smacked his hands away. “Do you want to get caught?” she asked, tugging the last loop from the knot. It fell loose and with another sharp tug she pulled the sash off Obi-Wan completely.

He decided it was in his best interest to not argue.

Anakin folded the fabric over itself lengthwise and tossed it over Obi-Wan’s other shoulder, she added a twist as she looped the sash around his waist, left it flat against the other hip, and then tied it into a simple, but more decorative knot. She stepped back to eye her work and gave an approving nod. “Kapp will get you shaved.”

“What? Shaved?” Obi-Wan gasped, his hand flying up automatically to his cherished beard. He’d just gotten it trimmed up before this mission. It was exactly the way he wanted it.

Anakin shrugged. “No body hair on slaves. You get the hair on your head and that’s it.” She looked between both of the Jedi. “You’re both going to have to shorten your hair. Vos, yours can’t show under your helmet. Kenobi, yours is too long for a new slave.”

“But-“ Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair. He’d been working on growing it out in a style the Masters preferred. It made him appear older, wiser, and the politicians he tended to deal with in his assignments respected an older and wiser looking Jedi. Vos was also looking rather torn about the prospect of cutting his hair. He had pulled one lock forward over his shoulder and was toying with the end in an almost mournful fashion. He’d been growing out his dreadlocks ever since he became a Knight. They were a great source of pride for him. They frowned together, looking to each other for strength.

It was only hair. It would grow back. Freeing Anakin was worth a shave and a haircut. It was for the mission. Obi-Wan fortified himself, nodded and said, “Well, let’s get this over with,” in a much more careless voice than he really felt.

Kapp lead Obi-Wan off to a corner of the garage where a stool stood waiting. He pulled an ancient set of electric clippers from the box, but when he turned them on they buzzed like well-oiled machinery. He held his tongue while Kapp shaved constantly reminding himself that his hair would grow back.

Nearly an hour later, Obi-Wan was beardless, nearly hairless on his head, and completely hairless everywhere else. When Anakin said slaves had no body hair, she meant it. Obi-Wan was shaved everywhere that was exposed, his arms and legs, his underarms, his chest and back. He felt even more naked in his slave disguise.

Vos hadn’t taken nearly as long to trim up, though he was missing about six inches of hair. He’d been watching Anakin work on her podracer, helping where he could, but mostly keeping out of the way. The pod had to be in perfect condition for their plan to work, and having an inexperienced mechanic unintentionally muck something up was a fast road to disaster.

Anakin gave a small, approving smile when Obi-Wan and Kapp joined them. “I hardly recognize you now.” She turned to Kapp and spoke with the old man for a minute in Huttese. Obi-Wan had grabbed a translator earpiece from their ship before returning to the palace. It wasn’t perfect, but he was able to understand Anakin’s gratitude to the old slave. Kapp clapped her on the shoulder, smiling warmly and gesturing with his free hand – signing something that Anakin understood. She thanked him again, repeating one of his hand signs back to him. Kapp left in the same silence he’d maintained the entire time.

Alone again, Anakin turned to the Jedi with her arms crossed tightly. “I’ve worked it out so it won’t look too suspicious with the two of you following me for the next couple days. With the Boonta Eve approaching, most of my time will be spent here or running the course.”

Obi-Wan nodded. Most of their time-sensitive items couldn’t be collected until the day of the race in the first place. “What do we do until then?”

“Stay close to me. Stay out of trouble.”

The passed the next few hours assisting Anakin with her pod. Obi-Wan and Quinlan were far from unskilled with mechanics, but Anakin was several classes beyond them. She had built the pod herself from the ground up. She had done so with all her pods ever since her second season with the Hutts. Her handler had insisted she use another engineer’s pod and a massive malfunction had nearly killed her and caused a massive financial loss for the Hutts. Since then, they had allowed her to handle her own mechanics.

She put her engine back together, and ran it through a couple if small tests before she declared it was fine. By this point, the suns had risen and life had stirred in the Palace again. “We’ll go eat,” she said, wiping her hands clean with a heavily stained cloth, “After; you’ll accompany me for my duties. This afternoon, the pod will be transported to the track garage; you’ll come with me to complete the final preparations. And then tomorrow…” Anakin trailed off, unwilling to voice her hopes.

“Tomorrow you’ll be free.” Obi-Wan offered.

“If your crazy plan works.” Anakin shook herself and moved to the door, motioning the Jedi to follow.

They wound through the corridors of the Palace to a busy hub of motion in the early hours. The kitchen was a flurry of activity; slaves moved through quickly, taking their allotted ration of food and water; cooks threw together various dishes, significantly more substantial than the slaves’ rations, and plated them up; other slaves took the plated dishes and disappeared into service passages to feed Palace guests. Anakin pushed through the crowd, leaving the Jedi to wait in a corner. She returned a minute later with three small loaves of bread, small bowls of roasted vegetables, and flasks of water.

“With me,” she muttered, leading them out of the busy kitchens and into another room. It was large and unfurnished, but slaves sat on the floor, quickly eating their meals and conversing quietly. A ripple of murmurs followed Anakin through the room, but she ignored them and headed for a clear corner. They were left alone, and in quiet mutterings, Anakin and the Jedi walked through the plan one more time.

They had nearly finished the meal, when a commotion started on the far end of the crowded room. Anakin’s name was called, and several people pointed in their direction. A boy of about eight or nine pushed through the crowd and hurried over. “Ani, Ani! They’re taking him! They’re taking him!” the boy babbled, near hysterics.

Anakin was already on her feet, apparently knowing what the boy meant. “Take me,” she insisted, letting the boy take her hand and pull her away. The Jedi followed quickly, and the slaves were quick to clear a path. They raced back to the slave quarters where a small crowd had gathered around one doorway. Desperation rolled out of the room like a thick smoke, and above the noise of the slaves, Obi-Wan could hear a woman screaming and a baby wailing. Guards kept the slaves back from the doorway, but they allowed Anakin through when she issued a terse command.

A young Togruta woman was the cause of the commotion, by the length of her montrals she was probably near Anakin’s age. She fought desperately against two guards, holding her back from a third. She clawed and scratched and screamed, doing anything within her power to get to the wailing newborn in the third guards arms. The Togruta’s son, if his matching red skin and yellow montrals were anything to go by. A handler, a different man than Anakin’s handler watched the display unimpressed.

Anakin gestured sharply for the Jedi to stay back near the doors and approached the group slowly. “What’s going on?” she asked the handler.

“Master’s orders,” the handler said in a cold, detached voice.

“Master said I could keep him!” The Togruta screamed. “Master said I could keep him!”

Anakin swallowed a wave a grief and approached the woman. “Elora, it’ll be alright.”

“Master said I could have him!” Elora sobbed, she slumped in the grip of her guards, the fight leaving her.

“I know, Elora. Master says many things.” Anakin gestured to the guards holding the Togruta. They hesitantly released their hold on her. Elora lunged forward and crashed right into Anakin. She was ready for the move, and after a moment of grappling, she had turned the woman around, and dragged her down to the floor. Elora clung to Anakin desperately, burying her face in the crook of her neck and sobbing. Anakin held her close, running a comforting hand over the back of Elora’s head while the Togruta wept. “Tell me about him,” she told the Togruta. “What is his name?”

“Shandex. My precious, perfect Shandex, my baby boy. Master said I could keep him.” Elora just continued repeating that last statement over and over again.

Anakin held her tighter, tears gathering in her eyes. “Shandex will be free.” Anakin whispered to the distraught Togruta. “Shandex will be free now, Elora.”

She looked to the handler and nodded imperceptibly. He produced a hypo and plunged it into the wailing baby’s chest. Obi-Wan hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late. His heart stopped with the baby’s. He felt Quinlan grip his arm tightly; the Kiffar looked as sick as Obi-Wan felt.

In the sudden absence of the baby’s cries, his mother’s heartbreak was only more painful. Anakin did her best to soothe the mother, pushing intentions of sleep and rest onto her, but the Togruta was resistant to Anakin’s efforts. The guards filed out of the room with the handler, taking the baby with them. The crowd of slaves dissipated quickly with some barked commands from the handler.

Unable to just stand there and watch any longer, Obi-Wan hurried forward, crouching beside the two women. Anakin had tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “Can you help me calm her?”

Obi-Wan lay a hand on the Togruta’s shaking shoulder, unmeasurable grief and pain flooded onto him, but he pushed it aside and sent back feelings of peace. After a long moment, the weeping stopped, and the Togruta fell to stillness. Obi-Wan stepped back from the two and helped Anakin move the catatonic Togruta to her bed pallet. The boy from earlier had returned with the same elder Twi’lek who had been watching Shila. She hurried over and knelt by the Togruta’s bedside, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. She exchanged a few mournful whispers with Anakin before promising to watch over Elora.

Obi-Wan had retreated to stand back with Vos. “Did you know that the Hutts…” he couldn’t finish the question, just the thought of it made him want to be sick.

Quinlan shot him a hollow eyed look. “I knew the Hutts controlled their slave population but… I’d never seen how they did so.”

They fell silent as Anakin joined them, but she could read their unease. “That was exceptionally cruel of my Master,” she muttered darkly, marching past them at a swift pace. The Jedi hurried to follow. She said no more until they reached the solitude of her pod’s garage.

The Jedi could sense the emotions flowing through her; anger, grief, and fear – a toxic mix, but fleeting in the young woman. She drew a deep breath, and stilled her shaking hands. “We have a schedule to keep,” she said tersely, moving to pack up her tools for the transfer to the track garage.

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan needed an explanation.

The woman fell still. She spoke softly and in a shaking voice, “Family is everything. It’s the only thing we ever have that is our own.” Anakin took a deep breath, and continued in a steadier, but colder voice. “Master rarely allows slaves to breed, but it’s cheaper to terminate than it is to prevent. If he allows a slave to carry to term, it is because she is non-essential and the time lost from her service is worth the price of a new slave.”

“That’s absolutely tyrannical.”

“That’s the life of a slave.” Anakin turned away, wiping tears from her eyes before returning to her packing. “A slave who can’t accept reality loses her mind.” She threw the last few tools into the pack. “If it would ease your pain; the poison is fast, he didn’t suffer.”

Obi-Wan drew a long breath, remembering Jedi teachings. We should rejoice for those who have joined the Living Force. Maybe… maybe it was better for the child to be free in the Living Force than to face a lifetime of slavery. As many times as he recited it in his mind, he didn’t quite believe it.

The remainder of the morning passed without further incident. The Jedi followed Anakin around the Palace as she completed her duties for the morning. Anakin had little trouble finding excuses to show the Jedi the places they’d need to go the next morning. Whenever anyone asked, she said that Obi-Wan was a new slave, a mechanic brought in to assist with her pod; Vos was a guard assigned to her to ensure her protection until the race. They were allowed to move about undisturbed.

Obi-Wan felt a greater sense of urgency settle over him as the hours ticked away and they prepared for their mission. Once business was set in the Palace, Anakin took them to the track garage. They were under closer watch outside of the Palace, but Quinlan was able to sip away and make the necessary preparations.

That night, they slept little. Anticipation made even the Jedi restless. Anakin was a mess of nerves. To stay calm and collected, they went over the plan again and again until dawn broke.

It was the morning of Boonta Eve. Only hours separated Anakin from her freedom.

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Excitement and anticipation hung thick over the podracing arena. Quinlan wasn’t letting it get to him, but he’d be lying if he said his palms weren’t a little sweaty. Kenobi was with Anakin, playing his role as her assistant for the last few moments. All of the pieces were in place, now it was time to let Kenobi’s plan play out. Whether it was crazy or genius would stand to be determined at the end of the day.

So long as Skywalker got out alive, it would all be worth it.

He watched from across the garage as Skywalker’s handler issued her some final instructions. He handed over her earpiece to feed her instructions during the race. Anakin moved mechanically, almost unnaturally. Her nerves were eating her alive, and her mind was on a thousand other issues than the upcoming race. Vos was afraid her handler would find her behavior suspicious and blow their whole plan wide open before it could really kick off. Anakin was not a naturally gifted actress; her emotions were all over her face.

Apparently, the handler found nothing unusual with her behavior. He clapped Anakin on the shoulder, his hand lingering, issuing a final command. Vos could feel the revulsion curling through Anakin at the contact even from a distance. The handler gently tweaked Anakin’s ear, leered at her, and then disappeared.

As the minutes ticked away, Vos eyes the other racers in the garage. There were fewer racers than in the preliminary race, but larger prep teams. He spied the young Dug from the other day; snapping commands and making final adjustments to his new, larger pod. Clearly he had found a sponsor who saw the promise in him, provided him with a better pod, and paid the entrance fee. Not an unusual occurrence. The preliminaries were mostly held for the betting opportunities, and to weed out the racers who can’t even finish a race with their pod intact. The Dug was simmering with pent up frustration and kept shooting withering glares across the garage bay to Anakin’s team.

He’d have to be watched carefully.

The call went out for the racers to get ready for the opening procession. Anakin and her entourage fell into position with the other racers – again she would be the last racer to take the field. Her Gualaar lowed passively to the Eopies pulling other pods. The flag bearing slaves chatted amongst themselves, making final adjustments to their inadequate costumes and fixing smudged make up. To them it was just another race, another day, another performance to please their Master. There wasn’t much at stake.

The same couldn’t be said for the others in the arena. Nearly everyone had made wagers; many putting most of their financial worth on the outcome of the race. Engineers and mechanics were staking their careers on the performance of the pods. Team owners’ livelihoods depended on the racers. Racers were putting their very lives on the line. There were no holds barred in the Boonta Eve Classic.

The tension could be cut with a knife.

Obi-Wan had been separated from Anakin and her entourage; he hovered awkwardly near the pit crew, but largely ignored them as they ignored him. One of the slave girls turned to Anakin and gave her hands a reassuring squeeze while they murmured some words to each other.

The muted sound of a brassy fanfare reached Quinlan’s ears and the procession of racers began. Obi-Wan disappeared from the pit. Quinlan turned his eyes to the vidscreens and settled in to wait for his cue.

Anakin was given a rousing ovation as she entered the field. She plastered a smile on her face and waved to her adoring fans. Her movements were still jerky and it was clear her mind wasn’t on making the audience love her, but they chanted her name all the same. The camera’s kept a close-up on her face as she turned to the Hutt’s box and bowed deeply for her Masters.

Jabba crawled up to the waiting microphone and appraised the massive crowd with a satisfied smirk. He gave a brief speech and the racers climbed into their pods. Something almost like silence fell over the crowd, taking the roar down to a low buzz. It was quiet enough that Vos could hear the pod engines revving from his corner of the garage.

A blaring tone rang out. The starting bell.

The pods launched off at breakneck speed, and after the initial jockeying at the starting line, Anakin took the lead. Her competitors were close on her tail, the Dug dogging her rather persistently.

The racetrack had been changed from the preliminary and from the practice runs they had run the previous day. It was longer, and a series of detours routed the track in a new way, but certain elements remained the same. There was still the tight canyon pass and the wide field of rock slaloms.

Anakin’s skill with the pod was not diminished by the stakes of today’s race. She handled the first lap of the race nearly flawlessly, creating a wide margin between her and her competitors. Even the Dug fell behind, but he remained firmly in second place, keeping other racers back.

Kenobi reappeared just as she crossed the line, clothes changed again. “How’s she doing?” he asked, settling the cap of his newest disguise over his head.

“All according to plan,” Vos muttered quietly.

Special, for the race today, Jabba had insisted on fitting a camera into her co*ckpit to stream constantly to her fans throughout the entire race. She was present in a little box in the corner of every single viewscreen. While her helmet covered her eyes, her mouth was set into a hard, determined line.

The audience loved it.

There was a thrill of concern amongst the spectators as Anakin’s left pod engine began to smoke and spark. It hardly registered as a frown on her face as she hurried to correct the malfunction. She fixed it in a matter of seconds, but it slowed her down and the Dug caught up to her. He did not waste any time trying to get Anakin out of his way.

Anakin scowled at him as he bounced his pod off of hers. She maneuvered to retaliate, not allowing the other racer to push her around. If it came down to a shoving match, the Dug’s larger pod would win. If it was up to speed and skill, Anakin could easily beat him.

Somehow, they had made it through the first lap of the race without any crashes. A race like the Boonta Eve Classic promised crashed, explosions, and even injuries or death. The crowd was beginning to thirst for carnage. They watched like ravenous beasts as the bumping became more aggressive.

Was Skywalker to be the first crash of the race? Nobody could hold a flawless record for forever, and there were more than a few who had bet against her in a burst of cynical hope to watch the champion fall.

Still scowling, Anakin made a quick adjustment to her power output. She shot ahead of the Dug as he prepared to hit her again. For a moment, it appeared as if the Dug had swung too far and he would spin out of control, but he had learned from the preliminary race and corrected his course quickly. The Dug put on another burst of speed and caught up to Anakin. He rammed her from the side, hard enough to knock the camera loose.

Anakin wasn’t prepared for his hit. Her struggling left engine began to spark and smoke again with renewed vigor. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. She struggled to maintain control of her podracer. The skewed angle of the co*ckpit camera barely caught the panicked look on her face before she threw her arms up in an instinctive attempt to shield herself a split second before the pod crashed headlong into a boulder.

Quinlan’s mouth went dry as he watched Anakin’s pod become enveloped in a fiery explosion.

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Anakin lay as far away from the flames as she dared. She knew there would be cameras circling the crash site like vultures, capturing any gruesome detail they could for the crowds to devour.

The race was lost.

There would be riots in the streets tonight.

Jabba would be furious.

Anakin Skywalker did not lose podraces.

She was glad that Shila was safe and out of the Palace.

She kept her face pressed into the sand, looking to the world as if unconscious, if not dead. She was careful not to move, not until she knew it was safe. She was almost certain she was out of the cameras’ scopes, but it wasn’t worth the risk of moving. Over the roar of the flames, she could hear the other racers screaming past in their pods. It would only take a minute for the racers to clear the area, and then the emergency crews would descend.

She took mental stock of her injuries. She was sore, there were new pains, but they were dull, and fading. Nothing broken, all limbs attached. She was alive. Probably the best outcome of Obi-Wan’s crazy stunt.

The wind picked up and sand blew across Anakin for a moment before the engine of the emergency transport cut off. Boots crunched through the sand and a hand fell on her shoulder, hesitant, afraid to move her.

“Anakin?”

“Can I move now?” she muttered.

“You’re out of view. It’s safe.”

“Good.” Anakin rolled onto her back and sat up stiffly. She might not have been thrown from her crashing pod, but jumping out hadn’t exactly been gentle on her body. She might not have broken anything, but she’d definitely bruised a rib or two.

“Stay low, get onto the transport,” Vos instructed, helping her into a crouch. He gently pushed her towards the transport, but stayed behind, putting on a show of searching for Anakin in the wreckage.

The back of the transport was opened and Obi-Wan was waiting anxiously with an implant scanner in hand. Anakin hurried in, shedding the protective leathers of her racing uniform as she went. “Where is the implant?” she asked.

“Your left shoulder blade.”

Anakin finished removing the tight leathers and shrugged her loose tunic off her shoulders. “Get it out.” She ordered. “We don’t have long until the flames reach the fuel cells.”

Obi-Wan spent a moment prodding the area. Anakin felt something press against her skin from the inside. He wiped something wet and cool across the spot, and then, with only a quick, “This may sting,” he cut into her shoulder with a scalpel. Hot blood flowed down Anakin’s back and she grit her teeth and Obi-Wan dug into the cut with an instrument.

“Got it!” Something sticky was hastily slapped across Anakin’s shoulder. She pulled her shirt back over her shoulders and turned to see Obi-Wan holding the tracker. They turned to the second berth in the transport and the shrouded form lying there. Obi-wan hesitated, but Anakin held no qualms.

“Help me turn her.”

The woman had died a few days ago. She had been an old slave; once a prized singer and escort, aged out to a kitchen slave decades ago, a lung infection had killed her. Nobody knew what her given name had been; everyone had known her as Dawn’s Song.

Dawn’s Song had been the only human slave waiting for cremation when they’d collected the body – all three of them had averted their eyes from the impossibly small shrouded body of the Togruta infant. Slaves were only cremated once a week. Decay was slow on Tatooine.

This part hadn’t been in Kenobi’s plan, but Anakin knew that without a body to recover, the Hutts would know she had survived the crash and that she had escaped. They’d never even make it off planet. Shila would be found and killed, or worse, sent back into slavery without her sister to protect her.

The Jedi had been hesitant to include this in the plan. They held moral oppositions to desecration of a body. Anakin didn’t like it either, but she took charge of any dealing with the body. At this point, she was willing to do anything to gain freedom for Shila and herself.

They turned the woman facedown. Anakin took the scalpel from Obi-Wan. “Show me where to cut.” He pointed to an area in the lower quadrant of the shoulder blade. Anakin made the cut and then took the tweezers with the tracker and slipped it into incision. Then she hurriedly pulled some of her racing leathers onto the woman.

“How’s it coming?” Vos called out, hurrying to the transport. “Those flames are getting awful big.”

“We’re ready.” Anakin was pulling on an emergency crew jacket and shoved a spare cap over her head. She turned to Obi-Wan once she was dressed. “Make the call.”

Vos helped her carry the woman out of the transport and carried her as close to the burning wreckage as possible, laying her gently on the ground. Distantly, she heard Obi-Wan speaking into the comm, asking for assistance. They could not reach the body. They needed fire suppression. Quinlan paused for a moment, focusing intently, and the woman’s body lifted an inch off the ground and hovered into the heart of the flames. Anakin paused, silently thanking her fellow slave for this sacrifice and reciting the most important rites. Then, drawing a deep breath, she looked to Vos and said, “Blow it up.”

The Jedi made a subtle gesture, metal screeched, a line fell loose, opening the fuel tank. The flames eagerly licked at the hose and found their way to the fuel tank. They hurried to their feet and stepped into view of the cameras, still pretending to search for the body. Vos pointed at the mangled co*ckpit just as the fuel cells exploded. Even though they were braced for the explosion, it knocked them off their feet.

Though her ears were ringing, Anakin could hear more emergency transports approaching. Quinlan shepherded her to their own commandeered transport, making a show of acting like she had been injured. Her aching ribs made the show look extra convincing. She hurried into the back, and the door closed just as the other crafts touched down.

“Did it work?” Obi-Wan asked quietly.

Anakin nodded mutely. Her heart was pounding in her ears, she couldn’t catch her breath. Outside she heard Vos tell the others that his partner had been injured and he was taking him back for treatment. Above her gasping breaths, she heard the actual emergency crews send them off.

“Hold onto something,” Voss called back to them as he slid into the pilot’s seat.

The transport lurched as it took to the air. Obi-Wan offered Anakin a reassuring smile. “We did it, Anakin. You’re free.”

Anakin knew she wouldn’t be free until Shila was in her arms and they were off planet, but she didn’t argue.

Back in the garage, nobody paid any mind to the commandeered emergency transport, nor the three beings who scurried out. All eyes were on the vidscreens.

The flames were nearly extinguished. The emergency crew was pulling a badly burnt body from the wreckage. Hardly a soul dared breathe as the crew carried the body into the transport. The rest of the race had been nearly forgotten. The second lap wasn’t even complete. But without Anakin in contention, it was now anyone’s race. The Dug seemed determined to make it his.

The trio had almost cleared the garage when the confirmation came through. Anakin Skywalker was dead.

The uproar was immediate. The podracing legend couldn’t die! There had been far too much money bet on her for her to die in a pod crash.

Nobody paid attention to the three emergency workers making a hasty retreat. A half mile from the stadium, a small skyhopper waited in a tiny port. A literal piece of junk that would only serve to get them out to Mos Eisely, but it served its purpose. The Jedi shed their disguises and changed back to their robes while Anakin flew them out to the distant city. She didn’t need Obi-Wan to direct her to a landing space. She knew in her heart exactly where Shila was. She had always been able to know where Shila was.

She hardly kept her pace reserved to a brisk walk as she and the Jedi moved from the small port to the inn where Shila was being kept. As they approached, a young woman stepped out from the shade of the doorway, and a much smaller form pushed past her impatiently.

“Ani!” Shila sprinted for her sister as fast as her little legs would carry her.

Anakin’s heart skipped a beat as she stumbled forward, racing towards her sister. “Shila!” She closed the distance in a few steps, scooped her sister up and held her tightly.

A sob bubbled up in her chest, and escaped with a small gasp, another followed soon after, and another. Tears streamed down her cheeks as reality hit her. Shila was safe. They were free.

They were really free.

Anakin never thought she would live to see the day.

00000

Beru Whitesun watched the reunion with a wistful smile playing across her lips. Shila had done nothing but sing the praises of her sister Ani for the last few days. From what she had said, Ani had made an effort to make her sister’s like as a slave child as free as possible. Quite the feat for a Hutt’s slave. Whoever this Ani was, she was either a miracle worker, or extremely devoted. Beru had to admire the young woman for what she could only imagine the slave had to go through to keep her sister safe.

Beru had honestly harbored doubts about the Jedi’s ability to follow through with their plan. Jailbreaking a slave from the Hutt’s control was unheard of, and believed to be impossible. She knew they’d come back for Shila, she didn’t think they’d actually have her sister with them.

Needless to say, she was quite joyed to see the sisters reunited; even if one of the sisters was a walking corpse – according to the latest reports.

“I’m glad to see things went according to plan,” she said to the Jedi as they joined caught up to the sisters. She noted, curiously, that they were clean-faced and sported much shorter haircuts. Must have been an interesting plan of theirs.

“As good as we could have hoped,” the Kiffar said with a small smile. “Was Shila any trouble?”

Beru smiled weakly. “I’ve never watched an easier child.” Her smile fell as a roar of noise and laughter came from the inn behind her. “You should go quickly. Nobody else should see that Anakin Skywalker is still alive.”

Vos frowned slightly at her and dug a handful of money from a pouch at his belt. “For your discretion,” he said, holding out the money.

“That’s not necessary,” Beru said with another smile. “I actively avoid interaction with the Hutts.”

“Then consider it a bonus.”

Knowing the Jedi wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer, Beru held her hand out for the money. “You should probably leave before people start heading home.”

“Thank you again,” the Kiffar said, clasping Beru’s shoulder before turning away.

The other Jedi was already steering Anakin and her sister in the direction of the spaceport. The woman had stopped sobbing so desperately, but she still refused to let her sister go. The child hardly seemed upset at this. Beru couldn’t help but wonder if the last couple days had been the longest the sisters had gone without seeing each other.

00000

The Jedi’s ship was one of the most luxurious ones Anakin had ever laid eyes on. She stared wide-eyed as they walked up the ramp. “With a ship like this, you actually might have been able to buy me from Jabba.”

Obi-Wan smirked, feeling light and playful as they made a successful getaway. “This ship is just on loan from a friend. We will return it before we head for Coruscant.”

“And where is that?” Anakin asked, brimming with cautious curiosity.

“Naboo.”

“Never heard of it.”

Obi-Wan smiled gently. “It’s a Mid Rim planet, very beautiful, lush and green. I think you’ll really like it there.”

Anakin returned his smile hesitantly. “I’ve never been off planet,” she admitted quietly.

Obi-Wan thought about the harsh wasteland of Tatooine and realized that to Anakin and Shila, Naboo would probably be paradise. He couldn’t think of a better place to be their first new planet.

They gathered in the spacious co*ckpit of the luxury yacht and Vos took the pilot’s seat. Anakin watched in tense silence as the ship rose from the sands of Tatooine, and the planet of her enslavement, a planet full of her ghosts, fell away to the black freedom of space. They paused just outside of the atmosphere while the computer calculated the hyperspace jump. Shila stared in awe out the windows, stars in her eyes; a free child with the galaxy at her fingertips.

Anakin stared at the little yellow ball that had been her prison for her entire life. She held Shila a little tighter, and a vow passed her lips. “I will die before I ever set foot on that planet again.”

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Tatooine was far behind them. The luxury yacht sped through hyperspace, every second carrying Anakin farther and farther away from her prison. The young woman seemed frozen, holding her sister, staring out the viewport; not quite mesmerized by the whorls of hyperspace, but petrified by all of the opportunity before her.

Freedom. It had to be a lot to take in for a woman who had spent her entire life a slave.

Even Shila, at such a young age, seemed to grasp the magnitude of the shift her life had just taken. Ever since she had been reunited with her sister, the child’s every breath had been converted into a constant, excited babble that Obi-Wan’s translator had struggled to keep up with. Now she was sober and silent, clinging tightly to her sister.

Obi-Wan would have given the former slaves all the time they needed to adjust to their new freedom if not for the growing dark stain on Anakin’s back. Clearly, their rush job on her incision had reached its limit. “Anakin, let’s go get you patched up properly.” He gently laid a hand on her uninjured shoulder, but by the way she flinched away from him, it was as if he had slapped a hand right onto her wound. Obi-Wan drew his hand back quickly.

“Sorry,” she muttered, turning away from the viewport to face him, but not quite meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, but you’ve bled through your bandage. There is a first aid kit in the lounge.”

Vos looked over his shoulder from the pilot’s chair. “It’s a short jump to Naboo; we’ll be there in an hour.”

Still holding Shila tight, Anakin followed Obi-Wan from the co*ckpit. The lounge was plush and lavish; all soft velvets, smooth silks, and overstuffed cushions. Shila finally squirmed free of Anakin’s grip and took to exploring every corner of the room while Anakin stood frozen in the middle, looking rather unnerved and slightly nauseous.

“Why don’t you sit down, Anakin,” Obi-Wan gestured to several chairs, “I’ll get the kit.”

He searched through a few cabinets, hidden almost seamlessly in the wall near the small wet bar. He gathered the necessary supplies and turned to find Anakin had perched on an ottoman. She had already removed her shirts, holding the stolen paramedic’s jacket to her front to cover herself. Her back was turned to him while she kept a close eye on Shila, and Obi-Wan could see the streaks of blood that had trickled down her back through the blood soaked bandage.

He filled a bowl with warm water and grabbed a couple cloths before walking over to Anakin. She eyed him silently, warily, looking paler than just a minute before. He set the supplies down on an end table and said, “Why don’t you lie down on the couch, Anakin. It’ll be easier to clean your wound.

“Okay,” she said softly.

Obi-Wan dutifully averted his eyes to arrange what he needed from the first aid kit while Anakin moved to the couch and lay on her stomach. He could feel fear coiling through her, paralyzing her mind and stuttering her heart. And beneath the fear was pain; emotional and psychological, but also quite a lot of physical pain. Obi-Wan dug a pain killer out of the kit.

“I’m going to clean the blood first,” he explained, wetting a cloth. Anakin nodded silently and he began sponging the blood off. The room was silent while he worked, save for Shila’s bright proclamations when she discovered something new in the room. Only once did Anakin call out a warning to her sister to not break anything, and Shila obeyed.

Obi-Wan was unconcerned. He was certain that this yacht was most often used when the governor traveled with his family – young grandchildren included. It was thoroughly childproofed.

He worked quickly, but gently, growing more and more aware of Anakin’s growing discomfort as the minutes passed. Obi-Wan narrated quietly what he was doing, waiting for Anakin’s approval before moving onto the next step of tending her wound. He couldn’t begrudge her distrust and discomfort. Lying nearly naked next to a man, basically a stranger, and entirely at the mercy of his whims would make anyone tense.

Anakin had trusted him easily on Tatooine because he was a means to escape for her and Shila. Now as freedpeople, trust would have to be built the old fashioned way. Obi-Wan had a feeling that without having Anakin delve into his mind again to feel out his true intentions it would take a very long time to build up a strong trust. He wasn’t going to do anything to give her reason to not trust him.

The cloth was stained red and the bowl of water was a vivid bloody color before Anakin’s wound had been cleaned enough for further treatment. She was still bleeding rather profusely for such a small wound – it was going to require stitches as well as bacta. Obi-Wan had suspected as much was going to be necessary just by the rate she had bled through her first bandage. The incision was irrigated with an antimicrobial wash before he picked up a small hypo.

“I’m afraid you’re going to need a few stitches to help hold the wound closed. I’m going to apply something to numb the area, alright?”

“Okay,” Anakin said into her folded arms. She barely twitched as the hypo made several small injections around the area.

Obi-Wan waited a moment for the medication to take effect before he picked up the needle and surgical thread. He was silent while he worked, needing to reach back to his padawan training to recall how to properly perform the suture. It was a skill that he had – thankfully – not needed to use yet in his knighthood, but Master Che’s teachings came back quickly. Three careful stitches later, Obi-Wan set the needle aside and reached for the bacta.

Anakin perked and turned to look behind her when he popped the cap and the distinct scent of the medical gel wafted out. “You’re using bacta?” Her voice was a mix of surprise, fascination, and concern.

“Of course.” Obi-Wan said distractedly as he scooped some of the gel onto a sterile swab. “It is the most efficient way to heal your wound.”

“But isn’t that a bit of a wa—“ Anakin cut herself off and laid her head down on her folded arms.

A waste, is what she was going to say, and Obi-Wan knew that. There was going to be an adjustment period for Anakin to get used to life as a free woman and as a citizen of the Republic. “Bacta is not as scarce in the Republic as in the Outer Rim,” he explained gently, and then after a pause, added in a reassuring tone, “And it’s not a waste to use it on someone who needs it.” He applied a liberal layer of the gel to Anakin’s wound and then placed a thick bandage over top. Reaching for the cloth one last time, he wiped away the last of the blood. “There, you’ll be good as new in a few days.”

Anakin moved to sit up, and Obi-Wan looked away to clean up the supplies. He spied a few stray drops of blood on the floor and couch, but nothing the cleaning droids wouldn’t be able to take care of. Once they left the lounge, he’d activate them, and the blood would be gone in a matter of seconds.

“What about Shila?” Anakin asked, pulling her undershirt over her head. “What about her tracker?”

Obi-Wan looked to the corner where the child had found a small stash of toys. “She’s in no immediate danger. We should wait until we’re on Coruscant and in a proper medical ward before trying to remove hers.”

“But it’ll come out?”

Obi-Wan hid his frown by turning to replace the first aid kit in its cabinet. Did Anakin really think they would allow a child to live the rest of her life with a literal bomb inside her? “I give you my word.” He turned back to see Anakin staring down at the bloodied jacket in her lap, chewing on her lower lip, her brows knit tightly together. She was weighing the value of Obi-Wan’s word.

At this point in time, she had no other option but to trust his word, and she was resigned to that fact. Obi-Wan mentally noted to be careful with what he said to Anakin. He didn’t want to give her any false hope only to have it crushed upon reaching Coruscant.

Obi-Wan looked the two former slaves over. Shila was in her new set of clothes, but Anakin’s were torn, dirty, and bloody. Perhaps she would feel more comfortable in something clean and whole. This was a governor’s family yacht, there had to be a set of clothes left in a wardrobe that would fit Anakin. He suggested as such, and the young woman did brighten a touch at the prospect of clean clothes. Shila followed them as they explored the ship, clearly unwilling to leave her sister’s side for too long.

They poked through a few rooms and their closets. The first room was full of children’s clothing; too large for Shila, too small for Anakin. The second room only had men’s clothing; a little too large for Anakin, but it would suit her in a pinch. They struck gold in the third room; the governor’s state room. One wardrobe was filled with men’s clothing – several sizes too large for Anakin. The other was filled with women’s clothing, and close in size to Anakin – clearly the governor’s wife’s travel wardrobe. Anakin seemed rather overwhelmed by the sheer amount of clothes crammed into the small wardrobe. Obi-Wan was unsurprised – politicians made as many statements with their clothing as they did with their words.

While most of the clothes were rather lavish, he did find a few simpler items and pull them out for Anakin, bypassing the traditional Nubian items and anything that looked like it had too extreme of a neckline – he didn’t want to make Anakin feel uncomfortable. Then he took his leave, telling Anakin to find him in the co*ckpit when she was ready.

“You know,” Vos mused aloud as soon as Obi-Wan stepped into the co*ckpit. “I think she’s getting more anxious the farther we get from Tatooine.”

“Can you blame her?” Obi-Wan asked, dropping into the co-pilot’s seat. “She’s stepping into entirely new territory.”

“No, not really, but we are going to have to teach her some shielding before we get her to the Temple. She’s projecting enough anxiety to set me on edge. No wonder the Council was able to sense her from Coruscant. Anybody with a hint of sensitivity is going to sense her coming from a parsec away.”

“Quinlan, what do you think the Council will do with her?”

The Kiffar sighed while he thought. “I’m not entirely sure. They’ll want to meet her and Shila, I’m sure of that.”

“But what happens after? Anakin is far too old to induct into the Order, and I’m not sure she would give up Shila either.”

“I don’t think the Council will let her go too far, even if she never becomes a Jedi Knight. At the very least, I hope they will teach her how to control her powers and protect herself from the growing dark influences in the galaxy. But Anakin is free now; she can do as she pleases."

Obi-Wan nodded, knowing that much of what played out in Anakin’s future was out of his hands. "I suppose we will have to trust in the wisdom of the Council.”

The navicomputer pinged informing them that they would be reaching their destination in a few short minutes. Vos turned back to the pilot’s controls, preparing for their descent onto Naboo.

“So, Obi-Wan, you’re more familiar with the Mid Rim than I am. I imagine we’re done slumming around with bounty hunters and their ilk. Which highfalutin politicians will we be rubbing elbows with tonight?”

Obi-Wan finished running Vos through Naboo’s political key players just as the ship dropped out of hyperspace. Vos took over communicating with the Capital to get landing clearance. The Jedi was unsurprised to sense Anakin approaching the co*ckpit at a rather rapid pace once they entered realspace again.

Anakin burst through the door and gasped, “What wrong?”

Obi-Wan siphoned away her smothering anxiety and said as calmly as possible. “Nothing, Anakin. We’ve just reached Naboo.”

Her eyes went up to the viewport and to the blue and green planet dominating the view. She gasped again, a hand flying over her mouth. “That’s all water?” she breathed. “I’d heard of planets that were mostly water, but I…” she trailed off, unable to put her doubts into words.

Shila gasped in delight and wonder, pushing past her sister and climbing up into Obi-Wan’s lap to get as close to the viewport as possible.

“What’s that green?” she demanded, pointing to one of the larger continents.

“Those are plants. Trees and flowers.” Vos explained kindly.

“All of it’s plants?” Shila asked. Vos nodded, then she thought for a moment and said. “What’s a tree?”

The Jedi was stymied. A tree was something he had always known from his earliest memories in the Temple. How did he explain what one was to a child who had never seen one? Then, smiling at the image of seeing Shila discover what exactly a tree was for herself, he said, “That is something you will see very soon, little one.”

Shila beamed at the Jedi and then back at her sister, excitedly proclaiming that she was going to see a tree, and nearly elbowing Obi-Wan in the face. Anakin scooped her sister up, saving Obi-Wan from any further injuries, and tried to answer the rapid fire questions falling from her sister’s mouth.

Yes, she had seen a tree before. No, it had only been a picture. How was she supposed to know what it smelled like? No, you didn’t eat trees.

Finally Shila fell quiet again, watching with wide eyes as Naboo grew larger and larger in their viewport. She had been set loose again, with very strict instructions to not climb on anyone or anything again.

Anakin finally had a moment to ask some very important questions. “What happens now?” she asked Obi-Wan as she smoothed out her skirt. She had chosen a very simple shift-style dress, with a modest neckline, long sleeves, and a full length skirt, in navy blue with black lace accents at the cuffs and hem line. It was a simplest of choices that Obi-Wan had pulled out for her. She just hoped whoever owned the dress would not mind a former slave wearing it.

“We will land in the capital of Naboo, Theed City, and return our ship to its owner.”

“And after that?”

“We’ll find transport back to Coruscant and take you to meet the Jedi Council.”

“And after that?”

Obi-Wan paused before admitting, “I’m afraid I cannot say. I do not know what the Council may want from you, nor what opportunities you may find upon reaching Coruscant. From there, you have the whole galaxy open to you to explore.”

“Not the whole galaxy,” Anakin muttered. “If M- … If Jabba knows that I’m still alive he will take me back.”

Fear lanced out from Anakin again. As much as it may appear to her, the Hutts did not own the entirety of the galaxy. Anakin would be safe from the Hutts now that she was in the Republic. “We won’t let that happen,” Obi-Wan promised.

The remainder of the landing passed without incident. Anakin and Shila watched intently as they flew into Theed and approached the palace hangars. As Vos powered down the ship, they could see a small group approaching.

“Ah, excellent, the Governor has sent an escort,” Obi-Wan observed. He turned to Anakin and Shila and flashed them a warm smile. “Are you ready?”

Anakin was practically trembling, but she nodded confidently and held Shila’s hand. The child held no reservations about her first steps onto a new planet as a free person, and she was simply excited to explore this new world. They followed the Jedi to the boarding ramp and waited for it to lower.

With a hiss of pressure and hydraulics, the ramp descended slowly.

Anakin caught her first breath of Naboo air. It was humid, and warmer than the ship, but colder than Tatooine. She shivered, thought she was unsure whether it was from anticipation or from the change in atmosphere.

As the ramp touched the ground, she had a brief moment of fear, and briefly wished that she didn’t have to face all of these new people. Sure, the Jedi didn’t seem to mind that she was an ex-slave, but would the people of Naboo harbor the same feelings? Would they be able to tell, just by looking at her what she was?

Anakin shook away the thoughts when Shila clung to her leg in a sudden fit of nerves. She smiled down at her sister, placed her hand on top of her head, and whispered. “Come, Shila. No fear. We are free now.”

Hand in hand, the sisters walked down the ramp.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Anakin held Shila’s hand a little tighter as they followed the Jedi and their escort through the polished marble halls of the palace. She was rather unnerved by the highly polished stone and tried to keep her eyes off her reflection beneath her feet. She shuddered to think of the poor slaves who were required to polish the stone to such a high shine. Shila was too young to have such qualms, and she was thoroughly engrossed in everything that caught her eye.

The child was in absolute awe of the magic and splendor of the palace. Anakin couldn’t help but feel a little resentful of the opulence.

Finally, they entered a large, airy chamber that was clearly meant for receiving guests. The tall, opened windows let in a comfortable breeze that fluttered the gauzy curtains in lazy waves. Anakin could hear birdsong, and a wet, dribbling noise she couldn’t identify. Plush chairs were scattered around in a couple separated seating areas, and along one wall were several tables with platters of fruit and pastries. Anakin caught a flash of fabric vacating the room just as they entered. It seemed that these palace slaves were trained to be unseen.

Several large hallways branched out from the room, each seemingly identical to the one they entered from. A portly, elderly man with bone white hair and a pointed beard to match was waiting by one of the halls. He approached their group as they entered with a smile and cheery voice.

“Masters Kenobi and Vos, I am glad to see you are returned to us in good health. I trust my ship served you well.”

“It was excellent, Governor Bibble. And there’s not a scratch on her, but you may be sweeping sand out of the crevices for a while,” Obi-Wan replied genially.

The governor chuckled politely at the joke for a moment before clearing his throat and saying briskly, “I do apologize for cutting the pleasantries short, but Queen Jamilla is already waiting for you. Shall we?”

“Yes, thank you, Governor,” Obi-Wan replied with a gracious nod. He then turned to Anakin and Shila. “Wait here, please, we shouldn’t be long.”

Anakin nodded, pressing her lips together tightly. Their escort, the Jedi, and the new man all turned and hurried down a corridor, and within moments they were out of sight. Anakin released Shila’s hand with a stern command to be on her best behavior.

“Yes, Ani!” Shila said before she darted off to explore every nook and cranny of the room.

Anakin suppressed a sigh and followed after her to ensure she didn’t get herself hurt or break anything. After several minutes of investigating the chairs and sofas and proclaiming how incredibly soft they were, Shila found her attention drawn to a door on the far side of the room.

“I wanna see what’s out there!” she cried before rushing towards the door.

“Only look, Shila!” Anakin called after her, jogging to keep up.

They reached the doorway at the same time, and even Anakin couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. The doorway led into a small courtyard garden, filled with plants; trees and shrubs and flowers in more colors than Anakin even knew existed. Birds and insects flitted happily between tree branches and flowers. Decorative benches and lanterns lined a small, meandering, gravel path through the garden. And right in the center of it all was a large fountain that appeared to be made of the same polished stone as the palace. Figures had been carved in the stone; humans and several species of native creatures – Anakin recognized the gualaar that had pulled her pod for so many years – and intricately delicate details were gilded onto the stone. But the most breathtaking was the water. Anakin had never seen that much water used so frivolously. It trickled and burbled and splashed into the large basin endlessly. There were no covers to keep it from evaporating, and no collectors to retain any evaporation at all.

“What is that, Ani?” Shila asked in a small voice, equally stunned by the display. Anakin had to think a moment to find an appropriate description. Tatooine’s brand of Huttese had no word for ‘fountain’. Shila walked right up to the edge of the fountain and leaned over as far as she could. “Is it for drinking?”

“No, it’s not.” Anakin could catch the chemical tang off the mist of the fountain. Whatever they had treated it with it rendered the water completely undrinkable. What kind of useless waste was that? She suddenly found herself frustrated and disgusted by the fountain, its undrinkable water, and even the harmless flower petals that danced in the eddies and ripples created by the falling streams.

“Let’s go back inside,” Anakin muttered, taking Shila’s hand. Her sister followed without protest. Anakin didn’t know how long the Jedi’s meeting would last, and she didn’t want to disappear for too long, or be difficult to find.

The parlor was no longer empty. Anakin had a brief flash of panic that she had kept the Jedi waiting on them, but it was quashed quickly. Sitting in one of the seating areas was a woman. Her brown hair was caught up in a headdress, and she looked down at a datapad in her hands. Clearly she was working; Anakin didn’t want to disrupt her.

Shila, however, didn’t have such reservations. “Ani, who’s that?”

Anakin winced slightly as the woman turned to see who had spoken. “Hush, Shila, let’s not bother her. Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” She looked back to the woman, flashing an apologetic smile, ready to assure her that they weren’t going to bother her, but then she froze.

The woman had to be one of the most beautiful people Anakin had ever seen. The gentle curve of the woman’s face, the soft smile on her lips, the sparkle in her warm brown eyes; they were… Anakin didn’t have much of a reference to compare the woman to.

She thought she had. Her years as a slave had given her the opportunity to serve what she had believed to be the extent of beauty in the galaxy among all races and genders. She knew what qualities made beauty and yet, she had never seen someone like this woman. She wasn’t other-worldly or ethereal, like the famed angels of Iego. She was an ordinary human woman, and somehow extraordinary in that way.

“Hello,” the woman called to them with a smile.

“Ah, hello,” Anakin said back, politely but shyly. Her eyes caught movement behind the woman, and she saw the three other figures in the room. A pair of other women, dressed simply to avoid drawing attention, standing by a doorway with a uniformed man with dark skin and an eye patch. They appeared to be in conversation, but they kept a close eye on Anakin and the other woman. Servants, bodyguards, slaves. Anakin’s excited heart slammed to a cold stop. This beautiful woman was just like any other rich person in the galaxy; guilty of the ugliest sin. She kept her tone polite and coolly detached. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me at all. Please, come sit.” The woman gestured to the seats beside her. Anakin couldn’t refuse. Surely this woman could see she was a former slave – a master always could tell. What would the repercussions be if she refused without the Jedi to prove her freedom?

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Padmé said once they approached. She had studied Anakin shrewdly the entire time. “Are you visitors?”

“Ah, yes, from offworld.” Anakin winced mentally as soon as the words passed her lips. She didn’t know how anything worked in the Republic, much less Naboo; a place she had only known by name. Were out-worlders supposed to be escorted or supervised? She knew things in the Republic were supposed to be much more regulated than any Outer Rim planet.

“I’m Padmé Amidala, Senator of Naboo,” The woman said, extending her hand to shake.

Anakin looked at her offered hand shocked for a half second before taking it. That was a first. Maybe Padmé couldn’t tell Anakin was a slave. She didn’t think a change of clothes and a quick wash in the ‘fresher sink had done anything drastic, but maybe it had. “I’m Anakin Skywalker and my sister Shila.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, and you Miss Shila.” Padmé actually crouched down to take her sister’s hand in her own. Shila was too awestruck to speak, and her arm flopped like a wet noodle in Padmé’s grip.

