A/N: Hello all! I'm new to writing SW fanfiction, but definitely not reading them. I've been doing that for quite a while. I'm completely open to critiques as I'm a tough cookie myself but make sure they're CONSTRUCTIVE.
Exhibit A: Good critique.
This story was so horrid it made me want to drag an infected nail across my eye. I won't touch it unless you fix up the characters, improve your plot structure, and for the love of GOD, learn some grammar and keep that thesaurus near you at ALL TIMES.
Exhibit B: Bad critique.
This sucks. You suck. Don't ever write again.
As you lot can see, the second one doesn't show how I can improve, so those will be completely disregarded.
Anyway, read and review!
Padme Naberrie Amidala, the Senator, strode into her flat with an air of acheivement. Padme Naberrie Amidala, the Senator, had a look that portrayed such confidence and power, that it would make a Sith Lord cower. Padme Naberrie Amidala, the Senator, had just gotten through a day's workload in record time. Padme Naberrie Amidala, the Senator, never felt so accomplished in her life.
But, Padme Naberrie Amidala Skywalker, the wife, was wearied after said workload, and frankly, had sweet dreams of going to sleep and never, ever, waking up, ever again. Not to say that Padme did not enjoy her Senatorial work—oh no, under that pacifistic nature of hers was a fiery streak of obstinance that would argue a topic to death until everything Went Her Way—it was simply that she enjoyed rest far more.
The corner of her lips lifted in an elegant smirk.
Well, she thought devilishly, maybe not that kind of rest...
Too true it was that Jedi Anakin Skywalker and her..."meetings", so to speak (here she smiled once again), were few and far between, but today was a day in which she would most definitely choose to enjoy his company. Finally, he had been given a period of leave from the Jedi Council, and in Padme's slightly (very, she corrected herself) biased opinion, he deserved it. To be deprived of the warmth of his spouse next to him (and vice versa)...Padme wondered how they kept themselves from going mad.
Work, she reminded herself, and she knew that it was true. She had buried herself in it since Anakin last saw her, almost two months ago, and knew that as soon as he left again, she would revert back to her old habits.
"Every time I come see you, you're buried underneath so many papers it's hard to get you out of 'Senator Mode'," Anakin had teased her before, only half-joking. "You sound like Master Obi-Wan."
"Well," she had muttered distractedly under her breath, her voice still illustrating hints of the harsh, icy tone that she used whilst in said 'Senator Mode', "drop any requests and petitions you might have so that it might be regarded after it goes through procession—"
"Padme!" he interrupted her, finally snapping her out of her reverie.
"Mmm?" she acknowledged, her eyes wide in surprise at his sudden outburst.
And then, without warning, he began to laugh. Nay, he began to cackle.
"What is so funny!" she snapped viciously, getting up and drawing herself to her full height (which, incidentally, was not that high at all compared to his six-foot frame). "I'll have you know, that the work I do right now is detrimental to—"
He cut her off with another (almost obnoxious, really) bout of laughter.
Padme glared at him until it had subsided to mere snickers and once again demanded of him the reason for his humor.
"It's just...you sound so uptight—"
"Well, I need to be—"
"When I married you, I never thought you'd be the type to put a towel down before sex."
The comment had thrown her off completely, and a shocked look replaced her stabbing glare.
And it was right then and there that she had shown him that she didn't need no stinkin' towel to prove how much she loved him. Ah yes...work had certainly waited...
Padme unzipped and unbuttoned herself from her elegant, violet-coloured cloak, pausing briefly as she debated whether to hang it up neatly or throw it unceremoniously on her bed before unclasping the tight corset that bound her already petite figure into shape. Taking a moment to release a breath held for hours long due to its suffocating nature, she threw the corset carelessly to join the cloak on the bed, relief washing over her features. Where she had ever found the patience to endure such restricting apparel and headache-inducing hairstyles, Padme would never know.
Well, she mused as she slipped on a simple shift and padded towards the living room, enjoying her lighter clothing as she wrapped her pale blue robe around herself, it certainly doesn't run in the family... She smiled fondly, briefly thinking of her sister, Sola, who had as much patience as a Tatooine-native on Hoth.
Then again, who was she to talk? The more Padme thought about it, the more she found that the only time her patient disposition had ever surfaced was when she was, in fact, working. Otherwise she was just as impatient (if not more) as her sister.
Padme smiled as she thought of her husband once again, memories of sweet impatience, their sweet impatience, took toll of her musings. She lay down on a particular, traditionally gray couch in her living room, her smile widening as she corrected herself in remembering that there was nothing traditional about said couch.
