AU Notes: Padmé convinces Anakin to tell Obi-Wan about their relationship and Anakin's nightmares.

Visibility's Edge

Anakin made his way slowly to Obi-Wan's room, measuring each step. He was uncomfortably conscious of the way his body moved—the way his clammy palms brushed his tunic, the way his boots hit the tiles with loud clunks. The inscription M. Kenobi sat above the familiar sliding metal door before him, only a few paces now.

Clunk, clunk. His boots came to a halt right before the door. He paused for a moment there, steadying his breath, straightening his tabard.

Then, he pressed the release. The door slid open before him.

Bright and sunny, the kitchenette where Anakin had first learned to brew Obi-Wan's favorite tea sat to his left, and the small sitting room where he had so frequently meditated sat to his right. The room was unoccupied, but a kettle of water bubbled on the stove and the door to the dark bedroom in the corner had been lifted, so he suspected his master would be back soon.

He lowered himself gingerly onto the armrest of one of the couches there. He had rehearsed what he would say to his former Master a million times over in his head, and then with Padmé, but it didn't change the fact that his stomach twisted inside of him at the mere thought of telling Obi-Wan the truth. His hands couldn't stop sweating. Or shaking. He wiped them on his trousers and reprimanded himself mentally. He could face thousands of battle droids, but he couldn't even face his own Master.

We should tell Obi-Wan, Padmé pleaded with him each night he awoke paralyzed and trembling from another nightmare. For days he hadn't been able to shake Palpatine's story about the Sith lord powerful enough to create life. Pride, dark and alluring, had kept Anakin from going for help. Because he and Padmé lived in shadows, and Obi-Wan sat in the light.

But last night, as Padmé had smoothed his hair and pleaded with him, Anakin had seen something else in her eyes. A new kind of fear. Not for herself, but for him. And Anakin had felt his pride crumbling. He had laid his shaking palm over the curve of her nightgown, where their child lay, and promised he would. Anything to keep the fear from her eyes.

It didn't calm his anxiety as he sat there, comparable to a rubber band ready to snap. He didn't know how his Master would react. He had, after all, broken the Code. He shouldn't have a marriage band tucked away under his bed, and Padmé's belly shouldn't be swollen with their child.

The sound of fresher water being cut off was his only warning, and suddenly Anakin's master stood fully dressed in the doorway, dabbing his auburn beard on a towel. Anakin caught a whiff of aftershave.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said amicably. "I thought I heard you come in." He tossed the towel into a hamper by the wall, and started to the bubbling kettle. "I'm brewing a hot drink."

Anakin opened and closed his mouth. "I, uh. No, thanks."

Obi-Wan moved the kettle from the stove to a cooling pad, and turned the heat off. Anakin heard a clank as a mug touched the counter, and the lap of water as it left the kettle.

"You sure?" Obi-Wan's voice asked him a few moments later.

Anakin had a smudge on his finger. Engine grease. He rubbed at it. "I'm fine," he said shortly, and the timidity of his voice surprised him. He forced his shoulders to relax. He was so tense. Why couldn't he relax?

I got married. Padmé's pregnant. We need your help.

His stomach clenched. His mechanical hand worked under its glove.

The clink of a spoon turning in the mug grew louder as Obi-Wan approached him.

"I got news from Master Windu today," he told Anakin, and he sounded pleased. "The Separatists are falling back. Hopefully we'll be able to scatter then in a month or two and this war will be over for good."

He stopped just short of where Anakin was leaning against the couch armrest. "Though, there's also news the Senate is soon to vote more executive powers to the Chancellor."

Anakin couldn't bring himself to reply. Just the mere thought of politics right now was making his head ache. The spoon turning in Obi-Wan's mug clinked in his ear.

"Whether or not the bill passes, I hear it's become a bit of a concern to some of the loyalist Senators. I believe Senator Organa is among that number, and Senator Amidala—"

Nausea lurched inside of him. Padmé's dying screams echoed in his mind. "Can we talk?" he interrupted suddenly, harshly.

The clinking paused, and Anakin looked up to see Obi-Wan frowning at him. "Anakin?"

Anakin could only hold his Master's gaze for a moment. He twisted his hands. "I—" His voice came out in a croak.

He heard Obi-Wan moving closer, and was suddenly aware of his Master's scrutiny. "Anakin, is something the matter?"

"I—uh." His stomach turned uneasily inside of him.

The mug clinked as Obi-Wan set it on the nearby table. Then, the rustle of his Master's tunic as the older Jedi seated himself. He could feel Obi-Wan's gaze on him, concerned. Anakin reached up to rub the tension from his face. Focus. Focus. He wasn't focusing.

"Anakin?"

"Can you not look at me like that," he said sharply.

He felt Obi-Wan recoil in the Force. "Anakin—"

"No," Anakin interrupted suddenly, with a harsh breath out. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just—I have to tell you something."