They settled into the chairs, with Shila next to Anakin on a small couch. Padmé moved with a grace and poise Anakin had rarely seen on Tatooine. Most of the Hutt’s clients were other Outer Rimmers, gang lords, spacers, bounty hunters, and criminals, but every season or so someone from the Middle or Inner Rim would grace the pleasure dens with their presence. They had deep pockets and money to burn; only the best slaves served them. The rich and sophisticated from the inside zones of the galaxy always moved differently than an out-worlder.

“So, Anakin, what brings you to Naboo?”

“Shila and I are traveling to Coruscant with some Jedi. We stopped to return a ship the Jedi borrowed.”

“Oh, Master Kenobi is back from Tatooine?”

Anakin nodded. Was this Senator supposed to know much about Jedi business? The Jedi were little more than myths out on Tatooine; she assumed they were rather secretive with their intentions.

“Excellent!” Padmé didn’t even move, but Anakin could see the group of three behind her moving silently, signing something to each other. “I hope his mission went well.” Something sparked in Padmé’s eyes, and she continued before Anakin could do even muster a shrug. “Are you from Tatooine?”

“Yes.” Anakin opted to keep her answers short and not give away more than necessary.

“It’s a desert planet, is it not?” Padmé asked. “I’ve never been myself.”

“Yes, it’s very different from Naboo.”

Padmé smiled gently, politely. It was a practiced, measured thing. “I imagine it would be. Have you traveled much?”

Anakin shook her head. “No, this is our first time off planet.”

“Then allow me to be the first to officially welcome you to Naboo.” Padmé’s smile widened into something more genuine. “What is your business with the Jedi?”

“They are taking me and Shila to Coruscant to meet with their Council. Beyond that, I do not know what their intentions are.”

“Really?” Padmé co*cked her head ever so slightly to the side and the shrewd, calculating look returned to her eyes. It wasn’t cold, but Anakin knew the look of appraisal all the same.

Anakin couldn’t help but avert her eyes. She smoothed the fabric of the borrowed dress over her knees and looked to her sister. Shila was well behaved, but Anakin knew her sister was about the jump out of her skin with excitement. Undoubtedly she had a thousand questions she was desperate to ask.

Questions that Anakin was certain Padmé didn’t have the time or patience to answer. The woman was a senator; she couldn’t be bothered to entertain the whims of toddlers and ex-slaves. In fact, Padmé probably had important work to return to, and she was only humoring Anakin to be polite. Anakin was just about to formulate a line about taking Shila back to the garden to burn off some of her energy when Padmé asked another question.

“Have you been on Naboo long? Have you had a chance to explore?”

“Ah, no, we only just landed a little while ago. We came directly from the landing platform to here.”

Padmé nodded; a look of understanding on her face. Behind her, the servants continued to sign to each other with subtle gestures. They were clearly gaining more from this conversation than Anakin was. She felt her training beginning to kick in. Slaves who revealed too much information learned the hard way to keep any secrets to themselves.

Beside her, Shila squirmed impatiently. She cared little for any conversation she wasn’t involved in, much less one in a language she couldn’t understand. “Ani, I’m hungry.”

Anakin shushed her quietly. “In a moment, Shila. We must wait and be polite.”

“Is everything alright?” Padmé asked.

Anakin nodded. She doubted anyone here spoke Huttese. It would be easy to cover for Shila’s impatience. She knew from experience some people had no patience for children, and she didn’t want to press her luck. “Yes, she just had a question about the garden. It’s very beautiful.”

Padmé smiled with practiced, political warmth at the compliment. “Thank you. Will you be staying on Naboo long? There are some splendid botanical gardens in the city that are well worth a visit if you have a free afternoon.”

“I don’t know how long we’ll be here,” Anakin admitted. “We left Tatooine quickly, but I don’t know the Jedi’s intentions.”

“You must have had a long day of travel,” Padmé said, sympathy tinting her voice. “Would you care for some refreshments?”

Before Anakin had a chance to articulate her thanks for the offer but deny it, a handmaiden was at her side with a silver tray. Shila gasped quietly in delight at the beautiful pastries and juicy fruit being presented to her. Anakin swallowed her instinctive revulsion at being served by another slave. She had to keep up appearances until the Jedi returned. She picked a small china plate and placed some fruit and a pastry on it for Shila. The child immediately went for the pastry.

“Can I get you anything else, milady?”

It took Anakin a second to realize that the handmaiden was speaking to her. “No, I’m fine, thank you.” The servant bobbed a short bow and retreated. Anakin watched her shrewdly for a moment. Did she understand Huttese? Or had she simply followed the expected steps to make the Senator appear a gracious hostess. The latter was more likely.

Padmé asked a few more polite, but probing questions, and Anakin answered neutrally in turn. Making sure Shila didn’t spill her plate of fruit was a reasonable enough reason to keep her eyes averted and her answers neutral. Padmé appeared nice, but she was also a slave owner. Even though Anakin and Shila were no longer slaves, that didn’t put them on the same level as the Senator.

With her hunger satiated and Padmé appearing to be kind, Shila’s tongue loosened and her shyness begin to disappear. When a question struck her, she would ask Anakin, and her sister translated the question and Padmé’s answers. They were very simple, childish questions. What was the fountain? How did they grow so many plants? Where was the sand? And others of the sort.

Padmé, to her great credit showed no impatience. She even seemed to enjoy the childish questions to a certain degree. A fond smile pulled at her lips when she had to think up an answer.

Anakin began to wonder if the Senator had children of her own. Surely with her beauty, she had married early and wealthily.

Despite her earlier reservations, Anakin began to feel herself warm to the Senator. Shila very nearly trusted the woman with her life, and it was difficult to not feel and absorb some of the trust from her sister. As they conversed, her words became less stilted.

“Ani.” Shila tugged on her sleeve and pulled her sister closer. She whispered in Anakin’s ear and then looked away bashfully, focusing more on her plate of fruit than the woman across from them.

“What did she say?” Padmé asked with a kind smile still on her lips.

Anakin felt a little embarrassed and flustered, but she dutifully translated. “She said that you are very beautiful, and she wanted to know if you were an angel.”

Padmé’s smile widened. “No, I’m just human, but thank you for the compliment, Shila.”

Anakin translated, and the little girl beamed at Padmé. Then she tugged on Anakin’s sleeve again and muttered something else. Anakin flushed red and quietly admonished her sister.

“What is it this time?” Padmé asked, her grin now a curious smirk.

Anakin coughed nervously. “Oh, you know how children are… it’s just something silly.”

“I have a niece just about her age. She has no filter whatsoever.” Padmé agreed with a laugh. It was soft and musical, and Anakin wished it lasted more than a few chuckles. “So what did she way?”

Anakin felt her cheeks flushed even brighter, but she dutifully translated. “She thinks that I should marry you.”

“What?” Padmé laughed again.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin hurried to explain. “It’s something she says about everyone I know.”

Sometime in the last few months, Shila had discovered the concept of marriage and had believed that any person that was in her sister’s life should marry Anakin or had already married her. She had made countless explanations to her fellow slaves – fortunately, they all mostly understood the idealism of childhood.

Marriages amongst slaves weren’t unheard of, but they were hardly binding. They were symbolic at best. And at worst just another heart breaking dream for better lives. Either way, the concept had never appealed to Anakin. She didn’t see the point of torturing herself with something she knew was impossible.

“No, it’s alright.” Padmé assured her with an easy wave of her hand. “It’s not the first time someone had thought I should marry them. I just couldn’t help but laugh because my niece said just about the same thing yesterday about my tailor.” Padmé regained her easy smile. “Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for. Perhaps your sister thinks you are lonely. Are you?”

Anakin opened her mouth to retort with “Companionship and marriage is for freedpeople.” But then she remembered that she wasn’t on Tatooine, and Padmé didn’t know she was a slave. She was enjoying this conversation and she didn’t want to ruin it. Surely, as soon as Padmé learned of Anakin’s true status, she’d send her away, or put her to work, or get mad for being deceived. “I’ve been a little too busy recently for that,” she offered noncommittally.

“But you didn’t answer the question.”

“What question?”

“Are you lonely?”

Anakin paused and reconsidered. She’d had friends on Tatooine, people she could easy chat with or share a meal, but they never really fulfilled her need for companionship. And of course she had Shila, but there were other things she wanted from the people in her life. Things she might be able to experience now she was free. “Yeah, I guess I am,” she admitted quietly.

The shade of a melancholy, sympathetic look passed behind Padmé’s eyes for a brief moment. Anakin wondered if the Senator was lonely as well. She may be on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, but at her station true companionship was probably as difficult to find as it was for a slave. Wealth and power drew many enemies – Anakin had seen such her entire life – and some enemies weren’t forthright with their intentions. She had lost count of the number of times she had witnessed someone being fed a poisoned drink by their friend. On several occasions, her own Master had used Anakin to deliver the poison to a client who had fallen out of favor.

Voices down the passage that the Jedi had disappeared to broke whatever remained of the conversation. The sadness in the Senator’s eyes was gone in an instant and she was on her feet, smoothing any wrinkles from her skirts. The Jedi had returned.

Padmé was crossing the room before Anakin had a chance to set the empty plate down and pick Shila up. “Master Kenobi, it’s wonderful to see you again.”

Obi-Wan bowed to her. “Senator Amidala, it’s a pleasure as always to see you. I hope you are well. Have you met Master Vos before?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Padmé said, turning to greet the Kiffar.

By this point, Anakin and Shila had joined them. Obi-Wan gestured to them. “And you’ve met Anakin and Shila Skywalker.”

“Yes, we were having some lovely conversation.” Padmé smiled at them once again. “I hear you are returning to Coruscant soon?”

“Yes, the plan is to book passage on a passenger liner.”

“Well, before you book anything, I suggest you speak with Captain Typho.” Padmé gestured subtly and her bodyguard approached. “I also have business to return to Coruscant for and I believe we may be able to find a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Of course, Senator, we’d be happy find an agreeable arrangement.” Padmé turned slightly to face the page who had just come from the same corridor as the Jedi. The Queen was ready for her. She turned back to the Jedi and asked quickly. “Have you arranged lodgings for the night yet?”

“Not yet, that was going to be our next task.”

Padmé smiled, her eyes roving over the two Jedi and then Anakin. “Stay at my place. There’s more than enough room.”

“That sounds nice. Thank you, Senator.”

By the pace and tone of the conversation, Anakin had a feeling that this was one that had been done several times over, and was only happening for propriety’s sake. The Senator and Obi-Wan clearly had a history together; a long friendship judging from the fond looks in their eyes.

“Excellent. I’m afraid I must go meet with the Queen, but I will see you all later.” With a final smile, Padmé turned on her heel and strode off after the waiting page, her two handmaidens falling into step behind her.

Obi-Wan waited until she disappeared before turning to Typho. His voice was still light, but his face was suddenly serious. “So Captain, tell me what threatens the Senator now.”

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Anakin missed most of the conversation the Jedi had with Captain Typho. Shila tugged on her hand insistently; she had to go to the ‘fresher and it couldn’t wait. When they returned a couple minutes later, the Jedi hardly looked as if they noticed their disappearance. They did appear to have laid out some plans with the Senator’s bodyguard.

“Of course, we’ll have to confer with the Council first, but I don’t see any reason they would object to this turn of events,” Obi-Wan said with a solemn nod.

Typho, for his part, looked rather relieved at whatever agreement they had come to in the couple minutes Anakin had been gone. “Excellent. I believe the Senator will be agreeable to this arrangement as well. There are just a few more details to iron out before we set anything in stone.”

“Of course. You’ll know where to find us, Captain.” Obi-Wan clapped Typho on the shoulder. “Now, we will get out of your hair for the time being. It has been a long day and I don’t think any of us would be opposed to some rest and refreshment.”

“I look forward to hearing tale of your exploits later,” Typho said, with a slight smile pulling at his lips. “Erité has summoned a transport and Cordé has been alerted to your arrival.”

“Until later, then.”

Typho bobbed into a short bow before turning to march down the same corridor the Senator had disappeared to earlier.

Obi-Wan finally turned to her and Shila and smiling warmly, said, “Shall we?” He gestured in the opposite direction than Typho had gone and began leading Anakin down another corridor with a gentle touch on her back.

Anakin tried not to flinch away from the touch as she stepped off at a pace to follow Vos. Whether Kenobi remembered himself, or just didn’t see the need to lead her further, his hand moved away from her back and fell to his side.

“There has been a slight change in plans, Anakin,” the Jedi began explaining as they walked through the opulent palace. “We will be staying with Senator Amidala for the next day or two and then we will be accompanying her to Coruscant. We should arrive right on schedule as if we had taken a public transport, if not a little earlier.”

“Okay.” Anakin didn’t particularly care how they got to Coruscant – private or public transport made no difference to her limited experiences. She was more curious about what brought about this change of plans. Kenobi had mentioned a threat to the Senator, but she hadn’t been able to hear anything else on the topic. At the same time, it wasn’t her place to ask questions. If the Jedi thought it was necessary for her to know, they would tell her.

Vos and Kenobi began talking quietly as they walked; Jedi business that Anakin couldn’t quite muster the energy to care about. The last few long days were beginning to catch up with her and she began to ache all over from her efforts to escape. Shila was already nodding off on Anakin’s shoulder as they walked.

The group stepped out to a wide open veranda that was bathed in warm sunlight. Anakin paused slightly as she stepped outside, a small gasp in her throat. From the veranda she could see the whole city spread out before her and Anakin didn’t think she had seen anything more beautiful. There were more buildings than she had ever seen before in one place, all designed to please the eye. Tatooine’s structures were built to withstand sandstorms and provide shelter from the suns – even Jabba’s palace was utilitarian and practical from the outside. Naboo’s city was a delight of granite and marble and bronze and stained glass. The breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers and growing things and fresh water.

Anakin had heard of the beauty of other planets from spacers and clients, and she had spent plenty of time trying to imagine what they would be like. Naboo was better than she had ever been able to dream. Surely Coruscant would be even better if it was the capital of the Republic.

One of the handmaidens from earlier was waiting by a speeder with the driver. Obi-Wan greeted her with a smile. “Erité, always a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, Knight Kenobi. My Lady would like me to pass on a message: her family will be joining her for dinner tonight. I’m afraid it slipped her mind earlier,” Erité finished with a slight smile.

Anakin was mildly shocked that a slave would speak that way about her mistress to the Jedi, but Obi-Wan hardly seemed to notice or care. “Wonderful, it’s been far too long since I’ve had the opportunity to see Jobal and Ruwee. We look forward to their visit.”

Erité bowed and passed them off to the chauffeur, who bowed them onto the speeder. Anakin suppressed another shudder at the constant bowing as she stepped into the speeder. It was a spacious, plush thing, with more than enough room for the four of them.

“Ah, finally a chance to sit down and rest,” Vos declared, throwing himself into a seat. He settled into it and crossed his arms over his chest and fell asleep almost immediately.

Anakin took some care taking her seat, as Shila was now passed out on her shoulder. Obi-Wan settled into a seat near her and the speeder took off smoothly, almost silently.

“I think the first order of business will be getting some sleep,” Obi-Wan joked lightly, nodding to Vos and Shila.

“It has been a very long couple of days,” Anakin admitted. She had gone longer without sleep before, but she wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a chance to catch an hour or two of rest. She wanted to look at the city as they flew through it and take in every detail. The homes and shops, the canals and boulevards, the people; there was so much to see. Obi-Wan tried pointing out a few landmarks as they passed, but Anakin had difficulty paying attention. The longer she sat still, the heavier her eyelids felt. Eventually, they both fell silent and Anakin did all she could to stay awake.

Eventually they moved out of the heart of the city, and into a quiet suburb filled with sprawling river-side estates with lush, green grounds. They turned into a shady drive and passed through a dense and fragrant copse of trees. When they emerged on the other side Anakin sat up straight, her fatigue forgotten. Surely they weren’t staying there!

The mansion was massive, and just as opulent as the royal palace. The Senator couldn’t possibly live in such a place alone – or even with a spouse and a dozen children! Anakin counted two separate gardens and what appeared to be a hedge maze on their drive to the entrance. A curve in the road showed her a glimpse at the back of the estate and Anakin could see what looked like a private dock and a sandy beach area at the river’s edge.

Resentment settled into Anakin’s stomach, hard and cold. How the hell was she supposed to rest or sleep in a place like this as a guest?! She shuddered to think of the slaves that had to staff it.

It was too much! Too similar to the Hutt’s palace she had just escaped from.

Obi-Wan glanced at her, and misinterpreted the pale tension in her face. “Not to worry, Anakin, once we get settled in, you’ll have plenty of time to get all the sleep you need.”

Anakin didn’t correct him. She thought she was going to be sick.

A woman was waiting for them at the entrance to the ridiculous mansion, and from a distance Anakin thought she was Padmé. Did the Senator rush home from her important meeting just to trick them? As they got closer Anakin realized that the woman wasn’t Padmé, she just bore a striking resemblance to the Senator.

As they climbed out of the speeder, exhaustion hit Anakin even harder. Shila hadn’t woken once during their trip and she was still solidly asleep as the woman greeted the Jedi and led them into the mansion. Anakin hardly paid attention as introductions were made, but she took note of the woman’s name; Cordé. They were led up some stairs and through a long hallway. Many of the rooms were open, letting the fresh breeze waft through the house from the open windows. Anakin followed Cordé and the Jedi around a corner, and into another wing of the mansion. The living quarters, the handmaiden explained.

They stopped outside an open room and Cordé gestured for Anakin to enter. “These are your rooms, Miss Skywalker. There is a nursery of to the left for your sister, and a bathroom to the right.”

Anakin stepped into a room that was twice as large as the hovel she had lived in for the last six years of her life. Wide windows provided a beautiful view of the back gardens and the river, sparkling in the late-morning sunlight. They were open and curtains fluttered in the breeze as light birdsong drifted in. The hardwood floors were covered with plush rugs. Art decorated the walls, there was a seating area arranged around a fireplace. But the largest piece of furniture in the room was the ridiculously sized bed.

“Is the room suitable?” Cordé asked after giving Anakin a moment to look around.

“Yeah, sure.” Anakin breathed. She didn’t think she could get away with asking for a plainer room at the moment.

“If you require anything at all, there are several call buttons around the room.” Cordé pointed out a panel that had been artfully integrated into the décor by the doorway. “Please don’t hesitate to call.”

Anakin nodded mutely, trying not to be overwhelmed and trying to keep her resentment at bay.

From the hallway, Obi-Wan said kindly, “Rest, Anakin. Get some sleep. We’ll be sure to wake you before dinner.”

“Okay.” Anakin nodded again.

Cordé flashed a genial smile. “We’ll leave you to rest, Miss Skywalker.” And she pulled the door closed behind her.

Anakin listened closely for the sound of a lock sliding into place as she gently laid Shila onto the large bed, but she didn’t hear one. Still slightly suspicious, Anakin crept to the door and gently tried the handle. It turned smoothly and she was able to pull the door open. Anakin stuck her head out and saw Cordé and the Jedi walking away, further into the wing at an unconcerned pace. Nobody looked back at her.

Satisfied, and too exhausted to worry about much of anything else, Anakin walked back to the bed. She gently eased Shila’s shoes off her feet and tucked her sister into bed, sliding her closer to the middle. The toddler could move a lot in her sleep, and she had only slept on floor pallets before.

Every inch of Anakin’s body hurt as she walked around to the other side of the bed. She sat down, pulled her shoes off, and flopped over on the bed. She was too tired to be any angrier about the opulence of this place. Too tired to be resentful of the fresh smelling sheets, and the too-soft mattress. She would talk to the Jedi about this after she got an hour or two of sleep.

Anakin’s eyes slid shut. She barely registered a particularly confidant trill of birdsong right outside her window and then she was dead to the world.

The next thing Anakin knew, she was being shaken awake by a gentle hand. “Miss Skywalker, it’s time to wake up.”

Anakin slowly registered the fresh, clean linens, the too-soft bed, and the cool, sweet breeze. It was wrong and different and she snapped awake in a panic. It took her a second to remember where she was. Naboo, she and Shila were free. It hadn’t all been some crazy, intense dream.

Cordé was hovering near the bed. “My apologies, Miss Skywalker.”

Anakin looked beside her and found the bed empty. “Where’s Shila?”

“Playing in the nursery,” Cordé said with a smile. “She’s quite alright.”

Anakin scrambled out of bed and over to the open nursery door. Shila was inside with another maid, seated on her lap while they paged through a holostory. The maid read aloud in Basic; Shila couldn’t understand the words. But the colorful, shimmering artwork so entranced the toddler that she barely looked up to beam at Anakin before turning back to the pictures.

“Miss Skywalker, I’ve taken the liberty of drawing a bath so you can freshen up before dinner.” Cordé offered gently. “Dinner will be in an hour and the Senator would be honored if you would join her.”

“Okay.” Anakin let Cordé lead her away from the nursery door and to the bathroom. She didn’t think she needed help, but she also knew from experience that slaves could be punished if they didn’t offer to tend to any need.

Then Anakin caught herself as she stepped into the bathroom – maybe she would need assistance. She had been expecting a pitcher of water and a wash basin and some cloths to scrub herself. Instead, nearly dominating the center of the room was a tub large enough to seat two or three and deep enough that Anakin would be submerged up to her shoulders if she sat down. It was filled with water that was releasing little tendrils of steam. Anakin could smell light hints of perfume on the humid air.

Did the people of Naboo really use that much fresh water for bathing? How? Then she remembered the river and the canals in the city. Water must not be a precious resource on a planet like this. Oh, to live with such luxury.

“Whenever you are ready.” Cordé gestured to the bath before moving off to a cabinet to gather some supplies.

Anakin stripped off the borrowed dress and the rest of her clothes and stepped towards the bath. She hesitated, testing the water with her hand. It was the perfect temperature, but she still couldn’t bring herself to step in. It was a rare moment when she was allowed to bathe with water on Tatooine, usually prior to being showcased to a client with deep pockets. She couldn’t help but fear that something similar was about to happen tonight.

Cordé returned, her arms full of plush towels and several bottles. “Is the temperature alright?”

“I- y-yes.” Anakin shook herself and stepped into the bath. What control did she have if the Jedi were cleaning her up to make a better impression with the Senator? It felt strange to submerge her entire body in the warm water, but it also felt incredible. Already Anakin could feel some of her smaller aches easing away.

Cordé set her armload down on a side table. “Miss Skywalker, if it would be easier, I can leave you to privacy. I apologize if my presence has made you uncomfortable.”

Anakin breathed an uneasy laugh. “It’s not that. This is all just… a lot.” She gestured around the bathroom to encompass the entirety of the planet. “Things are much different on Tatooine.”

Cordé’s presence wasn’t what bothered her. Privacy was not for slaves. But if one slave couldn’t understand her discomfort, than who else could?

“I am not accustomed to being served by another slave,” Anakin admitted.

Cordé’s eyes widened in understanding, and a soft “Oh” passed her lips. There was a beat of silence and she said, not unkindly, “I’m not a slave, Miss Skywalker.”

“What?”

“I understand that things in the Outer Rim are vastly different than in the Republic, but slavery has been illegal here for over a thousand years.”

“But-“

“Yes, I serve m’lady, but I do so freely and of my own choice. I am paid quite well for my service, and if I were to choose to leave I would be allowed to do so freely.”

“B-but why?” Anakin couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to serve another if they had other choices.

“Because I enjoy the work. I like taking care of others, and Padmé has proven to deserve my continued loyalty for all the years we have known each other. My work here allows me to stay by her side.”

Anakin’s mind was reeling. More over the fact that slavery was actually illegal in the Republic than anything else Cordé had said. She had never imagined that such a thing could be made illegal, much less enforced, but it was in the entirety of the Republic. And now she was free in the Republic. She never had to fear being forced into servitude or worry about Shila’s future again!

All of a sudden, her doubts, her resentment and bitterness melted away. She breathed easier, knowing Naboo was just as beautiful inside as it was outside. A lightness and excitement settled in her heart, blasting away the last dregs of any remaining dark thoughts.

A small smile crossed Cordé’s lips as she watched Anakin relax into the bath. It was almost like watching the knot of anxiety untangle in front of her and seeing someone new come out. She tucked away her thoughts and observations, and mild annoyance at the Jedi for not deigning to inform them that Anakin had been a slave until recently.

Someone living through a lifetime of trauma like that required different treatment than someone who was accustomed to having their privacy and boundaries respected at all times. She would have to be sure to pass on the information to the Senator before someone made an egregious faux pas.

“Would you like some assistance washing your hair?” Cordé offered, bring the conversation back to the bath. Time before dinner was ticking away after all, and Anakin probably didn’t want to linger for too long on discussions of slavery.

“Sure,” Anakin said with a shrug before she surrendered herself to Cordé’s ministrations. She couldn’t recall the last time someone had been so gentle with her as fragrant shampoo was massaged into her hair. It had been a while since she had been able to properly wash her hair. Jabba had insisted that Anakin’s hair be well taken care of, it was another selling point, but on Tatooine that entailed numerous dry compounds to keep it clean, and plenty of oils for shine.

“You have such beautiful hair,” Cordé commented as she worked diligently and gently, washing and rinsing and washing again. The bath water became cloudy with soap and dirt, but she kept working.

Anakin thanked her and muttered something like an apology for nineteen years of accumulated sand. Cordé laughed lightly and assured her that there was nothing to worry about. After what felt like her fifth wash, the handmaiden combed something thick and creamy through Anakin’s hair and tucked every strand up into a cap to wait until the bath was complete.

Anakin relished every second of scrubbing the dirt of Tatooine from her body. Cordé had refreshed the bathwater for Anakin to wash the rest of her body and Anakin took great care at scrubbing herself down from head to toe.

Cordé had taken up washing her back, taking care around the still fresh wound on her shoulder blade. “It seems to be healing well,” she commented as she carefully peeled the bandage off. “No bleeding. The bacta has set in well. I’ll redress it when we are finished.”

The final step of the bath was washing out the thick and creamy conditioner from Anakin’s hair and it left behind a softness that Anakin had never felt before. She marveled at the silkiness and shine and the bounce of the loose curls her hair naturally fell to. Even after she had dried off and had been wrapped in a plush robe, while her hair still hung damp and heavy, it had more curl to it than it ever had on Tatooine.

“Your hair is quite similar to m’lady’s,” Cordé commented idly as she combed some other product through Anakin’s hair. “So thick and curly.” She was not blind to the way Anakin stared in awe at the state of her own hair. Undoubtedly, living in a climate like Tatooine had denizens favoring constrained hairstyles. “Would you like me to style it? I can leave it mostly down if you’d like.”

Anakin nodded. “Alright.”

Cordé went to work with a comb, and after a few minutes had swept some of Anakin’s hair up into a braided crown while the remainder tumbled loose and free down her back and to her waist. It was simple, but elegant.

Once she had dressed again in the borrowed navy blue dress, Cordé announced it was time to go for dinner. Anakin took Shila’s hand and the two of them followed the handmaiden through the mansion, and back to the main foyer they had entered through earlier that day.

Vos was waiting, casually looking at some paintings on the walls with his hands clasped behind his back. He also looked significantly brighter and more cheerful after an afternoon of rest. “Ah, the lovely Skywalkers, I trust your afternoon was restful.”

Anakin nodded, but Shila launched into an animated explanation of the holo story she had been shown. Vos listened patiently as he led them into the mansion. Cordé, at some point, had peeled off from their group and disappeared.

“Kenobi is already with the Senator and her family. I offered to wait for you two, single introductions make me uncomfortable,” Vos joked quietly with a wink as they approached an open set of double doors. Anakin could hear voices speaking softly inside. She braced herself, accustomed to being the center of attention, and followed Vos inside.

They stepped into a lounge, just as plush and decorated as the rest of the mansion. Obi-Wan was sitting with the Senator and four others; a couple who looked to be in their sixties, and a man and woman who appeared to be in their early thirties. Vos cleared his throat and they all turned to look at them.

“Ah, excellent,” Obi-Wan exclaimed, rising to meet them and bring them over to the group.

Anakin and Vos were introduced to Jobal and Ruwee, Padmé’s mother and father, and her older sister Sola and her husband. Vos was greeted with respect, and Anakin polite interest (there was no mention of her origins, simply that she was accompanying the Jedi to Coruscant). Jobal and Sola spent a fair amount of time fawning over Shila before Sola directed Anakin’s attention to her own daughters. They were outside in the garden skipping circles around a blue and white astromech chanting some kind of song.

Ryoo looked to only be a year or so older than Shila, and Pooja looked like she had only recently passed her first birthday.

“I’m sure they’d love to play with you, Shila,” Sola offered the child kindly. Her smile didn’t even falter when Shila met her with a blank look.

“She doesn’t know Basic,” Anakin explained quickly. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Sola smiled warmly. “To be honest, Pooja hasn’t quite taken to speaking yet. She still prefers to use signs.”

The two of them walked to the open door that led to the gardens. Sola called her children over and introduced Shila to them. Shila gripped Anakin’s hand tightly and held back a little shyly until her sister explained in Hutteese. Then, beaming and laughing, she took after the other two girls to go back to playing in the garden.

Anakin and Sola returned to the adults, but she kept an anxious eye on her sister while the others talked around her. Most of the discussion seemed to be about politics and other business that Anakin didn’t have the scope to interject on even if she wanted to. But that wasn’t anything new. Oftentimes as a slave, her Master would drag her around as a status symbol while he conducted his business. It was expected for her to just be quiet and look pretty and here it was easy to keep doing the same until someone directly asked her a question.

After a while, a servant announced that dinner was served. Anakin called Shila back to her and held her sister’s hand as they moved from the lounge to a dining room. A large table was set with eight places of shining china and polished silver and crystal glassware. There was a smaller table set for three off to the side, with child-sized chairs and settings.

Anakin relinquished Shila to the care of the same maid who had read her a story earlier. She was apparently a normal caretaker for the other children as the girls greeted her with smiles. Obi-Wan pulled out a chair for Anakin at the table, and she settled in between the Jedi. It was only then that Anakin realized the complexity of her place setting. There were three forks two knives and two spoons, plus several extra small dishes and two crystal glasses.

The Hutts rarely dined so elegantly, even when trying to show off, and Anakin had never been permitted to join in on a meal – she wasn’t a guest then, she was decoration. But Anakin also knew that a minor slip in etiquette could be horrifyingly insulting to her hosts.

Perhaps sensing her momentary panic, Vos nudged her and whispered in her ear, “Just watch Kenobi and do what he does. He hasn’t led me wrong yet through a fancy dinner.”

“Thank you,” Anakin breathed, feeling flush with gratitude.

“I see you’re pulling out all the stops tonight, my dear,” Jobal commented with a slight smirk to her younger daughter.

Padme merely shrugged and smiled. “I think Jasmine wanted an opportunity to show off tonight once she heard we were having guests.” She nodded to the Jedi. “And I know Obi-Wan can’t resist her cooking.”

“What can I say, Jasmine may be the finest chef in the galaxy,” the Jedi laughed.

The political talk continued as the servants moved around them quietly, pouring water and wine into their glasses. Anakin was so stunned by the presence of cold, clear, clean water to drink that she all but ignored the wine.

When the glasses were all filled, the servants places small dishes of vegetables on the table. Anakin marveled silently at the abundance of green things on her plate. Vegetables on Tatooine were usually dense and hardy roots or stalks, and had to be thoroughly cooked to be edible. These were leafy and verdant, and didn’t show a single hint of wilting or withering. Vos identified it in an undertone as salad.

Anakin mirrored the Jedi and picked up her first fork and speared some of the vegetable on her fork. It was crisp and crunchy and cool and refreshing to eat – entirely unlike anything Anakin had ever eaten before! She was so enamored with the novelty of things that she almost missed it when Ruwee asked her a question.

“So, Anakin, what brings you to Naboo with the Jedi?”

“Anakin has provided us with invaluable information in regards to some business we had on Tatooine,” Obi-Wan explained before Anakin had a chance to speak.

Ruwee raised a curious brow. “Really now? Are you a native of Tatooine?”

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan before answering. “Yes, Shila and I have both lived there our entire lives.”

That earned her some curious glances, and Anakin belatedly realized she might have just given away her past as a slave. The only one who didn’t seem fazed was Padmé.

“I believe there was some excitement on Tatooine earlier today. It made the Holonet and everything,” she said casually as she prepared a bite of salad. “I don’t suppose you would know anything about that?” she looked pointedly to the Jedi.

Obi-Wan said, with a serene smile. “I’m afraid we can neither confirm nor deny any rumors.”

It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, but it did steer any more questions away from Anakin’s newly earned freedom.

Throughout the rest of the meal, she was politely peppered with questions about life on Tatooine. Even though it was one of Naboo’s closest celestial neighbors, only the Jedi had ever been – not surprising considering the planet was outside of the Republic and overrun with Hutts, gangsters, and criminals. Anakin was able to provide them some greater insight on the more-legal parts of life on Tatooine. She had a captive audience.

To the people of Naboo, living on a planet that was entirely desert was just as alien as a planet like Naboo was to Anakin.

As the evening progressed and it became evident that nobody was going to out her as a slave, Anakin began to relax. Padmé’s family were kind people and they gave Anakin hope for her future as a free woman in the Republic. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that every person she met would be like them, but if the people of Naboo were like this, surely Coruscant had to be similar.

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Padmé refilled her glass of wine and settled back into her chair. She studied the two Jedi who sat across from her keenly. They were the last three left from dinner. Her family had gone after dessert to put the children to bed, and Anakin had retired shortly after once Shila began nodding off in her lap. Keeping her voice toned down to only mild reproach she said after a sip of wine, "You two failed to mention that Anakin and Shila were freed slaves."

Obi-wan took a drink from his glass. "I hardly thought it was relevant conversation for the evening's company."

"Not relevant?" Padmé repeated flatly. She scoffed. "I understand why you wouldn't want to bring it up at dinner, but you should have told me beforehand. Did you even consider what she might be going through?" Their silence was answer enough. Padmé tutted impatiently. "You took a slave from nothing on Tatooine and dropped her into the middle of this," Padmé gestured around to encompass her entire home, "with no preparation."

"How did you find out?" Kenobi asked.

"Anakin thought Cordé was a slave too. One of the first things you should have told her about was the anti-slavery laws in the Republic."

Obi-Wan and Quinlan at least both had the presence of mind to look embarrassed.

"I guess we forgot to explain the full extent of their new freedom," Vos admitted. "The last few days have been pretty busy. I've never actually freed a slave before."

Padmé closed her eyes to resist rolling them. She had to remember that the Jedi didn't teach their younglings with the same focus on social work as the Naboo. Things that had long ago become instinctive to her were something the Jedi had to consciously learn. "I can connect you with contacts to help ease Anakin's transition into freedom; if you'd like." She took another drink. "So what makes Anakin and Shila so special?"

"We're not entirely sure," Obi-Wan said as he refilled his own wine glass. "You understand we can't tell you everything until we speak to the Council."

The corner of Padmé's mouth twitched up into a near smile and she settled back into her seat, tucking her feet up under her. "I've nowhere to go and I'm eager to hear the story. Tell me what you can."

Anakin woke on instinct just before dawn. She kept her eyes shut for a minute, savoring the brief peace. She could feel Shila beside her, curled up and with her head resting near Anakin's heart. The child's breath was still deep and slow, and Anakin blindly reached to stroke her sister's hair. Her body ached in every joint and down to her very bones and Anakin knew today would be a hard one. It wouldn't be the first time she had to work while in deep pain and paint a smile onto her face. Nobody wanted to see a slave suffering unless they were the one administering punishment.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Anakin began to feel the world stir into wakefulness. She drew in as deep of a breath as her battered ribs would allow and released it slowly. The suns would be breaking the horizon any minute now. Master would be demanding to see her as soon as he woke. She was dreading his punishment for her failure at the podrace yesterday.

Reluctantly, Anakin opened her eyes, and everything came flooding back. She wasn't in her subterranean hovel, sleeping on rough mats on the sandy stone floor. She wasn't even on Tatooine. And most importantly, she wasn't a slave anymore.

The opulent room she had slept in was turning a gauzy shade of pink as the dawn light peeked through the curtains covering the wide windows. Anakin stiffly got out of the impossibly soft bed and crossed to the nearest window. She shifted the curtain aside and looked out. One single sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon and bring color to the soft, verdant world outside.

Anakin's heart pounded in her chest and a smile pulled at her lips. She turned to the full length mirror near the wardrobe she had left her borrowed dress in and twisted and turned to try and get a look at her back. Her fingers grazed the bandage on her shoulder blade and Anakin's grin turned into a full-blown smile.

It hadn't all been some vivid hallucination in her post-crash recovery. Feeling almost giddy, Anakin took to exploring the room, seeing it with new eyes. She had hated it at first on the principal that it was built and staffed by slaves, but once she had learned the truth of the world she lived in now, everything seemed different.

She returned to the bathroom and relished the fact that she could turn the tap and receive hot or cold clean, drinkable water whenever she wanted. Even still, Anakin only ran enough to wash her face. Her skin prickled with goosebumps in the slight chill of the room – Tatooine got cool at night, but never to uncomfortable temperatures. Not quite ready to put on the borrowed dress again, Anakin found the plush and soft robe she'd worn after her bath and slipped that on over her bare shoulders.

Shila had cocooned herself in the blankets in Anakin's absence, but the toddler slept on soundly. Almost certain that nobody else would be awake at this early hour Anakin contented herself with further exploring the room. The fireplace was prepared with logs, but it was remarkably clean and soot free. The furniture around the fireplace was silky and plush. There were bookshelves stacked not only with datapads, but also real books made of paper and ink and bound in leather.

Anakin pulled one free and flipped through it, simply relishing in the motion. Reading was not an encouraged skill in slaves – most knew how to, but it wasn’t like they were given many opportunities to further educate themselves. Anakin had always been more skilled with the spoken languages than the written ones, slipping into a new tongue like she might a costume. She could passingly read the High Galactic the book was written in, but her vocabulary was limited to mostly technical and mechanical terms. Anakin slid the book back to its place on the shelf and crossed the room.

The attached nursery was well stocked with toys and furnishings built to suit a child of Shila’s age and size. Anakin wondered briefly as she picked a soft, push creature and felt its luxuriously soft fur, whether this room had been prepared for Padmé’s sister, husband, and children. The main bed was certainly large enough to sleep two or three adults, and there was a little bed and a crib in the nursery. Anakin could easily imagine Sola and her family staying here if they desired, though they clearly lived nearby considering their visit the night before. Anakin set the plush toy back down and wondered what it must be like to not only live in such luxury, but to have the riches to give every branch of your family a home like this.

It must be lonely, she decided, to have so much space and nobody to share it with. On Tatooine, family rarely separated unless forced to do so. Freed-people lived for generations in the same homes, working the same shops, or tending the same farms. For slaves, family was everything. You did not throw away what precious gifts you had. A slave never knew when their family would be ripped apart so you cherished them.

Near the bed, a set of long brocade curtains hid a pair of glass doors that slid open smoothly out to a small stone balcony. There was a little table made of glass and white metal and two matching white metal chairs tucked into one corner of the balcony.

A breath of cold, earthy air brushed Anakin's face and cut through her open robe. She shivered and stepped outside. The cold stone bit into her bare feet, and a fine mist of dew coated everything. Anakin dragged her fingers slowly through the dew on the glass table top and touched the small collection of water to her lips. She wondered if on a planet like this, the dew would disappear just as quickly as it did on Tatooine. Though the nearby river was shrouded in mist and shadow, its gentle flow still reached Anakin's ears on her balcony. Gathering her robe around her Anakin dropped into a cushioned chair. The chill and damp soaked through her robe and settled uncomfortably against her bare skin beneath, but Anakin found she really didn’t mind at all. More and more of the pre-dawn grey was giving way to rosy pinks and soft oranges as the sun continued its daily journey. As light finally fell across the river bank and gardens, Anakin could hear the morning birds wake and began trilling in their nests. A light, fragrant breeze carried its earthy scent to Anakin. She settled deeper in her chair and thought that if such a place as paradise actually existed, it would probably be exactly like this.

Somewhere below her, a door opened and footsteps crossed stone before moving into the soft grass. Curious, Anakin stood up and peeked over the balcony edge to try and catch a glimpse of whoever else was up so early.

Even shorn short, Obi-Wan’s hair was recognizable from her balcony. He seemed thoroughly engaged in some exercises. A well-practiced ritual, Anakin would guess by the smooth and easy way he moved. He started with some long stretches and then once limber moved onto movements that were much higher energy and even acrobatic sometimes.

Anakin didn’t realize she had been staring until Obi-Wan did some sort of twisted handstand and finally turned towards her balcony. Recognition sparked in his eyes, and he righted himself gracefully, turning fully to face her.

His voice carried clearly in the still air. “Good morning, Anakin.” He paused and cleared his throat, pointedly looking well above Anakin’s head. “I see you’re an early riser as well.”

It was only then that Anakin remembered how she was dressed … or it may be more appropriate to say how she was undressed. Beneath the robe, she was practically naked, save for some underwear, and she had left it untied and opened. Consciously, she gathered her robe closed. She’d worn far less in front of dozens of patrons, and Obi-Wan had seen her topless just yesterday as he stitched up her shoulder, but somehow this felt inappropriate. Not for her – Anakin had long ago learned that her body and her nakedness was not something she owned or controlled, so there was no sense in feeling shame about it – but it clearly made the Jedi uncomfortable.

Not knowing what to say to alleviate the awkwardness in the air, Anakin kept silent, turned and disappeared back into her room.

On the ground, Obi-Wan frowned at the now empty balcony. He hadn’t meant to make Anakin feel uncomfortable, and he was rather polite in avoiding looking at anything she might not have meant to show him, and yet somehow he still felt like he had stepped in it big time. He sighed softly and resumed his morning exercises and meditation. He would apologize to Anakin for making her uncomfortable, but he thought it wise to wait for a more humane hour when there were more people awake.

Anakin’s first full day of freedom was spent confined to Padmé’s home, though it hardly felt like imprisonment. There was more than enough room to wander and explore, and Anakin and Shila were allowed to move about freely – though there was hardly a moment when they went unaccompanied. If it wasn’t the Senator herself, or one of the Jedi, then Cordé or another handmaiden always seemed to be waiting and watching.

After Shila woke and Anakin had redressed again in the borrowed dress, they joined the Senator and the Jedi for breakfast – a significantly different affair than any of her breakfasts on Tatooine had been. There was more food than Anakin could eat and it was all so rich. There was a selection of sweet pastries, succulent fresh fruit, fried meats and golden eggs, and an assortment of juices, teas, and caf that was so unlike the bitter, over-stimulating sludge that was available for slaves. Anakin thought as she took a couple tentative sips that she might grow to like caf if it was like this everywhere.

After breakfast, Padmé pulled Anakin aside. “I don’t think Masters Kenobi and Vos gave you as thorough an explanation as they should have about what it means to be free in the Republic,” she said with a half-smile. “I want to stress that you and Shila are free and protected now, by Republic law. You will have to apply for citizenship, but I believe Obi-Wan was going to take care of that once you reach Coruscant. Even then, Republic law applies in Republic space. You are free and you are safe.”

“Thank you, Senator,” Anakin said, lowering her eyes on instinct.

“Please,” Padmé said with a smile, “Call me Padmé. Formalities are for the Senate, not for friends.” She pushed a datapad into Anakin’s hands. “I brought this for you. It is connected to the holonet, you have access to any information you could want from this. To answer any questions you might have. And of course, you can ask me or my staff or the Jedi anything you can think of. I know there is a lot to take in, but Anakin,” she looked directly into her eyes, “if you need any help, you only have to ask for it.”

“Thank you, Padmé.” Anakin felt slightly overwhelmed with the kindness being shown to her. She hardly knew where to begin asking questions even though she had many. She looked down at the datapad in her hands. “There is one thing…”

“Yes?”

“This dress. I borrowed it from the ship we returned on. I’d like to return it but…”

Padmé smiled warmly. “Then I think the first thing we should do is get you some clothes of your own.”

“How? I don’t have any money.”

“If it suits you, I would be more than happy to cover the costs as a gift.”

Anakin didn’t particularly like the idea of being indebted to the Senator. She already owed the Jedi a greater debt than she could dream of repaying.”

“Otherwise, I will still cover the cost today, but you can repay me when you have the means.”

“I would prefer to pay you back. Thank you.”

Padmé smiled soft and warm, and Anakin briefly found herself wishing that she didn’t have to go with the Jedi to Coruscant. She barely knew the Senator, but she wished she could spend more time with her.

“I can make arrangements for you to go shopping tomorrow.” Her smile twisted a touch in regret. “I wish there was time to show you Naboo properly, but I’m afraid we are all unfortunately pressed for time. Please, explore the house and the grounds freely today. I will be back this evening.”

With a final, brighter smile, Padmé strode off. One of her handmaidens was waiting in the doorway and they began to speak quietly and urgently as they walked away.

Anakin did as Padmé suggested and she and Shila explored the manor. They spent most of the day in the gardens just marveling at the variety of colorful plant life that grew there. Shila explored with wide-eyed fascination, and Anakin felt quite the same, even if she wasn’t as open about it. They spent a good hour in the small hedge maze, and the height of the afternoon was spent napping beneath the wide-spread branches of tree. They even ventured cautiously down to the sandy river bank, though neither desert-native was particularly keen on getting too close to the wide expanse of water. At that point, Vos had been accompanying the pair, and he tried to coax Shila down to the water’s edge. The toddler refused, even with Anakin’s permission and the fact that one of her new favorite people was trying to call her over.

“It’ll take time,” the Jedi laughed, sitting next to Anakin in the grass. She hadn’t been particularly keen on stepping into the sand if she could avoid it “At the Temple, all younglings learn to swim from a young age; though some have a much easier time than others.”

Dinner that evening was a much simpler and quieter affair than the previous night, but also much more casual. Anakin took great interest in watching Kenobi and the Senator together. It was even more obvious that the two of them shared some kind of history together. They were clearly close friends, even closer than Vos and Kenobi, and they had trained together. Unfortunately, Anakin didn’t get much time to watch them, as she retired with Shila for the night. She was still bone-tired even after a day of leisure. Her body ached and her mind raced. She explored the holonet on the datapad until her eyelids grew heavy and she followed Shila off to sleep.

The next morning, Padmé was gone before breakfast, leaving behind only her deep regrets.

“We will be leaving tomorrow for Coruscant with the Senator,” Obi-Wan explained as he stirred his morning tea. “She has a lot of work to finish today. I’m afraid she won’t be joining us today.”

After breakfast, Anakin, Shila, and Cordé piled into a speeder and set off back into the capital city. Anakin was able to look at even more than her first trip out to the manor, and she didn’t think there was any place more beautiful than Theed. The architecture, the greenery, the waterways, the people, even the Palace, looming over the city, was breathtaking.

They were chauffeured to a boutique in the heart of the city, and Cordé took the lead once they entered. It was clear that they were expected, as the shopkeeper greeted the handmaiden by name. What followed was a novel experience for Anakin.

She’d never been given a choice in her wardrobe before. She wore what her master demanded; whether it be racing leathers, seductive costumes, or the basic tunic and pants most slaves wore when off duty. Here, now, Anakin had her choice or colors, materials, and styles. For the most part, she opted for simple and practical things – a few pairs of basic pants, tunics and tops to go with them, all loosely cut, long sleeved, and of modest neckline, other wardrobe essentials, and a new pair of sturdy leather boots. She tried to keep her choices simple and modestly priced – after all she would have to pay Padmé back for everything one day.

Despite the multitude of choices, Anakin didn’t face many temptations in the store. The fashions of the Naboo were all a bit too flashy and fancy for her tastes. Most of the clothing in the boutique was too nice for Anakin to consider wearing on a daily basis. There was one dress that sorely tempted her, though. It was sky blue and embroidered with flowers and vines and leaves, reminiscent of the gardens Anakin had seen. She hadn’t even bothered to touch it, knowing it was too expensive and too nice to even consider. Cordé must have caught her looking, though, as she encouraged Anakin to try it on. She didn’t.

