Anakin and His Angel: What Should Have Been

Chapter 7 (13 BBY)

Anakin's hand reached out towards her, his eyes gleaming fiercely with fury, and his hand closed in a fist. Padmé's throat constricted painfully, and she clawed at it, gasping futilely for air as she rose off the ground. Her eyes stung and watered, bloodshot from previous crying. She saw the ground rise up and felt it slap against her, and then her vision faded to blackness.

Padmé sat up, her breath coming in short bouts, her body burning, sweat in little scintillating droplets on her forehead. She felt a stinging on her neck and reached up to realize she had scratched at her throat in her sleep. Padmé gasped, and then covered her mouth with her hand, remembering where she was and who was next to her.

Anakin stirred in his sleep, and inside the helmet, his yellow eyes opened, like a feline, awake and alert immediately, "Padmé," he touched her arm with a gloved hand, "what's the matter?" Even through his helmet and mechanics, you could hear the sympathy and compassion in his voice, and see it in his eyes. He reached towards Padmé, about to touch her shoulder and caress it gently.

Padmé's vision changed, and she saw Vader's devilishly yellow eyes glaring at her, and she felt her throat start to shrink in diameter. She gasped, and started to scratch her neck again.

Anakin's voice echoed dizzily in her head, "Padmé, what's wrong?" He sat up, putting an arm around her shoulders.

She pulled away, her voice frightened, hands held up, pleading, begging, like a helpless child about to be stomped on by an AT-AT, "No! Don't touch me!"

"Padmé, " his voice sounded vexed and wounded, "are you okay?"

His pained voice pulled her back into reality like a fish hook stabbing a fish and pulling it out of the water, "I'm sorry," she sighed, "what did you say?"

Patiently, he stated his question again " what's wrong?"

"I-," Padmé breathed heavily, "I had a nightmare. I'm fine, don't worry about it, you can go back to sleep," Padmé turned to lay back down and realized her hands were shaking violently, clinging to the sheets for dear life. She tried to stop them, but Anakin's keen eye noticed.

He caressed her shoulder gently, "no, tell me, I don't mind," he replied in a quiet, gentle voice, despite his surgically implanted vocal chords.

"Anakin, I-," she paused, about to give in and admit to something that would haunt her her entire life, "I think that I-, " she sighed heavily, "I think I have PTSD,"

There were no words spoken -words weren't needed. Both knew what the other would say, and what the response was from the other. They couldn't get help, that would ruin their secrecy, and anyway, the Empire didn't employ that sort of expertise, nobody was supposed to know what was wrong with their government, and those who did were threatened. If her and Anakin went out in public, looking for help, someone would recognise them, and they would be turned in to the Empire. So, Anakin held her in a silent, sorrowful embrace. No tears were shed, this was too sad for tears. They fell asleep in their embrace, arms locked around each other, expressing their infinite love.