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Anakin Skywalker paced her quarters, carefully stepping over the various detritus she’d left strewn about the room. Private quarters, the privilege of a Jedi general. She could keep her space cleaner, honestly, but the slight twitch in Obi-Wan’s right eye whenever he saw the mess amused her so much that she didn’t bother.
She was on the precipice of a bigger problem than a messy bunk, anyway. Well, not just a problem. A quite exciting prospect, actually, the longer she thought about it. And yet, if she allowed it to continue, still a massive problem.
The ding of the thumbnail-sized pregnancy test brought her scrambling to the desk. Her intuition had been right — as it often was. A digital plus sign stared back at her. She grinned and picked up the device, which she’d discreetly acquired at the ship’s last resupply stop.
The first order of business was to call Padmé. She knew he’d be thrilled. She and Padme had agreed they’d have a family some day. Just not, perhaps, this day. The people of Naboo tended to have large families, which in turn led to large extended families — she’d heard the names of so many cousins that her eyes often glazed over when Padmé talked about them, much the way they did whenever Obi-Wan tried to tell her about some ancient manuscript by so-and-so about this-and-the-other-thing. And she’d never had any family, really, growing up. Being a virgin birth didn’t help, though even on her mother’s side they lacked relations. Watto had been the first time they’d been in one place long enough to really put down roots; the first time she or her mother had consistent acquaintances or friends.
She made the call. She didn’t realize the tension that had coiled up inside of her until he reacted to the news with obvious happiness and it left her body. She also didn’t fully ponder the ramifications of the situation in detail until Padmé — sweet, brilliant Padmé — said: “I’ll prepare a residence on Naboo. It’ll probably be four or five months until you start showing…”
Anakin blinked. “Showing what?”
“...the bump,” he said incredulously. “Anakin, please tell me they had health classes at the Temple —”
“They did,” she said. “Sorry, right. Got distracted.” In truth, she hadn’t thought of that part at all. She’d immediately zeroed in on the “giving birth to, or otherwise extracting, the incubated creature” part of the whole process. Padmé didn’t need to know that, though.
“Have you thought about what you’ll do about your side? The Jedi, and the GAR?”
“I have. Don’t worry, honey. I can take care of that part,” she said. “You just read up on parenting. With any luck, the war will wind down soon, and I’ll be able to see you and the baby every day.”
“‘The war will be over soon, it’ll be over soon, everyone.’ I’ve been hearing that in the Senate and on the HoloNet for the past year. The last ten percent of this project is taking as long as the first ninety percent,” he said, looking heavenward.
“I’ll see if I can speed that up for you,” she deadpanned.
“Not what I meant,” he said softly.
“I know. I’m only kidding.”
Padmé massaged his temples. “It’s far more our fault here in the capitol than it is the GAR’s fault. It’s like every time we almost reach a resolution, it slides out of our fingers —” he shook his head, and smiled gently. “I won’t spoil your mood with my complaints. Come home safe to me, okay?”
When the call ended and the blue hologram flickered into nothingness, Anakin knew that she may have exaggerated the extent of her confidence to Padme. In truth, she had only the vague outline of the shadow of an inkling of a plan about how to handle the problems on her side of the galaxy.
That had always been enough, though, so it had better be this time, too.
If the state of her quarters made Obi-Wan twitch, he’d be fit to explode when she told about this news. And he might go into cardiac arrest if he found out that she’d gotten married in secret, to a senator. He couldn’t know. He’d tell the Council, for sure, not to mention that he’d feel betrayed by her sneaking around behind his back, all this time.
It was two months later, when she was huddled next to Obi-Wan in a bunker under bombardment from orbit, that there was a change in the state of affairs. Primarily because she was hopped up on painkillers for the ugly blaster wound in her shoulder, which Obi-Wan had insisted on giving her, saying he could feel her discomfort in the Force and she couldn’t lie to him about it. That was funny. Such sensitivity, and yet, she could lie to him about so many other things.
She looked at her comrade. He looked stricken. That was odd.
“You said that out loud,” he explained, his eyes bright with alarm. “That you lie to me. A lot.”
Blast it. Why had she let Obi-Wan waste the good drugs on a minor scrape? It wasn’t bleeding that much.
“I was just thinking about how I used to move your comm when you weren’t looking, to make you think you forgot it.”
His mouth fell open, and his fear and alarm morphed into irritation.
“You shit,” he hissed. There’d been a gradual shift in their relationship that had grown more pronounced since Anakin achieved knighthood. Obi-Wan no longer felt as responsible for setting a buttoned-up, proper example, a loosening that was sometimes obvious in casual conversation. Such as in moments like these, when he called her a shit. “I thought I was falling apart under stress. You made me think my memory was going. I actually considered going to the Halls of Healing —"
“That was when I stopped,” she said sheepishly. “The prank had gone a little too far.”