Once she had made her selection, Cordé stepped aside to settle up the bill on behalf of the Senator. Anakin took Shila outside so the toddler could stretch her legs and burn off some energy – she had been remarkably patient and well behaved in the boutique, but even she had her limits. Cordé returned with the new purchases packaged up neatly into bags and they climbed back into the speeder, off to the next shop – this time to pick up a few items for Shila.

Shopping for her sister followed much of the same formula as the first shop. Anakin stuck to the basics and wardrobe essentials, but she did allow Shila to pick two items of her own. One was a jacket made of the softest gray material that Shila refused to put down. The other was a bright pink dress, all puffy skirts and silky bows. There was one final splurge when Shila caught sight of a small display of adorable plush tooka kits. Her eyes went wide and she looked to Anakin, but she didn’t dare ask for one. When Cordé noticed and asked Shila the toddler only nodded her head silently and shyly picked out the kitten she wanted to take home. Once the plush kit was handed over, Shila held it tight and refused to let go.

The Jedi were waiting for them outside the shop, having come to meet them for lunch. Anakin tried to enjoy the meal. But all she could do was continue calculating the debt she was racking up to the Senator and the Jedi. She had to find a way to repay them soon.

Following lunch was a leisurely tour around the city that Obi-Wan knew so well. He pointed out landmarks and historical buildings and told tales of the time he and his Master helped liberate Naboo from the Trade Federation a decade prior. Their final stop of the afternoon was to the Royal Botanical Gardens which put Padmé’s garden to shame. Not only was it much larger, but it housed more plant species than Anakin thought could ever exist, including species native to other worlds.

“I thought you would like it,” Obi-Wan admitted as he strolled beside Anakin. Shila had run ahead on the path, dragging her plush tooka and Vos along with her. “I can’t imagine you’ve experienced much greenery, living on Tatooine your entire life.” He paused and pointed out a particularly fragrant species of flower. “A favorite of mine, we grow them in the Temple as well. Their petals can be dried down and brewed into a lovely tea.”

Anakin took a deep breath of the flower’s scent. It was vaguely familiar, a scent she’d caught before; floral and musky and almost intoxicating in such a great concentration. “Do they make perfume from it?”

“I believe so, yes.” Obi-Wan gently touched one of the small white and orange blossoms.

Anakin closed her eyes and tried to remember where she’d smelled this flower before. It certainly wasn’t a plant that would grow in Tatooine’s climate. But it reminded her of… “My mother had this perfume. Someone had gifted it to her. She never sold it, but she never wore it either. It was too precious to use.”

“It must have been very special.”

Anakin nodded and backed away from the flowers. Her shoulders were ridged and her spine was stiff. “We lost it when we were sold to Jabba. We lost everything that day. We weren’t even given the chance to return home to gather our belongings.”

Obi-Wan wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. He couldn’t sympathize, and an apology seemed inappropriate. But what kind of comfort could he offer about the past or for the future?

“Ani!” Shila came dashing back up the path, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Come see, come see! The water!” She grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled at it impatiently.

Anakin laughed and followed. “Alright, alright, what do you wat to show me?”

“Mister Quinlan called it a… a… a fall water!”

“Waterfall.” Anakin corrected.

They rounded a bend in the path and came to a stop before the center of the garden. A sizeable artificial pond that was fed by a waterfall that dropped down from the second floor. It showcased many native water flora of Naboo, and some fauna as well. Amphibians sunned themselves on lily pads and sang their songs, and fish darted between the shadows, nibbling at the submerged roots and plants.

An observation platform stretched out into the middle of the pond and it had a transparisteel floor, providing visitors a look into the depths of the pond. Shila was amazed, but refused to step out over the window. She kept a tight grip on Anakin’s hand as they watched the colorful fish swim about. They stayed there for quite some time until Shila grew bored of the fish.

“Remind me when we get to the Temple to show you the gardens.” Obi-Wan said to Anakin as they continued their walk through the botanical garden. “I think you will find them just as stunning as these ones.”

They returned to the manor in time for dinner with Padmé, but that evening wasn’t left to leisurely conversation beside the fire. There was much to do and pack before the Senator left for Coruscant in the morning.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Chapter Text

As usual, Anakin woke at dawn, though it became clear after a couple seconds that she was not the only one awake in the house. She knew there were plans to leave for Coruscant early, but the tension that seemed to permeate the house like a foul odor was different from the previous evening’s flurry to pack and prepare. Anakin slipped out of bed and left Shila sleeping. She pulled on her new and freshly laundered clothes and stepped out to investigate.

She found the source of the tension in an office; the Senator, the Jedi, Cordé, and Captain Typho. They were all talking quietly but tersely and cut off their conversation when Anakin walked through the open doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Obi-Wan was the first to respond. “It’s nothing to worry about, Anakin.”

“On the contrary,” Padmé snapped, stepping forward. “I believe this is just as relevant to Anakin as it is to any of us. After all, she is entrusting her and her sister’s safety to us. She should be included in this conversation.”

Anakin’s mouth went dry. “What’s going on?”

“I have received another death threat.” Padmé explained. “Not an uncommon occurrence, unfortunately; I have made enemies in my career. Many of them are empty, but as of late they have been growing in frequency and severity. There is little evidence to support it, but I believe these threats are coming from my old enemy in the Trade Federation, Viceroy Gunray.”

Anakin recognized the name. He had been a guest of Jabba’s a couple times in the past. The Hutts and the Trade Federation were entangled in a number of illicit deals. She’d never been gifted to him for a night – human women were not his preferred type – but she’d served as décor for the meals he and Jabba shared.

“If these threats are so common and empty, then why are you so worried?”

“Because this morning’s came with very specific details about my trip to Coruscant.” Padmé leaned against her desk, crossing her arms tightly; looking more annoyed than frightened. “Unfortunately it is impossible to have a completely air tight seal on my staff, but Gunray could only know this information if he has someone privy to my travel plans.”

“M’lady, perhaps you should be cautious of the information you release in mixed company,” Typho warned, looking pointedly at Anakin.

She didn’t blame him for his suspicion. In fact, she thought him rather astute. Slaves and servants were always overlooked. Nobody thought them able to sell their master’s secrets, or sometimes forgot that they were there entirely. Anakin had gathered more than her fair share of damning information in her service to Jabba.

“Don’t be absurd, Captain,” Obi-Wan interjected immediately. “Anakin wouldn’t—“

“Wouldn’t what?” she looked to Obi-Wan with her eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You place a lot of trust in a woman you’ve only known for a few days, Obi-Wan. You don’t know where my loyalties lie. You don’t know me, my life, or my reasons. Quite frankly, you do not know what I would or would not do. The Captain is right to suspect me. I am, after all, an unknown factor.”

Anakin knew her answer did little to ease anyone in the room. Both of the Jedi were incredulous, as they had spent the most time with Anakin over the past few days. Typho and Cordé were studying Anakin with thinly veiled suspicion, and the handmaiden subtly moved closer to the senator to shield her. Only Padmé looked unperturbed by Anakin’s words; her eyes were calculating but a wry smile pulled at her lips. Anakin knew that she was being appraised once again by the Senator.

“Anakin,” Padmé said, standing to her full height. “Look me in the eye and answer truthfully. Have you given any information about my actions or movements to the Trade Federation, or anyone acting on their behalf?”

Anakin met her steady gaze. She could feel Cordé and Typho were watching her just as intently. “No, Senator, I have not.”

“Obviously she’s telling the truth. Anakin hasn’t been left alone once since we left Tatooine,” Obi-Wan said, clearly exasperated. “I will vouch for her. Vos will vouch for her. Can we end this charade of distrust?”

Padmé hardly glanced to the Jedi. She kept her eyes fixed intensely on Anakin. After Obi-Wan finished, she said, “I believe you, Anakin. Cordé? Typho? Are you satisfied?”

“Yes, m’lady,” Typho acknowledged with a bow of his head.

Cordé took a little longer to respond, but eventually her face broke into a smile. “Yes, I believe Anakin.”

Padmé relaxed again. “I apologize for our suspicion, Anakin.”

“Don’t,” Anakin insisted. “It’s only right that you should be suspicious when faced with threats upon your life. So these death threats, are you not returning to Coruscant then?”

“No, I’m still going. There is an important bill that I have been working on for months that is up for a vote and I must be there. We have worked out a revision to our plans. Officially, my itinerary remains the same, but once we launch, we will take a more circuitous route to Coruscant, it will take about a day longer than normal, but we believe it will throw our enemies off the scent so we can arrive safely.”

“But there’s no guarantee that will work.”

“Not until we arrive safe and sound on Coruscant. Which then raises the question – do you still wish to travel with us? You and Shila will both be at risk for bodily harm, if not death if our countermeasures have not thrown off my enemies.”

“What would be the alternative?”

“Our original plan,” Vos spoke up. “We take public transport to Coruscant.”

“And you’re leaving the decision to me?” Amused doubt creased Anakin’s brow. She looked to Obi-Wan as he’d been the one to make most of the decisions since they met.

“We will be altering our plans as well, should you decide to take public transport.” Obi-Wan explained, keeping his hands folded and hidden in the sleeves of his robe. “I would rather not leave the Senator without any additional protection, and there is not time to make additional arrangements for more security. I will escort the Senator to Coruscant. Vos will accompany you and Shila.”

Anakin took a moment to mull over the options. Instinctively, she wanted to stay away from the Senator’s threats to protect Shila. But over the last couple days she had checked in on the news from the datapad Padmé had loaned her, her death was well publicized now. There was a great risk of her being recognized if they took public transport, and if that happened, then she and Shila would be sent back to Jabba.

It was obvious what the best choice was. There were fates worse than death.

“I’d rather stick together.”

If Anakin had thought that Governor Bibble’s ship they had arrived to Naboo on had been luxurious, then the Senator’s ship created an entirely new definition of luxury.

It was completely plated in a shiny silver shell and at least three times the size of the governor’s ship – one of the largest private ships Anakin had laid eyes on. Everything inside was furnished to be sleek and comfortable – an interesting contrast from the décor of the Senator’s mansion – and from what Anakin could see, it was the height of technology. The co*ckpit had enough space for them all to stand around if they wanted, but there was more than enough room throughout the ship for everyone to spread out in. It was a lot of space for their small group, even with the rather expansive selection of clothing the Senator traveled with.

“A senator’s wardrobe says just as much as their words do,” Padmé explained with a slightly wry smile as she pushed in one of several trunks into her suite. “I wish it were simpler sometimes, but one must be prepared to dress for any occasion in my line of work.”

“Even for a two day trip?” Anakin asked as a handmaiden stashed away another trunk of clothes.

“I have been waylaid by unforeseen detours before. I’d rather be prepared for anything.”

They settled into the ship easily, the visitors were given a quick tour. The top deck was living quarters; separate comfortable, if a bit small bedrooms, Padmé had a small suite of her own, there was a well-stocked galley and a dining area, a lounge, and an observation deck. The lower decks were a little more utilitarian, but no less sleek. They lacked the comfortable furnishings, but fascinated Anakin far more. She would happily spend the entire trip looking around the engine rooms, poking through the massive machines and looking over the warp drive. The belly of the ship had the cargo hold and two small, one-man fighters. Their yellow and silver paint shone dully in the bay lights. They would be escorts for the larger ship once they reached Coruscant space.

Shila was fascinated by the little squad of astromechs that were docked and waiting to perform their duty. She had become familiar and enamored with the blue and white droid, R2-D2, who accompanied the Senator nearly everywhere. He’d been serving the Senator for over a decade, and was quite loyal for a droid. Anakin liked the little droid; he was extremely patient with Shila and Padmé’s nieces, but also had quite the attitude. He’d nearly drawn a laugh from Anakin once or twice over the last couple days, mostly when making comments about Obi-Wan.

Anakin and Shila were given a room of their own for the trip. Padmé had offered separate adjacent rooms to them, but Anakin didn’t think Shila would handle sleeping on her own in a strange place all that well. By the time the two had settled in, their journey was already underway.

Their new itinerary included making several jumps in random directions through hyperspace, some quick, some long, in hopes of shaking off any tails or traces that might be on them. They would do this for a couple days and then finally turn for Coruscant.

There weren’t many on Padmé’s ship, despite the size. Four pilots would work in pairs and take shifts making the jumps, and a couple engineers watched over the inner workings of the ship. Then there were a few bodyguards and a couple handmaidens, including Cordé and Captain Typho. And then the Senator, the two Jedi, Anakin and Shila.

They were a small group, close knit and trusted. Anakin knew she was the outsider, but she didn’t feel like one. Things became significantly less formal as the trip progressed. Nobody held too closely to social rank and custom. Padmé was still referred to by her title or as ‘m’lady’ by her staff, but that didn’t stop them from joking with her, telling stories, sharing meals, or including her in hands of sabacc.

The first two days of the trip passed without event. Anakin and Shila were given freedom to wander the ship wherever they pleased. They passed their days on the observation deck and in the engine rooms, or with the rest of the passengers. Anakin had plenty of questions about Coruscant and about what would happen there. The Jedi told her what they could, but it wasn’t much information; even they didn’t know what Anakin’s future would hold. Vos quite happily told her and Shila of all of the great things they would see on Coruscant and at the Jedi Temple.

Anakin also spent a lot of her time thinking. She couldn’t ride on the kindness of the Jedi and the Senator for much longer. At some point she would have to begin fending for herself. She didn’t know what skills she had that could be of best use on the Core worlds. She was a fair engineer, and a skillful pilot, surely those would be of much greater use and value than her body. Sooner rather than later she had to find a way to support her and Shila.

The Jedi and the Senator had done so much for her. She had to find something, some way to thank them. She owed more than she could ever begin to repay.

Obi-Wan rubbed at his tired eyes and blindly took the last few steps to his room. The last several long days and early mornings were beginning to catch up to him. They were entering the last leg of their evasive hyperspace jumps and the pilots were going to turn to Coruscant in a few hours. They’d be back in the capitol by tomorrow afternoon. Obi-Wan was happy to be home again and anxious to get Anakin to the Temple.

He stepped in and had a brief moment to wonder why the lights were already on before his eyes fell to the foot of his bed and the pair of feet resting there. The feet were attached to a pair of tanned legs which were attached to a very naked Anakin lounging atop his bed. Greatly flustered and confused, Obi-Wan quickly averted his eyes to the wall above Anakin’s head.

He cleared his throat and said, “Uh, Anakin, what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” she asked in a low purr.

“Lying naked on my bed.” Obi-Wan’s eyes traveled up to the ceiling. “Why are you naked on my bed?”

Anakin laughed, leaning forward to lie on her stomach and prop her chin up on her hand. “I think that answer would be pretty obvious. Or…” she co*cked her head to the side slightly, “Are you Jedi the celibate types?”

“N-no, that’s not—“ Obi-Wan stammered, too preoccupied with trying to figure out exactly what in blazes had come over Anakin to explain the nuances of the Jedi Code. Since they’d met, she had been nothing but adverse to physical contact with anyone but Shila, and now here she was perched on his bed and purring like a – oh… He saw what was happening now.

Anakin sat up on her knees, doing her best to fully display her body, and fixing Obi-Wan with an intense stare. “I’m here to say ‘thank you’ for all you’ve done for me and Shila.”

“That’s not really necessary.” Obi-Wan’s eyes darted around the room, looking for her clothes, or a robe, a sheet or towel, something to cover her up so they could hold a real conversation. Finding nothing, he shrugged out of his outer robe and held it out for Anakin. “Here, wear this.”

Anakin sat back on her heels, looking more than a little confused. “I’m good at what I do,” she offered in a final purr. “It would be highly pleasurable.”

Obi-Wan just shook the robe at her. “Put it on, Anakin, please.”

Her seductress façade crumbled as she unfolded herself from the bed and took the offered robe. Obi-Wan could sense the embarrassment coursing through her as she slipped the robe over her shoulders and wrapped it tightly around her. “I don’t understand,” she said softly. “Did I misread? I thought you were attracted to me…”

“It’s not a matter of attraction, Anakin, it’s a matter of ethics.” Obi-Wan explained gently, finally able to look Anakin in the eye. He could get a better read on her feelings, and beneath the embarrassment there was a slight flutter of panic; the fear one faced when what should have been a familiar script of events went in a completely different direction.

“Ethics?” she echoed back, confusion evident on her face.

By the Force! Obi-Wan hid a frown behind his hand as he scratched his cheek. Was he really about to have to explain sexual consent to a nineteen year old? He paused and then realized that to slaves consent probably didn’t exist. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Anakin, I know you are only here out of a sense of obligation.”

“I wanted to thank you,” she explained again, sitting beside Obi-Wan but keeping the robe closed tight around her. “This is… I don’t know how else to say it.”

“Your word is enough.”

“A slave’s word is worth nothing,” she immediately responded, an involuntary regurgitation of rote memory.

“You’re not a slave anymore,” Obi-Wan reminded her gently

Anakin ducked her head, her shame flushing even stronger.

“Anakin, nobody should ever feel obligated to use sex as a tool or favor. It should be a matter of mutual attraction and every person involved should be on board one hundred percent. Anything less is nonconsensual and wrong.”

“I’ve never been given the choice,” Anakin muttered, playing with the cuff of the robe sleeve. It was several sizes too big for her and the sleeves fell well past her hands. “I don’t – didn’t have a choice. The best I had was that trick I can do.”

“You have a choice now. And you will always have a choice for the rest of your life.”

Anakin still didn’t look up from her hands. “Things really are different in the Republic, huh?”

Obi-Wan paused for a moment, stuck between keeping truthful and offering a comforting lie. He knew that things weren’t exactly different in the Republic; horrible things happened to innocent people every day on every planet. But Anakin was with the Jedi now, and she would never have to face a reality like that ever again.

He settled on vague comfort. “Things are different for you. You never have to be forced into something you don’t want, or made to perform, or… or even touched ever again unless you want to be.”

Anakin finally looked up to him, skepticism clear in her face. “You Jedi must have a lot of power if you can make promises like that. Are all Jedi like you? If I presented myself to any Jedi would they treat me with the same respect you did?”

“Yes, I believe they would.”

A wan, sad smile pulled at Anakin’s lips. “I guess I picked the right people to give me my freedom.”

“You have earned your freedom, Anakin. Vos and I were simply tools for your use.”

She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t argue either. “I owe you a greater debt than I can ever repay.”

“The Jedi do not uphold life debts, Anakin. There is no collection and no repayment that we expect.”

The skepticism returned when Anakin laughed once, shortly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Obi-Wan wanted to assuage her fears, to assure her that once they reached the Temple she would see what her new freedom meant, but Anakin stood up abruptly. She reached beneath the bed and pulled up a neatly folded pile of clothes. She held them close to her chest and muttered a quick, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” before hurrying out the door.

Obi-Wan was left sitting there in her wake, his thoughts about Anakin tumbling over and over. It took him several minutes to realize that she had walked away with his robe. That was going to be interesting to try and explain tomorrow.

Obi-Wan’s anxieties about explaining his missing robe were extinguished as soon as he stepped out his door the next morning. He hadn’t slept well at all that night – he just couldn’t stop thinking about Anakin – and as he trudged out to the galley for a quick cup of caf before the day began, he stumbled across the neatly folded robe in the doorway. He picked it up, slipped it on, and tried to ignore the fact that Anakin had been naked beneath it just a few hours prior and her scent lingered on the collar.

He ran into Vos in the galley, the Kiffar also sipping at a steaming cup of caf. “Made a fresh pot,” he offered in greeting. He waited until Obi-Wan had prepared his cup before saying, “The Temple wants us to call and confirm details before we make our final approach to Coruscant this afternoon.

Obi-Wan nodded mutely, waiting for the aromatic stimulants to finish waking him up. They could call after caf.

Padmé contemplated the datapad in her hands with a slight frown. It really wasn’t her business, or her place to butt into, but … well, she had grown fond of Anakin over the last few days. She wanted to help the younger woman. And if she was going to be in the care of the Jedi for the foreseeable future it was probably best that Kenobi and Vos know what she found out. She just hoped Anakin wouldn’t see this as a complete violation of her privacy.

She held the datapad close to her chest and stepped into the ship’s central lounge. Luckily, Kenobi and Vos were both there, and they were alone. They sat around a table and had a holo-communicator set before them. They both offered Padmé a greeting.

“Am I interrupting?” Padmé asked, hovering behind a seat.

“Not at all, Senator.” Obi-Wan swept the communicator off the table and into his pocket. “We just finished a report to the Council. Everything is prepared for our arrival.”

“Great,” Padmé said distractedly as she settled gingerly into her chair. “Is Anakin around?” she asked casually.

“No, she’s sleeping. Tatooine’s natives tend to rest during the hottest afternoon hours. That habit takes more than a few days to break.” Vos explained. “Are you looking for her?”

“Actually no. I want to discuss something about her with you, but I wouldn’t want her to walk in and presume the worst.”

Both the Jedi frowned slightly at Padmé.

“Do you think something is wrong with her?” Vos asked.

“Yes and no.” Padmé drew a breath, set the datapad on the table, and began explaining. “I let her borrow one of my datapads. It’s connected to the holonet, so she could look up almost anything she wanted to. I admit, I snooped, but I was curious to see what the first thing an ex-slave would look up. I figured she would look up information on Coruscant or Naboo or the Jedi, and she did… but she also went to a lot of medical sites. And they were exclusively about prenatal care and development.” She paused and brought up the datapad’s history to show the others. “I think Anakin might be pregnant. Or at the very least, she thinks she might be.”

Padmé watched the Jedi closely to gauge their reactions. They may already know this, or have sensed something with the Force.

“She doesn’t look pregnant,” Obi-Wan said almost imediately. Padmé shot him a curious look, wondering exactly how the Jedi would know how pregnant Anakin did or did not look when she mostly wore loose clothing. “Ah, some of the outfits the Hutts had her in were rather revealing,” Obi-Wan explained quickly.

Vos nodded in agreement and said with a shrug. “It could still be early, though.”

The three of them shared a grim look before Obi-Wan sat back, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll admit, I’m unfamiliar with the finer details of Force-Biology, but that might be why she wasn’t sensed until recently.”

Quinlan nodded slowly. “It’s possible her Force Signature has been amplified. She’s had her powers since childhood. We know it wasn’t an awakening that brought her to our attention.”

“The fastest way to know is to ask her.” Obi-Wan turned to Padmé. “Is there a way to confirm it before we reach Coruscant?”

“Well, yes. The ship’s medicomputer has the ability to run a blood test, but I don’t think we should.” Padmé tapped at the datapad and turned it off. “Anakin kept this quiet for a reason. Maybe she’s embarrassed or scared. If I was in her place I’d be downright terrified – particularly considering her history and the baby’s origins. Bringing it up now and forcing a test on her could make her feel attacked or cornered. Can we keep this between ourselves until we reach Coruscant?”

The Jedi shared a look and nodded. Obi-Wan stared at the blank datapad. “The plan was to give Anakin and Shila full physicals at the Temple. I don’t suppose it would hurt to wait a little longer for a confirmation.”

Padmé nodded silently, one final question weighed on her mind. It felt a little silly, to be planning so far ahead for a near-stranger’s unconfirmed pregnancy, but Padmé had always been a planner. And she would go onto the next step of their return to Coruscant with a much easier conscience if she had an answer.

“If Anakin is pregnant, what would happen to her and the baby?”

“We couldn’t really say,” Vos offered unhelpfully. “Anakin’s already a bit of an enigma as is.”

“I’m sure the Council will be able to find a wise solution,” Obi-Wan added.

“Of course,” Padmé said neutrally. Their answer didn’t exactly fill her with confidence, but it wasn’t the worst option.

She wanted to ask more, to prod the Jedi in the right direction for taking care of Anakin and Shila, but before she could, Cordé stepped into the lounge.

“M’lady, we are going to drop out of hyperspace soon. It’s time to prepare for our approach to Coruscant.”

Padmé stood up quickly, her heart pounding nervously. Now would be the point when they were most vulnerable. “Time to prepare. I will see you all when we land safely.”

The Jedi rose with her, offering short bows. Obi-Wan further offered, “The Force will be with you, Senator. Good luck.”

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Anakin’s thoughts flew in a thousand directions as she hurried to pack up her and Shila’s belongings. She had been woken a little while ago by Vos on his way to gather his own things. They were finally at Coruscant; they’d be on-planet within the hour. Shila was still asleep on the bed, wrapped up in blankets and cuddling her stuffed tooka. Anakin was going to let her nap as long as possible. Undoubtedly, once they arrive at the Jedi Temple there would hardly be a chance to rest until later that night. Anakin could handle herself on a few hours of sleep, Shila not so much.

So she worked as quietly as she could to gather their belongings and pack them up. Even with all of the newly purchased clothes, everything for the two of them fit into a single backpack. It was more than Anakin had ever truly owned, and yet she was also painfully aware of how little it actually was. She didn’t mind too much, though, it would be easier to move and adjust and settle in wherever their future on Coruscant left them with fewer possessions.

Anakin was folding the last of Shila’s shirts into the bag when there was a soft knock on the door. Somehow she knew it was Padmé before she opened the door.

The Senator had changed from the dress she’d been wearing earlier that day. Now she wore something similar to Anakin’s racing leathers. They were practical clothes, protective and movable, and Padmé had even secured her hair up and out of her face. It was not the outfit Anakin thought she would choose for making her entrance back to Coruscant. There must be a final part of the plan she hadn’t been included in, or perhaps the Senator expected to have to fight for her life.

“I don’t have long to talk,” Padmé said in a rush. “I’ve got to get into my fighter soon. But I wanted to see you before we part ways.”

“Right, of course,” Anakin stepped fully into the hallway, letting the door slide shut behind her. Padmé probably wanted to discuss a way that Anakin could begin to pay back her monumental debt to the Senator.

Padmé smiled at her a little hesitantly. “When we reach the Temple, you’re going to be staying with the Jedi, and I’ll be shuttled off to my Senatorial duties. We won’t really have a chance to say goodbye then. But, um, Anakin, I don’t want this to be goodbye forever—“ she fished something out of her pocket “—I’d like to stay in touch with you.” She dropped a small device into Anakin’s hands. “It’s a communicator, my information is already programmed in, you can call if you want to talk or have questions, and my address is in there too. If you would like to visit, or need some place to stay for a while, or just want a friend, I’d like to be there for you.”

Anakin’s fist closed around the communicator. She felt suddenly lost, just as confused by the Senator’s actions as she had been by Obi-Wan’s the night before. This wasn’t supposed to be how people behaved. They weren’t supposed to be so kind. “Thank you, Padmé, but… but why?”

“It’s easier to keep in touch this way.” Padmé co*cked her head slightly to the side, nonplussed.

“N-no, not that.” Anakin could feel her cheeks growing warm. “You’ve been so kind to me and Shila over these last few days. Why?”

“Well, because I like you, Anakin.” Now it was Padmé’s turn to blush. “I’ve grown fond of you and Shila since meeting you. And helping you two is the right thing to do.”

Anakin felt warmed by her response. “Thank you, Padmé. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say it enough.”

“Just to see you happy will be thanks enough,” Padmé said with a soft smile.

Before she could say anything else, Typho came hurrying into the corridor. “Senator, it’s time.”

“I have to go. Good luck, Anakin, I hope the Jedi will be like finding a new home. And remember, you’ve always got a friend in me. I’ll see you when we land.” She reached over and gave Anakin’s hand a reassuring squeeze before turning on her heel and hurrying off after Typho.

Anakin had taken Shila to the ship’s observation deck as they approached Coruscant. They were accompanied (guarded?) by Vos. Anakin supposed that if there were going to be any attempts on the Senator’s life, now would be the time to try, their ship was slow and vulnerable as it entered Coruscant’s atmosphere.

Anakin had done some research on the Republic Capital, she thought she knew what to expect, but somehow reading that it was a city-planet wasn’t quite the same as seeing it with her own eyes. It was oddly beautiful, but in a completely different way than Naboo had been. There was no greenery, no water, no growing things. Anakin couldn’t even see mountains. Instead it was an endless stretch of glittering silver and glass. Lights stretched across the dark side of the planet like a spider’s web.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Vos asked quietly. “You’d never think they could turn an entire planet into a single city, but they did.”

“How?” Anakin had a hard time grasping the fact that the entire city had been covered from pole to pole when she had grown up on a planet with such a limited habitable zone.

“I’m not entirely sure. It’s been like this for millennia. They just keep building new on top of the old. Even the Jedi Temple has parts of it so old and deep nobody ever ventures down there anymore.”

As they descended, individual buildings began to become distinct from their neighbors. Vos pointed out the significant ones; restaurants, markets, museums, universities. “And there, that massive domed building is the heart of the Republic; the Senate Building. It’s nearly as big as a city in its own right.”

Anakin wondered at the sheer amount of power that had to reside in that single place. She had read that thousands of systems were part of the Republic, and they all had representatives here.

“And then there,” Vos pointed across to the left of the Senate Building, “The one with the spires. That’s home; the Jedi Temple.”

Anakin had expected a large building, but she didn’t think it would be nearly the size of the Senate Building. The two of them dominated the skyline.

“How many Jedi are there?” she asked quietly.

“A few thousand, I think? It’s a drop in the bucket of the trillions that call Coruscant their home, and many of them are often gone on missions. Force sensitives like us are pretty rare in the grand scheme of things. In the Republic, children are tested at birth to see their potential. The children are usually given to the Jedi to teach and raise. The Temple is the only home any of us know.”

“You don’t know your families?”

“The Order is our family. Other attachments are discouraged.”

“Oh.” Anakin didn’t know how she felt about that. She had fought so hard to keep her family close as a slave, and in the Republic the Jedi freely separated from theirs. It seemed backwards. Family was strength and safety. So why would the Jedi reject it?

The closer they came to the Temple a new sense of unease began to bloom in Anakin’s mind. She didn’t know why, or what it meant. She had no reason to be fearful. But a niggling of worry in the back of her mind was beginning to set her on edge.

They landed without incident at the Temple. Their landing pad was nearly at the top of the Temple and large enough to accommodate the Senator’s ship as well as the two small fighters that had escorted them. As they disembarked, a small entourage came out to meet them, mostly the Senator’s staff and security. They flocked to the woman in regal dress who exited the ship behind them, but Anakin found her eyes drawn to the fighter pilots. Typho was standing very close to the other woman with him – Padmé in the same leathers she’d been in earlier.

They caught each other’s eye, and Padmé shook her head almost imperceptibly. She wasn’t safe yet; her decoy still had to do her job. To her credit, Cordé did a remarkably accurate impression of the Senator. She so naturally slipped into Padmé’s timbre and carriage.

Anakin briefly wondered how often the Senator employed this particular ruse.

Obi-Wan made a show of thanking the not-Senator for her hospitality over the last few days, and she expressed her gratitude in the Jedi Order for accommodating them on such short notice. And then, before Anakin even had a chance to get close to Padmé and say goodbye, the Senator’s entourage was bundled off on another transport and she was gone.

There was one lone figure waiting near the entrance to the Temple. He wore the same type of robes as Obi-Wan and Vos – another Jedi. He waited for them to approach.

“Master Jinn, I hardly expected you to come and greet us,” Obi-Wan said, smiling slightly.

“I didn’t think I could wait until Chambers to meet our most interesting guests.”

“Of course, Master Jinn, Anakin and Shila Skywalker,” Obi-Wan gestured for introductions. “Anakin, this is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Anakin studied him carefully, instantly put off by his title alone. He was human, in his mid-sixties with his long hair and trim beard turning more to grey than the brown it had been. It was remarkably similar to the way Obi-Wan had styled his own hair prior to shaving on Tatooine – was that intentional? There was a long, old scar crossing his face from his left temple, across the bridge of his nose and ending in his right cheek. When he offered his hand to shake Anakin’s it was a prosthetic – well articulated and more advanced than any she had seen before.

Anakin found she couldn’t look at him too long – it wasn’t the scarring, she’d seen worse disfigurement in Jabba’s palace – but he seemed to have some kind of halo around him. A fuzzy distortion of light that she couldn’t place or identify. When they shook hands, a low droning buzz sounded in Anakin’s ears.

Her muttered greeting was tight and impolite. It surely would have earned her a beating had she been in service, but it was the best she could muster with this new and unexpected onslaught to her senses.

To her relief, Master Jinn didn’t seem to even notice her behavior might be odd. “I am very curious to know your story, Miss Skywalker.” He smiled placidly and turned, “But there will be time for pleasantries later. The Council is ready.”

They stepped into the Temple properly, and Anakin was taken aback by the grandeur of it all. She thought she would be used to it, after her time on Naboo. And she thought she knew what to expect after seeing the sheer size of the Temple from the outside, but nothing could have prepared her for the vastness of it all. The section they entered seemed impossibly large, with ceilings stretching over fifty feet above their heads. Rich carpets padded the glossy stone floors, and silken draperies hung over the tall windows that were spaced evenly along the hall. Thick white columns held the ceiling up, and between them were sculptures, busts, and detailed tapestries.

Anakin was given a moment to gape at her surroundings while the Jedi waited patiently and shared knowing looks. They didn’t linger long; the High Council was waiting on them.

There were more people in the corridor than Anakin expected; beings of countless species and of every age. Many of them walked in pairs, deep in their own conversations, but Anakin realized as they walked, that they were drawing stares. It wasn’t just a couple of curious glances. Every single person they passed stopped in their tracks to stare at them – at her.

But why?

Anakin bowed her head as she walked, and kept her grip on Shila’s hand tight. Something was different about this place, it seemed to ring in her ears and fill her mind with fuzz. She wanted to ask what it was. She figured the Jedi also had to feel it as well. But Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were having a muttered conversation ahead of them, and Vos was fielding Shila’s excited questions. There was a brief moment, when both of the Jedi glanced back at her over their shoulders, but they were looking away before Anakin could open her mouth.

She clamped it shut and looked away from them, focusing instead on the art in the hallway, trying to ignore the buzz in her brain. She recognized the look of appraisal in the Master’s eye all too easily. They seemed mildly concerned after their brief look, and Anakin barely caught the word “shielding” as they talked lower and faster. She bit her tongue, and tried taking a couple deep breaths to calm her pounding heart.

The buzzing in her skull only got worse the deeper into the Temple they went. The more Jedi they passed, the more attention they drew, the buzzing only grew. It was in her teeth, and her ears, it made her vision swim, and it rattled down her spine. It was like static and feedback in her brain.

She didn’t know what it was. She’d never felt anything like this before.

Nobody else showed any indication that they were experiencing even the slightest discomfort. Was it just like this to be in the Jedi Temple? Had the others learned to live with it?

Anakin felt Shila squeeze her hand, and she could feel her sister trembling.

Maybe it was just nerves. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, pounding heavily in her chest.

They stopped outside a set of lift doors. Anakin could hardly hear Qui-Gon say, “The Council is very eager to meet you,” as she was shepherded onto the elevator. They shot up into one of the spires.

They climbed higher and the static got worse. Anakin began to feel that there were tight bands constricting her chest, or that her brain had somehow forgotten how to instruct her body how to breathe. She felt lightheaded as the elevator opened into a small antechamber. She stood rooted to the spot until Obi-Wan put a hand on her upper arm and gently led her forward.

“It’s alright, Anakin, the Council simply wants to meet you.”

They stepped closer to an ornately carved set of doors. The buzz became a high pitched whine in Anakin’s skull. “I can’t,” she tried to say, “It hurts.” But she wasn’t certain that any words were coming from her mouth.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon shared a grim look. Could they sense what was happening to her? Or were they afraid she was going to make a poor impression?

“I’m right here,” Obi-Wan assured her one last time before the doors opened.

Anakin stepped into a sun-drenched circular room. The walls were made entirely of windows, offering an impressive view of the city around them. There were nearly a dozen beings sitting around her, waiting for her. She couldn’t look directly at any of them. They made her vision swim and had the same halo she’d seen around Qui-Gon. Her heart was pounding. She was breathing too fast. She could feel their disparaging judgement and their recoil as she entered.

Were they so offended by an ex-slave? They had asked for her.

“Step forward, Miss Skywalker,” a deep voice commanded.

Anakin obeyed, somehow knowing where the center of the room was even as the tiled floor swam beneath her feet. The whine was turning into a screech. Why couldn’t she breathe?

She looked up. The room had disappeared. There was nothing but a vaguely sunny haze and blindingly white patches where each Council member sat. She heard voices ask her questions, demand answers, but she couldn’t make her mouth form words. They were fearful, distrusting, confused, concerned.

Then a voice cut through the din, soft and croaky, “Face me, Skywalker.”

She didn’t want to. She knew, even without looking, that to face that being would hurt too much. They would be blinding and deafening. They were too much. But her feet pivoted, she had to obey.

The being was too bright to look at, the screeching became painfully unbearable.

Anakin cried out in pain, clamping her hands over her ears, screwing her eyes shut. What was happening? Why couldn’t she see? Why couldn’t she breathe? Her heart was pounding so fast, she was certain it would give out any second. She tasted salt and iron as blood pooled in her mouth. Her breaths came in ragged gasps and cries.

“Make it stop!” she begged. “Please! Make it stop!” MakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitSTOP!

She had no defense against this onslaught. She could do nothing to protect herself. Screaming, sobbing, she curled up as small as she could. Distantly, she heard Shila call for her; she heard Obi-Wan calling her name. But she couldn’t see them, she couldn’t find them.

Every nerve in her skin felt like it was set fire, like some powerful poison had slipped into her veins and was trying to burn her from the inside out. Anakin trembled violently. The whole world seemed to shake with her. Someone was touching her, but it only hurt more. She screamed and the touch disappeared. Then there was nothing but the fire, and the pain in her head, and the screeching in her ears, and the blinding haze. Even with her eyes screwed shut it was all she could see.

Then mercifully, everything went dark and silent in an instant. Like a fuse had blown.

Anakin could breathe again. She was blind and deaf, but nothing hurt anymore. She had a second to feel thankful for the reprieve, and then she slipped into unconsciousness.

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Chapter Text

It all happened so fast.

Just in the span of a few seconds, a handful of Anakin’s lightning fast heartbeats, a few of her rapid, gasping breaths.

Obi-Wan felt so stupid for not even considering Anakin might experience an Overload upon facing the Jedi Council. He had been so focused on simply getting Anakin to the Temple that he had forgotten to prepare her for it.

And even worse, he only realized it after it was too late to do anything to help her.

Her pain and fear lashed out against them as she stepped into the silent circle of Masters. It turned into a hurricane of emotion and physicality. Like someone had cracked open their skulls and poured her mind inside. They felt her pain. They heard her thoughts.

Anakin’s onslaught was debilitating; freezing them where they stood with their hands clamped over their ears in a futile attempt to stop the noise. Her voice screamed in their heads desperately pleading to make it stop, while a wordless wail tore through her throat. Blood poured from her mouth as she sobbed and trickled down her temples from where her nails had clawed into her own skin. She collapsed in on herself, curling into a tight ball on the floor.

Obi-Wan moved without thinking. He ran for Anakin, hoping maybe he could snap her out of it, or force some protection over her. He barely got a hand on her. She threw out her arm to push him off and something white hot and invisible whipped at him, snapping the bones in his arm and leaving burning welts up and down the skin. He was thrown back against the wall, near where Vos was trying to shelter a wailing Shila, dazed and nearly blinded with pain.

The tower trembled.

They had to stop her before she killed them all. Anakin was like a slowly exploding bomb. If they didn’t stop her, contain her, she could cripple the Jedi Order.

Master Yoda reached out his hand, a look of great effort and concentration on his face. Everything stopped. Anakin fell still and stopped screaming. She uncurled and hovered limply, like a rag doll just a couple inches off the floor.

“Contain her myself, I cannot,” Yoda informed the rest of the Council.

The remaining Masters took their turn wrapping their own protective, separating layer around Anakin’s unconscious form. Of the twelve of them, only Master Tiin was unresponsive in his chair. Beside him, Master Ti shot him concerned looks as she added her own shields around Anakin.

“Saesee?”

“More strongly affected, the telepaths will be,” Yoda announced. “Into an isolation chamber, Skywalker must go. Then tend to the afflicted, we will.”

With some effort, the Masters were able to get Anakin off the spire and to the Halls of Healing. Obi-Wan followed numbly, his injured arm hanging limply at his side. Quinlan had scooped up Shila, who was wailing inconsolably into his shoulder. She gripped him tightly, and he did his best to comfort the child, and spoke to her in Huttese.

Progress was slow as they had to stop every once in a while so a Master could strengthen their shields around Anakin. Her uncontained power was constantly chipping away at their shields. Not to mention the Temple was in absolute chaos and any who saw them wanted to turn to the Council for explanation. But there simply wasn’t time to waste.

Master Healers joined them in the medical wing, adding their own protections to Anakin as they made the final maneuver into an isolation chamber. They barely got her settled in and the dampeners turned on to full power before Anakin broke through their cocoon. They chose to send in a droid to administer the sedative. It didn’t last a second.

“In time, she will tire,” Yoda reasoned. “An endless font of energy, she is not.”

They were certain that given time in her unconscious and isolated state she would eventually revert back to normal.

The Council turned to Obi-Wan and Vos. Their gaze wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t blameless either. How had two Knights spent over a week in the presence of a person that strong in the Force and not taken notice?

“We didn’t know,” Obi-Wan gasped, cradling his injured arm close. He tried not to flinch away from the invisible hurricane raging inside the isolation chamber when he looked at Anakin’s unconscious form. “We sensed she was strong, but… nothing like that.” He gestured helplessly with his uninjured hand.

He wasn’t the only one to struggle with the sheer magnitude of power that had been dammed up inside Anakin. How had the Order not taken notice when she was born? The entrance of someone like her into the Living Force had to have created ripples that would have reached Coruscant from Tatooine. Unless her birth had been shrouded by the forces of the Dark Side and purposefully hidden until the opportune moment.

“Mysterious are the movements of the Force,” Master Yoda mused, studying the young woman intently. “Of great interest, this young Skywalker is.”

“We can do nothing for her until she settles or regains consciousness,” Master Windu reasoned. “Our focus should be on restoring order to the Temple and tending to the afflicted. Vos, Kenobi, the Council wants your reports as soon as you can complete them. Leave out no detail.”

“Yes, Master,” they both replied.

Anakin was left under the watch of the Healers as the Masters were pulled back to their duties to restore some order to the Temple. Vos took Shila to the crèches, and entrusted her into their care to tend to her. Obi-Wan was pulled away by another Healer to have his wounds tended to.

Anakin was left alone in the isolation chamber, with nothing to be done except wait.

Anakin woke alone in a dark, cramped room. The buzzing was gone, and the pain. In fact, she felt oddly disconnected from her body. It was a sluggish, drugged feeling; as if one of her senses was only half functioning. But she could see her surroundings in the dim ambient light, and she could hear a rhythmic beeping up by her head. She could taste the remnants of blood in her mouth, and feel that she was laying on something soft and warm. Stiffly, she turned her head to find the source of the light. There was a window to her left looking out onto a hall, it was partially opaque to soften the incoming light, but she could see a dark figure slumped in a chair just on the other side of the window.

"Hello?" she croaked.

The figure sat up straight. "Anakin, you're awake!" Obi-Wan's voice was tinny through a small speaker.

Relief flooded through her at his familiar voice. "Where's Shila?"

"She's alright. She's in the crèches. The caretakers are watching after her."

Anakin let her head fall back against the pillows. Obi-Wan wouldn’t lie to her about Shila. At least her sister was safe after… after whatever had happened to her.

"I'm going to open the window a little, let me know if it's too bright," Obi-Wan warned.

Anakin nodded mutely and shut her eyes as the light from the window got brighter. She blinked for a moment, adjusting, and then asked. "Where am I?"

"You're in an isolation chamber. It is designed to keep a person separated from the Force. How do you feel? Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so." Anakin flexed her fingers and tested her limbs; there were some minor aches and pains, but nothing severe. She just felt unbearably tired and heavy. With great effort, she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed so she was facing the window. Really, her biggest complaint was her raw throat.

"Is there water?"

"A dispenser and cups to your left," Obi-Wan pointed.

Anakin’s body ached deeply as she scooted to the edge of the bed and filled the cup with some water. She took a couple sips. The water tasted strange, almost metallic, but that may have been the blood still in her mouth. At least it was clean, and drinkable, and it soothed her raw throat. She caught her reflection in the window and realized that blood had dried in furrows down her face and chin. Anakin reached up and touched the tender scabs on her temple and she could feel the sore gouges in her tongue where she had bitten deeply. She tipped the last dribbles of water in her cup onto her sleeve and washed away what she could of the dried blood.

"What happened? How did I get here?"

A significantly guilty and pained expression crossed Obi-Wan's face. "I must apologize, Anakin, I failed to prepare you for what you may experience in the Temple. I knew you had little to no shielding, but I didn't consider what exposure to that much Force presence without any preparation would do."

Anakin's mouth went dry again at the memory. She wiped away the last of the blood on her chin. "What happened?"

"It was what we call an Overload. It tends to happen to young, untrained Jedi as they begin exploring the Force. Too much input from the Force too quickly that they don't know how to handle. You experienced the same thing upon facing the Council."

"They were afraid of me. I could feel it."

"You caught them off guard. We were not expecting a reaction of that magnitude."

"How did they make it stop? Everything was…” She struggled to find the words to explain the too bright, too loud, too painful, “It just ended so suddenly."

"Master Yoda was able to shield you from the Force. The Masters sort of cocooned you until we got you into the isolation chamber."

Anakin looked around her bleak and tiny room. "Am I stuck here forever then?"

"No, Anakin, just until you can form adequate shields."

Anakin breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't think she could stand to spend the rest of her life in a cell. "How long was I out?"

"About a day," Obi-Wan shifted in his seat. "The Healers were afraid there had been some internal damage done; they thought you would wake after a couple hours."

"Couldn't they check?"

"Anakin, nobody could get close to you. The Masters barely got you here before you shattered their protections. They tried administering a chemical suppressant, but you destroyed three med droids even with the dampeners at full power."

Anakin felt her heart clench painfully, and the icy grip of horror sank into her. "But, I don't- I don't have that kind of strength or power. If I did, I would have escaped slavery years ago."

"I don't think any of us understood the depths of your abilities, Anakin," Obi-Wan said soberly.

Anakin stared down at her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers repeatedly. They were strong, always had been, considering she'd spent almost her entire life tearing apart and rebuilding machines, and she knew that they were nimble enough to fly across her podracer's controls. But never before had she thought that there was any more to them. They were simply hands with skills she had taught herself.

Everything she was. Everything she considered her strength were all things she had learned through one lesson or another. There was nothing natural or innate in her except her need to survive.

What had happened… the Force or whatever it was; she didn't know where it came from.

It terrified her.

Anakin felt very suddenly unsafe in the Jedi Temple. She didn't belong in a space like this where simply existing was too much to handle. She hadn't had this problem on Naboo. Maybe it would be best if she left Coruscant. She felt dangerous here, and she knew the Jedi would see her the same way.

Why else was Obi-Wan keeping the transparisteel window between them?

"Can I see Shila?" she asked softly, already knowing the answer.

"The Council doesn't want you to have visitors until you're properly sedated. They want to avoid any accidents."

Anakin nodded, accepting the ultimatum. She expected as much. "Was she scared?"

"I think she was more scared for you than of you," Obi-Wan said delicately.

He had to be lying. Anakin remembered the abject terror she felt from her sister up in the tower. Shila had never experienced anything like that before in her life. Anakin had hurt her.

She pushed the thought away with a shake of her head. She would make it right to Shila as soon as she was allowed to see her. "So what next?"

"Now that you're awake, some Council members will come and speak with you. They are already on their way."

Anakin figured Obi-Wan had called for them as soon as she woke up. "I assume they'll send someone with the sedative first."

"Ah – actually I have it. Are you alright administering it yourself? The Council –“

"Doesn't want you in here. Got it."

