Star Wars: The Chosen One || An Anakin Skywalker Story [COMPLETED]

Nine || The Jedi Father

Narrator's POV

Once again but not unexpected, another peaceful night of slumber in Padmé and Anakin Skywalker's cozy apartment in Coruscant was violently interrupted by the wailing of two month-old babies from down the hall.

Anakin rolls on his side, groaning in disruption of his comfortable sleep. His wife, asleep next to him, obviously pretending to be asleep in hopes of avoiding the caring of their children, says nothing.

"Can you get them?" Anakin groans again, rubbing his eyes one at a time with his still-flesh hand. The other, a mechanical replacement of his hand severed by Dooku, lies limply on the dark bed sheets he's wrapped himself in.

Padmé is silent, desperately trying to get some sleep. Neither of them wish to do the duties of parenting, a mildly new thing to the both of them.

"Alright then," Anakin mutters under his breath as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and pulls on his black robe on a nearby hook. "I'll get them."

Slowly, he makes his way down the dark hallway, stumbling over his own bare feet as he walked. He didn't know how late... or how early... it was. But whatever time it was, he had to be a father now, like he had been awaiting to be as the birth of his children neared. Now as they lie in their cradles at the end of the hall, Anakin couldn't imagine a life better than the one he was living - if only his Padawan had been cooperative the past few days.

Feeling groggier than regularly, Anakin yawned as he entered the small, circular room he and his wife shaped out for their children. The room was dark, but the babies' wails concealed the room in an envelope-like way.

"What now?" Anakin's voice cracks as he struggles to fight off another yawn, his eyes threatening to drift shut, his vision becoming slowly blurred into a mist of dark.

The babies' wails continue as he nears them, taking his daughter into his arms. She doesn't need to be changed, Anakin thinks, maybe she's just cranky, or hungry.

To his left sits a small granite table with multiple cabinets and drawers containing baby necessities. With Leia in his right arm, the mechanical hand carefully gripping her yellow onesie, he grunts as he strains himself to use his actual hand to pry open a top drawer - a fridge-like one - and pull out a milk bottle he and Padmé keep cool during the night.

"Here, shh..." thinking he was a master at this, he nurses his daughter in the crook of his bent arm, rocking her sleepily. "I'm so tired," he moans to himself, as the baby's wails delicately stop as the bottle soothes her.

Once she's fed, Anakin had almost forgotten about his son, lying in his cradle a good five feet from the baby table. Anakin kisses his baby girl on her forehead and ever-so-slightly lets her down upon the blankets of her cradle. "There... you go," he lets out a much needed breath and gives himself full father credit in his mind.

"Now, my son..." he says in a moderately supreme way, sluggishly picking his son into his arms and rocking him. Anakin tries to hand Luke the bottle in hopes he'll accept it and drink some from it, but he turns his head away, continuing his cries. "Oh, alright then," sighs Anakin, seeing his son just rejected the bottle.

Anakin figured all the baby needed was a good rocking and shushing to lure him back into the sleep that allowed Anakin and Padmé to get their own. So that's what he did. Anxiously and irritatedly, Anakin quickly rocked the baby back and forth in his arms, knowing he should probably go a tad slower if he wanted to be effective.

Rolling his eyes at his own thoughts he was sure of, he rocked his son slower, and slower, until the baby's eyes were nearly tricking him into a deep sleep until they at last drifted closed.

Finally, Anakin thinks, letting go a sigh of relief. Just like he did Leia, he sets the baby back in his own cradle, kissing him as a sweet send-off.

He turns around to face the open door and hallway and grins ear to ear, closing his eyes as small, faint snores fill his ears. I'm a father, he assures himself, and I'm a good one, too. Obi-Wan was right.

Yet again he makes his way down the hallway back to his room where he expected to see his sleeping, beautiful wife. So much had been occurring in his hectic Jedi Master/Father life, he needed a good full night's rest. He didn't bother checking the time or his schedule for tomorrow; all he knew was that he needed to be at a diner on Coruscant's floor around late afternoon time to visit with someone - they had a lot of talking to do regarding his Padawan, Kyla.

Ever since Kyla lashed out and killed her father and various slave owners on Tatooine, Anakin had been seeing visions of his own past whenever he looked at Kyla. The young Padawan but powerful Jedi resembled him too much to the point where it worried Anakin. She was ought to follow his path, to be at a yearning for more power until she would be the most powerful... but she was young, naïve, dumb in a sense of her youth and inexperienced skills. Anakin knew she was strong and a quick learner, but even with these traits she was manipulative and determined for what she truly wanted: power.

But Anakin had gotten a grasp on himself and realized the Dark Side power was not nearly what he wanted, not nearly what Kyla should ever want. It wouldn't fulfill her; she was a good kid, a kid with a troubled past and a promising future - that is, if she followed that path. But since the incident, Kyla had been darker, broodier, quiet and mysterious. She never cared to explain her feelings, her thoughts, yet she always used her mind-hacking power to see into Anakin's mind.

All she ever saw was how much it pained him to see her like this, a depressed state almost, as he uses all his might to try and repair her. It was impossible; she had done something she could never take back, no matter how great the will or how great the regret.

Anakin had to remember he couldn't help her always. Like his old master to him, he had to keep his distance, give her time and space to regroup herself. She needed to think, to ponder her thoughts for herself instead of going towards the minds of others.

He could sense that every time she hacked his mind, it angered her more. It angered her to see that all Anakin wanted was to help her. She wanted to be independent. She wanted to gain her own power on her own, and from there, overtake everyone. She wanted to stop people from dying, much like younger Anakin, more immature Anakin.

Unfortunately, even now Anakin's thoughts got ahold of him and pressured into inordinate actions. With his thoughts leading him into the direction of helping Kyla, he was only angering her, but he couldn't help his need to help. It was his transition; Anakin Skywalker once wanted to kill, now wants to help - and it only makes the situation worse.

He couldn't prevent his thoughts from overtaking him, but now he realized he had to. He had to be stronger, had to seize power over his emotions to be a better father. As his children aged, he couldn't afford for them to ever see him upset, pained, in worry or with anxiety. His Padawan was awfully smart, though, and it frightened him to think she could find a way to get what she wanted... always.

Anakin ignores his thoughts as he watches his wife sleep, undisturbed by Luke and Leia and ultimately sleeping soundly. He lets out another breath as he watches her, knowing he let her live. He saved her, and his children, the three people he would die for.

He quietly slips into bed beside her after stripping himself of his robe. The sheets consume him into a bundle of warmth as he presses his chest against her back, the silk of her blue robe calming and soft. At last, he could sleep, so that's just what he did.

Anakin Skywalker realized he just might be not so bad at this whole parenting ordeal, and it wasn't as hard as he initially made it out to be.