Obi-Wan readjusted himself in his chair, and Anakin recognized the wary look growing in his eyes. A hand reached up to twist his beard. "Tell me…" He trailed off expectantly.

"I—uh." Anakin pressed his hands against his legs. They wouldn't stop shaking. He tried clenching them, stretching them. He would think that his blasted mechanical hand wouldn't fail him, but it was.

He stood abruptly, suddenly needing air. Sunshine. Something. Obi-Wan's eyes followed him to the window.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan's voice was cautious. "What's wrong? What's this about?"

"I—uh. I…I need help. I don't know who to go to—" He broke off, frustrated, consciously telling himself to slow down and breathe. "I don't know… I just don't—can't—"

"Anakin—"

"I can't handle it—I don't know what to do—Palpatine—"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan's voice interrupted. "Slow down. Start from the beginning."

Anakin turned to look at him, suddenly struck by the fear that his master already knew what he was going to tell him. But Obi-Wan's brows had only lowered in confusion and concern. His expression rested gentle and compassionate. Anakin felt a sudden urge to spill everything at once. But he knew Obi-Wan wouldn't be looking at him like that once he learned the truth.

"I—" He exhaled sharply. "I'm having those nightmares again… like the ones I had about my mother, and I—they came true last time. I just—I don't know what to do. I can't—" To his shame, this throat swelled, cutting off the last portion of his sentence. He let it hang, knowing that if he tried to continue, his break would seem unintentional.

Obi-Wan watched him calculatingly, one of those gazes that made Anakin wonder if he saw right through him. Obi-Wan's hand stroked his beard. "Who are these dreams about?" he asked Anakin finally.

Padmé's screams echoed in his mind again, accompanied by an infant's wail and an overwhelming stench of fear. Anakin's insides squirmed. He forced himself to breathe again. It hadn't happened yet. It could be prevented. There was still time.

He glanced down at his hands again, at the smudge on his thumb. Now was the moment.

"I…" He let out a quiet, shaky breath, and turned to look Obi-Wan in the eye. "Padmé—Padmé's pregnant."

Obi-Wan's expression was still for a long time. Only his eyes moved, measuring the truth in Anakin's words. Then, his eyelids closed. A soft exhalation. His hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Waiting for his Master's reply increased Anakin's discomfort by the second, so he only lasted ten before he felt the need to begin talking again.

"We don't know who to go to, and the baby's coming soon, and I keep having nightmares that she'll die in childbirth—we don't know how we're going to hide the baby. It's going to be Force-sensitive and Padmé's experiencing weird symptoms and we just don't even know who to go to—"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan's firm voice interrupted him. "Anakin, please, quiet."

The words died in his mouth and Anakin tried to minimize his fidgeting as he waited for Obi-Wan to respond. His Master had drawn his face out of his hand, but he didn't look like he was about to talk anytime soon. Instead, he looked like he was getting one of his migraines. He rubbed his cheek, a slight pinch between his eyebrows.

"Palpatine…" Anakin took a deep breath. "Chancellor Palpatine said that Sith Lords could manipulate life—could…save people. He told me a legend, and I—I just don't know. I'm so confused—"

"What legend?" Obi-Wan said suddenly.

"Darth—Darth Plagueis the Wise," Anakin said. "The legend… it says that he—he manipulated the midi-chlorians to create life. And I… I don't know. If Padmé dies—"

"If they can manipulate life," Obi-Wan said, and his voice had a sudden firmness that left no room for contradiction. "It's in an unnatural way and the wielder would lose himself in the process." He looked at Anakin, and his eyes were surprisingly sharp. "Tell me you weren't thinking of trying any Dark Arts."

Anakin felt a sudden sinking feeling and his throat tighten. "I—" His voice cracked, and he didn't continue the thought. He saw how Obi-Wan's shoulders sank.

"Master," he whispered after a long moment. "Please say something."

Obi-Wan let out a long sigh. "I didn't… I didn't know things had gotten this far," he said simply.

Anakin shifted uncomfortably as they lapsed into another long silence, but forced himself to remain quiet. He had done enough blabbering, and was already feeling foolish for his spill before; he didn't want to seem even more incompetent than he already appeared.

Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest. When he finally looked up at Anakin, his expression was almost unreadable. "How far along is she?"

"Almost eight months," Anakin told him. "It—it happened about two months before we left…" He watched Obi-Wan absorb his words silently. "She's… she's showing. It's getting harder to hide."

"And you said the child's Force-sensitive?"

Anakin nodded.

"It's unusual to distinguish an infant as Force-sensitive before birth."

"I know," he said. But the child was his, and he didn't exactly have an average midi-chlorian count. When the child was born, he didn't know how he and Padmé would be able to hide it from the Council, especially with midi-chlorian testing required in the Republic. If the child had a count remotely similar to his, the Jedi would come, and its paternity called into question.