"There's an airlock by the window." Something clattered into it from Obi-Wan's end. "The healers made their best guess on dosage, it may be a little strong."

"What will it do?" Anakin pushed herself slowly from the bed. It didn't make sense for them to give her a sedative to knock her out if they wanted to talk.

"It blocks your Force receptivity on a cellular level. I'm afraid it's not at all pleasant to experience."

Anakin grabbed the hypo from the slot. "Where do I put it?"

"The side of your neck," Obi-Wan tapped near his jugular.

Anakin paused, looking through the window. Up close, and standing above him, she could see something Obi-Wan was clearly trying to keep hidden beneath his robes. "What happened to your arm?"

Obi-Wan's right arm was heavily bandaged up past the elbow and held in a sling beneath his robe. He moved automatically as if to try and hide it, but after a moment of hesitation, pulled the robe aside. "Ah, it’s nothing, really; a minor sprain and some abrasions. A result of my own foolishness."

Anakin instantly caught onto his lie. "Did I hurt you?"

"You weren't in control of yourself, Anakin. I know you didn't mean to," he explained quickly. "When you fell and started screaming, I tried to help. I didn't think that the Force might have formed some defensive measures around you."

Anakin felt sick to her stomach. "Did I hurt anyone else?"

"As I said, it was more my fault than yours. And I'll heal up in no time." He smiled weakly in reassurance. She didn’t miss that he deliberately didn’t answer her question.

"I'm sorry," Anakin muttered staring at the hypo in her hands. He was downplaying the damage she had done. He had to be hurt worse than that to explain the extent of the bandages.

"I've had worse, really. And look, now you've got me in both arms." He shook back his left sleeve to reveal the red, scabbed marks where she had sunk her teeth into him. Had it not been long enough for him to heal completely? Had she still been a slave just a handful of days ago? It felt like three lifetimes. "Next time you can go for the legs."

It was a weak attempt at a joke, and Obi-Wan apologized for it a second later.

Anakin said nothing as she jabbed the hypo into her neck. She felt fluid rush through her veins and in a few short seconds, the half-sense she couldn't quite identify was gone. It must have been the Force.

It wasn't long before they were joined by others. Master Qui-Gon was in the company of two others; another human who was tall, broad shouldered, bald, and dark skinned; and hovering beside the two in a chair a small, wizened, ancient-looking being of a species Anakin didn't know. Pain lanced through Anakin's mind and she found she still couldn't look directly at the small green being, he still had that odd halo effect around him, thought it was significantly muted.

Qui-Gon had a carefully guarded expression on his face. "Good afternoon, Anakin."

"She has been given the suppressant?" The other man asked. Anakin recognized his deep voice from the tower.

"Yes," both Anakin and Obi-Wan answered.

"Then I suppose proper introductions are in order. Anakin, these are Masters Yoda and Mace Windu, they lead the High Council.” Qui-Gon gestured to the Masters in turn. “We would like to speak with you. May I come in?"

"Yes."

A door near the window hissed as the seal was broken and it slid open smoothly. Only Qui-Gon stepped forward to enter. He hesitated on the threshold, as if testing to see if it was safe to enter. Or maybe to see if Anakin would lash out again. She didn't think she would be able to even if she knew how.

The distrustful furrow in Windu's brow eased a little as Qui-Gon stepped fully into the room. The door sealed behind him with a hermetic hiss.

"Can I turn some lights on?" he asked.

Anakin nodded. He moved so carefully and cautiously, as if he thought she was a feral animal who would attack at the slightest provocation. Anakin sat back down on the bed, already feeling weak and tired from standing for such a short time.

"How do you feel, Anakin?" he asked after pulling a chair out from a corner and settling down. "An overload episode can leave your physical senses reeling for some time after. It can leave many people feeling rather discombobulated. "

Anakin shrugged. "I've felt worse."

"Do you remember anything?"

Anakin nodded again. "It was awful. I'd never felt anything like it. Everything was too loud, but not in my ears, if that makes sense, and too bright, but not to my eyes. I can still kind of see it from him." She glanced towards Yoda, but looked away quickly when the same pain shot through her skull. Qui-Gon winced slightly, as if he'd felt the pain as well.

"We can increase the dosage of the suppressants. What else do you remember? When did you black out?"

"In the tower, after everything got too much. Everything hurt, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, it was like I'd been thrown into the heart of a sun. And then it all stopped, everything was dark and silent... the next I knew I woke up here." Anakin stared at her fidgeting hands, not quite able to meet the Jedi's eyes. "I'm sorry for..." she trailed off, not entirely sure how to explain she was sorry for simply existing in a place where she couldn’t.

"It was our mistake, Anakin. We failed to consider your background. We did not think that you would be as sensitive to the Force as you are. We didn't consider that you might not have the defenses necessary to face the Council as a whole. The Force is very powerful when we are together."

"I didn't know I could do that."

"We will teach you how to shield and protect yourself. You will be able to exist in the Temple without hurting yourself soon enough."

And without hurting others, Anakin supplied the unspoken words mentally.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Tired. Confused. Frightened." Anakin hunched her shoulders even more.

"Are you feeling up to another visitor?"

Anakin perked up. "Shila, my sister. Can I see her?"

"Ah, not right now. You are still very raw in the Force, Anakin. We'd like to keep you isolated from the unprepared for a little longer. For her sake and yours."

"I understand. She still has her tracker inside her. It's a bomb. It needs to be removed."

"We have been made aware of her chip. It will be taken care of. If you feel up to it, Anakin, we would like a doctor to take a look at you. I understand you have been through quite the ordeal even prior to entering the Temple."

"I think I can handle it."

Qui-Gon stood up, “Good. Until then, Obi-Wan can keep you company.”

A very small smile pulled at Anakin’s lips. “Okay.”

Qui-Gon stepped out of the isolation room after promising to fetch a doctor. He stepped aside to let Obi-Wan in and made sure to turn off the intercom before speaking. "I believe she is stable for the time being. I only felt a slight backlash when she looked at you, Master Yoda. Otherwise she was contained."

"We will inform the Healers to increase the suppressant dosage," Mace confirmed. "Master Che is already on her way."

"What is your assessment of Skywalker?" Yoda asked.

"I believe she is truthfully unaware of the extent of her power. I don't think she harbors any malice, and aside from what I would consider a normal level of certain dark thoughts and feelings for a non-Jedi with her history and current circ*mstances, I didn’t sense any traces of the Dark Side in her."

"Hmmm, distrustful, she is. Suspicious."

"Not an entirely unwarranted reaction for someone who has spent her life as a slave. And given her experiences here…" Qui-Gon reasoned, not needing to finish that statement. "Even suppressed and in isolation, she was aware of our own caution towards her. She is just as afraid of herself as we are of her."

"She is very powerful," Mace conceded. "I can't think of many Jedi who would be able to break through the entire Council's shields like that, even if we were caught off guard. I will be interested to see her numbers."

"I'm sure we all are."

Mace rubbed at his chin thoughtfully as he watched Obi-Wan and Anakin’s muted conversation through the window for a moment. "It is strange that she did not have even the most rudimentary of shielding. Most younglings are born with a small degree of protection. Even on the most inert systems."

"Incorrect in your assumption, I believe you are," Yoda interrupted. "Shields Skywalker possesses, however use them on herself, she does not. Her sister, did you notice?"

"The child? She was unremarkable, not Force Sensitive."

"Notice her you should, while in isolation, Skywalker is."

"She projected her shields onto her sister?"

Qui-Gon stroked his beard as he mused aloud. "If she did, I don't believe she was conscious of doing so. Both Obi-Wan and Vos reported that she only showed very basic and clumsy control of empathetic and mental manipulation. She used it to sway the minds of clients and detect falsehoods. Of her other skills she possesses, racing and fighting, strength and agility, and even emotional projection, she seemed unaware that the Force can influence them."

An approaching set of footsteps drew their attention as Master Che swept down the corridor. She held herself straight and stiff as she walked, with only the slight droop of her blue lekku to belay how tired she was. The Healers had been very busy since yesterday.

"Good afternoon, Masters," she said briskly as she reached them.

"Master Che, how are the afflicted?" Windu asked.

"They will recover." Her eyes turned to the window. Obi-Wan was still speaking calmly with Anakin. "She is fully suppressed?"

"Nearly,” Qui-Gon said, “she still reacted to Master Yoda's presence outside the room, but had none to me when I spoke with her. I think it's best if she only faces one or two people at a time."

"Noted. I don't want her back in the general population of the Temple until she is fully suppressed or adequately shielded. We cannot have a repeat of yesterday. Most of our telepaths are still crippled and will take some weeks to recover fully." Master Che checked the datapad in her hands. "I've looked over what information we have from both Knights Kenobi and Vos's reports. Have you?"

Qui-God and Yoda both affirmed.

"I skimmed through them," Windu admitted. "She woke before I had the time for an in-depth read."

"Aside from suggesting the usual wellness check, and midichlorian count, both Vos and Kenobi voiced their suspicions that Skywalk might be pregnant. Add to that, Kenobi seemed convinced that the two Skywalkers are sisters, but Vos believes they may be mother and daughter."

"Anakin would have had to have been extremely young," Qui-Gon protested. "Shila is over three standard years old. Anakin only recently turned nineteen."

"Mental and emotional maturity matters very little to slavers," Vokara stated grimly. "We haven't been able to run any tests on Shila yet. She is still greatly distressed, and none of the caretakers or pediatricians thought it wise to further distress her. But I did notice she and Anakin share a particularly strong bond – most common between mother and child, but not unheard of for a single caretaker raising a child since birth. I will test their DNA to get a definitive answer.”

Yoda nodded. “A wise choice, that is. Know all of what we are dealing with, we must.”

Master Che glanced back to her datapad, checking off a couple items. “Barring any further unforeseen roadblocks, I suggest we make teaching Anakin to shield a priority. I doubt she will want to be separated from Shila for very long, and aside from treating any immediate injuries and distress, we cannot otherwise tend to Shila until Anakin gives her consent."

"Leave Anakin in your capable hands, we will, Master Che. Inform us you will, when answers you have."

Anakin jumped slightly when a crisp feminine voice announced through the intercom that she was entering the room. The others had spent so long speaking behind the muted intercom that she had begun to ignore them in favor of listening to Obi-Wan. He was trying to distract her, and keep her mind occupied, but Anakin had lost the thread of his story shortly after he had begun.

She still felt blinded and deafened in an inexplicable way that she was certain was because of the suppressant she'd been given. There was a lack of sensory input that she hadn't even noticed until it was gone. Her head felt almost empty. She felt oddly alone. And Obi-Wan, who had become a familiar fixture in her periphery over the last several days felt distant.

The doctor stepped in and introduced herself as Master Vokara Che. Anakin was briefly surprised to see a female twi'lek holding not only the title of Master but of doctor as well, but then she mentally reminded herself that things were different in the Republic, and things were different with the Jedi.

Obi-wan stood to leave the room, and Anakin almost asked if he could stay. She didn't want to be alone. But before she could even ask, he was gone, she was handed a cloth gown and instructed to undress, but wait to put on the gown. Vokara wanted to check for any external injuries.

Anakin moved to undress before Vokara finished speaking.

Master Che reminded her gently, “You can wait until I close the window. We are allowed full privacy.”

“Right,” Anakin muttered, stopping from pulling off her shirt until the window was darkened to full opacity. How easy she forgot that her body, her life was in her own hands now, and only to be given to those she deemed trustworthy.

Master Che stepped away from the window controls and turned her back to activate a computer console. By the time she was done, Anakin had stripped.

It was the strangest examination Anakin had ever experienced. She was used to eyes on her naked body – keen eyes looking for the slightest flaw to detract her value. She had a few small scars from her childhood, from before her worth was based on the perfection of her body. And there were a couple scars from her time as Jabba's slave. Podracing was not gentle, and sometimes a client had violent tastes. On top of all that, she was mottled with the fading bruises and cuts from her escape. At least her ribs had stopped hurting a couple days ago. She had always been a fast healer.

Vokara's eyes were just as sharp as a slaver's, but she held none of the lust or malice they did as she looked Anakin over.

"You've been through a lot, recently," Vokara commented as she took notes on a datapad. Her finger traced along the healing scar on Anakin's shoulder blade. "This is where your tracker was, correct? The bacta has healed it up nicely." She then examined the fresh scabs on Anakin’s face, and on her tongue. “Those are healing fast as well, but I’ll get you something to expedite it and prevent infection.” She stepped back to the computer. "You can put the gown on, and lie on the bed. I need to check for internal injuries."

Anakin did as instructed, and a soft blue light flicked on overhead and enveloped her body. She briefly considered asking a question that had been burning inside her for months. But fear stopped her. She didn’t truly know what Jedi doctors were like, what their opinions were. She hadn’t seen enough to fully trust them with her precious secret. So she kept her mouth shut and waited for the scan to complete.

If Master Che saw anything on her computer screen, she said nothing.

“You can sit up and dress again.” The blue light disappeared. “It will take time for the medicomputer to compile a full report and diagnostic. We can go over it tomorrow afternoon.”

Anakin sat up, but made no move to dress again. “Has my sister been taken care of?”

“Shila? We were able to tend to her immediate needs, but as her guardian, you had to be conscious to consent to any non-emergency treatments.”

“How soon can you remove her tracker?” Shila had been freed for a week now; Anakin couldn’t stand the thought of a bomb in her baby sister any longer.

Vokara studied her carefully for a moment, as if thinking. “I hoped we could do so tomorrow. She is still a little distressed from yesterday’s events. I don’t wish to stress her out further. Removing her tracker would be a very quick procedure. She won’t even have to go under for it.” She made a note in her datapad. “I’d like to give her a wellness check as well, same as you’re getting.”

“Can I be there with her tomorrow? I couldn’t be there when they put it in.”

Vokara paused again, as if considering the possibility. “I think we could arrange that,” she said after a long moment. “You will have to be fully suppressed, though, to leave the room. I understand the dose you took wasn’t quite strong enough. We may have to test a couple more dosages before you can go.”

“I don’t care. I just want to be there for Shila. I’ll do anything.”

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Anakin did not sleep much that night. Between worrying over Shila, and worrying over what the Jedi would do with her now, and wondering what the doctors might find, and fighting a constant on-edge feeling that she suspected was connected to the suppressants they had given her, and being locked in the tiny isolation chamber, she didn’t get more than a fitful hour or two of sleep.

She had already been up for well over an hour when Vokara Che arrived early the next morning with some breakfast and a loaded hypo. “How did you sleep?” the healer asked, setting the hypo aside and handing Anakin the small tray of food.

“Not great, but I’ll be fine.” Anakin picked at the food she had been given, it was a salad of fresh fruit and a type of crispy, sweet, nutty biscuit. “When can I see Shila?”

“Later this morning, there are some preparations we must wait on, and I would like to discuss something with you first.”

“You found something in your exam yesterday.”

“Yes, I’ll get to that, but first I’d like to ask some questions. To get a better idea of your history.”

“Ask what you want,” Anakin muttered to her fruit. She had a feeling where these questions were going. It was hardly surprising the Jedi wanted more details about her life as a slave.

“As I understand it, during your servitude to the Hutts, you were often required to service clients sexually, yes?” Anakin nodded silently. “How old were you when you were forced to start?”

“Fifteen. My mother bartered some kind of agreement with Jabba to keep me from that service as long as possible, but… we knew it couldn’t last forever.”

“Was there ever any type of protection for you to use to keep you free from disease?”

“Mas– Jabba always made sure to keep us free of disease, but we were always treated after the fact.”

“Have you ever been pregnant?”

Anakin swallowed. She had been wondering how long it would take Che to get to that question. “No, never before.”

“Do you know you’re pregnant now?”

“I had my suspicions, but I thought something must be wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Girls got pregnant all the time in the Palace, and when it happened I always knew. I don’t know how, but there was just a sudden change with them and I knew they were pregnant. I felt the same thing in myself months ago, but… nothing came of it. Other girls were showing something by this point, and I had no change. But there wasn’t anything else from it either.” She laid a hand over her low abdomen. “It’s dead, isn’t it?”

“Actually, the scans showed that it was quite healthy. Do you happen to have an idea of the conception date?”

“About three months ago, I don’t know the exact date.”

“And you’re certain?”

“Yes.”

Vokara checked her scans again. If Anakin was certain of the timeline, then at the moment the fetus was several weeks behind in certain developmental milestones. By twelve weeks there should at least be a little bit of show. At least for any normal human pregnancy.

"You wouldn't happen to have an idea of who the father is, would you? We can run a genetic analysis, but that requires gathering a sample of amniotic fluid, which poses some risk to the fetus. Particularly when it is so small."

"No need," Anakin shook her head. "I know exactly who the father is. He was a pantoran bounty hunter. I was gifted to him for a night after he completed a particularly important mission for my Master – ah, for Jabba. He had been the first in several weeks that I had not been able to sway, and he was the last.” She then shrugged, remembering what she could of that night. “As far as patrons go, he was one of the better ones I had to service. He didn't try to hurt me or anything, and he fell asleep quickly."

"And you're certain it was the pantoran."

"Yes. A few days later, I felt the change in me, and as I said, he was the only client I couldn't convince otherwise. I haven't actually lain with anyone else since then."

“Well, that could offer an explanation of why development seems delayed. A pantoran gestation period typically lasts sixty weeks while Humans only gestate for forty. However, hybridizations are not my area of expertise; I would have to do some research before I give any definitive answers. Of course that won’t be necessary, should you choose to terminate.”

“Terminate?” Anakin echoed weakly, a strike of fear flashing through her heart. Would the Jedi force her, just as Jabba would?

“It is an option available to you sho-“

“No!”

Vokara’s eyes were sympathetic, she spoke softly. “Anakin, it is your choice, but you should not feel obligated to bear a child that you did not consent to creating. You did not choose to become pregnant; you do not have to choose to see it through.”

“You don’t understand,” Anakin whispered, still not quite eased by Vokara’s words. “No slave chooses the circ*mstances of their birth. No slave picks if or when they have a child. If you’re lucky enough to be allowed to carry a child, you try and love them as much as possible. Slaves own nothing, not their lives, not even their family. If you’re lucky enough to have that, you hold onto it as tightly as you can.”

Vokara regarded her solemnly. “I do understand where you find your reasoning. However, I would be remiss if I did not remind you that you are free now. Your life and your body are your own, and you can choose how they are used and by whom. If you do not wish to be pregnant, you do not have to be.”

“But I want to be!” Anakin paused for a moment to calm her voice and settle her thoughts. “Unless a slave’s master permits them to carry, they are forced to terminate. I’d never be allowed to have this baby if I was still a slave. Jabba would never allow me to be put off service for so long. If I truly have the freedom to choose, then I’m choosing what I would never have been allowed.”

“If that is your choice, we will respect it.” Vokara made a note on her datapad. “In that case, while you are with us, you will need to see a specialist.”

“Do you have midwives?”

“We have Healers who specialize in pregnancy and childbirth.” Vokara half smiled at Anakin’s surprised expression. “We are not a celibate order. Despite numerous reliable methods of birth control available to all species and genders within the Temple sometimes, well, accidents happen. We are well equipped to take care of any needs, should a Jedi choose to bear young.”

Anakin nodded, eased quite a bit by these new revelations, but as she thought about the baby and the future, her mind jumped back to the past. “My mother died giving birth to Shila,” she said quietly.

Vokara didn’t need Anakin to voice her silent and terrified “What if?”

“You will probably greatly tire of hearing this, but things are different here in the Temple. We are truly equipped to handle any emergency. You are young, Anakin, and you are healthy and have access to medical care. To worry is natural, but do not let it consume you.”

Anakin nodded mutely, trying to tamp down her instinct and absorb the Healer’s words. Things were different in the Republic. Things were different with the Jedi. Things were different.

“Were there any other things you wanted to discuss?”

“No, we’ve covered everything for now.”

“You… you won’t tell anyone else about the baby, will you?”

Vokara studied Anakin carefully. “Is there anyone you wouldn’t want me to tell?”

“N-no, not really. But on Tatooine, you don’t really tell too many people too early.”

“I understand. You are welcome to keep what customs you wish, and only tell whom you choose. Regardless, this is privileged medical information. It is not for public view. Do you have any other questions?”

“When can I see Shila?”

“Soon. One of our pediatricians should be ready soon, and I will contact the crèches to have her brought up. In the meantime, I have another dose of suppressant for you.” She handed over the nearly forgotten hypo. “Once that has taken hold, we can go over and wait for her.

Anakin, almost too eagerly, placed the hypo at her neck and waited for it to inject. When Vokara was satisfied that she was fully suppressed, she led Anakin from the isolation chamber. She briefly explained the area of the Temple they were currently in, the Halls of Healing, and they passed a couple other healers, a handful of nurses, and a few Jedi who eyed Anakin curiously. She felt nothing of the heavy stares on her as she had before, nor did she feel the buzzing in her head or the overwhelming press of everything. She felt almost blissfully normal.

They entered a wing that had been decorated in significantly bolder colors, an abrupt change from the muted and calming shades of previous wards. There was art on the walls, some professionally done, and others clearly the unpracticed scribblings of children. They stopped in an empty waiting area, where a dozen or so chairs were placed around the alcove.

“You can wait here. The crèche master is on his way, and I’ll find Healer Kon’forti.”

Vokara swept away down the hallway. Anakin sat gingerly in a seat. She stared silently at the tiny chairs clearly meant for children, and the small table of toys, and selection of holos bearing titles that sounded like children’s stories. Anakin’s hands fidgeted nonstop while she waited. Eventually Vokara returned, with the news that they were preparing a sterile room to remove Shila’s tracker. Shortly after that they were joined by a male mirialan, and holding his hand and squeezing her plush tooka close with her free hand was Shila.

Anakin leapt to her feet. She wanted to rush forward and grab Shila and hold her close, but she hesitated. After what happened in the tower, would Shila be afraid of her? Anakin had to have hurt her just as she hurt everyone else. She had to be careful; she had to make sure Shila felt safe with her.

"Ani!" Shila cried, jerking her hand from the mirialan's, dropping her tooka, and running to her sister.

Anakin's worries fell away as she stepped forward to meet her sister. Shila crashed into her, wrapping her arms around for a hug, and Anakin scooped her up and held her tight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered in Huttese. "I'm so sorry. You must have been so frightened, Shila."

They were both crying. Shila was sobbing through an almost incomprehensible stream of everything she had felt since the tower two days ago.

Anakin pressed kisses to her sister's forehead and cheeks. "I'm so sorry for worrying you."

Shila calmed quickly after she had gotten everything out of her system. Anakin dried Shila’s tears and then her own. When she was calmed enough, Anakin finally acknowledged the Jedi in the room.

The mirialan introduced himself as Zoll, one of the crèche masters who had been watching over Shila.

"Has she been doing alright? Not knowing Basic."

"Oh yes, quite well in fact, we've hardly had any communication problems."

"Do you speak Huttese?"

"Barely, but Shila seems to have a gift for languages and understanding. You do know that she is Force Sensitive, like yourself."

"I guessed as much."

"We've noticed she’s quite able to understand what is being said regardless of language, though she only responds in her native tongue. Fortunately some of our other caretakers know the language.” He offered Anakin a small, understanding smile. “May I ask? Why doesn't she know Basic? Yours is quite good, clearly you speak it regularly. If you were multilingual around her she should have picked up on some key words and phrases at minimum, though by her age I'd expect her to be near fluent in both."

"But I wasn't. I only spoke to her in Huttese, as did every other person in her life. It was for her safety," Anakin said darkly. "A slave who doesn't know Basic has less of a chance of being sold off world."

"I see.” Zoll cleared his throat, his eyes flicked around for a moment, unwilling to meet Anakin’s eyes. Had he not been told Shila’s origins? “Well, I wouldn't be surprised if she picks up on Basic quickly after spending some more time around its speakers.”

Anakin smiled softly. "No, I wouldn't either. She was always a talker."

Another Healer joined them, a middle aged rodian. He introduced himself as Kon’forti, the head pediatrician. "We are ready when you are," he informed her.

Anakin nodded. "Let's go then." The sooner they were able to give Shila a checkup, the sooner they would be able to remove her tracker and Shila would truly be safe and free.

They first went to a small room, similar to the isolation chamber, but also significantly more cheerful. Shila, despite now being so nervous she was trembling and had a death grip on Anakin’s hand, was quickly put at ease by the pediatrician. He even got her to laugh once at a joke. Her exam went much the same as Anakin's had the previous afternoon. She was weighed and measured and checked for injuries or sign of illness, had some blood drawn, and scanned for internal injuries.

"There's the tracker," Vokara pointed out on the computer screen. It was right where Anakin thought it would be, directly beneath the now scarless patch on Shila's abdomen. Looking at it now, you never would have thought she had been cut open just a couple weeks prior.

"That will be quick and painless to remove," the other Healer confirmed. "It's lying just below the dermis."

"Let’s get it done," Vokara said crisply. They moved to another room that had already been set up for them. It was sterile and bare, with one table in the center and a stool pulled up beside it. Anakin set Shila on the table, and translated as the Healers described what they were going to do. She thought most of it went over Shila's head, but the scary parts stuck.

"Will it hurt?" she asked tremulously.

"You won't feel anything. I promise," the pediatrician assured her.

They had Shila lie down and while her gown had to be taken off so they could work, a small blanket was draped across her shoulders in part to keep her warm and also to help block her view.

She held Anakin's hand tightly, her little fingers like a vice. Anakin sat on the stool by her head, and she brushed her hair with her free hand and spoke soothingly.

"It'll be over before you know it," she whispered. "You just have to be brave for a little bit."

"Brave like you, Ani."

"Yeah." Anakin stroked her hair. She shared a look with the healers, they were ready. "Would you like me to sing for you?"

Her sister's eyes brightened. "Kyssa and the Krayt Dragons!"

Anakin couldn't help but smile. "That one's your favorite, isn't it?"

Shila nodded silently.

Anakin began to sing softly. It was a ballad about a slave girl who escaped from her Master and lived with the Krayt Dragons out in the Dune Sea where she could be free. It ended with Kyssa learning to fly and reaching true freedom amongst the stars, with her and her dragons. The tune was sweet and soothing, but the story was melancholy.

Shila didn't understand yet that at the end of the story the heroine died. Despite being free she was haunted by her past, she never felt truly free until she learned death was the only real escape to freedom.

Shila just liked the parts about riding dragons and flying through the stars. She would understand when she was older, much in the same way Anakin grew to understand the song. Her mother had sung the very same song for Anakin, and it was only right that Shila hear the song from her.

By the time Anakin finished singing, the Healers were done with their work and Shila was all patched up again with some bacta. It really had only taken them a couple minutes to remove the tracker.

"It's all done?" Shila asked when she was told to sit up. She checked her bandage and grinned broadly. "I didn't feel anything."

"You were so good and very brave," Anakin told her, scooping her back into her arms.

They were taken back to Anakin's isolation room and left alone with the promise that Vokara would be back to go over the medical exams later.

Someone, probably the crèche master had picked up Shila’s forgotten tooka plush and taken it to Anakin’s room. Shila happily settled into bed with her plush again, mentioning offhandedly that Mister Vos had brought Shila her tooka after the scary tower. Anakin made a mental note to thank the kiffar for looking after her sister.

It was still rather early in the morning, and Anakin could feel her sleepless night hanging over her. She could tell Shila was just as tired; she never slept as well when she was separated from Anakin. There wasn’t anybody waiting at the room, so Anakin gladly settled back into bed with Shila. Somebody would wake them if they were needed.

She listened contentedly as Shila enthusiastically told her about the other younglings she had met – she’d never met another child her age before, and here at the Temple, there were so many! Shila’s storytelling got slower and sleepier as she moved onto how nice the caretakers were, and how there were so many toys, and such fun games, and then with a jaw-cracking yawn, Shila curled up to Anakin and asked her to sing again.

Anakin wrapped her arms around her sister and held her close. She ran her fingers through Shila's hair and sang a lullaby this time. It wasn't long before Shila was asleep, and Anakin followed shortly after, curling protectively around Shila.

Out in the hallway, just out of sight, Mace Windu and Qui-Gon Jinn watched silently.

"They are very strongly bonded," Mace observed. "That may cause trouble down the road."

“I would be more concerned if they weren’t, given their history. Shila is still young enough to induct, but I don't think Anakin would ever agree to give her up to the Order. It’s a shame we didn’t find Anakin when she was still a child.”

“It is concerning that we did not sense Skywalker at all until recently. A power like hers should not have been missed, the fact that we did, bodes ill.”

Qui-Gon shot Mace a skeptical look, “You don’t actually believe that she is a plant by the Sith, do you? I sensed nothing of the Dark Side in her.”

“I believe I will reserve my judgement until we know as much as we can about Miss Skywalker.”

“Master Che should have her report on the Skywalkers ready for the Council meeting this afternoon.” Silence fell between them for several moments as the sisters slept on. “Regardless, I don’t think it would be wise to set Anakin lose in the galaxy unprepared. She will never become a Jedi, but she will have to receive some training.”

“On that, we can agree.”

Vokara Che had to look up the contact information she plugged into the com. It had been a couple years since she’d last been in contact with her old friend – both had been busy with their careers. But she needed an expert’s advice, and Alkene was just the expert she needed.

The other end of the line connected and a human woman’s face appeared. She was just about the same age as Vokara, they had been students together during Vokara’s out-of-Temple medical training. Her face had a few more laugh lines now than all those years ago and her hair was a little more gray, but her eyes were just as sharp.

“Well, here’s a call I wasn’t expecting today. How are you ‘Kara? It’s been a while.”

“Too long, Alkene. When are you going to stop running around the Outer Rim and come back to Coruscant for a visit?”

“When are you gonna give me a reason to come back? You know I need something very compelling to leave my research behind.” She laughed, “You wouldn’t happen to be calling up with such an offer, would you?”

“Yes and no. I was hoping I could pick your brain and get some advice.”

Alkene straightened in her seat, a curious glint in her eyes. “A problem the Jedi don’t have an immediate answer to. I’m shocked.”

“You are one of the galaxy’s leading experts on hybridizations. I thought it best to seek the advice of the best.”

“Flatterer. Tell me.”

“I have a patient, human woman, nineteen, who recently confirmed she’s pregnant. The father is pantoran. And aside from a basic understanding of hybridizations, I’m afraid my experience falls a bit short.”

"You say the father is pantoran?" The doctor perked up, greatly interested. "Now that's a new one."

"What do you mean, Alkene?"

"As far as I know, there's never been a record of a human-pantoran hybrid completing a viable pregnancy. That hybridization in itself is pretty rare for a coupling to even result in fertilization, much less last past the first few weeks."

"So it won't last?"

"I didn't say that. I just said nobody has recorded a successful pregnancy. But with all the beings in the galaxy, it is impossible to catch every single birth. How long has it been?"

"About twelve weeks."

Alkene was quiet for a moment as she skimmed through something. "The data I have shows most pregnancies of this mix barely last six weeks. But most cases appear to be pantoran women carrying, not human. You may have an advantage there."

"Elaborate for me.”

"Humans already have near unprecedented genetic adaptability. There are many species out there who are incapable of breeding with another subspecies of their own kind, much less an entirely alien species. But human DNA is weirdly flexible. So many years ago, when our ancestor's ancestors began exploring the galaxy and settling in new systems, we quickly diversified into several subspecies, and yet we have no trouble crossing with them. We share a common and close enough ancestor for pairings to still be viable. It's hardly surprising. But consider than humans can also breed with completely alien species, and produce viable offspring, well... in that way at least, the cards may be stacked in your patient’s favor."

Vokara knew better than to take that as a sign of hope. Alkene's face was still too sober to be hopeful. "There's a 'but' in there, somewhere."

"There's always a 'but.' I've worked with countless pregnancies and hybridizations from even before day one of the gestation. Pregnancy is not something a body takes to easily, and when you mix such different DNA there is a much greater risk of abnormalities. Sometimes it takes time for a body to realize that a fetus is non-viable. Just because one doesn’t miscarry early in their first trimester doesn't mean it couldn't happen. There is always a high likelihood with any hybrid pregnancy that the mother will not carry to full term. If that does happen, the baby's survival is largely dependent on timing."

"Do you think she should seek out a specialist?" Vokara asked. “This isn’t something we encounter much in the Temple.”

Alkene shrugged. "I don't think they would tell you anything new or offer any better advice. The baby will still be a baby, and the pregnancy will still be a pregnancy. There will be some differences from a normal pregnancy; hybrids have two different developmental blueprints to work from, rather than just the one.”

“What kind of differences?”

“You won’t be able to look at the developmental milestones for a human fetus, or for a pantoran fetus, and expect the baby to develop as such. Fortunately the body structures and internal anatomy are similar enough between the two species that all of the important pieces should be in place. You can probably expect development to fall about halfway between where a human gestation would and a pantoran. The mother’s body is only programmed to release certain hormones, so you won’t have to worry about that from her end, but from a fetal end, the hormonal feedback might not quite match with hers. You’ll have to watch carefully towards the end of gestation, and if labor doesn’t seem to be initiating on its own, either induce or deliver surgically. I would not recommend the wait-and-see method if she goes too far past term. Trying to deliver a baby who should have been born a month or more earlier is not easy for anyone.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vokara said dryly.

Alkene smiled at her old friend. “I’ll send you a packet of notes and research that I’ve collected. And of course you’re always welcome to reach out to me any time.”

“Thank you, ‘Kene, I appreciate your help.”

“You know this consultation doesn’t come free,” she added with a sly grin. “I expect notes and observations, Vokara. Your patient could provide some invaluable data.”

“I’ll be sure to send you what I can,” Vokara smiled. “Goodbye, Alkene.”

“You’re the best, ‘Kara, good luck!”

Her holo disappeared and Vokara took a moment to study her notes. She had gotten a lot of good information that she could pass onto Anakin. Some of it, she hoped would ease some of the young woman’s anxiety, but other she knew would only make it worse.

Vokara had never had a slip-up in her youth, or ever really been at all interested in having a child in the first place. She shuddered to think about having to worry not only about her own health, but that of something entirely helpless and dependent upon her. To have to carry something so delicate would be nerve wracking. No, she did not envy those who chose to go through with something like that.

Taking care of the health of those in the Jedi Temple was more than enough, thank you.

Her computer pinged gently as Alkene’s promised data packet arrived. She checked the time before opening the file – there was still some time to look things over before she wanted to go back to Anakin. Not to mention she needed to compile as much data before her report to the Council. It was always best to have as much information as possible when facing the unknown. And Skywalker… Vokara glanced at Anakin’s file… Skywalker was one hell of an unknown.

Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Chapter Text

When Vokara Che returned to Anakin’s room, she was, unsurprisingly, not alone. Kenobi was back, keeping both Skywalkers company. Shila seemed hardly bothered by her procedure earlier that morning, which pleased the Healer. Children were more resilient than most people gave them credit for, but even a precocious one like Shila had her limit of trauma.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just need a quick word with Anakin,” she said from the doorway.

“Of course, Master Che,” Obi-Wan stood up automatically to vacate the room. He turned to Anakin, “Would you like me to take Shila?”

“How long?” Anakin asked the Healer.

“Five or ten minutes,” Vokara said. “Not long.”

“Okay.” Anakin helped Shila slide off the bed, and asked her in Huttese, “Would you like to go with Obi-Wan for a little bit? Then you can come right back.”

Shila nodded and took Obi-Wan’s offered hand. He led her from the room and the door closed behind them.

“It’s about the baby, isn’t it?” Anakin asked immediately.

“Yes. I consulted with a colleague who specializes in hybrids. I got some more information I think you would appreciate.”

Vokara didn’t miss Anakin’s sudden, nervous fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve, but she still nodded and said, “Okay. What is it?”

Vokara told her much of what Alkene had provided, though glossed over some of the statistical, cold numbers. Simply telling a new mother that her pregnancy was highly delicate and at a high risk of failure was distressing enough. Predictably, Anakin blanched as the news sunk in, her hands went over her abdomen.

“My escape was so rough on my body,” she whispered tightly. “Did I already put it at risk? What if…”

“It’s been a week since, and our scans yesterday showed the baby was perfectly healthy. As of right now, I don’t see any cause for immediate concern. But I want to stress how important it is that you take significantly greater care for the future.”

Anakin relaxed and relief flushed through her. “I understand.”

Vokara handed over a datapad she had prepared for Anakin. “This has some greater details for what you can expect in the future, as well as an estimated timeline. If things go as predicted, your gestation will last approximately fifty weeks.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“We will be prepared. Read at your leisure, and let me know if you have any questions. I’m afraid I have a meeting to go to, I can’t stay. Shall I let Obi-Wan back in?”

“Yes, but… you… you won’t tell him, will you? About the baby?”

Vokara smiled gently. “That is privileged medical information, and he does not have the privileges to know anything you don’t choose to tell him.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a good evening, Anakin.” Vokara swept from the isolation chamber, letting Obi-Wan and Shila back through the open door.

“Is everything alright?” Obi-Wan asked cautiously as he settled into the chair at Anakin’s bedside. Shila crawled back into the bed and cuddled up to her sister.

“Yes, things are fine. Could you give me a minute? I need to tell Shila something.”

“Of course. Should I leave?” Obi-Wan was half out of his seat, gesturing over his shoulder to the door.

“No,” Anakin said quickly, “Just give me a moment without translation.”

Obi-Wan settled again and gestured for Anakin to speak freely.

Anakin patted the space on the bed in front of her for Shila to sit and waited for her sister to settle before taking her small hands and looking her in the eye. “Shila,” she muttered in Huttese, “How do you feel about becoming a big sister?”

She gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Like you? A big sister like you, Ani?”

“Yes, just like me.”

Her excitement died and Shila’s smile fell. “But will you go away like Mommy did?”

Anakin squeezed her hangs gently. “No, Shila, it will be different this time. I won’t go anywhere, and it’ll be me and you and the baby together forever.”

Shila was silent for a moment, thinking. Then she reached out and placed her hand over Anakin’s heart. “I’ll be the best big sister, just like you are!”

Anakin broke into a smile and pressed a kiss to the top of Shila’s head. She almost forgot about Obi-Wan waiting for their private conversation to end. But he didn’t seem all that bothered.

“Anything exciting happening?” he asked mildly.

“A little,” Anakin said with a cryptic smirk.

The Council chambers were awash with afternoon light as the Masters settled into their seats. They were all present once again. Even Saesee Tinn had released himself from the Halls of Healing to make the meeting – though he was asking that the others spoke softly around him and kept their projected thoughts to a minimum. Telepathic hangovers were not easy to shake.

Quiet chatter filled the room until Master Windu rose from his seat, signaling the meeting was to begin. “We are here to discuss the Skywalkers, and how the Jedi Order will handle them. Master Che has compiled information on them.” He gestured for the Healer to speak.

“Thank you, Master Windu.” Vokara stepped forward slightly. “I know you have all read Knight Kenobi’s and Knight Vos’ reports on their extraction of the Skywalkers from Tatooine. To settle one speculation, I can confirm that the Skywalkers are sisters. Half-sisters; same mother, different fathers – genetic testing has confirmed. On top of that, both sisters are Force Sensitive. Shila, as we observed once Anakin was put into isolation, had been shielded rather thoroughly by her sister. I was able to test her blood, and she is perfectly average for a Force Sensitive.” She took a moment to project Shila’s numbers for the Council. “Despite malnourishment from her upbringing on Tatooine, she is otherwise healthy and well adjusted. I can see her settling in well here with other younglings her age. Language barriers hardly seem to cause her trouble.”

Vokara took a moment to clear away Shila’s data. “Of the Skywalker sisters, Shila is certainly the least surprising. Anakin is… quite the challenge. The more I learn about her the more enigmatic she becomes.”

“You’re usually more forthcoming than this, Vokara,” Mace prompted.

“I usually have easier reports to give. Shall I start with Skywalker’s midichlorian count?” She projected the information from her datapad into the center of the room.

There was a collective gasp and a moment of stunned silence.

“That’s not possible,” Ki-Adi Mundi said weakly. “Nobody has a count that high. No Jedi on record ever has. There must be a mistake.”

“I ran the samples three times, there is no mistake.”

The Council rumbled, chewing over the new information.

“Well, we all bore witness to her raw power,” Plo Koon offered.

Shaak Ti spoke up, “Who were her parents? What is her bloodline?”

“If Anakin’s report of her own history is to be believed, and she has yet to be untruthful when questioned, her mother was another slave. The father was an anonymous client.”

“You don’t think her father was Force Sensitive?”

“We know nothing of him. He may be. However, I believe that the Skywalkers’ mother was Force Sensitive. Midichlorians can pass the placental barrier, and for one woman to produce two Force Sensitive children, it is highly likely she was herself. That being said, even with two Force Sensitive parents, it would not explain Anakin’s high count.”

The Council continued to mutter, and Vokara let them go for a moment. “There is more,” she announced to draw their attention again. “Anakin’s not nearly as well off health-wise as her sister. Medical scans revealed plenty of old injuries, deep injuries. Bones that had been broken over and over again, scar tissue where it shouldn’t be on one so young. Some injuries may be attributed to her long career as a podracer, but not all of them. I would make the safe bet that she has been physically abused since she was very young, and that’s saying nothing of the mental and sexual abuse.”

“But she’s so young. Only nineteen!” A Master called out.

“The Hutts put her into service as a pleasure slave when she was fifteen.” Vokara could sense the unsettled thoughts of the Council, the discomfort of having one of the worst parts of the galaxy dumped in their laps. She had to push on. They needed to know everything, and she knew they could handle it. “That leads to one final note I have on Anakin.”

Understanding sparked in every eye. They had read the reports and all of the reported suspicions.

“She’s not,” Depa Billaba said softly, almost pleading.

“She is pregnant. A Human-Pantoran hybrid, approximately twelve weeks, and she is quite adamant in her desire to see the pregnancy through.”

Behind her, Vokara heard a Master swear sharply under their breath.

“Do you have anything else to add, Master Che?” Mace asked, centering the focus back to her.

“Nothing that can speak to her physical wellbeing.”

“And what of her mental state?”

“She’s angry. Frightened. She harbors a deep well of hatred that has been growing all her life. She is distrustful, but willing to put faith in those who prove worthy to her.”

Windu nodded. “Yes, I sensed much the same observing her.”

Vokara took her seat. The Council muttered for a moment; none surprised with this revelation, considering Skywalker’s past traumas.

“There is more to Anakin than her dark influences,” Qui-Gon spoke up. “We have read the reports. I have spoken with her. She is not of the Dark Side. She is not a hateful person. She’s not selfish. Her every thought and feeling and action was to protect. She loves fiercely and defensively. She unconsciously shielded her sister. She was willing to sacrifice her life to ensure Shila’s freedom. Obi-Wan reported that her career as a podracer was meant to protect her mother. We know the sacrifices she has made to protect her sister.” He gestured to the empty center of the chambers. “Even in this very room, just a few days ago, we felt her in her entirety, raw and unleashed. As unprepared as we were, did any of us sense it to be an attack from the Dark Side?”

“Her episode is a problem, though,” Depa reminded the Council. “Dark Side or not, she is a danger to all she meets. She is a danger to herself. She has no concept of control. Would it not be best to contain her?”

Ki-Adi Mundi sat forward in his seat. “Is it right to condemn her for our failure to find her nineteen years ago? It is not her fault that she is untrained. With what Knights Kenobi and Vos reported, I think she has done remarkably well controlling her powers thus far. She has shown rudimentary control over mind influence, and even if she was not aware of it, she protected Shila so thoroughly, we did not sense the child until Anakin was isolated.”

Master Rancisis spoke up. “What do you suggest? We cannot induct her into the Jedi Order. She is far too old, and, pardon the blunt phrasing, damaged goods. Her mind is too set in ways of fear and attachment.”

“Change is the natural order of things,” Plo Koon said a touch coolly. “Why should we not expect Skywalker to be able to change as well if given proper guidance? It’s not as if she in incapable of learning.”

“Skywalker has only been with us for a scant few days, of which she has been in isolation,” Shaak Ti spoke up. “We know almost nothing of her.”

Her statement, neither support nor condemnation, settled the Council back into thoughtful silence.

Speaking behind steepled fingers, Mace Windu began deliberately, “I think we can all agree that Anakin Skywalker, in her current state is a danger to herself and others. Undoubtedly, her Overload the other day was directly caused from her entering the Temple. But after a breakdown like that, a person is raw and more sensitive to the Force. If she does not learn proper control and shielding, that will not be her only episode. She could level half a city if it happens again and there is nobody there to stop her.”

In the silence following Mace’s statement, Yoda finally weighed in on the matter. “Teach her, we must.”

“But how much?” Saesee Tinn asked. “Surely not every sacred teaching of the Jedi.” He almost scoffed. “We’re not going to give her a lightsaber, are we?”

Windu shook his head. “No. Our focus for her should be on control, shielding, and learning to understand her emotions. While I think it is in everybody’s best interest to keep Anakin sheltered in the Temple, she cannot and will not be inducted into the Order. There is no reason to teach her more than she needs.”

“And what of her sister?” Plo Koon asked.

“The child is young enough to bring into the Order. If Anakin will allow it, we will begin teaching Shila as well.”

“And what about the baby?” Qui-Gon asked.

“It’s an unborn child, there’s not much we can do.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Qui-Gon held up a hand for a pause while he gathered his thoughts. “Anakin has been pregnant for twelve weeks?” He looked to Vokara for confirmation. She nodded. “And we, the Council, only recently sensed Anakin’s presence, what was it, seven or eight weeks ago?”

Depa concluded for him. “You think that the child is actually what drew us to Anakin? She’s merely a vessel. Is that possible? Could that account for her raised midichlorian count?”

All eyes turned to the Master Healer in the room for answers. “Not to the extent that you are attributing it. While midichlorians are capable of passing between mother and child, much as the nutrients and antibodies pass back and forth, there has never been documented account of there being that much carry over. In Force Sensitive bearers, they report a slight increase in their sensitivities and powers, but nothing to the extent we’ve seen in Skywalker. She is fully and powerfully Force Sensitive of her own accord.”

“It can’t be a coincidence that we only just sensed Skywalker right around the time she would have discovered she was pregnant?” Shaak Ti added.

“It may not be,” Ki-Adi Mundi speculated. “We do not control the Force in its entirety. Perhaps Anakin unconsciously sent out a distress beacon. Or it was simply time for her to be discovered and the Force allowed her to be seen.”

“I still wonder if the child is not the catalyst for Anakin’s discovery,” Qui-Gon mused. “I just remembered an old prophecy I came across during my padawan studies. It spoke of a Chosen One, created by the Force, who would bring balance.”

There were mixed mutterings from the other Masters. Prophecies were fickle at best and often misinterpreted. Even a Jedi blessed with clairvoyance put little stock into the visions the Force granted them. Most prophecies, history suggested, became self-fulfilling either in efforts to avoid them or make them come true.

Vokara spoke up again. “I won’t speak for the mystic side of things, but I will speak medically. Unless Anakin is carrying a genetic copy of herself, I sincerely doubt the child within her was created by the Force. We have not yet sampled the baby’s DNA, but scans show the fetus is not developing at a normal Human rate. A developmental rate, mind you, that has been so thoroughly studied and tacked down that it allows us to age a fetus by the day. There is a mix of different species and different DNA. And Anakin is fully human.”

“But the child is a hybrid, and hybrids are incredibly rare,” Qui-Gon countered thoughtfully.

Vokara shrugged. “Less so with humans than other species, but yes. And a viable Human-Pantoran hybrid is, as far as I’ve found, unheard of.”

She saw what looked like confirmation spark in several Council members’ eyes at her words. She put her own thoughts on prophecies aside. It was an exercise in futility to try and argue the Will of the Force, and in the end, a prophesied Chosen One or not, her interest in the child was simply to seem them be born safe and healthy. What came after was outside her realm of expertise.

“Discuss the child and prophecies we can until born they are, and still an answer we will not reach,” Yoda remarked. “This matter, we will not pursue further today. To Skywalker we must return. Taught and trained she must be. Volunteers, are there?”