He shook his head. Amusement and annoyance shot through their bond. “And you were so believable. I trusted you — it never even occurred to me —“
Anakin felt a pang of guilt as Obi-Wan expounded on his shock. If that was enough to throw him for a loop, maybe the other thing had gone on for too long, as well. She sat up straighter and announced: "I'm in a relationship with the Senator.” She didn’t need to specify which one. As far as they were concerned, there was only one.
Obi-Wan’s head sank to his hands with an air of defeat. “Anakin, why would you tell me that?”
She’d expected something like disappointment or rage or the pain of betrayal. In comparison to her expectations, his reaction was downright comatose. “We were talking about honesty. I don’t like lying to you.” That was true. Not that she wouldn’t do it. Just that she didn’t like it.
“Honesty? Honesty is nice. Plausible deniability is fantastic,” he snapped. “Anakin, I already knew about your affair because it was blindingly obvious to anyone paying attention. Now you’ve gone and officially implicated me.” He leaned in a bit closer, his eyes intent. “When?”
“When what?”
“When did it start?”
She thought for a moment. She could give the exact date of their anniversary, but that would probably agitate the poor man further. “A little before Geonosis, I think.”
He threw his hands up. “I knew it. Like I could ever dissuade Padmé from anything he set his mind to —"
“Hold on — you knew, and you didn’t say anything?” Absurdly, Anakin felt disappointed, as if the idea she’d had of Obi-Wan didn’t match the reality, and she’d been somehow betrayed.
“I wanted you to be happy, for Force’s sake. I realized early on that you couldn’t live like me and be whole. That there were things I could not understand about you, could not resolve for you, that you’d have to work out for yourself,” he said, his voice tight. She really hoped he wouldn’t cry. If he started crying while she was high and they were both under heavy bombardment in a bunker, this might go down as the worst interaction they’d ever had, which was really saying something, because there’d been that time years ago when she’d called Yoda a “weird little green man” to his face and Obi-Wan looked like he wanted to throw her out of the Council Chamber’s window.
On the other hand, they were already far enough down this path that she might as well toss in a little more honesty. She cleared her throat. “In that case, you should probably know that we’re married.”
Obi-Wan groaned. She grimaced. “You complete fool. Both of you, fools!”
“Why is that worse than what I just said?”
“You really don’t understand plausible deniability, do you?” As if to punctuate his point, a blast above sent gray dust and debris around the room. With a wave of her hand, Anakin directed it away from their little huddle, creating a bubble of clean-ish air. Obi-Wan nodded in thanks, and continued his lecture-slash-rant as if there’d been no interruption. “If it had been a relationship, as you say, with nothing on paper, it would open up room to maneuver. You could say it wasn’t a romantic attachment, that it was casual, and although the Council wouldn’t approve of it —”
“You say that like you’re not on the Council —”
“— do shut up, Anakin! As I was saying, there’d likely be some chiding words delivered and then nothing more. But you two had to go and have an official ceremony, declaring your attachment for now and forever, or at least from now until divorce.” He made a pained little noise. “It’s not on the Coruscant registration rolls, is it? Please, say it isn’t.”
“It’s not. It was a private ceremony on Naboo. No legal paperwork for Naboo marriages. There’s a little chapel somewhere with our names written down on a scroll, or whatever.”
“Thank the Force. At least one of you two has some meat left in your skull.” He breathed deeply and looked as if he was on his way to calming down, even as she felt something unusual rankle his presence. She squinted. Jealousy. It was jealousy. She could recognize it in herself with ease, as an emotion she felt more often than she should, and yet she’d never thought Obi-Wan capable of it.
“You’re jealous,” she said. “Of what?”
He avoided her gaze. “It doesn’t matter.”
She looked at the dust-coated floor. The soundscape of bombardment continued. “Uh, I know we’re close, but I just don’t think of you that way -”
He held out a hand to stop her, his eyes closed in exasperation. “Force. It’s nothing as sordid as that, you absolute buffoon. I’m put-out that I wasn’t invited to the wedding,” he snapped. “Who went?”
“Oh. Threepio and Are-too were the only witnesses.”
“You invited two holorecorders to your secret wedding. Incredible. An act of genius. Why is Padmé allowed a Senate vote? Why are you allowed to lead an army, again?”
He only figured out the really big secret two weeks later. Occasional mood swings and food cravings didn’t tip him off — Anakin was already like that, as a rule. No, he figured it out when he caught her scrolling past a comm message from Padmé about it.
“You’re with child,” he hissed, grabbing her arm.
