fools, anakin skywalker (ongoing)

twenty-nine.

please comment and vote! i know it's been a while :(

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ARTIE WOKE WITH A START.

She didn't mean to, she never did, but it was a condition of living for her; sleep was not peaceful, even if she slept beside Anakin.

His arm came to settle over her. "You're all right," he said. He always said this when he was there to say it. His eyes were still closed, voice deep and scratched by sleep. "Just dreams."

Artie made herself take a breath. The details of the nightmare were already fading, but she was sure she'd seen Mortis. Scenes of their time on that mystifying, yet loathsome planet had been coming back to her in dreams.

She sighed and ran a hand down her face. Sunlight had only just begun to sidle through the windows, though the skylane traffic shrieked on by as urgent as ever. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Anakin made a sharp noise of drowsy protest. "No, no . . . been up for hours."

"Mhm. You sound like it."

"Shhh." Anakin pulled her nearer to him. "Please don't give me sass so early."

Artie smiled. She was happy to be there. It felt as if they'd found a small pocket separate from time and space in which to hide. Such an opportunity was rarer than seeing Mace Windu actually smile. She wanted to sleep more, to cherish that she was in an actual bed and next to Anakin, which was an occasion indeed. But neither of them could ever drift off once they woke, and Anakin's newly shallow breathing and too-perfect stillness reminded Artie of that fact. Guilty, she turned her eyes on him.

"Is there somewhere we have to be?" she whispered.

"No, the Council wants you out a little while longer," he said in a voice just as low, his eyes still shut. "Master Yoda felt you had a rough go of it. He recommended I advise you to use the Force and reflect on your tribulations should we, uh . . . cross paths."

"I think we had a productive time."

"Well, you know me," Anakin said. "I aim to please."

Artie grinned as thoughts of the previous night drifted across her mind. The pull of his mouth and body like gravity, each fervent moan of her name, the shock of each touch as if she'd never known him before. He dizzied her even then. Even still. Two years had done nothing to curb her awe. It was probably dangerous all she would do for him, should he just ask.

Something occurred to Artie then, and she felt suddenly embarrassed.

"Did Padmé ever come back?"

Anakin laughed softly. "Not that I know of."

"She probably will be back soon."

"Life is cruel," Anakin agreed as he moved deeper beneath Artie's sheets.

"Ani — "

There came a happy beeping from somewhere in the parlor.

Anakin's face became somewhat smug. "Artoo says Padmé was called away after the opera by Queen Jamillia. She transmitted and told him to let us know she'd return at the week's end. There, see?"

"Stop eavesdropping, Artoo," Artie called.

There was more jubilant whirring.

With a shake of her head, she took up Anakin's right hand and pressed her palm against his durasteel one. She measured her fingers against his and traced the seam on his forearm where metal and wire met bronze skin. There were days he resented the prosthesis. Plenty of Jedi, he sometimes pointed out, managed to do their job without losing limbs, never mind the fact that there wasn't a Jedi in the Order who was thrown into combat the way Anakin was. It didn't help that the public was already uneasy about cybernetics, ever since the Confederacy had handed control of their droid army to General Grievous. That cyborgian, Jedi-hunting monster inspired nightmares across the Republic. Despite the fact that Grievous was almost entirely droid by now and no one in their right mind could compare him to the Hero With No Fear, the whole issue troubled Anakin greatly.