Unsurprisingly, Qui-Gon rose his hand, the prosthetic glinting dully in the afternoon sunlight. “I will teach her, and watch her. There is still much we do not know about Anakin, and in her current state she is highly susceptible to the Dark Side.”

Windu nodded. “You of any on the Council are most familiar with the subtleties and workings of the Dark Side. Your insight on Anakin’s state of being will be invaluable. I approve of your teaching her. Is the Council in agreement?”

The decision was unanimous. Qui-Gon would be the one to teach Anakin. Of course, Yoda reminded the Council, a padawan did not only have one teacher. And even if Anakin was not to be fully inducted into the Order, she should be treated with the respect and patience any student deserved. All Jedi should make an effort to guide her in the Jedi ways, help her protect herself and others, and become more at ease with her new life freed from slavery.

Chapter 16: Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Learning to shield herself did not come easily to Anakin. Qui-Gon talked of damming a stream, or building a wall brick by brick. The way he spoke of the Force it was like a small trickle that could easily be stopped and contained. To Anakin it felt like a gaping hole in her chest, and all she had to stop the blood flow was her bare hands. No matter what she did, something leaked through her fingers. The bleeding had to stop before she could ever hope to mend the hole.

Learning that she had been shielding Shila for the last three years didn’t offer any enlightenment to shielding herself. She didn’t know what she did to protect Shila. All she knew was that she loved her sister and would do anything to protect her.

Qui-Gon hardly seemed daunted by her ignorance.

He taught her about the Force, how to sense it, the different ways it manifested, and most importantly how to begin controlling it inside her. He taught her to meditate, to be mindful of her feelings. Anakin tried, but had just as much trouble with that as she did with the hole in her chest. As a slave, she had learned to push her thoughts and feelings aside. Slaves didn’t feel, slaves didn’t think, they simply performed as was demanded of them. Only the most intense feelings could she keep deep in her heart, kindled there like a lantern guiding her home, keeping her sane.

The Jedi had to be cautious as they led Anakin deeper into her own Force awareness. She couldn’t be suppressed if she wanted to learn, and while the isolation chamber kept the rest of the Temple safe from her, it offered no protection for anyone inside. Qui-Gon quickly became accustomed to the small storm that raged around Anakin, he braced himself against her buffeting, and as the days passed, and lessons began to set in, he could feel the storm lighten bit by bit.

Anakin was eager, even desperate to learn. She never wanted to experience an overload again. She didn’t want to hurt anybody again. But her fear blocked her, made her slow and cautious. Introducing her to the Force properly was like leading a water-shy youngling into a deep pool.

As much as she tried she also failed. And with every failure, she grew more anxious, fearful. Qui-Gon was a patient teacher thus far, but Anakin knew even he had his limits. The same went for Obi-Wan, who offered his assistance while he was still Temple-bound while his arm healed. Anakin wasn’t blind to the way they would wince on occasion during a lesson, the mute and quickly hidden signs of another failure.

Knowing she had failed was hard enough. Knowing her failures caused physical pain to people made focus even harder to maintain.

“I’m sorry!” Anakin cried out, bringing a hand to her temple automatically to combat the strike of pain that shot through her skull. She had been trying shielding again, and had been doing well, she thought. Qui-Gon was talking her through a mental exercise while she and Obi-Wan worked through it. And then something had encroached in her mind; a prickly, needling, almost jealous feeling that she didn’t think was her own. Anakin couldn’t help but follow it, and lost her focus on her shield as she did. The backlash from the Force hurt.

“You were doing very well, Anakin, what happened?” Qui-Gon asked gently.

She tried to explain, still rubbing small circles at her temples. She took the cup of water Obi-Wan handed over. The water helped ease her headache a little.

Qui-Gon seemed to understand what she was trying to explain, even when she only had vague words to describe it.

“When a Jedi opens up to the Force, they can be perceptive to the feelings of others. Emotional bleed over is not uncommon when Jedi meditate together. As you learn to acknowledge those feelings without focusing on them, they will pass like a leaf on a stream. If you try and chase them, like a hound after a rabbit, well…” Qui-Gon gestured to Anakin, “You feel the backlash. Letting other’s feelings pass is a lesson every Jedi must learn the hard way, I’m afraid.”

Anakin nodded. His words made sense, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was between acknowledging a feeling and focusing on it. They were both giving it attention, right? And if she had felt somebody else’s feelings, who did they belong to? What would Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan have to be jealous of? It’s that was what she even felt. The little flash of emotion she had caught was complicated, and she hadn’t gotten a good gauge on it before the backlash hit her.

“I think we should take a break,” Obi-Wan offered. “We’ve been at this for most of the morning. Perhaps a little rest would be better than pushing too far. Anakin’s already getting a headache.”

“I think we could get one more attempt in before it is time for a break,” Qui-Gon countered, giving Obi-Wan a look before turning to Anakin. “What do you think, Anakin? Do you feel up for another try?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I could go again, if I have to, but my head does hurt.”

“Then perhaps we should take a break. It would not do to have you overwork yourself. Shall we all take an hour?”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan left Anakin to rest in her isolation chamber. She needed to solidify her shields soon. Keeping her quarantined was beginning to wear on the young woman. Both of the Jedi could tell, even if she didn’t mention it, she hated being caged. She didn’t deserve to be locked up like this, but they all knew that until Anakin could be fully in control, she was a danger to herself and others.

Qui-Gon waited until they were well out of the Halls of Healing before speaking to Obi-Wan. “I think you should take the remainder of the day off, Obi-Wan. Go spend some time looking in on the elder initiates. It’s about time you took a padawan anyway.”

“Once the Healers clear me, I’m back off to the Mid Rim. I haven’t time to take a padawan, nor spend months at the Temple to begin their studies.”

“If you do not take one soon, the Council will assign you one,” Qui-Gon threatened mildly. “Wouldn’t you rather have your pick of the initiates? They will be exhibiting their saber skills this afternoon.”

Obi-Wan stopped, a sharp look in his eyes. “Master, is there a reason you do not want me to join you this afternoon?”

Qui-Gon sighed. “Truthfully, yes, Obi-Wan. You are a distraction.”

“I-”

Qui-Gon cut off his protestations with a raised hand. “Do not think I haven’t taken notice of your stray feelings during meditation. I don’t believe I was the one who distracted Anakin with wayward jealousy.”

Obi-Wan shut his mouth tightly and looked to the side for a moment. “I’m sorry, Master. Those were simply unchecked thoughts and feelings. I should have cleared them before we began the exercise.”

“I know,” Qui-Gon resumed walking. “But tell me, what bothers you so much about the way I am teaching Anakin?”

“It’s not that it bothers me, per say,” Obi-Wan stepped forward to keep pace, “It’s just so different from the way I was taught. I can’t help but wonder why the difference?”

Qui-Gon smirked knowingly and looked sideways at his former apprentice. “You mean to ask, why am I being so patient with Anakin when you were taught in a rather more aggressively-paced style?”

“Your words, Master, not mine.” Obi-Wan smirked back.

“I thought the answer would be obvious, Obi-Wan. You and Anakin are not the same person.”

“Well, that much was obvious.”

“You saw where Anakin came from. You reported what she endured as a slave. She’s known more trauma in her life than you had as a padawan. To teach her as I taught you would be detrimental. She’s not yet ready for a trial by fire. Not to mention, by the time I took you as a padawan you had many years of training already. Anakin has only had a scant couple weeks. Were your early teachers sharp and impatient?”

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and bowed his head. “I see. It makes sense, Master. I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“You will learn these things when you take on your own padawan, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon smiled cryptically. “Now, while we are sharing, tell me why you are acting so protective of Anakin? We could have gotten in another good hour of work before taking a break, and you insisted on cutting it early.”

“I-I don’t think I’d call it protective. I just don’t want her to be overworked. If she has a breakdown, she could hurt herself.”

“Measures have been put in place to ensure she doesn’t. You know that. And Anakin has proven herself capable of enduring.”

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, then admitted in a quick, quiet voice, “She shouldn’t be pushed too hard. She’s pregnant.”

“Aaahh,” Qui-Gon dragged out the syllable long enough to key Obi-Wan into his next, mildly teasing remark. “You’ve found another damsel in distress.”

Obi-Wan stopped cold, the slightest flush on his cheeks telling his Master that he had struck at the exact nerve. “I- that’s not it, Master! Anakin has been through a lot, and I simply wish to be one friendly face for her in the galaxy. She has been through so much. Is it wrong to want to watch over her?”

“Are you simply watching over her?” Qui-Gon asked levelly. “Is this just a Jedi Knight’s concern for the vulnerable? Because I have not seen Knight Vos hovering at Anakin’s bedside every free hour of his day. He was content to check in with the Healers and check on Shila in the crèches, before leaving them to heal and adjust in capable hands.” Qui-Gon put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. “Obi-Wan, you are not doing anything wrong. You are a good Jedi. You are naturally protective of those you care for, but your attachment to those you protect has long been your weakness.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sighed, nodding mutely as he took in his Master’s words. He knew the biggest instance of this weakness that Qui-Gon was referring to. But his attachments didn’t stop at a duch*ess they had been assigned to protect. There were some of his fellow Jedi he had risked life and limb to defend. There was a young Queen wanted dead by the Trade Federation. There were Anakin and Shila. There was Master Jinn himself. In a grander sense, there was the entire Jedi Order, the Republic, all innocent people.

A Jedi was supposed to be selfless, to protect the defenseless, but a Jedi wasn’t supposed to take such things so personally.

He had been getting a little too close to Anakin, a little too attached. Just like he had with Satine. He needed space and separation. He always got too fully involved when he was too deep into a situation. Here he had the chance to do the right thing and step back and get a better grasp on his position in the situation. Once he cleared his head he could return and be the help he wanted to be.

“You’re right, Master. Perhaps I should spend the afternoon on other endeavors.”

It took another week until Anakin finally felt the relentless bleeding from her chest stop, and she was able to begin building a shield, to fix the holes in her. Until finally, at the end of a morning session, Qui-Gon looked satisfied.

"I think you're ready to join the rest of the Temple."

Anakin dared a small smile. “I hope so. But it’s one thing to do it with the dampeners on. What if I can’t handle the whole Temple again?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Anakin, I’ve been slowly turning down the dampeners as we’ve worked. They aren’t on right now. You’re already feeling the whole Temple.”

“Really?”

“Do you feel any of the symptoms of an overload?”

“No. Nothing at all. It’s like… like being normal again.” Anakin broke into a full smile. There was no pain, no buzzing in her skull. Her shields worked. She had done it!

Qui-Gon stood by the opened isolation chamber door. “Would you like to see the Temple?”

Anakin stood quickly, eagerly. She hadn’t seen any part of the Temple other than when she had been allowed out for Shila’s tracker, and her ill-fated walk to the Council Chambers. Obi-Wan had told her much about his home, and she was excited to finally get a chance to see it for herself. And yet… Anakin hesitated on the threshold.

What if this was a test and Qui-Gon had lied about the dampeners. What if she set foot out of this room and everything went to hell again?

Her mouth went suddenly dry and she swallowed nervously. If it was a test, she would either pass or fail.

Anakin crossed the threshold. Nothing changed. The tight knot that had been sitting in her heart since she arrived at the Temple loosened significantly.

Smiling slightly, Qui-Gon gestured for her to follow him. “We have prepared quarters for your use. Your belongings have already been sent there.”

He led her to an apartment not far from the Halls of Healing, though clearly a wing designated for residential use. They passed opened doors through which Anakin could spy brief glimpses of their occupants’ lives. One room was filled to bursting with potted plants, in another a Jedi could be seen tending to pet birds in a large cage, in another room some Jedi were seated around a table, sharing tea with friends. The normalcy of it all struck Anakin – it hadn’t really occurred to her that the Jedi would have hobbies and social lives that didn’t revolve around being mystics and peacekeepers.

They stopped at a numbered door in a quiet corridor. Qui-Gon let Anakin step into the apartment first. The main room itself was bigger than Anakin’s hovel had been in Jabba’s palace. It was undecorated and sparsely furnished. The walls were an off-white color that scattered the sunlight let in from the expansive windows quite nicely and left the room bright without the overhead lights turned on. There was a kitchen, and a small table for dining, and a couple soft chairs set near the windows. A short hallway led to a ‘fresher and a small bedroom furnished with a low, single bed – for Shila, Qui-Gon informed her. And at the end of the hall was a slightly larger bedroom. It had a larger bed, and a ‘fresher of its own, but was otherwise just as unremarkable as anything else in the apartment.

The bag of belongings Anakin had packed so long ago back on Senator Amidala’s ship sat waiting in the middle of the bed. Not that Anakin had needed it since entering the Temple. The Jedi had provided her with clean clothing during her stay in the Halls of Healing, but she was relieved to see that the few things that actually belonged to her had found their way back into her possession.

“As you settle in, you can add more personal touches,” Qui-Gon commented. “It’s a little sparse, but it should serve you well.”

Anakin almost laughed. It was more space than she had ever had to herself. “It’s a lot better than the hole we lived in on Tatooine,” she added lightly. “A lot less sand.”

“Would you like time to settle in? Or would you like to go see Shila?”

Qui-Gon really didn’t need to ask, Anakin’s first thought was always for Shila. She had asked after her a lot during her isolation. Even if the sisters were allowed time together each day, a couple hours together wasn’t nearly enough.

Anakin followed Qui-Gon through the Temple, memorizing the route from her apartment to the crèche where the younglings lived. The crèches took up an entire floor of the Temple itself, housing every youngling that had not been taken on as a padawan yet. There were classrooms, training rooms, dormitories, gardens, and courtyards, and pools, and in the wings where the younger children lived, plenty of space to play.

They stepped into one such play room that seemed to be built for toddlers. The floors were soft and padded, and the equipment for them to play on was high enough for them to get a thrill from climbing, but not too tall for them to be hurt when they decided to jump. A couple adults were supervising a group of about a dozen children all close in age to Shila.

Anakin scanned the group for Shila, and found her sister playing with a couple others; chasing each other up and down a slide. Anakin’s heart swelled with relief and joy seeing her sister like that. In Jabba’s palace, there weren’t any younglings Shila’s age, and playtime didn’t exist. To see her living like a normal child… it was something Anakin was afraid she would never experience.

Shila took notice of Anakin’s arrival before the caretakers did. From her vantage point atop the slide she saw her sister standing in the doorway. With a joyful shout, Shila launched herself off the top of the slide and hit the ground running for her sister. She moved as fast as her little legs could carry her, and as always, Ani was waiting with her arms open to catch her and pick her up and hold her close.

The play in the room stilled as all eyes turned to Shila and Ani. The other children smiled, beaming at the two of them.

Anakin didn’t realize she had drawn a crowd until she felt a pair of hands tugging at her pant legs. And then there was another on her thigh, and one reached up to her waist. The younglings had surrounded her, all curiosity and smiles. Carefully, Anakin knelt down until she was level with the younglings.

“Shila, can you introduce me to your friends?”

Her sister happily started chattering rapidly, still in Huttese, naming the other younglings. And as she introduced them, each child stepped forward and got a personal “Hello” from Anakin.

Behind her, she was aware that Qui-Gon was talking to the caretakers, but she didn’t think she’d be able to have a proper conversation with them until after the children had finished with her.

It took some time, but eventually, the children were satisfied and returned to their play. Anakin recognized the Mirialan caretaker she had met a couple weeks back, and his companion was a middle aged Human woman. They were this clan’s primary caretakers, and they were happy to report that Shila had settled in quite well with the other younglings.

Eventually, the younglings scheduled play time was over. Shila wanted to go with her friends to their next lesson. Anakin almost didn’t want to let her go yet, but Qui-Gon assured her that she could get Shila later this afternoon and take her back to their apartment. So Anakin let her go, and continued Qui-Gon’s tour of the Temple.

“I think,” Qui-Gon said with a barely contained smile as they strolled out of the play room, “Our next area of focus should be your emotional projection.”

“Projection?” Anakin echoed curiously.

Qui-Gon kept smiling, “Not everyone will appreciate a first-hand experience of your strongest emotions.”

In the archives, Anakin was introduced to Madam Nu, the head librarian. She had to take a moment just to wonder as the vast amount of knowledge that was stored within the Jedi archives. More than anyone could read in ten lifetimes. Jocasta made sure to tell Anakin that she was welcomed to use the archives at any time.

They found Obi-Wan in the stacks of the archives. He was pleasantly surprised to see Anakin free from her isolation chamber, and when Qui-Gon was called away for Council Business, he happily took over Anakin’s tour of the Temple. He showed her court yards and gardens and training salons where they quietly observed a lightsaber class. The students were young teenagers, and Anakin couldn’t help but marvel at their physicality at such a young age.

Her experience with physical training was mostly to dance, and very little self-defense. Jabba made a point of not training his slaves in any means of defense, combat, or resistance – not even the Arena slaves. And Jabba’s guards relied more on brute force than technical skill. If the Hutt wanted a skilled warrior, he hired a mercenary.

The discipline, strength, and control these students moved with was unlike anything she had ever seen, and they were still in training. Her eyes drifted to Obi-Wan, standing beside her. What could a fully-trained Jedi do? She had seen a little of his skill in Jabba’s palace, but looking back, Anakin was certain Quinlan and Obi-Wan were both trying very hard to not hurt her, and still they had subdued her quickly.

One Jedi had to be worth a dozen guards, or at least a handful of mercenaries. It was a small wonder Jabba hadn’t managed to bribe one over to working for him, or kidnapped and enslaved one. A Jedi in service to the Hutts would be more valuable than she had been.

It’s not like enslaving a Jedi would be impossible. Everybody has a breaking point.

She was drawn from her wandering thoughts when Obi-Wan led her away from the lightsaber class. It was nearing lunch. Anakin was eager for a distraction from her darker thoughts and peppered Obi-Wan with more questions about life in the Temple.

“How do meals work outside the Halls of Healing?” Everything she had eaten since arriving had been brought to her by medical staff.

“There are commissaries scattered throughout the Temple in the residential wings. They serve several meals a day, with selections suitable for all species. Or, as you saw with your own apartment, Knights’ quarters also have kitchens of their own that you are welcome to stock with food should you wish to cook for yourself. And then, Coruscant also has some of the best cuisine in the Republic. It’s not unheard of for a Jedi to treat themselves to a fine meal once in a while.”

“Do you ever cook?”

Obi-Wan laughed sheepishly. “I have been told that I should only cook for my enemies.”

Anakin grinned as they joined a crowd all heading for the same doors. She could smell the mix of different foods and spices all jumbled together into a relatively appealing blend on the air.

“Do you cook, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked conversationally as they stepped into line.

“Yeah… at least I used to. Mom taught me, and I cooked a lot when Watto owned us. We usually worked off shifts from each other, and we had to feed ourselves, so I’d prepare a meal before Mom came home, and she’d make the next one. But once Jabba got us – well, you saw, slaves were fed from the kitchens. Mom worked in the kitchens, and I could sneak in and help or learn something new, but after she died… I had to take care of Shila. There wasn’t time to try cooking.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Anakin knew he was uncomfortable when she talked openly about her life as a slave. It could be a tricky subject, and she knew he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. But cooking with her mother had been one of the better things about their life together. It was something everyone did, Shmi had told Anakin, even freedpeople cook with their families.

Anakin flashed Obi-Wan a smile, to let him know she was fine with the topic, and continued, “When Shila’s older, I want to teach her to cook the same food Mom taught me. “ She laughed lightly. “Maybe even with the real herbs and spices and not cheap imitations.”

By the time they got through the line, many of the tables had been filled, but as Obi-Wan scanned the room, he was called over to one of the larger tables near a window that looked out over Coruscant. There were half a dozen Jedi sitting there, each close to Obi-Wan’s age. Vos was with them, and Anakin was happy to see another familiar face.

Obi-Wan introduced Anakin to his friends, and if they connected her name to the same person who just a couple weeks ago had crippled half the Temple, they said nothing, and acted as if she wasn’t. She and Obi-Wan settled into two open seats between Quinlan and a Knight introduced as Bant Eerin. Anakin only recognized the Mon Cala by description – her people didn’t fare well in Tatooine’s climate and they rarely ventured there.

“So you’re the one we have to thank for giving us this handsome face back,” Bant teased before they could start eating. She affectionately reached over and pinched Obi-Wan’s cheek, as she spoke.

He flushed slightly at the teasing, but didn’t really seem to mind. “Just because I can grow a beard, Bant…” he began to counter.

She cut him off with a poke. “Just because your species can grow facial hair, doesn’t mean you should.” She leaned past him to speak to Anakin, her silver eyes flashing gleefully as she said in a loud stage whisper. “I’ve been telling him the beard and long hair just wasn’t his look for years. How did you convince him to shave and cut his hair?”

Obi-Wan cut in before Anakin had to come up with an answer. “It was for a good cause.” He then looked from Bant to down the table, next to Anakin. “I don’t see you giving Vos grief about his haircut.”

“Yeah well, Quin’s hair actually looked good,” Bant punctuated with a smile before picking up a bite of her food.

Beside her, the Kiffar let out a triumphant little “Ha!” in Obi-Wan’s direction before setting upon his own meal.

The conversation fell quiet for a moment as they ate, but it wasn’t much longer before one more person joined them.

“Room for one more?” a slightly accented voice asked.

Anakin looked up to see who had the familiar Rylothian tone in their voice. A young, female, blue-skinned Twi’lek stood at their table, already setting her tray down in the last open space. She wasn’t more than a few years older than Anakin.

Quinlan was quick to welcome her. “A’ayla, I didn’t know you were back!”

“I only just got back, Master.” The Twi’lek directed a warm smile at Vos. She turned her gaze to Anakin. “You are a new face? Has Master Kenobi finally taken a padawan?”

“Oh, no,” Anakin said quickly, “I’m Anakin Skywalker. I’m, uh…” she wasn’t quite sure how exactly to explain her situation without delving into everything.

“Anakin is joining us as a guest of the High Council,” Obi-Wan explained smoothly.

“I see. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Anakin.” A’ayla offered with a nod. She looked to Vos. “How was your recent trip to Tatooine, Master?”

“Interesting,” Quinlan said evasively. “But it’s a long story, I’ll tell you later.” He then turned back to Anakin and explained, “A’ayla was my padawan until she got Knighted just a few months ago.”

“And somehow you’ve managed to stay alive without my hounding your every step since then. I must have taught you something useful.”

A’ayla’s comment was met with a handful of teasing jeers and agreeable laughs from the others at the table. Anakin listened quietly as she ate while the Jedi fell into the normal rhythm of conversation. She went mostly ignored as friends spoke with each other, but that was nothing new – Anakin was used to being the unseen one in a crowd when she wasn’t the one on display. She liked not being the center of attention.

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Anakin quietly closed Shila's bedroom door behind her, taking one last peek at the still, sleeping form of her sister in her bed. With a small smile on her lips, Anakin suspected Shila would find her way into her sister's bed sometime in the middle of the night. Shila didn’t often sleep alone.

Anakin stepped into her own room and directed her attention to the backpack left waiting on her bed. She slowly unpacked her things and went about putting her clothes away. The wardrobe was small, but even then, Anakin's few outfits hardly seemed to take up any space. She did a final check of the pockets of her pack, and found a comm unit.

Where had that come from? Anakin picked it up and stared at it for a moment before she remembered the Senator pressing it into her hand, asking Anakin to keep in contact.

Since arriving at the Jedi Temple, Anakin had hardly thought of the Senator, so much had happened. But with the comm link in hand, Anakin very suddenly wanted to speak to Padmé.

It wasn't too late, night had only recently fallen over Coruscant, but Anakin wasn't sure if it was appropriate to call the Senator. What if she had company, or was out for the evening? What if the comm link had been an empty gesture?

She tossed the comm aside. Padmé probably didn't want to talk to her in the first place. What was she to the Senator? An ex-slave. Someone she had pitied for a few days. Nobody.

Anakin arranged and rearranged her few possessions for lack of anything better to do. She thought she had gotten used to idleness and boredom while she had been in isolation, but it felt wholly different in the near-empty apartment. Most nights there had been someone to talk to.

She wandered into the main room and dropped onto the sofa, staring blankly out the window. Coruscant glowed at night, lights blinking in and out as ceaseless traffic passed before them. Anakin saw none of it. The emptiness of her apartment pressed around her. Here she was, in the heart of a populated Temple, her sister just a little ways away, and at least one person she had begun to consider a friend, and yet, she felt incredibly lonely.

Anakin looked down at her hand. She hadn't even remembered picking up the comm link. It wouldn't hurt to try calling the Senator, right?

Anakin set the comm on the table in front of her and activated it.

It didn't take long to connect. Padmé appeared before her, blue and gray and lovely in the holo.

"Anakin!" Her face lit up. "It's good to see you!"

"And you." Anakin smiled slightly, before noting the datapad in Padmé's hands. "Is it okay that I called? I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Of course it's alright." Padmé set the datapad aside. "I was wondering if you would ever call."

"Sorry, things have been..."

Padmé gave a sympathetic smile, "You don't have to apologize. Obi-Wan told me your introduction to the Temple wasn't exactly smooth."

A nervous warmth bloomed in Anakin's chest. Had Padmé asked after her? Or had she been warned by the Jedi about Anakin's volatility? "Yeah, it wasn't exactly according to plan."

"Are things better now?" Padmé asked, her head tilted slightly in curiosity. "Are you settling in?"

"The last couple weeks have been... interesting and informative, but I think things are beginning to settle into normal. I was finally let out of isolation this morning."

Padmé's concern was immediate and palpable even over the comm link. Her voice turned slightly harsher with true worry. "What do you mean you were in isolation?"

Anakin frowned back. "I thought Obi-Wan told you."

"He said there had been an incident and you had been taken to the Healers for a few days. He didn't say anything about putting you in isolation."

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Anakin said quickly. She did her best to explain what had happened to her, and must have done a good enough job, because Padmé looked greatly assuaged by the time she finished.

"I'm sorry you went through that. Are you okay now?"

"I'm doing a lot better." Anakin smiled. "There's so much to learn about the Force, and Qui-Gon is a patient teacher."

"And what about Shila? How's she doing?"

"She's adjusted faster than I have. She's happy here."

Padmé’s smile was genuine and her voice warm. “That’s wonderful to hear. I’m glad the Jedi are taking good care of you. They are good people, especially Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.” Padmé’s expression turned thoughtful. “Aside from Force stuff, how are you otherwise?” she asked searchingly. “You weren’t hurt during your overload, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t hurt.” Anakin bit her lip. She was suddenly seized with the desire to tell Padmé about the baby. Generally on Tatooine, women didn’t speak about it until they felt the baby move, or they began to show. But Anakin wasn’t on Tatooine anymore. People kept telling her that; she might as well embrace it. And Padmé was – or maybe could be – a friend.

“The Jedi Healers have actually been really helpful. They… I found out I’m going to have a baby.”

Padmé’s expression was carefully neutral and her words were measured. “And that’s a good thing?”

“Yeah. I’m really excited.”

She broke into a wide grin. “That’s great, Anakin! Congratulations! Do you know when you’re due?”

“Well, it’s a hybrid, so we aren’t entirely sure. Anywhere from six to nine months from now is the Healers’ best guess.” Anakin felt warm again. She drew one leg up to rest her cheek on her knee as she kept talking. “It’s still really early. There isn’t much else to know.”

It felt nice to tell another person about the baby – back on Tatooine it would have been a closely kept secret until it couldn’t he hidden. The only people she had told were Shila and Obi-Wan. Though she suspected Qui-Gon knew, but he hadn’t made any mention of it yet.

She liked talking about the baby, but the Healers were always so clinical about it, and Obi-Wan was uncomfortable with its origins. Even after the last few weeks together, he stepped delicately around the subject of slavery and anything that may have resulted from it; which meant he stepped delicately around most of Anakin’s life and past. And Shila forgot half the time that Anakin was pregnant, and probably would continue to do so until she showed. A child as young as her really couldn’t understand it.

Padmé smiled knowingly. “Well, my offer from before still stands; if you ever need anything, just give me a call. Even if it’s just a fellow woman to commiserate with. Or if you want some unsolicited advice we can call up my mother and sister.”

Anakin laughed quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She then realized that for the entire time they had been talking, the topic had been her. It felt a bit strange having someone genuinely interested in her as a person and not her as a slave. Anakin was equally interested in knowing what Padmé had done since they separated. “How have you been since we parted ways? Your bill, how did it go?”

Padmé’s smile fell a bit. “Oh, it passed, but barely. It’s been a lot of work to strengthen our support. I know the same issue will be brought to table again in a few months.”

Sensing that Padmé didn’t want to talk about politics, Anakin prompted a change in subject. “And outside of work? How have you been? Have you done anything interesting?”

“Actually, I went to a wonderful performance of an opera last week.”

Anakin rested her cheek back on her knee. “Tell me about it? I’ve never seen an opera.”

“No?”

“The acting troupes who made it to Jabba’s palace catered to the clientele. They didn’t want to see opera.”

Padmé smile slyly. “I very well may have to take you to a show, then. It’s a wonderful experience.”

She settled back into her seat, taking a more comfortable position and began recounting the opera. Anakin listened raptly, enjoying both the story and the sound of Padmé’s voice.

The opera was a tragedy and romance about a renowned singer who fell in love with an artist, but their love was forbidden – the singer was promised to another. Not allowing themselves to be bothered by such technicalities, they carried on a secret tryst, until their secret was put out in the open. The spurned, jealous other lover of the singer took revenge, resulting in the singer’s tragic death.

The story in itself was pretty formulaic, but twisted and molded so beautifully that Padmé considered it one of her favorites. And the way Padmé told the story to Anakin was enough to pull at her own heartstrings. Surely seeing it performed would be incredible.

By the time Padmé finished, it was much later into the night, and Anakin found herself stifling a couple yawns.

“It’s late,” Padmé said, hiding her own yawn behind her hand, “We’ve both had a long day, and I have to be up early tomorrow. I should go.” She looked as reluctant to end their call as Anakin felt, but she wasn’t wrong. Anakin didn’t know how much longer she would manage to stay awake at this point.

“Thank you for the call, Anakin, I had a great time talking to you.”

“Thanks for letting me talk,” Anakin said, “I guess I really needed someone to talk to.”

“I’m always here if you need me. Let’s not wait another three weeks before we talk again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Goodnight, Anakin.”

“Goodnight, Padmé.” Anakin reached forward and disconnected the comm. Padmé’s image flashed out of sight, leaving the apartment darker in its absence.

Anakin stood up and stretched languidly before turning to her own bed. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to talk to a friend, someone who wasn’t a Jedi and couldn’t know just at a glance all of the turmoil that roiled around her. It was a return to normalcy after the abrupt turn her life had taken. Friends, companionship, safety, and freedom.

She had been told her entire life such things didn’t exist for her. She was a slave. Friends could betray her at their master’s bidding. Companionship was empty knowing one could be taken at a whim. Safety was only provided by a master. Freedom was not being caged or shackled.

Anakin settled into bed and pulled the cool sheets over her. Jedi beds weren’t as luxurious as the one in Padmé’s mansion, but Anakin preferred it this way. The bed was still soft, the sheets were still clean, and she slept easier on the familiar simplicity.

She had barely closed her eyes when her bedroom door opened and Shila crawled silently in beside her, cuddling right up next to her.

Anakin wrapped her arm around Shila and kissed the top of her head. Her sister was asleep within seconds of settling.

If only Anakin had known what life could be like for freedpeople. She would have tried harder for her mom and for Shila.

Anakin fell into the comfort of routine quickly after being freed from isolation. In the mornings, after breakfast she would take Shila down to the crèches for a day of lessons with her age mates. Anakin went to her own lessons with Qui-Gon – sometimes Obi-Wan or another Jedi was present to work through a particular lesson, but often it was just the two of them. After lunch, Anakin would either be left to her own devices – of which she spent most of her time in the archives or familiarizing herself with the Temple – or if Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan didn’t have other business to tend to, they would show her around the Temple.

As promised, Obi-Wan took Anakin to the Temple’s botanical garden, dubbed the Room of One Thousand Fountains. He had been right, the gardens on Naboo paled in comparison. It quickly became Anakin’s favorite place in the Temple. Not simply because of the novelty of so much greenery flourishing deep inside the ancient temple; with her growing awareness of the Force, being surrounded by so many growing and living things felt wonderful. The gardens were peaceful in the simplicity of the lifeforms they nurtured.

And though she still felt like an outsider, like an intruder, things became easier as time passed. She rarely received curious looks in the hallways, in part due to her shields, which became stronger each day. Otherwise, she could be easily mistaken for a Jedi her own age. Once or twice she had been addressed as ‘padawan’ when accompanying Qui-Gon until the Jedi realized she had neither a lightsaber nor the distinctive braid and beads apprentice Jedi wore.

Anakin relished the ability to wander freely without someone constantly watching her. Even in Jabba’s palace, there was always at least one set of eyes on her at all times. Here in the Temple, when left alone to explore, she was truly alone.

But naturally, with the freedom to explore came the reality of getting lost.

When she had been given free rein to wander where she pleased in the Temple they might have mentioned it was so damn easy to get lost in this stupidly massive Temple.

“If you go anywhere you shouldn’t, someone will be there to stop you,” she quoted mockingly under her breath as she stopped in front of a tapestry she had passed five times already. At least she thought it was the same tapestry, even if she was certain she had taken several different paths each time she passed it. It depicted a Mon Cala Jedi Knight in battle with a many-tentacled monster of the deep – she doubted anyone would produce the exact same tapestry six times over.

“Never mind that there won’t be anyone around anywhere to help you if you get lost.”

Anakin heaved a sigh and leaned against the wall opposite the tapestry, rubbing at her temples. Did Jedi just never get lost in here? She supposed they wouldn’t, the Temple was their home and they had lived here since childhood. Wouldn’t hurt them to put maps anywhere convenient, though, would it?

She sighed again. Maybe they used the Force. It probably worked that way, right?

It couldn’t hurt to try.

She drew a deep breath, and did her best to emulate what she had seen the Jedi doing. She felt a bit silly, still not entirely sure how exactly to get in contact with the Force, or whatever it was she was supposed to do to harness it. Her success at this had been more miss than hit in recent weeks, despite what Qui-Gon said about her having a strong, natural talent.

She tried focusing on getting back to her apartment, back to Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon, or at the very least, back to the closest living being who could point her in the right direction. An idea settled into her mind, one that she wasn’t entirely sure was her own, but it sank into her like a gut feeling.

Lacking any better ideas, Anakin pushed off the wall and went back the way she had come. She followed her gut down several passages and then into a stairwell. She paused and then went down several flights and emerged into completely unfamiliar territory. This area of the Temple seemed to be seldom visited; it had a strangely neglected air, even if it was as spotlessly clean as the rest of the Temple. These passages were sparsely lit, and a dry chill hung in the air.

“This better be a shortcut,” Anakin muttered, pressing forward.

The halls were just as empty, and the chill only grew stronger the deeper she went. Anakin was just beginning to doubt whatever apparently ill-begotten feeling she had followed down here and was seconds from turning back for the stairwell when she heard something. It sounded like a dry cough.

“Hello?” Anakin called out hopefully. “Is anyone there?”

There was no reply except a few more rasping coughs, but Anakin followed the sound. Maybe she hadn’t been heard. Up two passages, right at a junction, down to the end of the hall and through a door, and down a little ways more.

Anakin found herself standing outside a small, ray-shielded cell. The cold here was strongest, and Anakin physically shivered as she came to a stop. A thin figure lay on the bed, nearly hidden by shadow.

“Well now,” a thin, raspy voice said quietly, “What do we have here?” The figure sat up, moving forward into the light. He was a Zabrak, but his red skin had been tattooed with a distinctive black pattern, his eyes were yellow and almost glowed in the dim light in a way she didn’t think was entirely natural for him.

“You are no Jedi,” he said after a moment of study.

“Neither are you,” Anakin said coolly. “Dathomiran?”

“You’ve met one of my brothers.”

“On Tatooine, he was an arena slave.”

The Zabrak made a noise in the back of his throat. Anakin couldn’t be sure what he meant by it, but he hardly seemed concerned that one of his own had been enslaved and killed in gladiatorial combat.

The Zabrak stood up stiffly and stepped forward until he was as close as possible without touching the ray shield. His steps made a metallic click against the stone floor. Anakin looked down and saw a crude, peg leg prosthetic in place of his right foot. His right arm was a capped off prosthetic port just past the elbow.

She knew she shouldn’t be here, but she found she couldn’t move as he held her gaze. Looking into his sickly eyes froze the very blood in her veins. Her voice came out as a soft whisper, “What are you?”

He either did not hear her soft voice, or chose to ignore her. His gaze was intense as he studied Anakin, and she felt like he was seeing more than just her surface as those yellow eyes bored into her. “So you are the feral they brought into their precious Temple.” He coughed once; it may have been an attempt at a harsh laugh. He finally broke eye contact, and turned away, muttering, “Oh the power in you… Master would pay greatly to have you. No wonder he abandoned me.”

“Master? Who is your master?”

The Zabrak kept muttering, too indistinct for Anakin to decipher anything. He hunched his shoulders, looked down at his remaining hand, and spun in a small circle, pivoting on his peg leg, until he faced Anakin again. His eyes were glassy and distant as he spoke to himself, but sharpened once again when he saw Anakin.

“You watch yourself, feral one,” he chuckled darkly, “Or else you’ll find yourself in such a comfortable cage as mine.”

“Who put you in here?”

“Who else?!” the zabrak snapped, lunging towards Anakin. Despite the security of the ray shield, she flinched back a step. His eyes were wild. “It is their Temple. It is their prison I rot in!” He stumbled as he failed to place his prosthetic leg beneath him. His face was still crazed, and his gaze went distant as he clutched at his prosthetic stump arm with his other hand. “So long. I’ve forgotten the sun and stars. Forgotten the wind and rain. No night. No day…”

Anakin’s mouth was dry as she warily watched the crazed Zabrak stumble around his cell muttering to himself. How long had he been here in isolation? She hadn’t known the Jedi kept prisoners. But why would they? Why was this Zabrak so special to be kept here in the depths of the Temple?

“Why did the Jedi imprison you?”

“Why?” the Zabrak’s head snapped back to her, his eyes sharp and cold. “Control. Why else?” He stepped close to Anakin again. “Be careful, feral one, you don’t know… No… you haven’t seen how much the Jedi hate what they cannot –“

The Zabrak cut himself off, falling suddenly mute, he glared over Anakin’s shoulder. She jumped, and turned around. Qui-Gon was looming silently behind her.

“So he does still speak,” the Jedi said cryptically. “Come, Anakin.” He led her away with a hand on her shoulder, in the opposite direction from which she had come. They walked silently past a pair of Knights standing guard, who watched her with thinly veiled suspicion.

“I’m not sure how you made it down here and didn’t get stopped,” Qui-Gon’s tone was non-accusatory, but searching.

“I got lost,” Anakin admitted. “I tried using the Force to guide me, and it led me to the cell through a back door. Who was that?”

“A Sith; a user of the Dark Side of the Force. He calls himself Maul. He’s the one I have to thank for this,” Qui-Gon touched the scar across his face with his prosthetic hand. “Obi-Wan and I were able to capture him ten years ago, and he has sat silently in the cell ever since.”

“Ten years?” Anakin said quietly, she stopped and glared at Qui-Gon distrustfully. “How can you keep a living being locked up in a cell for ten years in isolation?”

Qui-Gon stopped and studied her carefully, but not judgingly. “He is not isolated. He has visitors daily, including Mind Healers. He simply refuses to speak to any Jedi.”

“But why keep him locked up? This isn’t a prison.”

“He is too dangerous to be left in the normal prison system.” Qui-Gon said simply, turning to continue walking. Anakin didn’t follow. He looked over his shoulder. “Come, Anakin.”

She gritted her teeth, glowered, but obeyed.

“The history of the Jedi ad the Sith is long and complicated, but we have been enemies for almost as long as time itself. It is the natural fight of Light and Dark. The Sith can wield the Force, just as the Jedi, but they do so destructively. They use the Force for power and control, and the only way they believe the Force can be controlled properly is through dark emotions: hatred, anger, jealousy, fear. They allow their feelings to control them, rather than controlling their feelings. And any person strong with the Force can cause great harm if not in control.”

Anakin felt her cheeks grow hot as she trotted along just behind Qui-Gon, trying to keep up with his long strides. Not only was she being lectured, but she felt she was being scolded as well.

Qui-Gon kept talking as they walked. “Many centuries ago, the Jedi fought a terrible war against the Sith, and we believed we had eliminated their threat from the galaxy. A thousand years passed and they showed no sign of returning. Then ten years ago, Obi-Wan and I were attacked by Maul. He claimed himself Sith and we knew they had returned… or more likely never truly died.”

They stopped to call a lift. Anakin stepped in and studied the floor, mulling over what Qui-Gon was telling her.

“There are only ever two Sith; a Master and an Apprentice. We know now that Maul was the apprentice. We have spent the last ten years trying to discover the identity of the Master. Dark times are befalling the galaxy, and we believe they are, in some part, the machinations of the Sith Lord.”

The lift stopped and the doors opened up onto a familiar corridor. It was one of the wide hallways with great windows letting in sunlight as Jedi walked to and fro in their own business. Qui-Gon stepped out and Anakin followed just behind him. He did not start walking again. Instead he took a long moment to watch the people passing before them.

“Maul is dangerous. Were he to escape, he would not hesitate to kill any in his path. He would destroy every living being in the Temple simply for being here. He’d gladly see the Temple burn to the ground. Normal people, non-sensitives, do not understand the power he has, the threat he poses, the damage he would wrought. He cannot be contained by normal means. The Jedi must keep him imprisoned, or else he would return to his Master and the power of the Sith would increase greatly. Keeping him here is much more humane than other places we could contain him. For the safety of not just the Jedi, but all in the galaxy, he must be imprisoned. It is a necessary cruelty.” Qui-Gon turned and looked to Anakin. “Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded mutely, the unexpected lesson sinking in deep.

A necessary cruelty.

Anakin had heard reasoning just like that during her life as a slave. Babies torn from their mother’s breast. Children mutilated. Misbehaving slaves whipped and beaten until they were on the brink of death. To put a slave back in service. To stop a slave from risking injury. To teach a slave a lesson.

All necessary cruelties for the benefits of the Masters.

But the Jedi couldn’t mean it like the slavers did.

The Jedi were supposed to be different.

Chapter 18: Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

"And here we have a class of older Padawans. Just a few years shy of attaining Knighthood" Qui-Gon stopped in the doorway and let Anakin peek through.

There was a group of ten or so all close to Anakin's age, give or take a year. Those that had hair wore the same distinctive braid over their right shoulder, and those without had chains and beads. They were gathered around a simulator, their eyes trained on the screen as one of their classmates tried their hand at a flight simulation. Their Master, a Zabrak with sharp eyes, watched the current flier critically and occasionally made notes on a datapad. The entire group was completely engrossed in watching the simulation, and while most of them kept silent, a few were muttering encouragements under their breath.

The simulation appeared to be a twofold exercise, evasive flight from enemy fire and within a densely packed asteroid field. It wouldn't be an easy exercise, by any means, but Anakin didn't think it would be as stressful as the group of padawans felt it was. Perhaps this was an examination and they were being graded.

Anakin narrowed her eyes as the pilot took a wrong turn and banked left to avoid a shot across their right wing, but didn't account for the asteroid that was rocketing towards them. They crashed and the simulation ended with a "FAIL" message flashing across the screen. The group all sighed and groaned in disappointment. The pilot climbed out of the simulator box with a sigh.

"That was the best run," a twi'lek near the back muttered to his neighbor, "and nobody's even gotten close."

Now that the simulation was complete, the Zabrak Master turned to the two lurking in the doorway. "I see we have some observers." The group startled and turned to bow to Qui-Gon. Their eyes flicked from him to Anakin curiously, but they said nothing.

"Master Jinn, any comments for Padawan Cyat?"

The crowd parted a bit around the padawan who had just flown so he was now the center of attention. He was a Human with thick black hair, and a heavy brow. He quickly wiped his scowl from his face when he realized others were watching him.

Qui-Gon regarded the padawan for a moment. "We only caught the last couple minutes. That being said, it appeared that Padawan Cyat was relying more heavily on guesswork to guide him rather than the Force. I saw a number of split-second decisions made with more hesitance than should be expected."

The Zabrak nodded. "As did I. Learning to trust in the Force when your life is on the line is not always easy. Now, Padawan Cyat did last the longest in the simulator, but he still failed. Does anyone know what his fatal flaw was?"

There were a few shrugs and indistinct mutters. A couple mumbled that they would have done the same thing as Cyat. One young woman half-hopefully suggested that it was a matter of timing the thrusters to peak over the incoming asteroid.

That wasn't it.

Anakin had known what would have been the right move to make from the second she watched Cyat turn in the wrong direction.

"Anyone?" The Zabrak asked.

None of the other padawans had anything to offer in response.

Qui-Gon turned to Anakin with a knowing smirk pulling at his lips. "Anakin, would you care to chime in?"

Anakin felt all eyes fix on her and she looked to Qui-Gon in shock. Why was he asking her? This wasn't her training and she doubted she was going to teach the padawans anything. They'd been studying Jedi stuff for their entire lives.

It was too late, though, now the Zabrak Master was looking at her expectantly. "Do you have a suggestion?" he prompted after a beat of silence.

Anakin swallowed and then said, "He should have taken a nosedive. The space below was clear for several kilometers; he would have dodged the blasters and the incoming asteroid. The maneuver may even have resulted in the destruction of the tailing enemy if they could not adjust as quickly."

The Zabrak smiled. "Precisely, very good Miss..."

"Skywalker."

Recognition sparked in the eyes of the padawans. Only the Zabrak seemed unsurprised at her identity. "You have a keen eye and good instincts. Tell me, are you a pilot?"

"I’ve been podracer all my life."

More recognition sparked in a few of the padawans eyes as they nudged their neighbors excitedly. Even the Zabrak looked impressed. "That's not an easy sport for humans to survive." He gestured to the simulator. "Care to try your hand at our test of skills?"

Anakin felt suddenly very self-conscious. She could feel disbelief ripple through the padawans. "I've only flown a pod before."

"The controls are similar and otherwise very intuitive. You can run a simple test flight to familiarize yourself."

The padawans' doubt pressed in on Anakin. She felt more than heard one of them scoff. She knew what they were thinking. What could this slave girl from Tatooine possibly know about piloting that they didn't?

It was a fair question. Anakin was certain that on the technical side of things the padawans could probably fly circles around her, but there were also some things that just can't be taught. For Anakin it was her piloting ability. She knew that. It was the only thing that kept her alive for all those years.

Then an old instinct reared its head. Anakin couldn't say no to the order to perform. She had to continue to prove her worth or else...

"All right." She stepped forward.

The Zabrak tapped a command into his datapad. "You'll stay in open space. Take the time you need to acclimate and let me know when you are ready for the test."

Anakin settled into the simulator seat and slipped the headset on. "What is the test objective?"

"Navigate the asteroid field. Avoid enemy fire. Rendezvous with the carrier ship."

"Got it." Anakin was closed into the simulator and she took a moment to look over the controls. They were similar enough to her podracer that she wasn't entirely lost, and after about five minutes getting used to them she announced that she was ready.

The screen went black for a moment as the simulation loaded. She was given a countdown before dropping in at the fringes of the asteroid field. On the far end, Anakin could see the carrier she was heading for, it was almost a straight shot. Anakin doubted it would be so easy. The Zabrak didn't exactly seem like the kind who would pull his punches. He wanted to test Anakin just as much as his students.

The ship Anakin was flying was a small, single-person fighter; compact and fast and not suited for long distance travel. It was the kind that would often be employed to escort and protect large ships like the distant carrier. On one hand it was perfect for tight maneuvering in close quarters like this. On the other hand it didn’t have much for weapons or shields. Anakin knew trying to outgun the inevitable enemy tails would be stupid.

She was just a kilometer from the proper asteroid field when her instincts screamed at her to dodge as two missiles flew past where she had been and exploded on a nearby asteroid. It was obliterated.

