Anakin and His Angel: What Should Have Been

Chapter 13 (still 0 BBY)

        Padmé sat back down and rested her head against the dashboard. She closed her eyes tight, trying to force away her tears, and the worried thoughts that swirled throughout her tired, desperation swamped brain.

         I am one with the Force, the Force is with me. Padmé couldn't help but repeat the phrase that Anakin had told her in hard times, whenever her memories came back to haunt her ever-tired, yet perseverant mind. There was one night she remembered in particular, where she had had an especially bad flashback, and Anakin had pulled her against him, and whispered the phrase ever so softly in her ear, until slumber prevailed.

       Padmé forced the tears back, struggling to keep them from bleeding from her eyes. It was more harrowing than what anybody in the galaxy had experienced. Nobody else knew her pain, her tears, her heart wrenching love, for someone who had betrayed her most personal trust, for whom she sacrificed her honesty, given birth, and given her life. And now he might be lost again. Padmé didn't want to even try to comprehend the joy-stealing, realistic possibility that he could be gone again. What would she do if that happened? Padmé had a single thought, but she pushed it away. She would never forfeit her life, not when she could still help other people. If she could assist anybody, provide any help for the bettering of the galaxy, she had to stay alive.

      Padmé shook softly, as she stood up and walked into her small bedroom, where Luke and Leia’s old bassinets were, and laid down on the bed, wide awake, waiting.

*     *     *     *     *

      Han pulled the stormtrooper armour on, while Obi Wan waited, already outfitted.

      Obi Wan looked back at Han, “done yet?” He whispered in a grumbling, husky voice, sharpened with a bitter undertone.

      Han pulled the helmet over his head, giving Obi Wan a thumbs-up, “yep.”

     Obi Wan smiled under his helmet, “the path is clear, let's get going,” he turned the corner, Han on his tail. Obi Wan delved into the Force as he ran, trying to find Luke and Leia. Unfortunately, he didn't know their Force signature, so they were running for ten or so minutes, until they turned a corner to take a quick breather. Both panted under their helmets, the black eye covers clouding with their breath. Finally, Obi Wan recognized where he thought one of the twins was. He pointed to the left, “I think one's this way,” both turned left, hoping to avoid the oncoming footsteps, which were sure to bring capture.

*     *     *     *     *

      Anakin followed the Emperor’s haunting Force signature into a dark, secluded room. He had to squint to see, but from bare outlines, he could see that the room was draped with heavy curtains, empty of any sort of window or light. Anakin brushed his still ungloved prosthetic hand against the walls. They were pockmarked with small eroding patches, most likely from being struck by force lightning in the Emperor's rage. It was a sightless, unpredictable cavern, with so little light that he could barely make out his surroundings.

      A dry, maniacal chuckle wafted from a far corner of the room, “Anakin Skywalker, you've come back to end me, haven't you?” The dry voice had a certain confidence in its very syllables, in its unsinged vocal chords, a level of confidence unknown to any other creature in the galaxy. Except him. It brought chills up his half-prosthetic body, to think that he was that powerful, that he had that much control.

     “Well I hate to break it to your lava scorched brain, but you're not going to kill me,” he pulled his lightsaber out and ignited it with a snap-hiss, the red glow illuminating his withered, sunken visage. He might as well have verbally threatened death. “You're too weak, and helpless, and insecure,” Palpatine spat the poisonous words, his spittle sizzling on the blade of his lightsaber.

     Anakin ignited his own weapon, brightening his own aged, but still bold and pleasing face, his blue eyes still stormy as ever, with an especially intense glow. “Fine,” he focused, scrunching his sculpted nose in disgust, clenching his chiseled jaw under his mask, “let's fight.”

A/N my next chapter will take a while, since I have to choreograph a battle, which takes me a while to plan. I'm hoping to make it a good battle, since most of mine are pretty pathetic. If anybody has some ideas/advice for the battle, please let me know ASAP! I have about 1-2 chapters left. As usual, thank you for your votes, follows and comments!! They are much appreciated! ;)