Not at all, she thought wickedly as she stretched languorously on the couch she and her husband had made love on so many times, times when words were not enough to express such love, when only his passionate gaze, her soft caress would even come close to the unfathomable ardor they had come to know, and at the same time...not know, when they simply could not wait to taste, to explore.
Yes, impatience, she thought, was not always such a bad thing at all.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over her; Padme shot straight up from her sprawled position, a hand on her forehead—it was damp with sweat.
Oh Force, no... she groaned inwardly as she felt an overwhelming bout of nausea overtake her. She sighed shakily and staggered sickly towards the 'fresher, kneeling in front of the porcelain bowl before her, knowing what was to come. Wasn't morning sickness only supposed to happen in the morning?
At first, she had thought that she was due for a physical breakdown—she had collapsed from work overload and exhaustion before, what would make this time so different?
Another life form... Padme thought with a soft smile before she proceeded to retch any food she had managed to stomach for the past week.
Too much work indeed, she had mused when she had discovered her state two weeks ago. Dorme had spent almost the entire day rubbing circles on her back, pressing cold cloths to her neck and asking one Bail Organa to retreive more bins whilst she held her irritatingly long hair away from her face.
"I-is she okay?" Bail had stammered then, as he saw Padme duck out of sight and empty the contents of her stomach.
"To tell the truth Senator Organa," Dorme had begun, ever the dutiful and dainty handmaiden, "you look worse than she does. Make yourself useful and go get me another bin, will you?"
Padme had giggled at her bluntness and Bail's pale countenance (obviously, he had had quite a delicate stomach) until another bout of sickness had hit her in the middle and she threw her head towards the current bin once again.
Yet it was now, in the present, as she finished her violent retching and flushed the vomit from the porcelain basin as well as her system, she had to admit that it would all be very much worth it when she gave birth to her child.
Children... she corrected herself as she got up and moved towards the kitchen with the thought of making tea, a calming effect that would surely decrease any traces of dizziness from her countenance, placed firmly in her mind.
Her thoughts were cut off as the door hissed open and in came an equally-exhausted Chosen One. However, his once-tired features virtually disappeared as a smile lit up his face at the sight of his beautiful albeit pale, wife.
Pale...? His smile turned into a rather drawn frown.
"Hello, Darling," Padme chirped, noticing the change in his expression and trying to sound cheery.
"Hello," he greeted, encircling her tiny waist and placing a soft kiss on her lips. "What's wrong?"
Sithing hells, she cursed; she still had yet to tell him of the minor detail...the minor details that would be making their debut in the not-that-distant future.
"Watch your language!" Anakin gasped in mock-outrage.
"It's your saying," she countered.
The Jedi smiled. "True enough, I suppose," he agreed and bent down to kiss her again, this time more slowly, caressing the small of her back.
Padme smiled against him and pulled away to simply enjoy being held by him for a moment.
Anakin rubbed small, soothing circles on her back and she unconsciously sighed. How wonderful it was to experience affectionate contact again.
"What's wrong?" he repeated.
Sithing hells, she cursed again. He was not going to let this go. Just tell him, for goodness' sakes, she scolded herself.
"Tell me what?" Anakin inquired, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.
"Would you stop that?" she said, playfully swatting at his shoulder and giving him a kiss on the cheek before moving to make her tea.
"Stop what?" he remarked innocently, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her once again.
"Prodding into my mind," Padme replied in false-prudeness. "It's quite rude you know."
Anakin gave a very un-Jedi-like snort. "Rude? This is coming from the woman who prods me every day. Perhaps in more ways than one…" he added, mischievously nibbling a spot of flesh on her neck.
"Well, Master Jedi, we're feeling particularly ravenous tonight. Perhaps tea can wait," she smirked and turned 'round to wrap her arms around his frame, leaning in for a kiss.
"Ah, don't think you're going to dodge my question, Senator," he mocked, a light dancing in his periwinkle eyes. "You only make tea when you're not feeling well."
Padme sighed as she let go of him and turned to get two tea cups. "All right...I give up..."
"And to think, I didn't even have to use my Jedi mind trick," Anakin sighed dramatically, accepting a cup of vanilla herbal tea from his wife.
"It only works on the weak-minded," she told him pointedly as she moved to sit down at her table. "Which, we've proven, I am not, Jedi Skywalker," she smirked.
Anakin smiled his trademark mischievous smile. "Depends on what mood you're in, I suppose," he whispered seductively, allowing his hand to briefly graze her breast.
"Do you want to know or not?" she whispered, hoping to Force that he would just say no and take her right then and there.
Sithing hells, Padme cursed for the third time.
"Boy, it must be bad for you to be speaking like this," he remarked as he took a sip from his tea.
Now or never, Padme. "...I've been feeling a little ill lately," she finally admitted.