Anakin sped into the field, taking off at an angled direction that led her and the enemies away from path to the carrier. She dodged another missile by skirting around a large asteroid.

Any lingering hesitance about flying in a simulation of space left as Anakin settled into the calm focus that always took over when she flew. This was no different than dodging other racers and whatever cheating tricks they had brought out. She knew there were two ships following her. They were close in size to her own, so she wouldn't be able to out maneuver them very easily. She also doubted that the AI of the simulation was prone to human error. No matter. She had raced against plenty of droids in her life and she had beat them all. Even a droid's AI wasn't infallible. Anakin pulled a wide turn to circle around her enemies and see what she was dealing with in the way of weapons. There were mountings on each of their wings for two missiles apiece, making eight in total that she would have to avoid, and they had already wasted three. Otherwise they both appeared to have mounted blasters on the wings near the body; limited aiming ability. Easy to dodge if Anakin kept tabs on where she was relative to them.

The strange thing about the flight simulator was the lack of the force of gravity, and the relative silence. Anakin was used to feeling the massive force of gravity on her as she pulled sharp turns in her pod. And she was accustomed to hearing the roar of her engines and being nearly deafened by the wind in her ears. The simulator rattled and hummed rather convincingly, but there wasn't nearly as much sensory feedback.

Anakin wove herself deeper into the asteroid field, moving farther away from the carrier, but still being persistently dogged by the enemies. They launched another missile at her, which she dodged. After that, they tried blasters for a while. She moved into a particularly dense cluster and wove deftly in and out and around the spinning, moving rocks that would easily crush her if she wasn't careful. After squeezing through the tight gap between two house-sized asteroids, Anakin saw a flash come from behind her. One enemy down. She doubted the remaining ship would fall for the same trick.

Without a partner to move around, the last enemy picked up speed and tried closing in on Anakin long enough to launch another missile at her. She narrowly avoided it by speeding up and launching deeper into the asteroids. Some more creative flying did nothing to shake her tail, and it sent near endless blaster bolts after her.

With a spark of recognition, Anakin realized she was about to come up to nearly the exact same situation padawan Cyat had failed at.

Though they were outside of her periphery, two asteroids nearly as big as her ship were on a collision course and the AI was getting closer than ever to hitting her.

Below her, space looked clearer, while above her a skyscraper-sized asteroid blocked out most of her view. The clear path was almost a no-brainer, but Anakin knew that wasn't the right way to go. If she went south, the colliding asteroids would send debris after her, not large enough to destroy her ship, but bad enough to cause damage and slow her down. With no time left to consider it, Anakin pulled up and skimmed along just meters below the skyscraper-sized asteroid. She rolled and righted herself. Putting the asteroid beneath her and for the briefest second, Anakin thought it looked a bit like Tatooine. Slaloming around the rocky outcrops was too easy. It didn't throw off her tail. Another missile slammed into the pace where Anakin would have been had she not dipped around underneath the asteroid at the last second.

The AI only had one missile left. If she could coax it into wasting it, she could fly a lot more freely. Anakin rolled to avoid some blaster fire and then pulled a hard right. She was steering for a relatively clear and open patch of space where she would look like a sitting duck to any enemy with a half-functioning AI. The last missile launched and locked onto Anakin. She knew there would be no sending it smashing into a nearby asteroid, so she put on some more speed and lead the missile into a winding chase. The enemy followed as best as it could, doing a decent job of keeping pace with Anakin, but she was outstripping it. She employed several tricks she had learned from racing to turn tighter and faster. It was dizzying to watch the stars and asteroids spin, turn, and lurch around her, but Anakin hardly noticed. Once she was certain her maneuvering had been successful, Anakin made a final sharp turn and found herself heading straight for the enemy at breakneck speed. There was no longer time to think or doubt or plan. Either this worked or it didn't. Anakin banked so sharply to the left that had she been in her pod, the Gs would certainly have caused some damage. A flash in her peripheral vision told her that her plan had been successful. Breathing a sigh of relief, Anakin pulled a wide, slow loop and turned for the carrier.

She was so preoccupied with thinking that the test was over and she had proven her worth again that she almost didn't notice the third ship. It was a newcomer. Smaller and faster than the other two.

Muttering an admonition, Anakin pulled a defensive roll just in time to dodge the blasters. Maybe her best bet was to outpace the new ship and make it to the carrier first. After all, the objective wasn't to destroy her enemies, just evade them and get to the carrier.

Anakin sped up as fast as she could go and the other ship gave chase.

A tinny voice crackled in her earpiece. "A new objective, Skywalker, the smaller ship is equipped with a bomb. You cannot allow it to reach the carrier."

"Got it." Anakin told the Zabrak. She didn't even bother slowing as she pulled a turn to move away from the carrier. The smaller ship did not follow. Anakin circled around and came up behind the ship and tried blasting it. Unsurprisingly, it avoider her potshots. Anakin hardly expected to hit it, but she did provoke it into launching defensive maneuvers. It broke its beeline path towards the carrier. Anakin gave chase.

What followed was a game of maneuvers and potshots, with both Anakin and the AI jockeying around to see who would be the prey and who would be the hunter. It took a minute for Anakin to realize that if the AI knew where she was, it was always going to be able to dodge her shots. She had to try and catch it off guard.

A quick look around revealed an asteroid of suitable size. She put on a burst of speed and passed the other ship. It followed her, almost cautiously as she was leading back into a dense cluster. By the time Anakin reached the moon-sized asteroid, she had created enough distance that it wasn't immediately obvious to the AI when she dropped her ship into a deep canyon. Anakin hurriedly shut everything down and watched anxiously for the other ship. She knew it hadn't given up on her yet, but without her in its sights it was moving even slower now, suspecting a trap. Anakin was just beginning to grow suspicious when it crossed overhead. Quickly, she powered up and slipped in behind the other ship. By the time it realized she was there, she already had it lined up in her sights. It didn't even get a chance to try and dodge before she had blasted it to tiny, computer generated pieces.

The Zabrak's voice laughed in her ear. "Excellent flying, Skywalker. Very sneaky. Proceed to the carrier."

Anakin had no further trouble navigating the asteroids and she docked in the bay of the carrier with ease. As the simulator shut down, she braced herself to step out.

The door cracked open, shedding light into the dark interior, and Anakin pushed herself the rest of the way out. The room was absolutely silent.

Anakin felt a nauseating mixture of awe and excitement and jealousy and even a little anger and shame from the watching padawans. Qui-Gon now held the Zabrak's datapad, there was the unmistakable look of appraisal in his eyes. A second simulator pod opened and the Zabrak Master climbed out. He alone was beaming, pure excitement in his eyes.

"I don't think I've ever been out flown by a padawan," he admitted, offering his hand to Anakin. "Congratulations. Skywalker, you are a talented pilot."

Anakin shook his hand and quietly accepted his compliment. She knew that she should feel proud of her abilities. She had worked hard to turn them into what they were. But instead it just settled heavily in her heart. Piloting wasn't something she did for fun, not once she started winning races. It was a survival skill. She didn't think it was worth any more congratulations than her ability to breathe.

The Zabrak was still looking at her, still talking. "For one with no formal training, you certainly have a firm grasp of the Force. I hardly expected half of your control or talent from a fer-ah,” he cut himself off, pretending to clear his throat. His eyes flicked briefly to Qui-Gon. “…from one so young.”

Anakin ducked her head. "Thank you. I am doing my best to learn."

"I believe in this case, we were the ones learning from you." The Zabrak turned to his students. "I hope you all were observing carefully. I expect an analysis from each of you of your own flights and Skywalker’s, not only in technical skill, but on the ways your use of the Force differs..."

Qui-Gon stepped forward and placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "I think we should leave the class to the remainder of their lecture."

As they snuck out of the room, Anakin felt further flashes of jealousy and disdain directed at her. She looked to the ground and followed Qui-Gon.

They were well away from the classroom before Qui-Gon spoke up. "I thought you would be exhilarated after your performance in the simulator, Anakin. That was a truly impressive bit of flying."

"I don't think the padawans were all that impressed. They thought I was showing off."

"Their jealousy will not last. It is not the Jedi way to linger on emotions like that. I simply think you put a few hotshot young pilots in their place by showing them what true experience looks like. Their egos may be bruised, but they will not resent you for it. You flew exceptionally."

Anakin smiled weakly, but the warmth of praise bloomed in her chest.

"I do apologize if I dropped you in unexpectedly on a situation you were not prepared for," Qui-Gon segued as they kept walking down sun-drenched halls. "Those padawans are your agemates, your peers, I have hopes that during your time in the Temple they will become your friends as well. I think you would agree that of any class you could have dropped in on, that was the best one to prove you can hold your own."

Qui-Gon’s predictions rang true when he and Anakin entered the commissary for lunch. After collecting their food, they searched for a table when a voice called out. “Anakin!”

Anakin didn’t recognize the voice, but saw one of the padawans from the class waving her down. She was a Human woman with chin-length auburn hair. She hurried over to Anakin and Qui-Gon. “We’ve just sat down to eat, would you like to join us?”

“Oh, um, I…” she glanced to Qui-Gon.

“Go,” he said with a smile. “I daresay their company will be far more entertaining than mine.”

As Anakin followed the padawan back to her table, she had the sense that Qui-Gon had expected this turn of events. She looked for him and saw he was already settling in at a table with a few other elder Jedi.

“I haven’t introduced myself,” the padawan said apologetically as they stopped at a half-filled table. “I’m Letti.”

Anakin was introduced to the others at the table. Della, another Human with brown skin and a cloud of tightly coiled black hair. Nahdar, a Mon Cala. Nigh, a male Twi’Lek with orange skin. And Oren, the sullen padawan she had shown up in class.

Anakin was half afraid he would hold her performance against her, but Oren was one of the most welcoming at the table. He openly congratulated her earlier performance and admired her skill.

“Anakin, I hope you don’t mind settling something for us,” Oren said once she had settled into her seat. “But you share the same name and you said you were a podracer…” he trailed off leadingly.

“Am I that Anakin Skywalker?” she finished for him. “You know Skywalker is a pretty common name where I come from.”

Oren and Nigh shared a look and grinned knowingly.

“Yeah,” Nigh supplied, “But humans don’t become podracers. She’s the only one.”

Anakin took a bite and tried to be nonchalant. “I’ve been told the Force helped a lot with my surviving the races.”

“So you are the one!” Night couldn’t hold back his excitement. He leaned across the table, beaming and looking star struck. “I’m you’re biggest fan.”

Anakin, on instinct, leaned back. She had met fans before, plenty of times, and she never knew what to do or say to any of them.

Nahdar elbowed Nigh sharply in the ribs. “Stop it. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” Anakin assured the table. “I just didn’t think my reputation would have made it to Coruscant, or the Jedi. I thought podracing was mostly an Outer Rim sport.”

“Everything makes its way to Coruscant,” Letti explained. “If it exists out in the galaxy, chances are there’s a market for it on Coruscant as well. Especially anything that includes deadly stakes and gambling.”

Nigh’s face went through a flurry of expression as he realized something. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

Anakin shrugged. “It didn’t take.”

“Hang on,” Oren said, cutting in before Nigh could go on. “You’re telling me your accident in the Boonta Eve Classic last month was faked?”

“Obviously.”

“How? Why? You were at the peak of your career? You could have gone on for years to come. Why did you give that up?”

“A career?” Anakin couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice. “That wasn’t my career. That was what I did to keep myself and my sister alive. I was a slave. I didn’t race by choice.”

The silence that fell over the table was sober and smothering. Anakin felt very uncomfortable. She began picking up her plate.

“I-I’m sorry. I should-”

“Don’t.” Letti said firmly, putting a hand on Anakin’s arm. “Don’t be sorry. They shouldn’t have been pestering you.”

The boys muttered a couple apologies and everyone returned to eating quietly.

Anakin still felt uncomfortable, and she felt obligated to break the awkward silence. “So…” she began hesitantly, “What’s it like, growing up as a Jedi? I know so little about you. I’d never met one until I met Obi-Wan and Quinlan.”

She felt her lunch mates’ relief and eagerness to have a new topic to discuss. Letti was the first to start explaining what her experiences as a padawan was like, and the others joined in.

Obi-Wan was surprised to find Qui-Gon sitting alone, nursing his lunchtime cup of tea, rather than at a table with Anakin. He was certain they had training together this morning and afternoon. It was unusual to see Qui-Gon without Anakin at his side. Had she fallen ill?

“Where’s Anakin?” he asked, sliding into the seat across from his Master.

Qui-Gon was looking over his cup of tea across the lunch room. He nodded towards a table of elder padawans. “Making friends.”

Obi-Wan followed his gaze and caught Anakin’s familiar golden hair at a table full of her agemates. They were talking, and laughing, and Anakin was smiling. Something he didn’t see very often from her.

“Oh, good,” Obi-Wan said, a confusing mix of emotion settling into his heart.

“It is.” Qui-Gon said pointedly. “Friends are important to a recovering psyche. It is vital for one to build support systems. And Anakin will need more friends closer to her own age once you are cleared to return to the Mid Rim. Besides,” Qui-Gon added with a smirk, “she can only be subjected to so much time in the presence of an old Jedi. She is only nineteen.”

“You are not quite so old, Master.”

“Old enough,” Qui-Gon chuckled.

Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Chapter Text

“I would like to take you out, Anakin,” Padmé announced almost as soon as they had settled into the call. Ever since she rediscovered the comm, Anakin and Padmé had fallen into an almost nightly habit of calling and chatting.

“Out? Out where?”

“There is a limited run performance of a classic show at the opera house tomorrow night, it’s called Nemrac. I think you would really enjoy it.”

Anakin’s heart skipped with excitement. “I’d really like that.” She hadn’t been able to actually see Padmé since they parted on the landing platform almost six weeks ago. These chats were nice, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person.

They laid out the details; Padmé had made all the arrangements already, including dinner plans before the show. All Anakin needed was to be ready in time. And when they parted for the night, Padmé said very heartfelt, “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

A giddy kind of nervousness distracted Anakin all the next day, and her new friends took notice.

“What’s eating you, Anakin?” Letti asked. Anakin was supposedly helping her repair a faulty speeder bike; really Letti was picking her brain for tips to make it turn sharper.

Anakin took her time selecting the proper tubing for the bike. “I’m going out to the opera tonight with Senator Amidala.”

“What like a date?”

“No.” Anakin’s smile faltered, she hadn’t thought about that. “Wait… is it a date?”

“Hold on!” Letti immediately abandoned her project. “Tell me everything. What did she say while you were making plans?”

Anakin told her what she could remember, when she finished, Letti gasped and smiled, and hopped on the balls of her feet. “That’s a date! Okay, maybe not a strictly romantic date, but the Senator is taking you out to dinner and then the opera. What are you gonna wear?”

“Um,” Anakin didn’t really have much of a wardrobe. She was just planning on changing into a clean shirt. She gestured to herself. “Basically this.”

“No, no, no, that won’t do!” Letti seized Anakin by the arm and hurried her out of the speeder bay. “Come with me, we’ll go get Della, and between the two of us, we’ll have something you can wear. Even us Jedi have the occasion to dress up.”

Della, they found in the archives, and she was happy to be recruited. Preparing Anakin for her date was far more important than the thesis research she was supposed to be doing. They wound up in Della’s room, with Anakin placed before a mirror and a couple hours to get her ready.

“I have the perfect dress for you, Anakin,” Della dug into her closet. “It will be perfect for the opera.”

She pulled out a floor-length gown made from a silky dark gray material. It was sleeveless, with an open neckline, and it was accented with sharp-angled, black leather accents that formed a V-shape down the front and back of the bodice. It was very Jedi-like, Anakin thought it reminded her of Jedi robes, but it was a very nice dress. And it fit pretty well. Della was a little broader in the shoulders than Anakin, but her bust was smaller, so that balanced out well enough to make the fit not as awkward, and the dress loosened into the skirt at the waist, so there wasn’t a risk of Anakin’s recently-noticeable waistline drawing attention and uncomfortable questions – she still wasn’t telling too many people about the baby, not until it became too obvious and unable to hide – and with the accent piece in place over the dress, there was nothing to be seen in the first place.

Anakin looked herself over in the mirror. Jabba had always dressed her in bright colors and jewel tones and accented her with golds and bronzes. She didn’t get to wear darker colors often, or things with simple, elegant designs. On Tatooine, she had been dressed to be a gaudy bauble, a pretty prize. In this dress… she liked the way it made her look. She felt powerful, respectable. Dressed like this, nobody could look at her and say ‘this is slave pretending she’s free.’

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Letti gasped, when Anakin stepped out from behind the dressing screen.

"Now all we need are shoes." Della tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Mine are too small, Letti's are too big." She snapped her fingers, already pulling Anakin out the door. "Vit'en'n should be your size!"

They hurried through the halls of the padawan dormitories until they came to a stop in front of a closed door. Della knocked and called out, "Vitty dear, it's Della. We're raiding your closet."

Della let herself into the room, Anakin waited in the doorway.

The doom was dark, the windows entirely blacked out, and in the slice of light that came from the hallway, Anakin could see someone stir slowly from a pile of pillows and blankets. A pair of luminescent eyes reflected in the darkness and a rather grumpy voice said, "Della, do you know what time it is?"

Anakin couldn't see her friend, but heard her rummaging. Della said apologetically, "I know, you can get back to your lovely nocturnalism in a minute, we just need to borrow some shoes. It's an emergency."

Vit'en'n muttered something unintelligible and buried their head beneath a pillow.

"Thank you, dear," Della trilled, planting a quick kiss on Vit'en'n's exposed elbow before scooting from the room. She held out Anakin's choices to her. "Flats or heels? I usually wear heels with this dress, but you're already a couple inches taller than me, so you won't have to worry about tripping over the hem."

Anakin considered the offered shoes. She chose the heels, they were a plainer design, and she thought they went better with the dress.

Fully dressed, next came Anakin's hair. They went back and forth for some time whether an up-do would look nicer or if Anakin's long curls should be given the opportunity to shine. Nobody could really reach a decision and even Anakin didn’t have a strong opinion.

"We need an outside opinion," Letti finally admitted. She looked to the hallway, and smiled. "Hang on, I'll be right back."

Anakin reached out and sensed two familiar people get roped in by Letti and dragged to the door. She couldn’t identify the others, she still wasn't good at that yet.

"We need your opinion, hair up or hair down?" Letti pressed without preamble.

Oren and Nigh looked Anakin over with varying levels of surprise. Oren in particular was a confusing jumble of embarrassment, attraction, shock and awe.

"What's the occasion?" Nigh asked.

"Anakin's got a date," Della explained with a smile and a hint of teasing. "At the opera, with a Senator."

"The opera... hmm, hair up. More elegant I think."

Della gathered up Anakin's hair into an approximation of the style. "Like this?"

"Yeah, what do you think, Oren?" Nigh nudged his mute friend.

"Uh. Yeah, looks good." His eyes slid over Anakin, not quite meeting her gaze, his ears were turning red.

"Thank you boys," Letti ushered them out of the room. She closed the door behind them. "Now that was interesting."

Della was already braiding sections of Anakin's hair. "Interesting indeed."

"What?" Anakin held up pins and ties for Della and Letti to go to work.

"I haven't seen Oren get that flustered in a long time, that's all," Letti said in mock innocence.

"Oh, that," Anakin shrugged. She was used to people staring at her body, though Hutt patron’s didn’t often get tongue tied while drooling over her.

"Oren's pretty good looking, dontcha think?" Letti continued conversationally. "If he wasn't always so serious and smiled every once in a while, he might even be fun to date."

"Not my type," Della commented.

"Well you already have an Umbaran sweetheart, and you don't like boys anyway." Letti pinned a coil of hair into place. "What do you think, Anakin? What's your type?"

The question took Anakin by surprise. Types? Types were for people who had a choice in their partners. As a slave, she didn't get to choose the clients she serviced; she was somebody else's type. She serviced all genders, a number of species, even non-humanoids. But now… she had her choice, she could have a type.

"I guess I like almost anyone, gender really isn't important."

"Oh? This senator, is she your type?"

Anakin directed a small smile to her lap. "She's really pretty, and very kind. I'm not sure if she wants anything like that though. Or... or if I'm ready. I don't really... I haven't had a lot of romantic relationships in my past."

"You can find a person attractive and enjoy time with them without wanting to be romantic with them." Letti said sagely.

“True,” Della agreed.

“You’ve spent some time with Knight Kenobi, haven’t you?” Letti framed innocently before a devilish grin pulled at her lips, “Now there’s an attractive Jedi.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess he is,” Anakin agreed, she felt her cheeks grow warm. Obi-Wan was good looking, but after her failed attempt to offer herself as a thank-you payment on Senator Amidala’s ship, she was almost certain any chance she might have had with him was long gone. He was keeping a respectful distance and minding his manners while they were still working together. And while she had a feeling he still wanted to spend time with her, he also seemed to be making an effort to keep his distance.

“I’ll see your Knight Kenobi and raise you Knight Secura.” Della added playfully.

“She is cute,” Letti agreed, “But she’s got nothing on Master Fisto.”

“Oh, yeah,” Della added dreamily. “If I had to pick a man…”

“Nadhar is Master Kit Fisto’s padawan,” Letti explained, “We’ve seen a lot of him and that smile of his.”

“Best smile in the galaxy.”

Anakin would have to take their word for it. She hadn’t met Kit Fisto yet.

They finished Anakin’s hair, piling it into a crown of braids and curls and strategically placed jeweled pins.

“Do you want any jewelry?” Della asked, digging through her modest jewelry box. “I don’t have much, but a necklace and some earrings would really tie everything together.”

Anakn’s fingers brushed against her neck, where her collar used to sit. The thought of anything around her neck again, even a simple necklace, made her throat go tight. “No, that’s alright, I’m not much on jewelry, and I feel like I’ve borrowed enough from you already.” Anakin tried not to think how she kept meeting Padmé in borrowed dresses, in somebody else’s clothing.

“I’ve got some make-up if you want it,” Letti flicked open a case full of powders and color pallets.

Make-up, Anakin could handle. That was one thing she had sort of enjoyed about getting dressed up for a show. It was almost like painting, turning her face into a canvas, and it was so much easier to sell a lie with a painted on smile. She didn’t feel the need to go heavy with it tonight, though, she didn’t need to paint on her excitement to see Padmé. She gave herself a fine line of metallic-black eyeliner, with a small wing, and at Letti’s suggestion added some silvery powder to her eyelids; a little bit of mascara, no need for huge false eyelashes; the lightest dusting of blush on her cheeks, and rosey-pink gloss on her lips.

“Perfect!” Della announced, giving Anakin a final once over. “You are absolutely ready for the opera.”

Letti laughed as she packed away her makeup, “I still can’t believe you did your eyeliner without a mirror and got it that sharp.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Anakin said with a shy smile. She looked herself over in the mirror again. This was a look she could get used to. Not a prize to be given away to the highest bidder, but an elegant person in her own right. She turned back to her friends and gave them both a quick hug. “Thank you so much.”

“You look lovely!” Della trilled.

Anakin checked the time. “I’ve got to hurry and say goodbye to my sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Shila, she’s down in the crèches with her agemates. I promised her I’d say goodbye before I left for the night.”

“Aww, how old is she? Can we come meet her?”

“She’s three, and if you want, sure.”

The three of them left the padawan wing and traipsed down to the crèches. Anakin found Shila and her agemates in the play room, having a grand old time under the watchful eye of one of the crèche master and being thoroughly worn out by a handful of older children. As usual, Shila sensed Anakin’s arrival, and she was running for her sister as soon as she entered the room.

The sisters hugged, and Anakin was quickly and distantly introduced to Shila’s new friend, ‘Soka, a young togruta who bemusedly waved across the play room when Shila called back to her. Anakin introduced Letti and Della to Shila, and the elder padawans spend a good minute fawning over her before they got pulled away by the other younglings who also wanted their attention.

“Ani! You look so pretty!” Shila cried out with a bright smile that fell quickly into confusion and worry. “I… I thought you didn’t have to dress up anymore. You hurt when you look pretty.”

“No, Shila, it’s okay this time,” Anakin corrected quickly. “This time it’s good that I dressed up.” She smiled brightly for her sister, “You remember Miss Padmé?”

“Uh-huh.” Shila didn’t look quite convinced, her frown deepened. “Miss Padmé made you dress up? I thought she was nice.”

“She is, Shila, she’s very nice. We talked about this earlier. Miss Padmé is taking me out to see a show tonight, and you are going to spend the night here with your friends. Remember?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, this show is very fancy, and I dressed up for it because I wanted to. I won’t hurt tonight, I promise. I’ll have fun, and tomorrow morning, I’ll come and pick you up first thing, and tell you all about it.”

“You promise?”

“I do.” Anakin pulled Shila into a hug and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I have to go, now. Promise me you’ll behave and mind your manners tonight.”

“I promise!” Shila squeezed Anakin with all the strength she had in her little body.

“I love you, Shila. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Della and Letti opted to stay in the crèche for a little longer – the younglings were thoroughly enamored to have almost-knights to play with, and they made jokes about poaching their future padawans. Anakin left her friends behind and hurried for the speeder bay Padmé was going to pick her up at.

At the entrance of the speeder bay, she came across Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, who were a little too pleasantly surprised to see her that she suspected he had intentionally wandered into her path.

“You look quite ready for a night at the opera with Senator Amidala,” the elder Jedi said placidly. “Nemrac is a classic, I’m sure you will thoroughly enjoy the performance. If I am correct, I believe you may find a surprise in the cast tonight as well.”

“A surprise?”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin it. Enjoy your evening.” With that, Qui-Gon walked away with a barely contained smile on his face.

Obi-Wan lingered. “You look lovely, Anakin. Ready for the opera.”

She smiled warmly. “Thank you. I borrowed almost everything I’m wearing, but…” She shrugged. “Maybe someday I’ll have a dress as nice as this of my own. For now, I’m happy to have generous friends.”

“I’m glad to know you are getting along so well with your peers. Do they help the Temple feel more like home?”

“Yes, they do.”

From the speeder bay, Anakin heard the whine of approaching engines. Padmé was here. She turned to see the speeder begin docking carefully in the bay and her heart leaped in excitement.

“That’s your ride.” Obi-Wan looked her over one last time. “Have a pleasant evening, Anakin.” He bowed shortly and walked away, following Qui-Gon’s path. She watched him go for a moment.

She sensed nothing of the flustered attraction she had in Oren earlier, nor anything remotely close to how he had felt when they first met. There was none of the attraction, none of the lust. Her suspicions were correct; he had moved on from her.

Anakin found she didn’t mind, this didn’t hurt her. She’d never had a platonic relationship with a freed man before, particularly not one who had been attracted to her. A friendship with Obi-Wan would be a wonderful thing.

She turned to the waiting speeder, where Padmé was stepping out, and she felt a little flutter of that flustered attraction in her chest. Maybe she wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship with the Senator, much less anyone, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy spending time with Padmé. Romantic or platonic, she was beginning to value their relationship as much as she valued her relationships with the Jedi. There was depth there and strength that she had never known as a slave. Slaves just couldn’t get this close to people – life was too uncertain to love deeply.

Chapter 20: Chapter 20

Chapter by TheAceOfShades

Chapter Text

A wide smile broke across Padmé’s face when she saw Anakin approaching. Their calls over the last several weeks had been very nice, but seeing her in person was entirely different and infinitely better. In the month since they had last seen each other, Anakin had changed so much. She looked less like the scared woman doing all she could to put on a brave face, to be strong for her sister, to protect her precious secrets. She looked happy, confident, comfortable, and so lovely. Padmé tracked her eyes quickly up and down Anakin, taking in her dress – an elegant, formal thing of dark silk and leather that looked stunning on her – her made-up face – understated and letting her blue eyes sparkle – and the braids and styling of her golden hair – she better not let her handmaidens see that style, or else they’ll try and recreate it on Padmé’s head.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Anakin.” Padmé hesitated just a moment to see how Anakin wanted to handle physical contact. She didn’t move in for a hug or other embrace – Padmé hadn’t expected her to. There was an awkward flutter between their hands before Padmé wrapped her hands around Anakin’s and gave them a squeeze.

“It’s great to see you too!” Anakin beamed at Padmé. “Shila says hello.”

“How is your sister?”

“Really great. She’s made lots of friends and she’s looking forward to spending the night with them.”

“That’s wonderful to hear.” Padmé looked into Anakin’s eyes, they really were a truly captivating blue. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” a blush crept across Anakin’s cheeks. “You look very nice too.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt for a moment. “One of my new friends let me borrow it.” Anakin looked away from Padmé and her nervous smile fell. “One day, I’ll stop meeting you in borrowed dresses.”

Padmé took Anakin’s arm gently and steered her towards their waiting speeder. Captain Typho would be their chauffer and security chaperone for the night. He and Anakin exchanged brief greetings before they settled into the speeder. “Tell me about your new friends. They sound like nice people.”

Anakin talked easily about her new friends during the whole trip to dinner. It was one of Padmé’s favorite restaurants on Coruscant, and she had reserved a private dining room. Tonight was about giving Anakin a treat; dinner and the opera were all for her. Something she couldn’t get on Tatooine or at the Jedi Temple – at least not under Master Jinn’s tutelage, he was… not fond of live theater. Particularly opera.

Padmé could hardly take her eyes off Anakin through dinner. She had almost become a new person, or perhaps a truer version of herself. She was excited about the things she was learning in the Temple, and fascinated by what she was learning about the Republic, enthusiastic about her new friends. The Jedi were good for her. She was radiant in her joy.

Padmé waited until the waiters brough in the main course and left them to dine in peace before broaching the next subject she was curious about. “So, you said Shila was doing well. How about the baby?”

Anakin hadn’t mentioned the baby much in their calls. Padmé was half-afraid it might be uncomfortable waters for Anakin, but the few times she did mention the baby she seemed excited. And if Padmé wanted to cover all conversational bases to check in on Anakin during her time at the Temple, she did have to ask.

Anakin fell still for a moment, directing a small smile at her plate. “The baby’s doing great. I… I found out the other day that it’s a boy.”

“A boy? That’s exciting!”

Anakin smiled shyly at her plate. “Yeah, Shila’s going to be excited to have a little brother. And, well, I’m excited for a son too.”

Padmé leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “Have you started thinking of any names.”

“Yes, I have a few ideas, but, well, on Tatooine we don’t name a baby until they’re born. It’s bad luck.”

“Really?” Naboo had a somewhat similar tradition of giving newborns milk names for the first few months of their life, stemmed from ancient superstitions of baby-stealing spirits. “Well, have you picked a nickname to call him until he’s born?”

“Not really,” Anakin’s shy smile warmed, and her hands moved, though Padmé could not see beneath the table she was certain she had laid her hands over her abdomen. “So far I’ve just been calling the baby Little One. Though, now he’s almost as big as a pallie fruit.”

A flush of warm fondness coursed through Padmé; this was familiar. “My sister called her daughters food nicknames when she was pregnant. Ryoo was a dumpling, and Pooja was a muffin, I believe.”

“Well, if I ever settle on a proper nickname for him, you’ll be the first to know.”

The remainder of dinner passed in pleasant conversation. Anakin had plenty to ask about Coruscant, and Padmé’s work as a senator, and the opera. Padmé was happy to share, but the opera was something, she told Anakin, that had to be experienced itself. They lingered over dinner until it was time to head to the opera house.

The opera was a spectacle. Anakin found herself enamored with every tiny detail of the whole show. The costumes and stage design, the story and music, even the theater itself was a sight to behold. Padmé had box seats that provided a full and unobstructed view of the stage.

They arrived with just enough time to get settled, and then the lights dimmed, and the stage lit up.

Padmé had been right, Nemrac was a classing. Classic enough that Anakin had heard some of the songs, though not with their original lyrics. Over the years Anakin had seen some performances by entertainment troupes in Jabba’s palace that had applied the tunes to much bluer lyrics. After seeing the show, she decided she preferred the originals.

The story in itself was simple enough to follow. The main character was a young Jedi Knight, tasked with maintain peace between the local government forces and a band of rebel insurgents. The Knight was distracted from her duties and seduced by a local worker, who had been detained and accused of being a Rebel. The Rebel managed to seduce the Jedi and convince her to free her from jail, with the promise to meet again later. The Jedi, of course, got in trouble, and was brought before the local magistrate for a browbeating.

And there was Qui-Gon’s rumored surprise casting. One Jedi Master Mace Windu was playing the role of the Magistrate. Anakin never would have guessed, from the little she knew of the man, that he had not only an interest in acting, but was a rather accomplished one as well. To perform with the Coruscanti Opera Company as a guest had to indicate his talent.

When he appeared on stage, Anakin tore her eyes off the stage for the first time since the show began to look at Padmé and whisper to her, “That’s Mace Windu!”

Padmé beamed back, reaching over to take Anakin’s hand. She whispered back with a smile in her voice, “You’ll miss it if you don’t watch.”

Anakin squeezed Padmé’s hand as she turned her eyes quickly back to stage. Windu was in the middle of berating the Jedi Knight for her neglect of duties and allowing insurrectionists to spread chaos on their otherwise peaceful world. Anakin smiled, wondering if he was drawing up on personal experiences for really lay the disappointment and frustration into his voice. Surely this wasn’t the first time he had scolded a Jedi, acted or not.

The remainder of the act was just as exciting, even if Anakin didn’t personally know any of the other cast members. The Jedi sought out the Rebel, cowed and intending to set things straight once and for all, only to find herself once again enthralled by the Rebel. They sang a long duet, dancing around each other, the Rebel, claiming she didn’t care what the Jedi did, the Jedi fighting with her sense of duty and her feelings. At the end of the act, the Jedi had been convinced to see the Rebel’s point of view, and she delivered the necessary weapons to them.

The house lights went up as the curtain closed and Anakin, along with every other member of the audience, clapped until her hands began to tingle.

There was a bright smile on her lips, and a pretty flush on her cheeks when she turned to Padmé. “This is so incredible!”

Padmé’s heart leapt to see Anakin so delighted. She kept her smile on her face but put enough disappointment into her voice when she said, “I am afraid it is traditional for a Senator to do a little politicking during intermission. Would you care to join me? Or would you prefer to stay here?”

“I’ll go with you.”

Padmé looped her arm through Anakin’s as they left the box and stepped into the rapidly filling hallway. “I am afraid most of them will ignore you.”

“I won’t mind being ignored by Senators,” Anakin grinned, “I’ve played arm candy before.”

“You are far more than just arm candy.”

Padmé guided them to a loose knot pf people milling about a lobby. The halls echoed with indistinct chatter and laughter as all the people around them discussed the show, their personal lives, or varying other topics. The group of people opened slightly to allow Padmé and Anakin in, and the obligatory introductions went around.

Most of the group hardly paid any attention to Anakin, skimming over her as Padmé’s date and nothing more. But Anakin wasn’t the only one in the group ignored by the Senators. There were other dates, spouses, partners, escorts, all pretending to listen but otherwise ignoring the politicking. Anakin, quite honestly, did not register any of the names of the senators and other politicians in the group. They were, ultimately, unimportant.

As they spoke around her, she became aware of a creeping sensation crawling up her spine. Anakin looked around, trying to identify who or what may be causing it, but she saw nothing amiss. And really, who would try anything dangerous in such a public place? Anakin had seen the security employed by the opera house, and she had clocked the small army of private security brought along by some of the more important guests. Even Padmé had Typho tailing them. Nothing bad could happen here. Perhaps, Anakin was simply picking up on someone else’s unsavory feelings – being surrounded by non-Jedi felt much more different than being in the Temple. These people were more open, easier to feel. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, Anakin had lived like this all her life, it was just strange to be aware of it – like being made aware of the placement of her tongue in her mouth.

The lights flashed, and intermission was over. The creeping sensation disappeared, and Anakin forgot it entirely by the time she and Padmé returned to the box.

The second half of the show took a dramatic turn. With the Jedi and the Rebel romantically entangled, the Jedi continued to lose sight of her original mission, then joined the insurgents, and did anything the seductive Rebel asked of her. Things came to a head when the Magistrate called upon the Jedi Temple to send someone to collect their wayward and failed Knight. An older Jedi arrived, the Knights former Master, to take over and take her away from this conflict that she had become too personally entangled in. The Knight refused, proclaiming her undying love for the Rebel, claiming she had seen a vision of her lover’s death, and only she could be the one to save her life. The Rebel, always distant with her affections, finally spurned the Jedi, revealing she had been using the Jedi from the beginning, she hadn’t loved her, the Jedi had been a useful pawn. In a heartbroken fit of rage the Jedi plunged her lightsaber into the Rebel’s heart, and the Rebel died in her arms while the Jedi sang a heart wrenching lament. The curtain closed on the Jedi giving her dead lover a final kiss.

Anakin sat there for a stunned moment, aware of the tears prickling in her eyes, but unable to move for a moment to wipe them away. The last, mournful note faded out from the orchestra, and there were several heavy beats of silence before the audience burst into applause. Anakin wasn’t the only one to get to her feet as the curtain swept open once more, and the cast took their bows. She didn’t sit down and she didn’t stop clapping until the curtain closed, truly for the final time.

Padmé turned to her, and asked completely unnecessarily, “So what did you think? Pretty good for your first ever opera, isn’t it?”

“It was amazing!” Anakin gushed and thrilled about the show, going back and reliving it over again to highlight her favorite parts. “I cried at the end! I didn’t expect to cry!”

Padmé was delighted to see so much excitement on Anakin’s face. She looked so incredibly beautiful when she smiled, really smiled. A practiced smile could be pretty, but a genuine smile was gorgeous.

After the curtains closed for the final time, Padmé led Anakin from their box. They joined the slowly moving crowd towards the exits. Everybody was all wrapped up in their own discussions, and Anakin and Padmé were no different. So they couldn’t ben blamed when they were both startled as a deep voice behind them said, “It sounds like you both enjoyed the show.”

They both started and spun quickly to face the speaker. Anakin was the first to break into an uneasy smile. “Mace Windu, fancy seeing you here. I did not know you were an actor or singer.”

The Jedi smiled slightly. “I am a man of many talents, Miss Skywalker.” He offered a respectful nod to Padmé. “Senator Amidala, it is nice to see you again.”

“And you, Master Windu, congratulations on a wonderful performance.”

“Thank you.”

Anakin spoke up before she could reconsider it, her curiosity was burning. “I didn’t think you had other… well, interests. Having a seat on the jedi Council seems like it takes up much of your time. Where did you find time for this part?”

“I usually don’t have time to act, but the company was putting on this limited performance, and I was familiar enough with the part. Over the years, I’ve played nearly every role in Nemrac in some capacity. Between Council duties I do still have time for other pursuits.”

Any response Anakin might have had left her mind entirely when she was doused in that spine-crawling feeling of dread once again. It came over her so suddenly, like someone had dumped a bucket over her head. She drew in a sharp breath and glanced over her shoulder to see who or what could have possibly caused this. From the corner of her eye, exiting from one of the corridors that led to another bank of private boxes, Anakin saw a chillingly familiar shape. Her heard stuttered fearfully, she turned her face away from him with a sharp gasp.

Unsurprisingly, this did not go unnoticed by the others.

“What is it?” Padmé put a concerned hand on Anakin’s arm.

“A Hutt,” Anakin whispered tightly.

Mace looked over her head to where the Hutt was making his exit. “Yes. Ziro. He’s an exile from the Hutt clans, as I understand.”

A cold, humorless laugh escaped Anakin. “Shows what you know.”

Windu studied her critically, but not unkindly. “He’s not an exile?”

“He’s Master of the Hutt Clan in seven systems. He’s one of the clan heads. He’s not exiled, he never has been.”

The Jedi looked perturbed by this news. “It would seem our information is out of date, then. Not that I doubt you, but you are certain of his status?”

Anakin’s mouth pulled into a grim snarl. “Not six months ago, I was feeding him live frogs off a golden platter while his nephew hosted him on Tatooine.”

Mace hummed low in his throat, his eyes tracking the departing Hutt party. Anakin could feel the Force stir around them, seeking and creeping and secretive, and she knew it wasn’t her doing. Only after they had disappeared did the Jedi say, “He did not see you or recognize you. You are safe.” He looked down at Anakin, and concern creased his brow. “Skywalker, will you be alright?”

Anakin was trembling, the fear of being caught by a Hutt blinding her to all but her anxiety. If she was found, she would be taken. Jabba would kill her, but only after torturing her and breaking her down body and spirit until all that remained was a soulless husk. Her baby, her son, would never live to draw his first breath. And gods forbid if they managed to torture Shila’s location out of her.

“Anakin.”

There was a warm hand on hers. Soft fingers wrapping around her cold, calloused ones. She looked down at her hands. She remembered where she was.

She looked at Padmé. The senator’s warm brown eyes were dark with worry. Her mouth pulled down into a concerned frown.

The Force was around her, solid, shielding, protective. It wasn’t her doing. She looked to the Jedi. He had hardly moved a muscle but he had his eyes fixed firmly on her. She could sense the potential in him, like a coiled spring, ready to leap into action if she hurt someone again.

“Breathe, Skywalker.”

Anakin drew in a shuddering breath, held it a moment, and then released it slowly. Her lungs ached with relief. Had she been holding her breath? She drew another breath. And another. Slowly, with each inhale and exhale, the world returned into focus and her fear settled back into the corner of her mind where it always resided.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong,” Padmé insisted, giving Anakin’s hands a gentle squeeze.

Anakin looked away from her, because she wasn’t a Jedi, she didn’t know how dangerously close Anakin had come to teetering on the brink of something terrible. Her cheeks burned hot under the stern glare of Mace Windu, but when she finally dared to look up to him, he merely offered her a small nod.

The Force moved between them, carrying his unspoken sentiments. She had handled that well. She should be pleased with the progress in control she had made over the last several weeks.

Anakin’s cheeks flushed even hotter. It would be a very long time before she, or anyone else, forgot what happened the last time she had lost control and become overwhelmed. If that happened again, here, with Padmé and so many other innocent, unprepared people around –

The Force snapped sharply with warning. Windu fixed her with a look before saying quietly, “Do not let fear of what might have been control you, Skywalker. It did not happen. Let is pass.”

Anakin drew a few more deep breaths, and her mind began to calm.

Padmé looked between the two of them. “Excuse us for a moment, Master Windu.” The Jedi nodded and stepped away. Padmé breathed a little easier. She was good at reading people, and for a brief moment, while Anakin was petrified with fear and nearing a panic attack, the Jedi had sensed danger. But it seemed to have passed. Anakin though still looked agitated as Padmé pulled her a few steps farther from Mace.

“Are you okay, Anakin?”

“Yes. I suppose…” a short sigh and she closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect there to be Hutts on Coruscant. Why are there Hutts on Coruscant? At the opera! They’re slavers and gang lords, they rule the Outer Rim. How can they possibly be welcomed in the Republic? They shouldn’t be allowed!”

“Anakin, it doesn’t work like that.” Padmé reached for her hand to try and calm her again, but she was too irritated, she pulled away, shifting her weight uncomfortably. “The Republic is far from perfect, and there are crime families and gang lords even here in the heart of it. And as much as I wish it weren’t so, even Hutts, if they grease the right palms, are welcomed into certain societies.”

Anakin scowled. That particular brand of politics was all too familiar. “I thought the Republic was different.”

“It is,” Padmé insisted fervently. “In so many ways it is very different. And… in mays ways the Republic and outlying territories aren’t all that different.”

Her words did little to ease Anakin’s agitation. She fell still, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, and not quite meeting Padmé’s eyes.

A small, sad expression pulled at Padmé’s face. “Anakin, I wish we lived in a just galaxy. Every day I wake up wishing we lived in a world where evil didn’t exist and people didn’t hurt at the hands of others, and everything was right and fair, and good people were happy and bad people learned to become good people. Who knows, maybe if the galaxy was like that, I would be a poet instead. But the galaxy isn’t like that. It doesn’t run on wishes, and justice has to be fought for tooth and nail every minute of every day.”

Anakin loosened slightly from her tightly wound posture. She was listening, though Padmé’s words weren’t really meant for comfort. Inch by inch, she began to open up again.

Padmé offered, “If you want, I can explain everything I know to you, but I don’t think this is the time or place.”

Anakin looked down, quickly schooling her expression into something less angry. “No, you’re right, this isn’t the place. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Padmé reminded her once again. “I should apologize, tonight was supposed to be for you. A night of fun, and enjoyment.”

Anakin looked nearly offended. “You have nothing to apologize for either! Tonight has been great. Really, I’ve had a wonderful time. Hutts just have a way of fouling any good mood.”

Padmé reached out once again and Anakin let her take her hand. “I had one more thing planned for us tonight, but if you are ready to go home, I understand.”

Part of Anakin wanted to end the night. To retreat to the safety of the Temple, surrounded by the Jedi, where the Hutts couldn’t get her. To check on Shila and be assured of her sister’s safety. Another part of Anakin didn’t want to leave Padmé yet. She wanted to see more of Coruscant, spend more time with the Senator, really experience freedom. And well, Padmé had only mentioned dinner and the opera when telling Anakin their plans for this date. She wondered what kind of surprise the Senator might have cooked up.

“I think I can handle one more excursion for the night.”

Padmé smiled warmly, sweetly. “Okay.”

Together, they turned back to where Captain Typho and Mace Windu were conversing in quiet undertones, both doing their best to not eavesdrop too much.

“I believe it is time to move on for the evening,” Padmé announced. She gave a courteous nod to the Jedi, “Master Windu, always a pleasure to see you. But we won’t take up any more of your time. I daresay you have a cast party to join tonight.”

“Or duties at the Jedi Temple,” Mase Windu said with a smile in his voice. He bowed to them. “Enjoy your evening, Senator, Miss Skywalker.”

He turned on his heel and strode away. Anakin and Padmé turned in the opposite direction and left as well. The opera house was nearly empty by this point, its halls emptying quickly as the patrons departed for whatever other pursuit they had planned for the night. All that remained were a handful of staff members, a fleet of cleaning and maintenance droids, and a few stragglers in back rooms who had found something much more preoccupying to entertain them rather than the show. Ziro the Hutt was long gone, though Anakin could almost sense him in their air, like a foul odor or a slime trail left in his wake. But as they waited for Typho to bring the speeder around, Anakin sensed her awareness of the Hutt dissipating. By the time she settled into her seat across from Padmé, she had almost forgotten him – he was firmly tucked away in the back of her mind with all the rest of her life’s unpleasantries.

“So where are you taking me?”

Padmé smile a little cryptically. “If you haven’t tired of botanical gardens yet, I know of one that will surely be a delight to wander.”

And she wasn’t wrong. The garden was delightful. It was rather large, sitting up at the very peak of Coruscant’s architecture so the plants it housed could receive the full benefit of sunshine and rare rains. It was divided into tiered rings, and each ring into quadrants, and each quadrant housed a unique biome and an array of flora that could be found there.

During the day, it was a high-end market, Padmé explained as she guided Anakin through a lush, tropical rainforest biome. At night, most of the merchants packed up and went home, and the gardens were opened to the public. It was also a popular place to be rented out for galas and other events.

Tonight, though, there were no special events. There was just a scattering of people who had come to the park for one reason or another – no more than two dozen or so, which was surprising given the park’s size.

There were a number of paths through each biome, some straightforward, others meandering. They were lit by soft glowglobes at ground level, and larger lamps hanging overhead, there were shadows, but none large enough for anyone or anything to lurk.

They moved from the rainforest to a costal biome, where small luminescent creatures danced around dark kelp in simulated tide pools. All around the garden fireflies glowed in sporadic bursts, transplants from the grassland biome that had settled into nearly every nook of the garden. Anakin smiled as one settled on her palm and crawled around her fingers for a moment before flying away. Tatooine had nothing like those – its creatures were adapted to not be seen at all in night or day. To think there were places where creatures could have evolved to glow brightly and broadcast their position to predators fascinated her.

Together she and Padmé explored the gardens. And step by step, Anakin’s contentment grew.

Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Chapter by TheAceOfShades

Chapter Text

Anakin seemed to be settling in well to life in the Temple. With friends her own age, she became less lonely, less dependent upon Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon for companionship. This was a good thing, Obi-Wan knew it was, and yet he still felt small twinges of sorrow when Anakin parted from them after a morning of lessons to join her agemates. He should be happy that she was making friends her own age, not jealous that her attention was now divided. It was so un-Jedi-like.

He spent a lot of time meditating on that particular thorn. He could not possess Anakin. She was not his to take, and she had not offered herself to him, not even made the slightest hint of interest. Not since her misguided attempt of repayment on Padmé’s ship. Every day, he released his worries into the Force.

Now that his arm was healed, he would be returning to his duties. Time and distance would do more to help him further release this growing attachment. Master Qui-Gon hadn’t been entirely incorrect, teasing Obi-Wan about his protective tendencies, but Anakin was safe in the Jedi Temple. There was no place safer for her. He could leave her here and be at peace.

Anakin hadn’t exactly joined her agemates in their classes and training, but ever since Qui-Gon had unsubtly exhibitioned her skills as a pilot, it had opened up the Temple’s speeder bays to her. Her mechanical skills extended far past podracers, and the other mechanics and engineers were happy to welcome her into their fold. Anakin hadn’t had many peers on Tatooine to talk shop with, here she happily argued the merits of compressors and bypass circuits and passed on a few tricks for super-powering speeder engines.

And if there happened to be a new spate of unsanctioned speeder-bike racing amongst the elder padawans, and an even more unsanctioned betting ring amongst their Masters and other Jedi, nobody dared to suggest that a certain ex-podracer may have been the one to inspire it. She certainly wasn’t racing in her condition.

With her strongly fortified shields, Anakin truly could have been any Jedi padawan, if not for her increasingly noticeable pregnancy. It always made people look twice at her and notice her lack of padawan braid, the absence of a lightsaber, the way she had not been clothed in traditional Jedi garb. And once they noticed who she was, the mutterings started. Obi-Wan hoped that the whispers had not reached Anakin’s ears.

He didn’t think so. Anakin seemed happy now. Her smiles were more genuine, less performative. That, above all else, filled Obi-Wan with peace.

With his arm fully healed, he was fit to return to duty, which meant the Council was sending him back to the Mid Rim, to continue negotiations amongst planets and hopefully diminish some of the appeal of a newly formed, Republic-dissident group. Rumor labelled them as Separatists, planets who wanted to splinter off from the Republic and form their own government. Naturally, most of the commerce-centered planets were eyeing that new potential – whatever government lined their pockets best. If the Trade Federation or the Banking Clan left the Republic for greener pastures and looser laws, the galaxy would fall apart into war and poverty. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, and Obi-Wan wasn’t the only one dedicating his time and effort to maintaining peace and equality amongst the strained planets. There were plenty of politicians doing exceptional jobs, but sometimes a conflict needed a Jedi to act as intermediate, and he was a rather good negotiator.

It was time for him to leave Coruscant once more. He didn’t particularly like the thought of leaving Anakin here alone, but then again, she wasn’t alone. She had friends now and Master Qui-Gon. She had whatever kind of relationship that was forming between her and Padmé. She was in good hands. She was safe and happy here. He would miss her, but there was no avoiding his duty as a Jedi Knight.

“When do you leave?” Anakin asked when he informed her of his impending departure.

“The day after tomorrow. Early morning.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. Until my duty returns me to Coruscant or I am called back by the Council.”

Anakin nodded and chewed on her lower lip. She then said with a small, rueful smile. “I never got to cook you dinner. I promised I would, remember?”

It took him a moment to remember, that had been weeks ago, part of a passing conversation just after Anakin had been released from isolation. He hadn’t realized she had held onto that intention for so long. This could be the last time in months they saw each other, so better now than never.

“What about tomorrow?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t have any ingredients. I don’t even know where to find those. The Temple can’t supply them on short notice, I already checked.”

“Coruscant has a galaxy-renowned food market, anything you need you should be able to find there. We can go tomorrow.”

Anakin’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, alright.”

The next afternoon, after her lessons were complete, Obi-Wan escorted Anakin out of the Temple for an afternoon of shopping. She had been able to get most of the basic ingredients supplied to her apartment, but the more exotic spices and ingredients she would have to supply herself. They had allotted for plenty of time so Anakin could wander the market to her desires. Coruscant’s Galactic market was not something to be taken quickly if it was a person’s first visit.

Obi-Wan could tell from the way Anakin’s eyes lit up that she hadn’t expected anything like this as they approached. There were so many people, so many stalls, so many scents and sounds and sights. The Market covered nearly a square mile and several levels of the city, with some stalls in the lowest level acting as a physical black market.

Obi-Wan had been to the galactic market several times over his life, but considering he did not cook, he didn’t often venture here for ingredients like other Jedi did. He was happy to let the commissaries feed him. Though, once or twice a year, he would make his way down, if some of his friends were also going, and he would invest in some rare teas.

They spent a moment consulting the market map, scanning the list of stalls and what goods they provided.

“Wow, you really can get everything here, can’t you?” Anakin mused as she ran her finger down the list. “There’s shops from planets I haven’t even heard of.”

When she found a stall that looked promising, they set off, walking slowly through the crowds. They were unobtrusive, and drew little attention, both of them wearing cloaks and hoods. Anakin was still rightfully spooked about being identified after discovering the Hutt presence here on Coruscant. It was unlikely that among the thousands of beings in the market today, she could be spotted and identified, but neither of them wanted to run the risk.

Any nerves she had, she kept tamped down as they explored. Anakin drifted between the stalls, moving to whatever caught her eye to inspect the goods. There was more than food for sale here, there were animals, pets and livestock, droids, speeders, weapons and other tech, and they passed a merchant who was selling ships – though not legally, Obi-Wan suspected from the shifty aura the man gave off as he showcased a holo of the ship he was trying to sell to a Nautolan.

“There!” Anakin pointed to the stall they had been searching for. She hurried for the multi-colored display of herbs and spices manned by a Togruta woman.

“Good day!” The vendor greeted them brightly, “What can I help you with today?”

Anakin explained the dishes she wanted to cook and the spices she needed.

“Ahh, that sounds like Outer Rim cuisine, if I’ve ever known it,” the vendor said with a knowing smile. “Arkanis sector?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got just what you need. Now, if you want fresh herbs at your disposal, you would be best served keeping a few of them growing, if you have the space for them.” She turned and plucked a small clay pot with a long-stemmed herb with needle-like leaves and held it out for Anakin. “Take a leaf, see for yourself.”

“Oh wow…” Anakin breathed, running her fingers gently over the long stems. The touch alone released a faint scent. She plucked a leaf and rolled it between her fingers, releasing the aromatic oils. She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve never actually used the real thing, just imitations.” She took another deep breath. Her eyes slid closed and an almost blissful smile crossed her face. “This is so much better.”

The merchant smiled. “Nothing compares to fresh. Doesn’t keep long though, if you don’t use everything you pick, and you have to care for the plants. Not ideal if you’re busy or off traveling. You’re best going with dried, if you want long term storage. I dry and mix my own blends myself.” She gestured to a display of neatly stacked and labelled tins. “And of course, everything separately, if you’d prefer to mix your own.”

After some further discussion and searching, Anakin found the exact spice mixture she wanted. She popped off the cap and sniffed.

“Yes! This is perfect. Obi-Wan, here!” She pushed the tin under his nose, and he caught a whiff of spices so potent they made his eyes water. After the initial shock, it was a very pleasant, tantalizing scent, and he imagined it would taste incredible as well. It would certainly be spicy. Obi-Wan liked spicy food.

Anakin paid for the spice, and the merchant warned her, “If you’re used to cheap imitations, expect to use half of what you normally would. Top quality spices go much farther.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you!”

With the ever-important seasonings in hand, they set off to further explore the market and find the remaining ingredients Anakin would need.

After they had found everything Anakin required for dinner, a few items she hadn’t been looking for, and a new tea for Obi-Wan to try, they returned to the Temple. They’d spent longer than expected exploring the Galactic market, and afternoon was quickly turning to evening.

As soon as they returned to Anakin’s apartment, she set about preparing the meal.

“Can I help with anything?” Obi-Wan offered, keeping well out of Anakin’s way in the small kitchen, but watching with great interest.

She fixed him with an amused look, having been reminded by the Jedi himself that he was a terrible cook. After a moment of consideration, she offered him a knife. “Can I trust you to chop vegetables without ruining them?”

“I think I can handle that.” He collected the vegetables and a cutting board and set to carefully chopping them into equal sized pieces.

Armed with her own knife, Anakin began slicing up meat. She was much faster than he was, and within a couple minutes he heard the sizzle of meat in hot oil as she tipped it into the pan.

She stirred and seasoned the meat with salt and a sprinkling of the spice she’d bought earlier. It quickly became aromatic as it cooked, offering a delicious preview of dinner to come. She didn’t speak much, absorbed in the cooking, and her own thoughts, only making comments on how small Obi-Wan needed to dice the vegetables.

"Obi-Wan... what does it mean to be a feral?"

The Jedi looked up sharply, the knife in his hands fell still. That had come so out of the blue. "Where did you hear that?"

Anakin shrugged, not looking at him as she stirred the meat around the pan. "Here and there. I know it’s bad, but… how bad?”

Obi-wan sighed sharply through his nose and returned to his chopping. "It is an antiquated term from less tolerable times. It's meant to refer to a Force Sensitive person who is not part of the Jedi Order. I'm sure you can imagine the assumptions and implications behind the term. Without Jedi training, a person is highly susceptible to the Dark Side, or their powers are unchecked and dangerous, they're unpredictable, they're sub-sentient, they should be..." he trailed off uncomfortably.

"They should be put down." Anakin completed. She had watched her fair share of ferals be treated as such in Jabba's palace – an animal that couldn’t be tamed, a slave that wouldn't be broken.

"You are safe with the Jedi Order, Anakin," Obi-Wan insisted. "Nobody thinks that of you."

"I'm sure they did when I first arrived."

"Not knowing how to shield yourself is a far cry from a dangerous, uncontrolled use of power, Anakin." He finished the vegetables and slid the board over to Anakin. She tipped them into the hot pan to cook with the meat. She still wasn’t looking at him, and her shoulders had become hunched, tense. "Who called you that, Anakin? Did anyone say it to you directly?"

"Not intentionally, I don't think. There was Maul –"

“Don’t listen to anything he says! He’s half-mad, and when he’s lucid he does all he can to sway someone to the Dark Side.”

“It’s not just him,” she admitted quietly. “There are others… It’s implied more than it’s said to me but, well, sometimes people will think I’m out of earshot. I'm pretty sure you and Qui-Gon are the only ones to not call me ‘feral’ in the entire Temple."

Obi-Wan frowned. “Nobody should be calling you that, Anakin.”

“Why not? It’s accurate.”

“You’re not feral, Anakin. You’re not dangerous.”

She smiled at him, but he could tell it was forced. In this matter, she couldn’t take him at his word, because she knew as well as he did that it wasn’t true. Not yet at least.

Obi-Wan wanted to press the issue, to make sure no Jedi had spoken to Anakin like that directly. Surely her new friends weren’t calling her ‘feral’, but he didn’t know them all that well, he couldn’t be certain. Did Anakin know, or even think, that she didn’t have to put up with people treating her like that anymore? She’d been conditioned to tolerate so much mistreatment.

“Anakin… you know if someone isn’t treating you well, you don’t have to see them. And you can ask for help if you need it, Master Qui-Gon or I want to help you however we can.”

She smiled again, a little more genuinely. “It’s not like that, Obi-Wan. I don’t need defending. I was just… curious, I guess.” She turned back to stirring the pan, reaching for the broth she needed to add next. “Alright, now, thank you for your help, but also get out of my kitchen so I can finish dinner.”

Obi-Wan retreated, taking up the task of setting the table while Anakin cooked. The conversation was dropped, but he still made a mental note to inform Qui-Gon about it. They wouldn’t butt in if she didn’t ask for help, but it would also be prudent to keep an eye out for unusual behavior, particularly given Obi-Wan’s upcoming departure. He wouldn’t be there to protect her if anything happened.

Dinner was almost ready by the time Qui-Gon arrived with Shila in tow and a small canvas bag over his arm.

“Perfect timing,” Anakin announced as she transfered the food into a serving bowl. “What’s that?”

Qui-Gon had slipped the bag into the freezer. “Dessert. It’s only polite to bring something when invited to dinner, and since you can’t drink, wine was out of the question.”

The food was carried to the table, and they all settled in to eat. Shila was particularly enthused to see the familiar food. The main dish was curry-like, with meat and vegetables cooked in a spiced sauce. There was also rice and a stack of from-scratch flatbreads.

“It looks delicious, Anakin, what is it?”

“Tatoo stew, with rice and quick bread.” Anakin began serving up portions. “Though, I made a few adjustments. Traditionally it’s made with womp rat or bantha meat, I thought nerf would be better. And we didn’t get real rice on Tatooine. Here I could get real food and not cook with scraps.”

They dug in and it was as good as it looked – if a little spicy for the Jedi, though Anakin and Shila didn’t seem to mind. The meal was highly enjoyable, and it was unanimously decided that Anakin was a far superior cook than either Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon.

“It’s just my mother’s recipes,” she demurred, though there was no hiding the warm pleasure that bloomed in the Force.

Dinner passed in comfortable conversation. When Shila was done eating, she ran off to her room to play while the adults lingered to chat. The main conversation was Obi-Wan’s upcoming mission. He couldn’t give many details, but he told Anakin that he would in essence be returning to his work before his trip to Tatooine.

After just a few minutes alone in her room, Shila began to feel left out, and she returned to the dinner table with her plush tooka in her arms, and without preamble climbed up into Obi-Wan’s lap.

“Shila, you didn’t ask permission,” Anakin scolded gently. Personal boundaries were something Shila still hadn’t quite fully grasped.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan assured, helping the toddler settle. “It’s going to be a while until I see her again.”

Shila frowned at him, her blue eyes wide and shining. “Don’t want you to go.” She had protested to Obi-Wan’s departure several times during dinner, when she realized what him leaving meant.

“I have to, Shila, there’s important Jedi business to do.”

She pouted but made no further protests.

Smiling, Qui-Gon offered diplomatically. “I know what will cheer you up, some dessert.”

Shila brightened immediately at the prospect. “Dessert!”

“But first, we have to clear the table. Can you help?”

Qui-Gon stacked the dirty plates and instructed Shila to carry them carefully to the kitchen. Anakin got up to help, but was quickly told to sit down and relax – she cooked, they could clean. It was strange for her to sit and watch the others work, but not unwelcome. Clean up was a quick matter, with most of the dishes fitting into the washer and only a couple items to wash by hand. Obi-Wan took care of them while Qui-Gon served up dessert.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but ice cream was Shila’s new favorite food – and Anakin’s if she was being honest. Frozen treats were something of a delicacy on Tatooine, and while Anakin had on rare occasions been able to scrape together enough spare change for a fruity slush in the time before Jabba, nothing Tatooine had to offer could compare to ice cream.

After dessert, the conversation got somewhat derailed as Shila had a renewed font of energy to draw from. She seemed to greatly enjoy chasing her tooka plush around the apartment as the Jedi floated it just above her head. When she caught it, she showed off with great pride how much she had learned, and her own shaky control over the Force as the plush wobbled a couple inches from her arms.

She resisted bedtime when she grew tired, and Anakin decided not to fight her on the matter tonight. She let Shila crawl into her lap and look quietly at a holobook while they talked.

“So, Anakin, it’s been two months since your first entry into Republic territory,” Qui-Gon ventured leadingly, “It’s been long enough for you and Shila to claim refugee citizenship. Have you given it any thought?”

“I have, yes. Padmé offered us Naboo citizenship. She said the process was easy enough, but she could still expedite it.”

“You could also claim Coruscant citizenship,” Obi-Wan reminded her.

“I know, but between Coruscant and Naboo, I think I’d rather have Naboo as my new home-planet. It’s much prettier and so completely different from Tatooine.”

“Naboo does have a strong tradition of helping refugees. I think being a citizen will be a good fit for you. They value artisans and family.” Qui-Gon nodded in agreement. “Will Senator Amidala be taking charge of your citizenship application, then?”

“Yes, we’ll start the process this week, I think I have to meet the Ambassador, but once everything is signed and delivered, Shila and I will officially be free Republic citizens.” A disbelieving smile crossed Anakin’s face at those words. “It still feels so strange to say. We’re free. We’ll never have to go back.”

As she had predicted, a few days later, Anakin met with Padmé at the Naboo embassy. Ambassador Concelon was an older man, kind-faced, jovial. He and one of the Queen’s representatives interviewed Anakin briefly while Padmé offered her support. It was an easy interview and at the end, the ambassador was happy to put his stamp of approval on Anakin and Shila’s bid for citizenship.

With everything signed and approved, Padmé beamed at Anakin. “It’ll take a little time for your citizen IDs to be produced and returned here, but officially, you and Shila are now citizens of Naboo. Congratulations, Anakin!”

Anakin smiled back, still not quite believing it. “Thank you, Padmé! Thank you for your help, for everything.”

“Anything I can do to help!” Padmé swept Anakin into a quick hug. “When your citizenship is official, we’ll celebrate! There will be a little ceremony that Ambassador Concelon will do, and after that I’ll host dinner. You and Shila can come, and Qui-Gon and Quinlan if he’s around. It’s a shame Obi-Wan couldn’t be here.”

“He offered his congratulations before he left.”

“I feel like we should celebrate now,” Padmé mused as they walked out to her waiting speeder.

“There’s no need to make a big fuss.”

“Well, while I have you out, why don’t I show you around the Senate building? It’s really something to see, and I’ll show you my office.”

Anakin, happy to have any reason to not part from Padmé so soon, gladly took the offer. “That sounds nice.”

Chancellor Palpatine perked up, lifting his nose to the sky like a bloodhound catching a scent. Something – no someone incredibly powerful just entered the Senate building. Intrigue crawled up his spine. The sheer raw power was tantalizing, like a hint of fine wine from someone else’s glass. Full exposure to that power would be intoxicating.

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on that powerful being. It couldn’t be a Jedi, none who deigned to visit the Senate building were that strong, not even Master Yoda. And after so many years, Palpatine knew each one by the faintest resonances they made in the Force. This was someone entirely new. He had to investigate.

Surprisingly, the Force nudged him in two directions, down to Senator Amidala's office, and out into his own.

Whoever it was must be with the Senator, or associated with her offices.

Manufacturing an excuse to pay the senator a visit would be simple, but who in his staff was related to this super nova of Force energy?

The answer walked through his door. Of course.

A young Jedi, still a padawan, though close to his own Knighthood. He was a familiar feature in Palpatine’s offices and around the Senate but had been gone for some weeks accompanying his Master. Palpatine hadn’t realized he’d returned to Coruscant, but his arrival was fortunate.

"Good morning, Oren, my boy.” Palpatine rose from his seat and gestured the young man in. “I wasn’t aware you were returning today. How was your latest expedition?"

Oren Cyat, the sullen-faced, dark-haired young man bowed politely. "Illuminating, Chancellor, as always. My Master was sorry to leave the dig site, but none of the archaeological finds were relevant to her studies."

"Oh, that’s a shame… But I’ve always believed a journey that leads where you do not expect can teach you many things. I’m glad to hear yours was illuminating." He chuckled, mocking reminiscence. "Remind me to tell you some day of the junior senatorial retreat I took when I was around your age. We were supposed to attend a workshop on Chandrilla, and due to a clerical error ended up on Canto Bight."

Oren dared a small smile. "I'm sure you were all very disappointed to discover that mistake."

"Terribly," another avuncular chuckle, “tell me, how long will you be planetside this time? What are your plans?” Palpatine settled back at his desk, surreptitiously scanning through his inbox while he listened.

Oren had no solid plans for his time on Coruscant; which wasn’t unusual. Mas Amedda would put him to work if he was desperate for an assignment, or something would come up that the young Jedi would find to occupy his time. Given his Jedi work and Apprentice status, Padawan Cyat was something like a part-time intern to the Chancellor’s offices. He was in and out at random times, and wouldn’t have the freedom to settle into the positions he aspired to until he became a Knight.

Palpatine's eye caught the perfect excuse to visit Amidala's offices – new citizenship paperwork signed by the Senator herself. Intriguing.

"Time for the morning rounds, Oren. Will you join me? Perhaps we’ll find a project to pique your interest while you’re here for a few weeks."

"Of course, Chancellor." With a deferential bow, the padawan fell into step slightly behind Palpatine, where any good apprentice would be, as they swept from the office.

Palpatine handed over a datapad loaded up with his morning stops. “If you care to refresh your memory on the issues of the day. We’ll speak with the Banking Clan first, but I want to make a short detour to Senator Amidala’s office, it shouldn’t take more than a couple minutes.”

Oren didn’t ask why they were taking a side trip; while they were uncommon, they were not unheard of. Palpatine wondered if the boy had sensed the same powerful Force sensitive enter the building as he had. The boy didn’t seem on edge, or particularly bothered or wary, which he would expect if the young Jedi had noticed. The being still glowed like a super nova in the Force, but Oren had remarkably strong shields, perhaps he hadn’t noticed. Then again… the boy’s head shot up from reading the datapad as they neared the Naboo offices, Palpatine could feel his brief surprised moment before he schooled himself. He’d finally caught onto that other, and rather than curiosity he was flustered.

Interesting.

Amidala’s secretary walked them right past reception and into the Senator's spacious office. As he had expected, Amidala was not alone.

Another young woman stood beside the senator, taller than her, with long, curly, blonde hair, wearing a simple pale blue dress; though that was all Palpatine could discern while the woman looked out the windows. She was utterly unremarkable, if not for the star-bright way she shone in the Force.

Oh, yes, she was indeed the enchanting creature that had piqued Palpatine's interests. He had to know everything about her. Much could be answered with her name and a records and holonet search, others, such as how he'd never taken notice of such a strong presence in the Force before, would require further investigation.

"Sorry to interrupt, Senator," her secretary announced. "You have visitors."

Both women turned around. That starbright presence was suddenly dimmed, like a lantern hidden beneath a basket. Shields, Palpatine noted, and strong ones at that. Jedi taught, but this young woman was no Jedi. Her power was too wild for their discipline. Had she been taught, raised by them, she would be a much tamer font of power. A calm surface that only betrayed small ripples of the storm contained within, not the raging hurricane she was.

As her shields went up, Palpatine only just noticed the nearly imperceptible relaxation of the padawan beside him. Cyat had been bracing himself in the Force, shielding more powerfully against the unconscious onslaught of that power. The woman's shielding was deliberate, as he could sense her focus move to that, but also unconscious, a response to simply encountering another Force presence. Palpatine was shielded far too well to think she might have noticed him.

"Chancellor Palpatine," Amidala flashed her warm political smile. "What a pleasure to see you. I'm sorry, I didn't think we were expecting a visit from you today. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Oh, no, Senator Amidala. I apologize for barging in, I didn't realize you had a guest. This was purely a social call. I can come back at another time."

Understanding flashed in Amidala's eyes. "You saw the citizenship paperwork. Well, this is fortuitous timing." She gestured to the woman beside her. "Anakin Skywalker, this is Chancellor Palpatine, former Senator of Naboo."

The young woman bobbed her head in greeting, averting her eyes and folding her hands in front of her waist, her slightly rounded waist – was she… ah, yes, she was indeed pregnant. Interesting. Palpatine clocked her posture and quick reversion to such a demure position almost instantly. Slave training.

"Anakin and her younger sister are two of Naboo's newest citizens." Amidala finished, not missing a beat, not noticing even a fraction of what Palpatine did.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Skywalker." Palpatine offered a polite bow of greeting and was pleased to see the basic, civil treatment flustered her. Yes, she was a very newly freed slave, he'd put money on it if he was a betting man. "I may be biased, but I think of all the planets in the Republic to adopt citizenship of, Naboo is one of the most beautiful."

"Yes, it's very beautiful." Anakin agreed in a soft tone. She forced a smile at Palpatine before her eyes slid past him to the padawan in his shadow. A more genuine smile formed. "Hello, Oren."

Putting a surprised smile on his face, Palpatine looked at Cyat. "You two are acquainted? Well, that saves one introduction. Senator Amidala, I don't believe you've met my Jedi attaché, Padawan Oren Cyat."

“I haven’t had the pleasure, no,” Padmé turned her smile to Cyat.

Polite greetings were passed between the two and Palpatine continued, "Oren has been well… I suppose something like an intern for my office over these past couple years, when Jedi business does not draw him away. He has rather high political aspirations for a Jedi, and he has served quite well.”

Employing the sheepish humility that served the young man rather well, Oren said, "I am very interested in politics. In another life, I may have even become a Senator. Much to the chagrin of my Master. She never understood my interest in politics. She's an archeo-sociologist. Only cares about the politics of long-dead civilizations."

"Well, I'm sure we can all agree that there is as much to learn from the old masters as there is from the current ones." Padmé commented with a smile.

"I couldn't agree more." Palpatine said brightly. "Now, Senator, about my visit, it really only will take a moment longer."

"Of course, Chancellor."

"Excellent. Padawan Cyat, you wouldn't mind entertaining Miss Skywalker here for a minute, would you?"

Palpatine knew he did not imagine the excited skip in Cyat's heartbeat, nor the sudden flush of giddy nerves from the boy. Oren was deep in the throes of a crush. Palpatine filed away the information; that may work to his advantage in the future.

"Certainly, Chancellor. Anakin?"

The two of them walked a few steps away, moving back to the windows to examine the skyline, and discuss Oren's recent mission. Palpatine turned most of his attention back to Amidala.

"You understand why this woman's new citizenship intrigued me, Senator."

"Because I fast tracked the paperwork, and Anakin and her sister are filing under refugee status." Padmé stated simply. "I'm well within my rights to do so."

"Oh, that's not a concern at all, my dear," Palpatine brushed her defensiveness away with a little flourish of his hand. "I was just curious where such a young woman came from to seek refugee status. And how she appeared on your radar enough for you to speed along the citizenship process."

“It’s a rather long story.” Padmé glanced at the two at the windows, still engrossed in conversation. She lowered her voice anyway. "Chancellor, understand that I'm sharing this in strictest confidence. Nothing I say should leave this office."

"Of course, go on."

"Anakin's a former Hutt slave, her sister as well. They’re escapees from Tatooine."

"A slave you say?" Palpatine mocked surprise. "My how terrible. I've always thought slavery was the worst kind of villainy. It's a pity we cannot eradicate it entirely from the galaxy, even from planets outside the Republic. How did she end up with you, Senator? Not making any illicit runs to the Outer Rim to collect and free slaves, are you?"

"That," Padmé said delicately, "is not my story to tell. All that matters is that Anakin and her sister are now fully freed citizens of Naboo and the Republic."

Her tone and the undercurrent of omission told Palpatine that Amidala knew every detail of what got Anakin out from Hutt control and into free territory, but he decided not to press. There were plenty of other sources of information for him to pick at first.

"Well, a couple freed slaves may not make a difference to the galaxy, but I believe it makes a galaxy of difference to Miss Skywalker and her sister. I am delighted to know Naboo is doing what it can to help any who need it. I shall leave her in your most capable hands, Senator. Good day."

They interrupted the conversation at the window to pull Cyat away to return to their morning duties. After saying goodbye and expressing how truly delighted he was to meet Anakin, Palpatine and Oren stepped into the hallway.

In Anakin's absence, Palpatine's head swam slightly, as if exposure to her power was enough to intoxicate him. It was of utmost importance to learn all he could about this Anakin Skywalker. Given her slave training, she would probably require time and masterful manipulation to gain her trust – she’d never trust a person in power blindly. Fortunately, Palpatine had a ready and trusting source of information at hand.

"I am curious," he brought up in a conversational tone to Oren, "How you and Miss Skywalker became acquainted."

"Oh, Anakin? She's been at the Temple for a couple of months now." Oren shrugged, and Palpatine was certain the boy wasn't aware of the idiotic smile on his face. "Our paths have crossed. She's a great pilot. Used to be a podracer too."

A couple months... Palpatine thought back. He couldn’t have possibly missed her arrival on Coruscant at the Jedi Temple. Had she arrived while he was off planet? It was only when Oren said with a slight laugh, "She caused quite a stir when she arrived," that he remembered.

There had been a disturbance in the Force a couple months back. Large enough to catch Palpatine's attention across the city, but short-lived. The rippled through the Force had rocked even his carefully shielded mind and left him with a headache. He had thought a powerful holocron or artifact had been tampered with by a foolish Jedi. But someone like Skywalker stepping into the Jedi Temple, she’d probably overloaded. Fortunately for her, the Jedi, and if his estimates on her power were correct, a large portion of Coruscant, they had been able to subdue her before any permanent damage was done.

"Where did she come from? Do you know?"

"Somewhere in the Outer Rim, I think Knight Kenobi and Master Vos brought them back. And I think Senator Amidala was involved as well. I'm not entirely sure."

"And she's been staying in the Temple? Forgive my ignorance, but she's not a Jedi, is she?"

"No, but she's strong with the Force. Adjusting to Coruscant has been tough for her, so the Jedi are trying to help her as much as they can."

"Hmmm, yes, I suppose that would be a big adjustment. After all, I imagine being a slave one day, and being a Jedi the next would be quite the change."

There was no falter in Cyat's step, no hesitation when he said "Yes, it would be."

So, he knew she had been a slave. That was a secret, but not a closely guarded one if her Jedi acquaintances knew.

He continued probing the depths of Oren's knowledge. Keeping his tone light, he continued. "I dare say, I am a terrible judge of age, but given you two are acquainted, I expect she's around your age?"

"A little younger, I think, only nineteen."

"Really? That young?" Palpatine's eyes went wide in surprise. "Well, I daresay that Miss Skywalker is quite a remarkable young woman. Escaping slavery at such a young age – and I understand that Hutts are ruthlessly possessive of their property – must have been no small feat, and in her condition."

Cyat faltered for just a beat, his brow creased with confusion, worry. "Condition? What do you mean?"

It almost pained Oren to ask for clarification. If there was one thing Palpatine knew about the young man, it was that he had to appear to know everything. He couldn’t stand looking ignorant or foolish. But it pleased Palpatine that he was trusted enough to be shown such weakness.

"Oh, well, I thought it was quite obvious, she wasn't really hiding it."

Oren still hadn't caught on.

"The pregnancy."

"Oh, right, that. I thought you were talking about something else." Oren tried to pretend he had known all along, but Palpatine could sense the realization solidifying in the boy's mind. The horror and anger were almost delicious.

Lowering his voice, Palpatine added conspiratorially. "I hate to cast speculations about a woman I don't know, but I suppose it must have happened when she was a slave, yes?"

"Anakin doesn't really talk about that time – for obvious reasons – but yes that would make sense." Oren's words were accompanied by a spike of possessive protectiveness.

Palpatine finished on a somber note. "It's terrible, the things they do to people out in the uncivilized regions of the galaxy."

Cyat agreed, tight lipped and deep in thought.

Later that evening, Palpatine entered Anakin Skywalker’s name into a search on the Holonet. His dive into official records had procured nothing but her citizenship application – unsurprising given her origins – but the holonet search was much more fruitful.

Pages of articles, reports, recordings of podraces with her name attached. She had quite the illustrious career as a racer – granted all glory went to her owner, Jabba the Hutt, but her name was still very well known.

A headline caught Palpatine’s eyes. Two words in bold print: SKYWALKER DEAD

Well, she was looking rather spritely for a dead woman this morning.

Skimming the article revealed a few more details; a crash during a race, an explosion, a badly burned body retrieved from the wreckage, Hutts lose all at track.

A sinister smile curled Palpatine’s lips as he delved further into all the Holonet had to offer on one Anakin Skywalker. Most were related to podracing, but a look at the seedier side of the net showed her Master had squeezed every credit he could out of exploiting the young woman – photoshoots and videos with little to no costume.

Let it not be said that a Hutt’s greed couldn’t serve anyone else.

Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Chapter by TheAceOfShades

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

Anakin heard someone calling her name over the chatter of the hallway and turned to see Letti approaching her. She paused long enough for the auburn-haired padawan to catch up.

“You got a minute?”

“Sure. I’m just on my way to meet Qui-Gon.”

“We can walk and talk.” Letti fell into step beside Anakin. “A bunch of us are going out tomorrow night. Do you want to join us?”

Anakin looked at her sideways. “Out like… to a club?”

“Or a bar, or something. We haven’t really made any solid decisions about where we’re going to go. But a lot of our agemates are back on Coruscant, and it’s as good an excuse as any to get together and celebrate before we all split off on missions again. Nadhar’s about to go off on his first solo mission, so it’s kind of a good-bye party. You in?”

Anakin half-smiled. “I didn’t think Jedi went out to clubs,” she teased. “I can’t drink though…”

Letti shrugged. “Half of us probably won’t be drinking; you won’t be the only one. It’ll be fun. We’ll do some dancing, explore the Coruscanti nightlife, blow off some steam and just let loose for a night. What do you think?”

Anakin chewed on her lower lip. Going out to a club didn’t exactly sound like fun to her, she’d had plenty of experience with the kind of nightlife those places promised at Jabba’s palace. And thanks to the baby, she wasn’t exactly brimming with energy nor had much desire to stay up late these days. But… well spending some time with her new friends could be fun. It might be nice to have a chance to just pretend to be normal, to act her age. She was nineteen, she was supposed to go out with her friends for a night on the town. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Yeah, all right. Sounds like fun.”

“Perfect! See you later, then! Got a few more people to invite out!” Letti waved and disappeared down the hall.

Anakin, feeling excitement bubbling up, smiled and continued on her way to meet up with Qui-Gon.

Letti was leaving the archives, having just put the finishing touches on a paper due on the metabolic cycles of methane-breathing species. It was late, but she was happy to have the paper done and not have anything to worry about over the next couple days other than going out tomorrow night. She grinned, taking a count of everyone who had agreed to come along. She’d even convinced Oren to come. Clubs weren’t really his thing but she’d managed to convince the far-too-serious-for-his-own-good padawan to take a night off for once. If he agreed to go only because Anakin was also going, Letti wouldn’t judge. His crush on her was kind of fun to watch.

Oren and Anakin could be cute together – maybe not long term, she didn’t think, but at the very least the two of them could dance once or twice tomorrow. She would just have to get Nigh to put the bug in Oren’s ear, he’d never ask on his own volition.

Letti offered a polite nod to the Master approaching her in the hallway, but stopped when she realized he was looking for her.

“Master Jinn, what can I do for you?”

“Padawan Letti, I understand you’ve invited Anakin Skywalker to go out tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, several of us are going, I thought it would be nice for her to go too, experience some more of Coruscant.” Letti furrowed her brow, trying to think if there was any reason Anakin couldn’t be allowed to go. Surely not just because she was pregnant. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, not necessarily. I think it’s good for Anakin to have the chance to act her age.” Qui-Gon offered what may have been an indulgent smile, if not for the tension he wasn’t quite masking. “I am simply here to forewarn you. Has Anakin told you anything about her past?”

“Not much, but enough.”

He nodded in understanding. “Anakin’s only just coming to understand the breadth of her powers. Her grasp on control can be tenuous at times. If you recall from a couple months back, when she loses control, it can be dangerous for those around her.”

“I see.”

They had guessed that Anakin had been responsible for that incident a couple months back, her arrival at the Temple coincided a bit too closely, but neither Letti nor her friends had gotten direct confirmation about that until now.

Qui-Gon continued wryly. “It seems ill fitting to call Anakin fragile or delicate, but I must urge you to use caution tomorrow when you go out together. Given her past, triggers may arise in unexpected places. For her safety, we have not let her roam freely around Coruscant without someone nearby who can handle her. This responsibility will fall to you. If the worst happens and you cannot help Anakin regain control, do what you can to reduce casualties.”

Letti swallowed nervously but nodded again. “I understand, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon said nothing more and walked away. Letti, feeling slightly less enthusiastic about tomorrow, continued on her way. Perhaps he was just being over cautious. They’d all had slip-ups and lost control a handful of times during their training. And Anakin was well, obviously a special case, considering but she was still early in her training. Sure, she was powerful, anyone with half a midichlorian could sense that, but powerful didn’t mean dangerous. Letti shook herself. Master Jinn was definitely being over cautious. Tomorrow they would all go out, Anakin included, and have a grand old time.

Nothing bad would happen.

The next evening, Anakin was dressed in as close to a club-appropriate outfit as she owned – simple black pants and a top that was lose and flowy enough to almost hide the gentle curve of her belly – and was piled into a speeder with half a dozen other padawans around their age. Some of them, Anakin had met before, like Vit’en’n, the Umbaran who was dating Della. The boys were conspicuously missing, but Letti said they would meet up with them in the city. There were too many of them to fit in a single speeder.

It was a little strange for Anakin to see her Jedi friends dressed in clothes that weren’t their normal robes. Many of the outfits chosen were much less conservative and much flashier than typical Jedi style. There was already room for individuality to show in Jedi robes, but seeing her friends dressed like this was an insightful look at their personalities. And then, of course, there was the extra layer of show that came with club outfits.

Excited chatter picked up as they set the speeder down in an alleyway parking space between two buildings. Both clubs, if the dissonant thrum of music vibrating through the walls was anything to go by.

"There they are! Oh boys!" Vit'en'n called out, waving at a cluster of figures around a speeder closer to the main street.

Nigh raised his hand, calling a greeting back to them as they climbed out of the speeder. "Ladies!" He threw his arms around Anakin's and Della's shoulders, pulling them fully into the cluster of Jedi. "So wonderful for you to join us. Anakin," he turned a sharp-toothed, exuberant grin to her, "it's your first time experiencing the Coruscanti night life, right? Where do we start?"

He made a sweeping gesture to encompass the entire street. It was lined with bars and clubs and restaurants and dens catering to various vices. The streets were busy, full of bodies dressed in their finest or whatever they pulled from a closet. Groups stuck in tight clusters, hanging onto each other for support or to avoid getting separated while they navigated the packed street. It was a flashing sea of neon lights against the dark metal of the city. There was so much to see, too much. Anakin didn't have the first idea which illuminated doorway to lead them to.

"I'll let you all pick. You know this place better than I do."

"Well then," Nadhar pondered aloud, "Do we wanna drink, dance, eat, gamble?"

"Drink!" Several voices called loudly.

"And dance!" Letti insisted. "Follow me, I know the perfect club!"

They set off down the street, heading for a neon purple building, bedecked with flashing holograms of dancing figures; energetic music spilled out the wide doorway. There was a line and a bouncer, but Letti must have known the Besalisk standing guard because with a few quiet words exchanged, they let their group into the club.

Everything hit Anakin like a powerful wave. The writhing bodies on the dance floor, the pulse of the music shaking the building, the cacophony of chatter and laughter and music, the smell – alcohol and spice, deathstick and herb smoke, the sweat and pheromones and perfume of the patrons as they danced and flirted and argued and stressed.

It was all so familiar to Anakin, she had to take a moment to steady herself, to remember she wasn't back in a Hutt pleasure den.

A gentle touch to her wrist grounded her, Oren was trying to lead her away with the others to nab a large enough booth for most of them to sit together. He leaned in, having to get close to her ear to be heard. "You okay?"

Anakin smiled tightly and nodded. "It's just a lot all at once, that's all."

With their booth claimed, Nigh and Della left to get a round of drinks. Anakin stuck with water until her nerves calmed.

When they returned a few minutes later with an assortment of shots, co*cktails, and brews, each raised their glass.

"To solo missions!" Nigh called out, nodding to Nadhar. "One step closer to Knighthood!"

Their glasses clinked together and they drank.

"To the nightlife!" Vit'en'n called, raising their glass. "To dancing, and drinking, and blowing off some steam."

"To being young!" Della added, thrusting her glass up to join. "And to not being hungover tomorrow morning!"

There was a chorus of laughter and agreeing jeers as a dozen glasses crashed together once more.

With the first round of drinks finished, the group broke up slightly. Della dragged Vitty out to the dance floor, some went back to the bar for a refill, some settled in to chat at the booth, pulling up the holographic tabletop game options. Anakin was half considering sticking with Letti and maybe joining in on a round of dejarik or cards if it came up, then Oren tapped her shoulder.

"Want to dance?"

Anakin's eyes went to the dance floor, the tightly packed crowd, bouncing and swaying to the music. Dancing hadn't ever been her thing back at the palace – some slaves found it as close to fun as it could get while they were ogled and groped, but it had never been something she enjoyed. Dancing was just an excuse for a patron to get their hands all over Anakin. But here... here was different. She looked at Oren, his earnest, nervous face. He wasn't a Hutt pleasure den patron.

It couldn't hurt.

"Sure."

Oren grinned nervously. He took her hand and they navigated the busy club until they reached the dance floor. Anakin found the beat almost instantly, falling into a familiar rhythm of simple steps. It took Oren a minute to get his bearings – he clearly wasn't much of a dancer. Laughing, Anakin put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in close to tell him, "Hands on my waist, just follow my movements."

Oren hesitated a moment before his hands fell on Anakin's waist. They fluttered there a moment, as if afraid to touch her, or (more likely) her belly. His cheeks went red, and not from the exertion of dancing.

She laughed, going for a joke to ease his nerves. "Pregnancy's not contagious, you won't catch it by touching me. And you won't hurt the baby either."

He tittered, embarrassed at being seen so clearly, but his hands stopped jumping up from the slightest touch and settled on her waist. Anakin exaggerated the roll and push of her hips as she danced to lead him, and he figured out quickly how to match her rhythm.

It was a chaste dance and strange in that way, but a pleasant experience. Anakin was used to her partners pressing themselves against her as soon as they had the chance, she was used to navigating drunken, awkward feet and trying to move while hands grabbed her ass and pressed her close.

Soon enough, more from their group found them. Anakin took a spin with Vit’en’n while Della danced with Oren for a song. Nigh and some others joined them for a few of the more popular songs. They danced, they drank, they laughed.

Anakin realized, as she was retreating from the dance floor for a break and another glass of water, that she was actually having fun. It was an almost alien sensation – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d genuinely had fun just for the sake of it.

She sat in on a couple games of cards with Nadhar and the others before Della came over and dragged everyone who hadn’t yet danced onto the floor for a couple songs. Anakin went with them, falling easily into the rhythm of a solo dance.

She tried to hold back a laugh as a not-entirely-sober Oren and Nadhar stumbled into each other and narrowly avoided getting hit in the face by their careless hands. Della and Letti hooked their arms through hers as they transitioned into a new song.

This was what being nineteen was supposed to be like. This was what Anakin had missed out on enslaved back on Tatooine. Had she been born anywhere else, had her mother never been enslaved as a child, she could have come to clubs like this with her friends, danced and drank the night away without a care in the world, without the ever-present unease resting in the back of her mind that something would come along and ruin this all.

He came up behind her on the dance floor, slapping a hand across her ass before stepping in front of her, blocking her from the others. He loomed over her, getting close to her face, “You’re a hot little thing, dance with me?”

Anakin could smell the alcohol on his breath just as clearly as she could feel the drunken imparity swimming through his brain. She shuddered, her still-forming independence warring with her slave training. Anakin fell still, she tensed up, she dropped her gaze to the floor. She said too quietly to be heard, “N-no.”

The man leered, leaning in closer. “What was that, sweetheart?” He put his hand on her back, sliding it lower until it rested on her ass.

Anakin took a shaking breath and said louder. “No. I don’t want to dance with you.”

“Aw, come one, you’ll like it. I promise.” He squeezed.

“Hey! She said ‘No’, sleemo!” Nigh stepped in, shoving the man away from Anakin. His groping hands left her.

Like a spell had been broken, Anakin stumbled away from the man, a shiver of revulsion crawled up her spine. Oren was right there, stepping in front of Anakin to chase the creep away.

The man leered, said something disgusting about Anakin, and disappeared into the crowd. Both Jedi whipped around as soon as he was gone.

“Anakin, are you okay?” Nigh’s face was an angry, deep orange. “Did he hurt you?”

Anakin shook her head. “I’m fine.” She felt shaken, she needed a minute of quiet, and the middle of the dancefloor was not where she would get it. “I’m gonna go get some water.”

She walked away quickly, leaving the boys behind on the dancefloor. Anakin made a beeline for the bar, got a glass of water and drained it. She felt a little better until she felt the weight of eyes on her. Her heart hammered as she looked around, wondering who had seen her, someone who worked for the Hutts maybe? But no. It was just the creep at the other end of the bar. He was talking with one of the bartenders, staring at her. When Anakin caught his eye, he leered and gave the bartender some instructions with a nod in her direction. The bartender turned around to look.

Anakin didn’t stick around to see what they might have been talking about. She pushed away from the bar and went to find the ‘fresher.

It was reasonably quiet in there. The dark walls and floor and steady lighting were a welcome reprieve from the flashing lights of the club, and there were only a couple other women in there, reapplying lipstick and making adjustments to their outfits. They paid Anakin no mind as she slipped past them at the sinks and into a stall.

Anakin sank onto the toilet and heaved a long sigh. If she waited in here for a couple minutes, the creep would forget about her and move onto harassing someone else, right? Anakin felt suddenly isolated. She wished she had thought to go to their booth and sit with the others rather than locking herself in the ‘fresher. Would anybody know where she had gone if she stayed in here for too long?

Anakin waited about five minutes. It was probably safe. At the very least she could make a quick escape to the safety of the group at their table.

The creep was waiting for her. He cornered her almost as soon as she stepped out of the door.

“There you are, sweetie, ditched those killjoys, didn’t you? How about that dance now?”

“I don’t want to dance with you.” Anakin tried to sidestep around the man, but he matched her, always keeping in front of her. She stepped back. He stepped forward.

“Okay, we can skip the dancing if you want. There’re private rooms upstairs, you know. We could uh…” he leaned in close and whispered something disgusting into Anakin’s ear. Petting one of his hands up and down her bare arm.

Anakin couldn’t step any farther back from him, she was up against a wall. She slapped his hand away and made another break for freedom. “Leave me alone!”

"Come on, you stuck up bitch! I’m about to stop being so nice!" He grabbed for Anakin. She thought she had dodged his clumsy swipe until he caught her long braid. He yanked her back into place, pinning her against the wall. He looked absolutely furious.

"Let. Me. Go." Anakin commanded in a low voice. She tried to summon the Force and put influence behind her words like she’d been able to on Tatooine.

It didn't work, the man only tightened his grip and pulled close. "Only if you give me a kiss."

His hot breath reeked of alcohol. Anakin was backed against the wall and caged in his arms. There was no escape. She trembled with rage, barely contained fury, but she couldn’t fight back. That wasn’t allowed. Still, she turned her face away and his mouth collided sloppily with her cheek.

He growled and grabbed her face, squeezing her jaw tightly and forcing her to face him. Anakin struggled. She would be punished for resisting. She was supposed to be available to any client's whim. But he hadn’t paid, he shouldn’t be allowed to handle her like this, not out in the open clubhouse. Master’s rules be damned, she was not letting this creep try anything else!

"Get away!" She shoved him with her palms flat against his chest. And even though she put most of her strength into the push, he should have, at most, stumbled a couple feet back, just enough to give Anakin a chance to slip away. Instead, he went flying, crashing through several tables behind him before falling in a limp heap on the floor.

Anakin didn't stay to see the aftermath as confused patrons swarmed the injured man and frightened eyes turned to her. She retreated back into the ladies’ room, locking herself in a stall. She was shaking, not breathing quite right, and despite the fact that only water had touched her lips tonight, the room swam around her drunkenly. She was incrementally becoming aware of everyone and everything in the club, the pain of the man who had assaulted her, the confusion of other patrons, vindication from nearby witnesses who hadn't bothered to try and step in, the anger of the employees who had to clean up the mess.

She tried to remember the calming exercises she had been taught. The breath counts, the focusing thoughts. She knew she had to keep herself under control, but nothing was working right. Nothing helped.

Then people burst into the bathroom, calling for her.

"Anakin? Are you in here? Are you hurt? I’m coming in."