Rex and Cody chose that moment to stride in to the briefing room, just in time to hear one of their generals express in panicked tones that the other was pregnant. Fortunately, being the professionals they were, the two soldiers behaved as if they’d heard nothing.
That didn’t stop them from discussing it after the briefing, though.
“It’s definitely the senator,” said Rex. “Unless…”
“What?”
“Unless it’s Kenobi.”
Cody balked.
The 201st had always been a bit more proper than the 501st, due to the attitudes of its leadership. Cody held his general in high esteem, Rex knew, and would be loath to even consider his honorable, even-keeled general engaging in an dalliance that broke his code. Rex held his general in similarly high esteem, high enough that he knew that Anakin was exactly the kind of person who could coax otherwise sane people into her insanity and somehow make it work out. Like some sort of pleasant, cosmic folie a deux. It was the only explanation for the Senator’s poorly hidden relationship with her he could conjure, anyway.
When Cody recovered, he said firmly: “It’s not Kenobi, Rex. Come on. It sounds crazy even coming out of your mouth.”
Rex raised his hands in surrender. “Just considering all angles. But I think you’re right, the senator makes the most sense.” He shook his head. “It’s like Skywalker is counting how many norms and standards she can break at once. I admire it, actually.”
“Kenobi is considered the straight-laced one of the pair,” Cody says, “and he never misses a chance to throw himself into danger. I think serving under her would make me tear my hair out.”
Rex smirked. “My hair's doing fine. You’re just too fussy to handle our level of improvisation.”
The two clones returned to a favored pastime: debating which legion was superior.
It was only after she told Palpatine that the dreams began. She’d always had dreams: of Padmé dying, of Obi-Wan dying. Now they were about herself, dying in childbirth.
The scenario seemed ridiculous. Dying in childbirth? She’d lost a limb, fought in ferocious hand-to-hand combat all over the galaxy, and she hadn’t died.
She asked Obi-Wan what he thought the dream meant. He agreed that it didn’t make sense. “Unless,” he began. “Unless it should happen when you’re away from medical facilities…”
In the past year, Anakin had wound up stuck behind enemy lines more than once, and stranded on a random moon once. It wasn’t out of the question.
And so it was Obi-Wan, of all people, who persuaded Anakin to ask Palpatine for a special favor. Palpatine could pull strings, he argued, that would allow her to take safer assignments, spend more time defending Core Worlds or on shore leave.
In her altered capacity, she found herself in and around the Senate and 500 Republica more often than usual. She also found herself with a somewhat heightened sensitivity to her surroundings. More midi-chlorians, Obi-Wan posited. Like a little battery inside of her that she could draw on.
The battery, it seemed, did not like Palpatine, or his office, one bit, which she realized as she reached the third trimester. Sitting in the seat across from Palpatine's desk for tea, she had never felt kicks so aggressive. She almost felt that it was mad at her. She never mentioned this to Sheev, of course. She wouldn’t want him to feel bad.
But she couldn’t get past the sense that Palpatine was hiding something. And between her gut feeling and the literal pummeling of her interior, she began to wonder if something was amiss in the Chancellor’s office. Not Sheev, of course — but what of his assistants? Or his close inner circle of supporters? Her boredom only amplified her imagination. Could there be Separatist spies, dark-side acolytes?
Anakin finally had enough and decided to find out for herself. Sheev would forgive her anything, she was sure, and her gut feelings were so often right. Taking the lift to the office, she told the receptionist that she had an appointment with the Chancellor, that no, it wasn’t on the schedule, but she’d wait for him inside. As soon as the doors slid closed, she rummaged through his desk. Cracking the magno-lock wasn’t hard with her skills.
The contents of the desk were all boring - paperwork, spreadsheets, the kind of thing that made her eyes glaze over. Until she reached all the way back into the drawer, and felt a seam. When she pried it open, a miniature comm unit popped out. The design was ornate. A burner comm. A fancy burner comm.
The battery kicked her. “Cut it out,” she muttered.
Why did the Chancellor have a burner comm? That was a security hole, a huge one. What if someone else put it there? If he’d been so lax, could the office even be bugged?
Paranoid now, she rolled up the edges of the carpet, grabbed and felt along the inside of the desk. When she got to the statuette — a Sith statuette, Palpatine had told her casually one evening — with a curious presence emanating from it, so faint it was barely there at all, she reached out to it with the Force and it popped right open.
There was a red lightsaber inside of it. A Sith statue. With a red lightsaber.
She felt a kick. She saw red.
Grabbing the statuette and lightsaber, she raced toward Palpatine’s presence, shoving more than one Senator aside in her mad dash. She found Sheev surrounded by a gaggle of politicians outside the conference room of the Budgetary Committee. She lifted her trophies high. “Explain this,” she demanded, “right now!”
Poor Sheev didn’t make it out of the building.