"Why didn't you just tell me? How long have you been like this?" Anakin asked, kneeling in front of her to stroke her cheek.
"Since you were last here. That morning...after you left..." Padme hoped that her subtle hint would prove enough for him to at least infer what was happening.
"This long?" he said incredulously.
"Well, this kind of sickness that I feel usually happens in the morning," she hinted yet again.
"Have you gone to a Healer?" Anakin demanded worriedly.
Oh for the love of— "Yes, Anakin, that's how I found out about this sort of long, month-range sickness." Come on, Ani, you should be able to get this!
"Month-range! Padme, are you taking anything for this!"
Obviously not... "No, you don't take anything for this kind of—"
"Well then," Anakin began, now a bit irritated, "what do you take!"
"Oh for Force sakes! I'm pregnant, Anakin!"
The Jedi's tea-cup hit the ground with an echoing shatter.
The silence was deafening.
Anakin was sure for a moment that Padme had just announced something rather important, though he couldn't remember for the life of him what she had just said, or even where he was.
Oh, now you've done it Padme, his wife's thoughts echoed through his head.
Yes...yes that's right...he was in the kitchen, with his beloved, drinking tea. He paused to look down at the broken pieces on the ground. Correction—he was drinking tea...ah yes...now he remembered. She had just told him that she was...
"Puh...puh...pre...er...y-you're...uh...pre...YOU'RE WHAT!" he finally managed through a series of incomprehensible stammers.
"I'm pregnant, Anakin!" she finally shouted irritably.
The Jedi was quite sure someone could have punched him in the jaw and he wouldn't have noticed; in fact, he thought he wouldn't have minded much at this point, for all the shock he was feeling. "Pregnant..." he uttered distantly, running a shaky hand through his sandy hair.
Another long silence filled the atmosphere.
Padme, seemingly not being able to take it any more, slowly got up from her chair with a scrape to bend over and pick up the expensive china that had been unknowingly dropped.
"No, no, I've got it," Anakin told her softly, putting a reassuring hand on her own as he probed into the Force, the shards picking themselves up and hopping towards the rubbish bin.
After the silent and almost entertaining, Anakin had to admit, procession of mobile tea-cup remnants throwing themselves away, the Jedi let out a long sigh.
"Wow," he finally said.
Padme nodded in agreement. "Yes...wow..."
Wow indeed... Anakin thought yet again before lifting himself up to look at Padme. "How long have you known?"
The senator huffed a weary sigh. "For a few weeks since you left last. Two weeks later I wasn't exactly the picture of serenity you always think me to constantly be," she replied dryly.
Anakin gave her a soft, lopsided smile. "That's impossible."
She smiled as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "Oh it's quite possible," she told him honestly. "Hair plastered to my forehead—which is absolutely drenched with sweat, mind you—"
Anakin opened his mouth to say something but Padme beat him to it.
"That's different!" she snapped irritably, knowing he was moments away from another sexual quip.
The Jedi reeled back, eyebrows raised surprise. "Okay," he said gently, as if he were talking to a toddler with a blaster.
She sighed, her hands grabbing at her own curly locks. "Sorry," she told him softly, "I've not been myself lately..."
Hellish mood swings! he heard her curse through their bond.
He laughed lightly pulling her out of her sitting position and taking her wrists in his hands. "Language," Anakin told her in mock-warning. "You'll have to watch what you say—"("think!" she snarled in correction)"—in front of our child."
"Well, if you'd just stay out of my mi—" His wife paused. "You...you want to keep them? Him? Her?" she seemed to stammer, her eyes a mixture of emotion—fear, happiness, nostalgia, melancholy...joy...?
"What a stupid question," he whispered into her hair.
Anakin pulled away to regard her at arms length for a moment. "For what?" he asked, truly confused. Surely she wouldn't have expected him to say no…?
"For choosing me to mother your children...child..." she told him, her voice breathy with emotion.
He sighed contentedly, bringing her close once more. "I wouldn't choose anyone else in all the universe to do so—" And suddenly, a look of comprehension, of realization, dawned upon his features. "Sithing hells!" Anakin whispered in surprise.
"What is it, Ani?"
"You're a mother...I'm..." he said faintly, slamming the palm of his hand into his forehead.
"Yes, Ani, that would make you the father," Padme told him slowly, a smile lighting up her face.
"I'm a father! Force, I'm a father!" Anakin laughed and without warning, picked up his beloved and whirled her about in a wide circle.
"You're so daft!" Padme told him whilst airborne.
Anakin set her down, eyes sparkling with rhapsody. "I didn't think of it that way is all!" he grinned.
The Senator laughed and embraced him. "A true blond at heart, Ani. A true blond at heart."
And he picked her up, and showed her just how happy he was...
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