The lock on her stall slid open and Letti slowly pushed the door open.

"Anakin, are you okay?" She asked in a hushed voice.

Anakin managed to stutter out, "H-he grabbed m-my hair, a-and I-"

"Did he hurt you?" Letti reached out slowly for Anakin's hands; they were clamped tightly over her head. "It's okay, let me see."

Anakin unclenched her fingers from their death grip on her hair and let Letti pull them away. She checked her head quickly. "You're not bleeding."

Anakin became more aware of her trembling with her hands held in Letti's steady ones. "I didn't mean to..."

"I know. You did nothing wrong. He grabbed you, lots of people saw."

"I hurt him." Despite her best efforts, Anakin felt some of her control slip. The lights flickered, and the girls around her winced.

"Not bad. He'll just be a little bruised." Letti rushed to explain. "Sleemos like him deserve it."

Anakin wasn't listening. Her mind was back far away from Coruscant and its clubs. To the same place she had been when the man had pulled her hair and pinned her against the wall. She bowed her head, cowering before her punishment. "I'm sorry. I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again, I promise!”

"Anakin," Letti shook her gently, "Anakin it's alright. Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. You're not in trouble."

Anakin blinked and shuddered, remembering where she was. Wordless, she burst into tears. Letti wrapped her in her arms and let her cry until her sobs calmed to little hiccups.

It hurt Letti to hold Anakin like this. It hurt the others too, just to be in her presence, but to have physical contact while the Force lashed so violently around Anakin… Letti could absorb a lot, but not everything. But Anakin’s safety and, she remembered Anakin’s entrance into the Jedi Temple with a shiver of fear, the safety of everyone around them, was more important than her comfort.

This was what Master Jinn had warned her about.

Only when she felt Anakin calming a bit did Letti say in a tight whisper, “Anakin, please, your shields.”

“I’m t-trying,” she gasped, still not breathing quite properly. She could feel the cracks in her shields, everything inside her bleeding out while everything outside flooded in. She could fix this, she knew she could, but every time she tried, the cracks just opened wider. “I’m trying.”

She couldn’t have another breakdown. She couldn’t overload and hurt more people. She couldn’t!

“Let us help. Just breathe and focus on that. Let us handle the rest.” Letti managed to walk Anakin slowly out of the stall so the other girls could join in their group hug, and siphon away some of Anakin's tumultuous emotions.

As her heart and mind calmed and the flood of pain lessened, they were all able to walk through an exercise together, and Anakin was able to cement the cracks in her shields. Even still, she felt the extreme relief of the other girls as she was shut off into her safe little bubble again.

"I don't want to be here," she muttered, still leaning into Letti's shoulder. "It's too much."

“I know,” Letti rubbed her shoulders slowly. “We’ll go, we’ll find someplace quiet and sit for a minute, okay?”

The others were waiting for them just outside the bathroom doors, making no effort to hide that they were blocking the way until Anakin was out. Nigh and Oren broke from the pack to rush over as soon as Anakin appeared.

“Everything okay?” Oren asked. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, she’s fine,” Letti spoke up, “But we’re gonna find someplace quiet for a bit.”

“Yeah…” Nigh said uneasily, “We were kind of asked to leave.”

Vit’en’n scoffed and said hotly, “She didn’t do anything wrong! I see that sleemo’s getting patched up at the bar.”

“Yeah, well that sleemo is the manager’s cousin. And while the manager does agree that Anakin was in the right pushing him off her, they also would like us to find somewhere else to drink tonight. So…”

“It’s fine,” Letti said sharply. “We were leaving anyways.”

Anakin was struggling too hard to hold herself together in the loud, pulsating press of bodies in the club to speak up in the matter. She wanted to get out of here, and she didn’t particularly care how that happened anymore.

Oren stepped up to Anakin’s other side and put a supportive, protective arm around her shoulder. He and Letti together didn’t quite shield Anakin from spying her assailant, who was pressing a glass full of ice to his swelling cheek, nor did it stop her from hearing his not-at-all-quiet curse at their group. “Stuck up bitch and her self-righteous pricks!”

She also saw quiet clearly the rude, dismissive gesture Della flipped the man on their way past. And it must have been pure coincidence that at that exact moment, he somehow mis-coordinated leaning his elbow atop the bar, slipped, and bashed his chin against the metal bar top, tripped over his feet, and ended up in a painful heap on the floor again.

Not a Jedi’s use of the Force at all.

Just bad luck.

Chapter 23: Chapter 23

Chapter by TheAceOfShades

Chapter Text

Their group walked together a few blocks away from the main strip of clubs until they came across a café with outdoor seating that had closed for the night. By the time they sat down, Anakin had managed to tamp her fear down, but shame was fast to take its place.

She couldn’t quite meet anybody’s eye as she muttered, “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything.”

Della was quick to insist, “No you haven’t, Anakin!”

“Yeah,” Vit’en’n added, their eyes gleamed with mischief. “It’s not a proper night out on the town if there isn’t at least one barfight.”

There was a chorus of agreement from the others. Anakin flashed a weak smile. They were lying to help her feel better, but that didn’t change what had happened. She had almost lost control, she had hurt someone – even if he did deserve it – she could have hurt a lot more people. She knew Letti hadn’t had an easy time helping her calm down.

A nasty headache was building behind Anakin’s eyes, and any enthusiasm she had for going out was completely gone. Not to mention her scalp ached from where her hair had nearly been yanked out. And even if they were on a quiet street there were still too many people out for Anakin’s comfort – too many concerned Jedi flocked around her.

“I think I’m done for the night.” Anakin declared. “You guys can go on, though, I can find my way back to the Temple. Don’t let me ruin your night out.”

Letti protested immediately. “We’re not leaving you alone out here, Anakin!”

Anakin winced slightly at her volume. “Please, I just need some quiet for a bit, and no offense, but fewer people. It’s all just… a lot.”

The Jedi understood what Anakin meant most of them retreated back a few steps and fortified their own shields for her sake. Still, nobody was comfortable leaving Anakin alone on the streets of Coruscant after what just happened. Letti was insistent they stick together.

Oren offered a compromise. “How about I stay with Anakin? I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

“Well…” Letti sounded uncertain, “I guess that would work. If it’s okay with you, Anakin?”

Anakin looked at Oren for a moment before nodding to Letti. “Yeah. That will work.”

“Yeah, okay. Oren, comm me when you two get home, okay?” Letti lowered her voice and rubbed her hand across Anakin’s hunched shoulders but removed it quickly when Anakin only tensed up more. “I’m sorry this turned into such a disaster.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I had fun. I really did. But… one creep can ruin everything. It could have happened anywhere.” Anakin swallowed nervously and then confessed, “He grabbed me and I… I forgot where I was.”

Both Letti and Oren frowned at Anakin. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I am. Or I will be. I just need time and space. Go have fun. I’ll be fine.”

With several more assurances that she would be fine, the others left and soon it was just Anakin and Oren sitting at the quiet table. Anakin’s headache was getting marginally better, but she still dropped her head into her hands and massaged her temples.

After a moment of silence Oren asked gently, “Do you want to go back to the Temple?”

“No!” Anxiety spiked through Anakin at the thought of the Jedi Temple. She was too raw, too sensitive now and just being there would only make things worse. She cleared her throat and continued a little quieter, “No, there are too many people there. That will be too much right now.”

“Okay. We can think of somewhere else to go, but no rush. We can sit here for as long as you need. Is there someplace safe you want to go?”

Oren’s thought was to maybe rent a cheap hotel room for the night – not ideal, but it could be a quiet place for Anakin to calm down and rest. He would, of course for Anakin’s safety, stay with her if she wanted him to.

Anakin smiled tiredly at Oren. They couldn’t stay out here all night. She wanted to sleep this headache off, except she couldn’t return to her own bed at the Temple. She could feel herself teetering precariously on the brink of another breakdown. She wanted to go somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. She was reaching for the comm unit in her pocket before the thought fully crystalized.

It took a moment for Padmé to pick up on her end, long enough for Anakin to worry it was maybe too late and the Senator was already asleep, but as soon as the worry crossed her mind, Padmé flicked to life in her hand. Relieved tears filled her eyes, and Anakin felt a rush of comfort just seeing the senator in hologram.

“Padmé? I need… can I… can you come get me?”

Padmé was quick to come to Anakin’s rescue. As soon as she’d heard the quiet desperation in Anakin’s voice, seen the hurt in her eyes she was on the move, grabbing two security guards and a speeder. Only verifying Anakin was someplace safe and with somebody she trusted before ending the call.

Oren sat with Anakin in mostly silence. When a speeder pulled up in front of the café, Oren shot his feet ready to defend, only to relax a moment later as Anakin fled into the arms of the Naboo Senator. He felt the flood of relief wash from Anakin as, for the first time since the club, she felt truly safe.

Padmé held Anakin, soothed her for a moment. “Just sit in the speeder with Captain Typho, Anakin. We’ll go in a minute. Let me just talk to your friend for a moment.”

Then Anakin was helped into the speeder and the Senator was approaching Oren, who hadn’t moved more than a few steps from the café table.

“Padawan Cyat, right?” Padmé verified.

“Oren,” he said with a small nod.

“What happened?”

“A group of us were at a club, Anakin got cornered by some sleemo. She wasn’t hurt, but he did get a little rough with her.”

“I see… Where are the others?”

“Too many people for Anakin to handle … it’s a Force thing. I volunteered to stay with her until she got somewhere safe. I’ll comm Letti, our friend, and let her know Anakin’s someplace safe.”

The ghost of a relieved smile appeared on the senator’s face. “Right. Thank you for helping Anakin, for staying with her. She didn’t want to go to the Temple?”

Oren shook his head. “Even more people for her to try and block out.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

Oren wondered how much the Senator really understood about the Force. Despite the acceptance in her tone, Padmé studied Oren sharply for several long seconds. He had the feeling she was trying to see if he was being truthful. Even though he had nothing to hide, he doubted the Senator would have been able to see through his mask, considering she wasn’t Sensitive. He must have passed muster, regardless, because Padmé offered her hand to shake Oren’s.

“Thank you for watching over Anakin. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of for the rest of the night. Do you know Master Qui-Gon Jinn, can you tell him where Anakin is tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to inform him. And I’ll let the others know when I catch up with them.”

And then just like that, Anakin and the Senator were zipping off into the night, back to the Senator’s apartment, and Oren was left alone on the patio of an empty café. He spent a moment sourly ruminating on how this was not the way he’d hoped the night would go, and then another moment realizing he hadn’t even said “good night” to Anakin. He sighed heavily, trudging up the street, back to the club district to meet up with the others.

The shift in Anakin as soon as the senator arrived had been nearly palpable. Clearly the two were close, comfortable. Senator Amidala was the first person that came to mind when Anakin wanted to go someplace safe. And then he remembered a few weeks back, when Anakin went on a date to the opera with a senator – it had to have been Amidala. He sighed again. How could he ever compete with a beautiful woman like Padmé Amidala for Anakin’s affection?

Anakin was quiet the entire ride back to Padmé’s apartment.

Padmé didn’t press for any information, but she watched the younger woman carefully. The farther they got from the club district the smaller Anakin got. Her shoulders hunched, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly, her head bowed. It was like watching a slow implosion. Whatever fragile composure Anakin had scraped together while with the Jedi was flaking away.

Padmé wanted to help, wanted to know what happened from Anakin, but she doubted talking about it would help her right now.

As Typho brought the speeder up to the veranda, Anakin finally broke her silence with a whispered, “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Any time, Anakin. I’m here for you.” Padmé led her into the apartment. “Come on, you must be tired, you can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

Anakin trailed behind Padmé like she was lost. The guest bedroom was just next to Padmé’s, usually it was only put to use when her parents came to visit. It was decorated similarly to the rest of the apartment, simple designs, soft, cool colors.

Anakin hardly seemed to see it, just walking automatically to the bed and stiffly sitting on the edge.

Padmé hovered, uncertainly. “Do you need anything? Water?”

Anakin pursed her lips tightly and shook her head.

“Do you want to be left alone?”

A moment of thought, then a small shake of her head.

Padmé took a seat beside Anakin on the bed. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?” Padmé broached slowly. Then added quickly, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Anakin’s composure broke. She sobbed, drawing her legs up to her chest, putting her hands over her head. Through her sobs she told what had happened, or at least enough for Padmé to get the general idea. Getting groped and harassed in a night club was unfortunately an experience too many people experienced, but for someone with Anakin’s trauma…

Padmé didn’t even know where to begin. She wanted to help, but hardly knew what to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything right to say, but at the very least she could listen, and she could be there for her. She sat beside Anakin, keeping a respectful distance until the younger woman leaned into her, then she put a hand on Anakin’s back and rubbed her shoulders. It seemed to help sooth her.

“It was my hair!” Anakin hissed, digging her fingers into her hair. “He grabbed my f*cking hair, pulled me back, trapped me. I hate it! I hate that Master makes us have long hair! He does it on purpose. If it wasn’t for my hair, I would have gotten away!”

Padmé at least knew what to say to that. Gently, patiently, she said, “Anakin. You can cut your hair.”

Anakin fell still, then whispered vehemently, “f*ck!” She barked a sound that may have been a laugh or a sob, or more likely both. “f*ck, I forgot I can do that now, can’t I?”

Her tears began anew, more desperate and heartbroken now than frightened. She leaned into Padmé sobbing into her shoulder. Padmé put her arms around her and held her.

“Shhh… you’re okay, Anakin. You’re not on Tatooine anymore. You’re free. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Padmé repeated those words like a mantra until Anakin’s tears stopped, until she uncurled from her tight ball, until, while she still looked miserable, she no longer looked so broken. She didn’t pull away from Padmé, and Padmé wasn’t about to be the first one to break contact – when Anakin had enough, she would move.

They sat together for a long time in silence. Anakin had slipped deep into thought, studying the end of her long braid while her other hand rested over her little bump. When she sat up and spoke, her voice was firm with determination.

“Do you have scissors?”

“What?”

Anakin got to her feet. “Scissors. I’m cutting this f*cking hair off.”

“Okay. Wait. Anakin, I fully support you cutting your hair however you want. But please take it from someone with experience, you do not want to cut your own hair.” Padme scrambled to her feet and took Anakin’s hands in hers. “Tomorrow, we can get you to a stylist so it’s done properly and it looks amazing. I promise. Just don’t cut your own hair tonight. And don’t ask me to do it – it won’t end well.” Padmé finished with a self-deprecating little chuckle.

Anakin considered her for a moment, before sighing. “You’re probably right. I should wait.”

Padmé broke a small smile. “Let me send a message to a stylist I know, she can be here first thing in the morning. And you can pick out the style you want tonight. If… well, if you want to stay tonight.”

“Can I? I don’t think I can handle the Temple quite yet.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome to stay here. There are toiletries in the ‘fresher, and I can get you some pajamas, if you want to change.”

A mix of confusion and relief and hesitance crossed Anakin’s face until she ducked her head and whispered, “Thank you.”

Padmé left to gather the necessary things and send a message to the stylist – it was late but she lived a night-based life, so she had no concerns about the request. By the time Padmé was back at Anakin’s door, she had a confirmation for 7AM.

Anakin had changed, but in the ten minutes or so they had been separated it was clear to Padmé she had begun getting lost in a mental spiral again. She needed a distraction and she needed to sleep, Padmé could guarantee at least one of those things.

“Mixx can be here at seven, will that work?”

Anakin nodded. “I’ll be awake by then.”

“Perfect! I brought a datapad, so you can pick what style you want. And I also brought snacks!” She lifted the chocolates she’d grabbed from the kitchen, and a couple bottles of juice. Feeling suddenly like a girl at a sleepover, Padmé hopped onto the bed, tucking her legs beneath her. She patted the empty space beside her, and Anakin sat down, crossing her legs and scooting up beside Padmé. She pulled up a number of fashionable sites and image searches and began browsing. “So, how short do you want to go?”

“I’d shave it all off, if I could.”

“Well. You could. If you really want to. It’s your hair, you can do whatever you want with it.”

“I can. Can’t I?” Anakin breathed a laugh. “Shaving might be a bit drastic.”

“Well, you could go for a short buzz cut, if you wanted it mostly gone.” Padmé pulled up some photos for reference. “Or there are undercuts, pixie cuts, bobs…”

They spent a good hour scrolling through various sites and through countless images for inspiration. Anakin changed her mind about every five minutes about how short she wanted to go, but that was half the fun. The breadth of decision laid out before her meant she could change her mind again and again, and nobody could tell her what she could or couldn’t do.

As they searched, and scrolled, and compared styles, Anakin relaxed, grew tired, forgot – at least for a little while – what she had been through tonight. Eventually they were laying side by side, half under the blankets because their toes were getting cold, and still scrolling, even as Anakin’s eyes slid closed and stayed closed for several long seconds.

Padmé kept going for a few minutes longer after she was certain Anakin had finally drifted off, just to be sure. Then, moving as slowly and gently as possible, she extricated herself from the covers and moved to get up. A warm hand on her wrist stopped her.

“Stay. Please.” Anakin’s blue eyes were open, clear of any sleepiness.

“Only if you want me to.”

“Please.” Anakin repeated, gently squeezing Padmé’s wrist. “If you’re here… if I can feel you, I’ll know it’s real.”

“Okay. I’ll stay.” Padmé settled back into bed, pulling the blankets up around them. She set aside the datapad and turned off the light. Coruscant had enough ambient light from the city for her to still see Anakin lying in bed beside her. She looked troubled again, worried. Wordlessly, Padmé offered her hand, and Anakin took it.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Any time, Anakin. Anything you need, just ask.”

Her eyes closed again, and, in a few minutes, Anakin was asleep. Padmé followed her soon after.

Anakin woke up confused. This bed she was in, this room was not hers at the temple. And the body beside her in bed was far too large to be Shila. She opened her eyes and saw Padmé fast asleep beside her, the pink light of dawn coming in the windows gave her an angelic, rosy glow. They were still holding hands.

Warmth bloomed in Anakin’s chest, remembering what had happened last night, how much the senator had done for her. It had been so long since Anakin had a friend like her, the kind of person who cared for no reason other than she just cared. It was such a foreign feeling – Anakin almost didn’t know what to do with it. She still couldn’t quite believe it was true, that Padmé didn’t have any ulterior motives for befriending her. Nobody had ever been half as kind to her without wanting something from her. Obedience, money, sex, permission to study her. Anakin could only count two people in her life who loved her unconditionally, her mother and Shila. She wondered if… maybe Padmé could be included on that list. It looked like it, but it was still so early in their relationship to know for certain. Part of Anakin knew she would always doubt the Senator’s intentions until she had irrefutable proof otherwise.

And even then…

Padmé’s breath deepened, and her eyes fluttered open. Anakin watched the sleepy confusion cross her face as she woke slowly, and her hand reflexively squeezed Anakin’s, and then a small, gentle smile crossed Padmé’s lips.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Anakin nodded, feeling suddenly shy. “Thank you for… well… everything last night.”

Another gentle squeeze of her hand. “Think nothing of it. I’m always happy to help.”

Reluctantly, Padmé let go of Anakin’s hand and sat up, stretching languorously as she checked the time. “Mixx will be here in about an hour. How about we get dressed and find some breakfast?”

Anakin paused, mid-rubbing the sleep from her own eyes. She’d almost forgotten about the stylist, about cutting her hair for the first time in a decade. She pulled her thick braid over her shoulder and pet her fingers over it. Cutting it off felt so exhilarating and terrifying.

Anakin considered her hair for a long time in the mirror as she washed and dressed back in the same outfit she had worn last night. How short would she go? Even going to shoulder-length would be a huge difference, but also a safe choice. Did she want to be safe?

She still hadn’t made up her mind by the time they finished a light breakfast and the stylist arrived five minutes past seven. Mixx was a Zeltron woman in her middle-age, dressed like she’d just left the same kind of club Anakin and her friends had gone to last night. Her skin was light red, and her hair was such a dark purple it was almost black, though Anakin couldn’t tell if that was her natural color or dye, because she had dyed the tips a flourescent shade of yellow. She brought with her an air of exuberance, as if she couldn’t think of any place more delightful to be that Padmé’s apartment at seven in the morning on a Saturday, and a rather large case on small antigrav lifts that was half as tall as Mixx and twice as wide.

After making introductions, Mixx opened up her case and ‘set up shop,’ unpacking what looked to Anakin like an entire salon in the center of Padmé’s sitting room. Soon enough, Anakin was sitting in the stylist’s chair, facing a mirror that flickered slightly as the computer inside scanned her face.

“You have quite a lot of hair to work with. May I?” Mixx gestured to Anakin’s braid and only started unwinding it when Anakin nodded. With nimble and gentle fingers, she loosened the braid and let Anakin’s thick, long, honey blonde hair fall loose. “Oh, it’s so lovely and healthy. You’ve taken good care of it. It’s so easy for hair this long to have a lot of breakage… So, darling,” she met Anakin’s eyes in the mirror. “What were you thinking of doing?”

“I…” Anakin had to take a breath, “I want it gone.”

Mixx raised an eyebrow. “Gone, like shaved?”

“No, not that much, but… I had some ideas.” Anakin passed over the datapad she and Padmé had used last night and saved the styles she had liked.

Mixx skimmed the style and whistled lowly. “These are all pretty drastic.” She looked at Anakin shrewdly. “This isn’t a beak-up haircut, is it?”

“No.”

“Revenge haircut?”

Anakin shook her head. “It’s more… a new lease on life haircut.”

Mixx grinned. “That I can get behind! Give me a second, darling, and I’ll load these styles into the mirror, and we can get a little preview before I start cutting.”

In a couple minutes, Mixx’s salon mirror was imposing images of the styles Anakin had picked over her head. They spent quite some time looking through all of Anakin’s choices from the night before, and then the stylist pulled up a few suggestions from her own database. After a long discussion, Anakin finally picked a style.

“Oh, Anakin, that’s going to look wonderful!” Padmé gasped. “It will be perfect for you.”

Mixx picked up her scissors and shared a conspiratorial grin with Anakin. “Let’s get to it then, darling.”

Two hours later Anakin couldn’t stop touching her hair. She felt so light, physically, yes, she’d just had a couple pounds of hair taken off, but emotionally too. Anakin looked in the mirror and she didn’t see a slave. No slave could ever have hair like this. Mixx had cut her waist length hair up to her chin, and her curls bounced into tighter coils all around her head without all that weight pulling them down. And then the stylist had taken some clippers and shaved down the hair on the lower half of Anakin’s head down to the nape of her neck, leaving a finely buzzed layer. She had even shaved in a pattern that looked like the unfurling petals of a flower. And then, with some encouragement from Padmé, Mixx convinced Anakin to be truly bold and put some color in her hair.

Anakin had never dyed her hair. On Tatooine dye was for pleasure slaves who started going grey early. But for freedpeople… Anakin had seen plenty of unnatural hair colors around Coruscant. Some people changed their hair color like they changed clothes. And as her hair was cut away, Anakin felt bolder.

Mixx had put a rich, sapphire blue dye on the tips of Anakin’s hair, and it blended in beautifully with her curl pattern, giving it an organic uneven appearance.

As a final test, Anakin wove her fingers into her hair and gripped, her hair slid right out of her fingers. Nobody could grab her hair when it was this short. Nobody would get close enough.

“It’s perfect.” Anakin breathed, admiring her new look in the mirror.

She hadn’t had hair this short since she was a little girl. Once she started winning podraces, Watto made her grow her hair out, so people knew she was a girl and a slave. Once Jabba had won her and her mother, the restrictions on what she could do only tightened.

Anakin hoped that there would someday be a time in which Tatooine was nothing but a bad memory, rather than a dark specter always lurking behind her. Slowly, with time, she was beginning to shed Tatooine from her body, like a canyon lizard outgrowing its skin, and the specter was forced farther away.

Chapter 24: Chapter 24

Chapter by TheAceOfShades

Chapter Text

Qui-Gon was waiting for Anakin when she returned to the Temple later that morning. She wasn’t exactly surprised to see him, but she did wonder who from last night had told him about her near miss. He waited off to the side quietly as she said goodbye to Padmé and thanked her once again for everything. And then Padmé was gone with her speeder, and Anakin was left alone with Qui-Gon on the landing pad.

She suddenly, and somewhat absurdly, felt like a kid who had stayed out far too late and was about to get lectured for breaking curfew, but the feeling passed quickly. It was replaced by the knowledge that she was being assessed, watched carefully to see if she was dangerous.

Qui-Gon greeted her, in a faux-placid tone. “I understand you had an eventful evening.”

Anakin ducked her head in admittance, bracing for a lecture, or for the news that she would have to go back into isolation until they were certain she was still in control of herself.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Anakin’s heart lightened with relief. She should know better by now, should be used to how Jedi were. Qui-Gon’s concern for her should not surprise her. But two months of freedom could not undo nineteen years of conditioning so quickly.

“You were not hurt?”

“Not really, no.”

“Good. Good.” There was genuine relief in Qui-Gon’s voice. He laid a gentle hand on Anakin’s shoulder and steered her inside. “That will save you a trip to the Halls of Healing for a look over, unless, of course, you feel the need to go.”

Anakin didn’t. Aside from a lingering ache in her scalp from where her hair had been pulled, she felt otherwise fine. Even with these assurances, a seed of worry still rested heavily in Anakin’s stomach. “Am I in trouble?”

“Do you think you are?”

Anakin shrugged, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle. “I hurt someone.”

“Several witnesses attested that he was acting aggressive towards you long before you ever laid a hand on him. And he was warned multiple times to leave you alone. It that not what happened?”

“No, that’s what happened. But…” Anakin had to take a moment to figure out how to articulate the old training that was always snapping at the bars of her mind, ready to take over as instinct in a moment’s notice. “Slaves aren’t supposed to fight back! We’re not allowed to say ‘no’ to patrons. Most of us aren’t even taught basic defense. When we do, we – we’re punished. And… and the punishment for harming a patron of the Hutts –”

Anakin threaded her fingers through her hair, compulsively trying to grab and pull. The short curls slid through her fingers like silk. The tactile difference comforted her. She was able to draw in a couple deep breaths and calm her pounding heart.

“I know I’m not a slave anymore. I’m free and I have rights to my body and my safety but… but I still hurt a man. And I… I couldn’t keep control after that.”

“I think, given the circ*mstances, you did admirably.” Qui-Gon admitted.

“If it wasn’t for Letti and the others I wouldn’t have,” Anakin muttered, crossing her arms tightly once again. “They helped ground me.”

“I believe, if given the time and space you needed to calm yourself, you would have regained control of yourself without help.”

Anakin stared at the floor as they walked. “I’m still dangerous.”

“I think you and I both know that people are plenty capable of causing harm without prowess in the Force. You are no more or less dangerous because of your abilities than anybody else.”

That was a half-truth, but well intentioned. Anakin took some comfort from it.

Qui-Gon continued, “Not having been there, I can only judge from second-hand accounts, but I do not believe you did anything wrong, Anakin. You acted in self-defense, and you maintained enough control to not use excessive force, and when the opportunity presented itself, you removed yourself from the situation and relied upon your friends and other resources for help. You performed admirably, given the situation. I am only sorry you were placed in that situation in the first place.”

Anakin shrugged, and muttered, “It’s not the first time. Probably won’t be the last. I can handle sleemos like that.”

“Yes, I daresay you can. Both Obi-Wan and Quinlan reported you were a scrappy fighter when you first met. Where did you learn that?”

“Learn what?”

“How to protect yourself, how to fight. You said slaves aren’t taught how to defend themselves.”

“Oh that,” Anakin smiled sheepishly. “There was a regular at the palace that I was gifted to quite often. He taught me a few tricks to keep handsy drunks off my back.” Anakin sighed. “Nothing really useful. Nothing to raise suspicions or help me in a real fight but, it’s better than nothing.”

Qui-Gon hummed thoughtfully. “I believe we could teach you some more tricks.” He stroked his beard as he thought, “There would obviously have to be some accommodations made for your physical limitations, but a greater grasp of self-defense may prove to be useful for you in the future.”

Anakin considered that. The healers had told her it would be good for her to continue some physical activity as her pregnancy progressed, nothing strenuous, but it would help her keep up with the changes to her body. Already, she could feel her balance shifting around the baby.

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Qui-Gon said he would make the arrangements and add the lessons to her schedule. “Now,” he said with an almost playful tone, “to address the bantha in the room. I can’t help but notice you have returned with much less hair than you left with yesterday.”

Anakin ran her fingers self-consciously through her shorn locks. “I cut it this morning. Padmé called in her stylist.”

“Was it the Senator’s idea?”

“No, it was mine.” Anakin twirled a heavily dyed strand around her finger. “The color was her idea… well, she encouraged me to try it. It’ll wash out in a few weeks if I decide I don’t like it.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Well, I am hardly an expert on youthful fashion trends, but I like it. Blue suits you.”

“Yeah,” Anakin agreed quietly, “I think so too.”

Anakin got to go back to her room, showered and change clothes before there was a knock on her front door. Bemused and half-worried that something must have happened to Shila (why else would someone come to her apartment unannounced) she opened the door.

“Oh, my stars! Your hair!”

Anakin’s face flushed warmly when Letti and Della gasped in unison at her changed appearance. She groped consciously at the still-damp curls around her ears as she stepped aside to let them in. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, I love it!” Della gushed, “May I?” Anakin nodded silently and Della gently teased at the curls. “It’s so much more curlier, now. All that weight got taken off and boing.” She let loose one of the curls and it bounced back into place.

“Such a gorgeous color too!” Letti added, keeping her hands to herself but looking on just as admiringly. “What prompted this?”

Anakin considered her words for a moment before admitting, “I just realized I had the freedom to cut my hair, and I took it. Pad—Senator Amidala helped me find a stylist and pick the cut.”

“It looks wonderful.” Letti then segued, “Oren said you called the Senator for help last night, that you went home with her.”

“I needed someplace quiet to go, and she’s the only other friend I have.”

“And you’re okay, after… everything?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

Letti chewed on her lower lip before bursting out. “Anakin, I’m so sorry, I feel like the whole thing was my fault. I picked the club and –”

Anakin held up a hand to stop her. “There are sleemos everywhere, Letti. You couldn’t have known. And to be honest, as… as bad as it was, it wasn’t my worst interaction with a man like him. At least this time I got out without any bruises.”

Neither of her friends looked like they knew how to respond to that.

Anakin moved on. “Did you all have fun the rest of the night?”

“Yeah,” Della said with a shrug. “We went to a couple more clubs, stayed out too late, maybe drank a little too much. Nigh’s miserably hungover, and I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders today either,” she admitted with a rueful grin.

“Did Oren join up with you again?”

Letti shook her head and sighed, “No. he just messaged me over the comms when you got off safely, then I think he just came back to the Temple.”

“Clubs really aren’t his thing,” Della added, “Honestly, I’m surprised he came in the first place.”

“But it looked like he had fun while he was out. What about you, Anakin? Aside from the obvious souring of the night, how was your first experience with the Coruscanti night life?”

Anakin smiled and recalled the events of the night before the sleemo had laid his hands on her. “I had fun. It was nice.” She skipped over her last minutes in the club and thought about her time spent with Padmé, laying side-by-side into the night looking over potential hairstyles, waking up in the morning to see her right there. Unconsciously, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It was really nice, all things considered.”

Anakin wandered into the archives, and had to stop for a moment just to take in all in. This wasn’t her first visit – she’d been there plenty of times over the couple of months she’d been in the Temple – but every time, the scale of the Jedi Archives took her breath away. There was more knowledge in here than she could ever hope to learn in her lifetime. There was history and literature, art and culture, records and political minutiae, and schematics and blueprints. So much information in one place – she had known so many slaves who would have happily given a hand for a fraction of this information.

Knowledge was carefully regulated on Tatooine. Many slaves weren’t even taught to read because it wasn’t necessary for them to do their jobs. Anakin was lucky and had been taught by her mother, and Watto had been of the opinion that literate slaves in his shop meant less work for him, so he hadn’t stopped her. That being said, Anakin wasn’t exactly an avid reader, nor a particularly fast one. She much preferred to take advantage of the text readers in the archives – listening was easier.

Anakin nodded to the librarian at the front desk, walked past the many rows of data and bronze busts on marble plinths of Jedi, and made her way to one of the data consoles. She settled into the comfortable chair, plugged in her headphones, and begin pulling up the documents she wanted.

Anakin had learned a lot about the galaxy and the Jedi and so much other stuff since arriving on Coruscant. She had been given free access to most everything in the archive, within reason, and encouragement to read up on anything she wanted. There were some days she would spend hours devouring any topic that came to mind, skipping from subject to subject as they came to her mind. But today she had a particular focus in mind.

She was only part way through her first document, listening and pulling up more files to read next when a gentle tap on her shoulder interrupted her. She took off her headphones and turned to see Oren hovering in her periphery.

He smiled uncertainly and gestured to the console next to Anakin. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.” Anakin shrugged.

“I almost didn’t recognize you from behind,” Oren admitted with a small laugh, gesturing to his hair.

“Oh, yeah, it’s quite the change.” Anakin hadn’t seen Oren since that night after the club almost a week ago. She had assumed he was busy or had left planet again with his Master.

“What are you working on?” Oren inquired politely, nodding at her screen.

“Oh, reading some history.”

He flashed a small smile, a real one, though it was short-lived. “Anything in particular? I know a bit more about history than most, thanks to my Master.”

“Slavery in the Republic.”

Oren furrowed his brow. “But slavery’s been illegal here for a thousand years.”

“I know. I guess… I just wanted to see how they managed it.”

“Why?”

Anakin shrugged. “I don’t know, not really. I guess… just knowing how it was done, maybe it could happen again.”

Their eyes met, Oren’s were troubled, Anakin’s dull.

In a low voice, Oren said, “It’s terrible, that slavery exists in the first place. It’s monstrous what happens out there, where it’s uncivilized.”

Anakin went still and silent and didn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry it happened to you. I can’t begin to imagine the terrible things they did to you.” He watched her hand skirt over her gently rounded belly before curling into a fist. Her other hand was resting on the desk also clenched into a fist. He reached out to … he didn’t even know, not hold her hand, but maybe just touching would help?

Anakin pulled her hand off the desk before he could get very close. She didn’t say anything, but she radiated ‘don’t touch me’ into the air around her.

Point taken, Oren redirected his hand to look like he was going for a nearby stylus, but it was executed awkwardly. With pen in hand, he dropped his hands uncomfortably into his lap.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No.” Anakin closed he eyes and drew in a couple deep breaths. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not like I don’t live with my past every minute of every day of my life. And looking into slave history isn’t exactly keeping any bad memories at bay. It’s just… ignoring the past doesn’t make the ghosts stop haunting me.”

Anakin rubbed at her eyes. Her hands relaxed. She breathed a heavy sigh.

“I’m free now. My life has entirely turned around. I should be happy. I should be learning to be content with my new life but… there are millions in the galaxy who are still enslaved. They are going through the same things I did, or even worse things. They were born slaves and they will die slaves, and there is nothing I can do about it.”

Oren swallowed thickly. “One person cannot end evil in the galaxy, Anakin. And… well, aren’t you happy here?”

“I don’t think I can be fully happy while I know slavery is strong in the galaxy.”

“Anakin, you’re just one person. Even if you had the means to help… you would need an army to fight the slavers. Each crime family has their own personal military. One person could not do it.”

“I know,” Anakin shook her head and laughed shakily, “Gods don’t I know it. I know better than most the full power of the Hutts. But I also know crime lords and their syndicates aren’t the only powerful people in the galaxy. There are so many others, who if they just moved against the Hutts, could destroy their whole syndicate.”

“Who would do it? The Republic doesn’t have an army, and even if they did… Hutt Space is outside of their jurisdiction.”

“I know. But just because there isn’t a standing army doesn’t mean there aren’t soldiers and warriors.” Anakin’s shoulders slumped defeated. “I don’t really know who could do it. I just know it can be done. It happened before. The Republic hasn’t allowed slavery for a millennium. It could happen again, given the right impetus.”

They fell into a long silence, broken only by the gentle, rapid tapping of Oren’s stylus against the desktop. Anakin did not put her headphones back on, but she read the document on the screen slowly, not really absorbing the information.

With a sharp intake of breath, Oren postulated, “What if you had backing?”

“Backing?”

“People in your corner. People who could pressure the crime families in the Outer Rim. Powerful friends.”

“I’m an ex-Hutt slave, Oren, I don’t have powerful friends. Only powerful enemies.”

He smiled crookedly. “I think you have more friends than you realize, Anakin. You just have to ask the right questions.”

It was nice, being back in the Temple. Obi-Wan had been gone for far less time than he’d expected, thanks to coming across a youngling in his work who was a perfect candidate for Jedi training. Their family, middle class Mid Rim merchants, had been honored to know their child could one day become a Jedi. Obi-Wan had escorted the youngling and their family back to Coruscant, made the proper introductions with an intake team, and handed over that duty to better equipped Jedi.

Now, he was only going to be on Coruscant for a short time, at most a couple days, and he was particularly keen on checking in with Anakin. He’d only been gone about a month, but it was long enough, plenty could have happened. He hoped she was doing well.

But before he could seek out Anakin, he had been summoned by Qui-Gon. And while it was likely his old Master wouldn’t mind holding onto whatever he needed to tell Obi-Wan for a little longer, he also knew it would likely be a much quicker conversation than his catching up with Anakin.

“Master Jinn, you —" Obi-Wan stepped into the meditation chambers too preoccupied with finding Qui-Gon to immediately realize the hooded Jedi seated in the center of the room was not him. “Oh, I'm sorry; I was looking for Master Jinn. I thought he was in here,” he explained quietly, stepping back to the door.

The knight's shoulders tensed and then rolled back as they broke from their meditation. “It's all right,” they said in a soft, feminine voice. “He was here. You just missed him.”

“Ah, do you know where he went? He asked to see me.”

“Don't worry about Master Jinn.” The knight unfolded from her seat and rose gracefully. She slowly turned to Obi-Wan, lowering her hood., shaking out a long tumble of honey blond curls. “Honestly, he was just passing on a message. I asked you here.”

Obi-Wan couldn't believe he hadn't recognized her by voice alone. He just wasn't used to seeing her in Jedi robes. It wasn't an unpleasant surprise. Seeing her like this took his breath away.

“Anakin,” he said softly while an unbidden smile crossed his lips. “Jedi robes suit you.”

She had chosen robes of warm, dark brown and they only accentuated her golden hair and blue eyes.

“Thank you.” Anakin said without taking her eyes off him. She smiled warmly. “I thought I'd see how they felt.”

A thrill of excitement fluttered through Obi-Wan's heart. “The Council has accepted you into the Order?”

“They extended the invitation. I am still considering it.” Anakin stepped a closer and she caught her lower lip with her teeth as she stepped forward. “Before I make a decision though, there's something I want to get off my chest.”

“Oh? And what is that?” Obi-Wan was acutely aware of the rapidly shrinking distance between him and Anakin. She stopped with less than a foot between them.

He knew how much she had come to appreciate the concept of personal space. Her trust in him and this closeness was exhilarating. He wanted to reach out to her, feel her warmth, pull her closer, kiss her. Of course, such an action would be not only improper, but damned foolish. Acting too impulsively could shatter Anakin's fragile trust.

Besides, he was certain Anakin didn't reciprocate his desires. She hadn't shown so much as a hint of passing interest ever since their conversation on Padmé's ship months ago. And then, she hadn’t been there because she was attracted to him, she had been trying to repay a debt she felt she owed with the only thing of value she possessed.

Anakin hesitated, swaying almost imperceptibly forward and then back as if balanced on the brink of indecision. Obi-Wan waited patiently for her to collect her courage to say what she wanted. He tried to quell the shadow of doubt that rose up in his mind. But what if Anakin was saying 'goodbye'? What if she didn't want to stay with hi– the Jedi?

Then Anakin drew in a quick breath and said, “This.”

She closed the distance between them, pulled Obi-Wan close and pressed her lips against his. Obi-Wan paused, shocked for only a moment before he reciprocated, and quite gladly. Anakin pulled away sooner than he liked, but she didn't go far. She kept herself close and only moved her head back enough to look Obi-Wan in the eye.

“I've wanted to do that since Naboo,” she confessed before a flash of doubt crossed her face. “Is this okay?”

Yes, of course it was.

He reached up, gently cupped her face in his hands, and pulled her in for another kiss. Anakin relaxed significantly, melted into him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and pressed them closer to each other. The kiss intensified and Obi-Wan wound his fingers into her hair. Anakin made a pleased noise in the back of her throat. Her hands began roaming up to Obi-Wan's shoulders where they tugged at his outer robe. He released her long enough to shrug out of the robe and then began pulling Anakin's off as well. Then they were back at it. Anakin kissed with a hungry ferocity, and Obi-Wan was more than eager to match.

In the back of his mind, he knew that they should probably wait and move somewhere more private. Anyone could walk in on them and if they were found like this…

Celibacy wasn’t a rule of the Jedi but hooking up in public meditation chambers was rather frowned upon.

They broke apart, panting lightly, keeping as close as possible. Anakin seized the front of his tunic and pushed him around until he backed into the seat at the center of the room. His legs hit the edge and Obi-Wan tumbled down on it, bringing Anakin with him. She straddled him and gave him an enticing smile. He sat upright to meet her lips. Anakin's hands started roving, across his shoulders, down his back, around his waist, across his stomach, on his chest.

She moved her lips away from his mouth, catching his lip with her teeth just a touch as she moved, and trailed tiny kisses along his jaw line. She blazed a fiery path across his face and down his neck – Obi-Wan was inexorably glad he hadn't yet decided to grow his beard out again; every kiss seemed amplified on the delicate skin.

Anakin's breath was hot on the side of his neck. Her taste lingered on his lips. Her scent filled his head. And all he could hear were her eager little pants while she nibbled on his ear.

Obi-Wan's own hands were quite busy on their own, a task made easier by one less layer of clothing and could be even easier still. He wanted to feel Anakin's skin, run his fingers over every inch of her flesh. Would it be as soft and smooth as it had looked that night she had spread herself so enticingly across his bed.

His hands worked their way up and under the back of Anakin's tunic. The heat building between them was becoming uncomfortable, surely Anakin felt the same. He began working at her tunic, loosening it until it fell off her shoulders.

Not to be left behind, Anakin's hands took on a similar task. Obi-Wan was more than happy to shrug out of his tunic. Her hands burned against his bare skin and her nails trailed sharply across his back. They traveled up and over his shoulders and planted firmly on his chest before she pushed him away.

He caught himself on his elbows and looked up expectantly at Anakin. Smirking, she slowly lowered her tunic, revealing the bronzed skin of her shoulders, neckline, and chest, then after a teasing pause, revealed herself entirely. And it was such a lovely vision. Anakin threw her tunic away completely and leaned forward, an unspoken invitation clear in her eyes. Instead, Obi-Wan brought his hands to her shoulders. If Anakin could tease, so could he. Her skin was just as soft as he imagined, and he savored the touch.

The heat between them only grew. Obi-Wan was fully aroused by this point, and he could tell Anakin was as well, judging by the impatient way she ground her hips against him while they explored each other. But Obi-Wan was patient. He wanted to make sure this was just as good for Anakin as it was for him. His hands finally cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her pert nipples and squeezing just hard enough to make Anakin fall still while a pleasured groan formed in her throat.

He had intended to tease her longer, build her up, but be found he didn't want to wait any longer.

Her hands were already at his hips, her fingers working beneath his waistband. Obi-Wan dragged his own hands downward. Away from her breasts, around her ribs, across her lower back, and settled on her hips for a moment. He faltered when his thumbs caressed the small swell of her belly and found his eyes drawn down to it. In a heartbeat he remembered what had been done to Anakin, what she had been trained to do for her whole life. This was a service for her, not a pleasure.

Anakin sensed his hesitation and pulled back, studying him with a shadow of hurt in her eyes. “What's wrong?”

Doubt flooded his mind. He ached for Anakin, but he had to be sure this was what she wanted. Anakin leaned in, resuming nibbling on his ear, and while she was there, she whispered. “You know, I hope he looks like you.”

“What?!”

The absurdity of that statement shocked Obi-Wan completely into consciousness. He woke up flushed and tangled in his sheets.

It took him a minute to reconnect his brain with reality. It was a dream. Only a dream.

He wasn’t in the Temple, he wasn’t even on Coruscant. He was in the small bedroom of the small ship he’d been given for his Jedi work.

Obi-Wan buried his head beneath his pillow and released a frustrated groan. Why did this keep happening?

Shame rushed through him just at the memory. He shouldn't be thinking about Anakin that way. Not after the way she'd been violated all her life by the Hutts. She had absolutely no interest in him, and even if she did, it would be foolish for them to act on those feelings. He was aware enough of his growing attachment to Anakin, and anything beyond their friendly, platonic interactions would be too much.

Even if Anakin did reciprocate his feelings, even if she was open to casual sex, it would never be just casual to him – he’d been down that road before. Past experience had told him over and over again to build walls between him and Anakin, but those walls were so hard to keep up.

He felt so hypocritical. He desperately wanted Anakin to stay in the Temple, even if she could never become a Jedi, he still wanted her close. And yet he was also doing his best to push himself away from her.

Time and distance and dedicating himself to Jedi business, it seemed, had not worked on driving Anakin from his mind yet.

Not if these dreams and associated bothers were anything to go by.

His bothersome problem wasn’t going away on its own. Obi-Wan stumbled out of bed, heading for a very cold shower, extremely thankful that he wasn’t currently training a padawan. It was bad enough to be rutting in his sleep like a horny teenager without having an actual horny teenager sharing a padawan bond. That was a conversation Obi-Wan never ever wanted to have with another person. He was still mortified by the memory of when he and Qui-Gon had had The Talk when he was a padawan. Explaining consent to Anakin had been hard enough, there was no way he’d ever be able to explain everything to a student.

Obi-Wan let the frigid water run over him while he resisted the urge to beat his head against the shower wall. His thoughts thankfully moved away from Anakin after a minute and turned to padawans – a significantly less exciting concept.

He was already pushing the traditional limit for how long a Knight could go without taking a padawan. It had been ten years since his knighthood began. Most knights took their first padawan within the first five years. Obi-Wan had kept finding excuses – even if they were valid ones. Keeping peace in the Mid Rim didn’t usually allow for many trips back to the Temple, and it would be foolish for the Council to expect him to sever valuable and tenuous political bonds so he could be stuck on Coruscant until a padawan was ready for field assignments. Still, it was an honor and a privilege for a Jedi Knight to pass on their wisdom, and the wisdom of their Masters, onto the next generation. Older Masters who had already seen several padawans into knighthood were allowed to stop taking students. Teaching padawans was supposed to be the job of younger knights.

It wasn’t like Obi-wan was unfit to be a teacher. And the idea of being a teacher was not unwelcomed. But rearranging his life and his work around the needs of a child was going to require more time and work than he thought he could afford at the time.

Hell, Vos had managed to see his first padawan through to knighthood, and A’ayla was a very capable Jedi. If Vos could do it, there was no reason Obi-Wan couldn’t.

But with rumors of war brewing in the Outer Rim, would it really be responsible for him to take a padawan now? If negotiations failed, he couldn’t take a child onto a battlefield! The idea of something happening to a child under his care was enough to turn his stomach.

He released a long sigh and turned the heat up on his shower to actually wash. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Either he would choose a padawan, or the Council would assign one to him when they deemed the time was right. Qui-Gon had already warned him that the unofficial deadline was approaching.

Undoubtedly, since he was returning to the Temple without any surprise guests this time – the youngling and their family staying in the guest cabin of the ship were expected – he would likely get strong armed into observing some of the initiate training sessions by their creche masters.

If the Force deemed it the right time for Obi-wan to take a padawan, they would be brought together. Until then, he would continue carrying on with his service to the Republic.

As Obi-wan toweled off and set about the rest of his morning grooming routine, his thoughts turned back to Anakin. He ignored the fading images of his dream and lingered on safer, neutral thoughts. It would be nice to see her again, to see that she and the baby and Shila were doing well.

He would see them again soon.