A glance in Anakin's direction told him Obi-Wan was thinking the same thing. His hand returned to rub his beard again, and he eyed Anakin steadily. "How long have you been together?" he asked in a low voice.

"Since Geonosis," Anakin said, picking at a spot on his tunic. "We were married when she went back to Naboo—"

"You were married?" Obi-Wan echoed.

Anakin had forgotten he hadn't mentioned that. He looked up to see Obi-Wan's brows arched and his gaze severe, and any hopes that Obi-Wan was comforted by the revelation that the child in Padmé's belly was legitimate were quickly squelched. Obi-Wan looked far from impressed.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Obi-Wan asked him in an eerily calm voice. "Before we continue."

A thread came up from his tunic sleeve. "I… I think that's it."

Obi-Wan's jaw worked under his beard as he smoothed his beard. After a few pensive moments, he picked his mug from the table. He took a long draught, then sat in silence for a long while, turning the mug in his hands.

"Well," he said abruptly when he had set the mug back down. "I can't say this wasn't a surprise."

Anakin's limbs suddenly felt heavy, though from his own exhaustion or the stress from being under Obi-Wan's gaze, he didn't know. With an internal sigh, he made his way from the window and lowered himself in a chair across from Obi-Wan. A thick silence befell them.

Obi-Wan had every right to be mad, disappointed. How many times during Anakin's apprenticeship had he tried to teach Anakin how to release his attachment to the Force, to resist the Dark Side? And yet here Anakin sat before his Master: married, and with a child, the most substantial representation of his attachment, on the way. And considering the Dark Arts and losing his soul to save them.

"I'm sorry, Master," he said softly, tracing the chair's armrest. "I've failed you."

"Are you sorry, Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked him, though his expression looked more tired than anything.

He didn't regret loving Padmé; he didn't regret fathering their child. "I love her," he said softly.

Obi-Wan didn't flinch. He just took another long drink of his tea. It met the armrest of his chair with a clink. "And you said you're having dreams of her."

The memories returned, and since Anakin couldn't bring himself to open his mouth, he nodded.

"Nightmares?"

He nodded.

"Of her dying?"

"In childbirth," he whispered. "Just like the ones I used to have about my mother."

He couldn't bring himself to meet his Master's eye, either, and a silence stretched on for a time. Anakin could feel Obi-Wan's gaze on him. His finger followed the grains of the armrest.

"Has Padmé received proper prenatal care?" Obi-Wan spoke finally.

"Not an official doctor," Anakin said. "Just an Emdee droid. She was afraid there would be questions about the father."

"Have there been questions?"

"I think some," Anakin said. "I only found out last week."

"Have there been complications?"

Anakin shifted in his chair. "There've been some weird symptoms. She's been having some strange dreams. Visions, maybe. And she's more prominent in the Force than she used to be. I—I tried reading about it, but there aren't many studies on Force-sensitivity and genetics."

"The infant could be passing its Force-sensitivity to her," Obi-Wan said evenly, studying him carefully. "Since pregnant mothers and their fetuses exchange biological information."

"Are there any records of non-Force-sensitive parent carrying a sensitive child?"

"There are some," said Obi-Wan slowly. "Some Jedi's biological mothers have contributed to studies. But seeing as your count is higher than average, I would expect this to be a slightly different situation. The results would be amplified." He paused to drink from his mug.

"Do you think it's dangerous?"

"How did your mother fare when she was pregnant with you?"

"Similarly, I think. She began to have visions."

"And a difficult labor?"

"I… don't think it was particularly difficult."

Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat, pulling his tea to his lap. He watched Anakin silently for a few moments. "Yet you're having nightmares than she'll die in childbirth."

Anakin nodded against the sudden rise in his throat. "I—I keep seeing her die, feeling her life force fading away. She screams in my nightmares. She's in pain."

He could sense Obi-Wan's gaze on him, but for a few moments the Jedi Master didn't speak. "And the child?" Obi-Wan asked him finally, softly.

"Sometimes I hear a child's cry," Anakin murmured. "Sometimes I don't hear anything."

Then, the nausea surged again, and Anakin didn't know how long it took him to compose himself before he met Obi-Wan's eye.

A strangely pensive expression came over Obi-Wan's face—a focused but gentle look of… pity? Sympathy? The last time Anakin had been the recipient of that look was when he had lost his mother.

He could almost predict the sentence that would come next. Obi-Wan would urge him to go to the Council, to confess how he had broken the Code. When they heard that he had married and sired a child, they would expel him. News would get out. Padmé would be engulfed in scandal only weeks before the child was due and she was planning to disappear into seclusion.

"I'd like to speak with her, if I could," Obi-Wan said finally, and Anakin looked suddenly at him.

