Author's note: A huge thank you to Cariel for beta reading this fic for me!

Anakin was used to the attention; it had become a part of his life. It was a part of his duties, a small price to pay for titles he never wanted, but which had been bestowed upon him. Yet, as he emerged from the damaged ship with Ahsoka and Padmé's decoy, all he felt was disgust and shame.

All around them, the media waited with holo-programs poised and ready to catch their every word and frame their every movement. Anakin knew he wasn't the only one whose attention they sought; there were others, but none could outshine their mighty Hero Who Knew No Fear. If only they knew.

Ahsoka was unusually silent, painfully so. Anakin knew all to well the reasons why and he was eternally thankful that she didn't speak a word. Nevertheless even if she had, Anakin knew the public wouldn't believe her. Force help him, even he couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. Believing meant he'd have to face facts he wasn't sure he was ready accept and answer questions he was not ready to answer.

The public would believe what they wanted to believe: Anakin saved the day with Ahsoka right alongside of him. The senator was free—who in reality was none other than her decoy, Dormé—and order was once more restored to the Republic. No one ever ask about what became of their attackers, nor would they consider the innocents who lost their lives for doing nothing more than being at the wrong place at the wrong time. No one would ever know what he had done or how he had done it, no one save Ahsoka who wouldn't speak a word of it. It was not out of fear, but rather disappointment and the faint hope that one day he would take responsibility for his actions and confess to them.

Even Dormé wasn't aware of what had happened or that he was the cause of it. When Ahsoka freed her, the damage had already been done. It was just one more fact the public would never know, for Dormé's true identity could never be revealed. Even now, Anakin could see the handmaiden's shocked expression and feel her concern for the innocents she had never known, and would never know. But if it weighed on her mind now, it didn't show. Dormé was playing the perfect role of the senator. As the first time he met her, the young woman's portrayal was flawless.

Holo-recording devices and the comms continued to hone in on the Jedi hero, who was still in his Corellian disguise and the grateful Naboo senator while the crowds sang their praises. Eager questions filled the air, demanding to know what had happened or, more exactly, how their hero once more saved the day. Wanting to make the front page with their respective holo-news, reporters and photographers asked for pictures and with reluctance, Anakin played along when Dormé, now posing as Padmé, accepted.

He hardly felt like the hero they claimed him to be. From the corner of his eye, he caught Ahsoka's stoic expression, and knew she too was in agreement with his thoughts.

Dormé smiled politely—just as Padmé would—while Anakin tried to fake a smile of his own. He didn’t like how they wanted them to stand so close, as though they all knew of his secret marriage to the senator. What was even more unnerving was the way his heart felt when they did. The all too familiar attraction terrified him, leaving him to doubt what was real and what wasn't.

Anakin knew he should admit to the truth, or at least walk away, anything to end the façade of false heroism. But despite his guilty conscience, Anakin couldn't make his legs move or find the courage to deny their claims. So they continued to praise his good deeds, reminding Anakin that he was as much a hero as Dormé was a senator, a truth she had revealed by accident when Ahsoka first found her. But something had to be done; the truth had to be revealed.

“Back in the village--” he began in a voice so soft that only Dormé could hear. As soon as the words slipped form his lips, Anakin regretted them. Why did he choose now of all times to confess to his sins and to a woman whose name he only learnt a day ago? This was hardly the right time or place, but Anakin couldn't be silenced. So he kept the truth short and to the point.

“I'm not the hero they think I am,” he whispered, as both continued their polite smiles for the public eyes and cameras.

Dormé shifted slightly so that her amber eyes met his blue orbs. Her eyes held intensity that he seen so often in Padmé's eyes. But unlike the senator, Dormé's gaze was warm and filled with compassion. It was then that Anakin realized Dormé knew he was responsible for the war torn village's destruction, that it was his lightsaber which stole so many innocent lives when he allowed the dark side to consume him with blood lust.

Yet there was no judgement in her eyes, or even anger, only sorrow and compassion. She neither hated nor pitied him. What he saw in Dormé's eyes was something else entirely, something that was just beyond his reach, yet within his grasp, if only he knew what to look for.

“I know,” she whispered softly, causing her public smile to almost falter.

Holding Dormé's gaze, Anakin felt its weight and finally understood the emotions he had questioned moments ago. It wasn't just sorrow or compassion he had seen in her eyes, it was faith, and that alone made all the difference.