in the stars | anidala

two little lines

Padmé Amidala - Coruscant.

Somewhere across the stars, two lovers lay in each others arms. Hidden from the masses, watchful eyes and arrogant accusations, a wife rest her head on her husbands bare chest. She ran the tips of her fingers, lightly, barely a whisper, up and down his torso. His lips touched the top of her head. She brought her hand up, cupping his cheek.

Not a Jedi and a Senator, but a husband and a wife.

She knew he would leave in the morning. She knew they'd return to their usual dance. She knew that the longing would return, her hidden friends fear and guilt waited eagerly to spring out once more.

But in that moment, she lay with her husband, with nothing but a centered peace, a painted grin to her swollen lips.

When morning did come, the peace had fled. The husband got out of bed quietly, dressing himself and running his fingers through his knotted hair. Leaving the wife alone once more.

"Anakin," she whispered into the revisiting light.

He swept across the room to her side, planting a kiss to her lips, "Yes, angel?"

"You weren't going to say goodbye?"

"I didn't want to wake you," he brushed the hair from her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Saying goodbye, it was a heart wrenching wound. Anxiety of not knowing how long she'd have to wait to see his beautiful face once more, spread the cut.

She knew it was easier to leave her in the bed, lingering to the memory of the night prior. It was the way they lived their life, for many years. Things didn't have to change that particular morning.

When the deception of a world that surrounded the two of them, where they could do whatever they pleased was unveiled, the undeniable revealed itself once more. Padmé understood the truth. She knew her duty, her role, responsibility. She knew his duty, his role, responsibility.

But what a dream it had been, one night in his arms, just labeled as his - not the senate's or the citizen's. Not a voice of reason or arm of justice. Just the voice that showered a wonderful man's praises and caressed his beautiful face.

Padmé was calculated, level headed, a sound mind of reason. Anakin was rash and expressive, filled with raw emotion. But that morning, as she stood up, dressed in her barren skin, she was filled with sorrow. A sorrow that ran down her soft face.

And Anakin, as he held her close and placed a firm hand to her back, was sound minded and full of comfort.

"Love," he whispered. "I will come back, I promise. Before you know it."

"Just stay," was all that came from her lips.

An unforgivable request, an unfair hand. Oh, how she knew he could do no such thing.

Anakin let her go, reaching for the robe that hung behind him. He gently placed it around her shoulders, tying it for her before pulling her close to his chest once more.

He reached for her hair, running his hands mindlessly through each stand.

"I'll come back," he told her. "And one day I'll stay. But today I am a Jedi."

She nodded her head, wiping her tears on his dark robe. "I'll be here, waiting."

"Waiting?" He teased, kissing her once more. "Saving being after being, negotiation after negotiation, strengthening the backbone of the republic? You make it sound like it's light work."

The thought of his absence twisted in her chest, stinging. With each passing day apart, the wound deepened to a scar. Time apart vastly outnumbered the spread thin amount of time they'd spent together. This was his first appearance at the penthouse in months. The last time she'd seen him, a month prior, was through passing. Almost identical to the night they'd just had.