"You—you're going to help us?"

"I don't approve of the secrets you kept," Obi-Wan said. "But I will help you."

"You won't tell the Council?"

Obi-Wan's hand came up to rub his cheek. He was quiet for a long moment. "It's not my place," he said evenly. "I think it's your duty to inform the Council."

Anakin knew he should feel shame, and he did feel a hint of remorse, but a baser, protective instinct had overridden any doubts he had about which path to take. "I just want my family safe."

Padmé sounded tired but relieved when Anakin commed her to let her know that Obi-Wan was coming. And about two hours later, the two Jedi left the Outer Rim sieges briefing in the Temple and took a small transport to the Naboo Embassy.

"She should be back from her meeting in a few minutes," Anakin told Obi-Wan when they reached the private door and entered into the airy sitting area. He watched Obi-Wan slowly enter the room, and followed his eyes around the space: over the curved beige couches, the tiered glass table, the long, airy window that held a sprawling view of Coruscant's buildings. Sunlight flooded through the window, spilling onto the carpet and furniture below. The faint smell of fruit clung to the curtains. Obi-Wan didn't say anything. Anakin wondered if he was still upset about Anakin's interest in the Dark Arts.

After a brief moment's absorbance, the Jedi Master drifted to the window, and Anakin followed. They drew level, and Anakin folded his hands into his sleeves as they peered out over Coruscant's horizon.

Sunlight spread warmth into his tunic, and Anakin forced his shoulders back and his breathing slower. Perhaps Obi-Wan was right. Dabbling in the Dark Arts might cost more than it bought. Darth Plagueis was only a legend, after all, and Anakin had seen the effects of the Dark Side on people—it turned them shadowy. They lost their souls. Was it worth keeping his and Padmé's secrecy if Anakin lost himself? He didn't even know how much he valued their secrecy anymore. He had seen what it had already done to them, and he was tired of it all.

Outside, he watched the sunlight glimmer on the building surfaces.

They only shared a minute of peace before the familiar sound of oiled joints caused Anakin to turn around. C-3PO was making his way across the carpet towards them.

"Master Anakin," C-3PO exclaimed. "How good to see you. Oh! And—and Master Kenobi, too. What a pleasure."

Obi-Wan bowed his head in greeting, a small smile turning under his beard.

"Mistress Padmé instructed me to come find you," the protocol droid told them, his arms jerky as he motioned towards an arch and stairs nearby. "She finished early, and is waiting in the study."

"Thanks, Threepio." Seeing that his Master probably didn't know the way, Anakin moved first. He led them up the stairs, down a small hallway, and into a spacious office.

Voices greeted them before they turned the corner, and they entered to see two elaborately clothed figures inside—Padmé, who Anakin recognized in a moment, sat with her back to the door, and one of her handmaidens stood beside her.

"…I'll make sure it gets out, Milady," the handmaiden assured Padmé. "I've took the liberty of sending for more fabric, in case there need to be more alterations…"

"Thanks, Ellé," Padmé said, gathering the collection of papers on her desk.

"Sure," said the handmaiden. She caught Anakin and Obi-Wan's eyes as she left, and, with a quick, quiet nod to them, she disappeared through the side arch.

Padmé busied herself for a moment, apparently unaware of the Jedi taking hesitant steps into her room. Then, suddenly, she drew a sharp breath and her hand leapt to her belly.

She held her fingers for a moment there. A small smile tugged at her lips.

"You're here," she said, turning in her seat to look at them. Her smile grew. "I thought you might be."

"Milady." Obi-Wan gave a gentle nod.

Padmé stood from her chair, and her dress hem pooled to the ground, rounding around her figure. Anakin knew it must have been a long time since Obi-Wan had seen her—over five months, or perhaps longer. Now, Padmé's face was fuller, her bodice more rounded, her belly large and swollen. Now, she moved more slowly.

Her dress streamed around her body like a kind of maroon waterfall as she moved toward them, and it was clear that she was not expecting any visitors, as the dress had far less shape as the others. Padmé preferred it that way, she had told Anakin when he had remarked on it. She hid her body enough when she was out.

"Obi-Wan." She embraced him, gripping his arms and kissing his cheek. "Thank you for coming."

Obi-Wan passed her a small smile. "Of course, Senator."

Padmé spared a brief, measuring glance towards Anakin. He knew what she was asking him, and his lips twitched in an attempt at an answering smile.

"I... I expect Anakin told you, then," Padmé said, drawing a breath as she turned back to Obi-Wan.

He inclined his head graciously. "He did."

Not for the first time, Anakin was glad that Obi-Wan and Padmé considered each other friends. Obi-Wan's docile gaze seemed to relax the tension in Padmé's shoulders.

"I'm so glad you can help us."

"Of course, Milady."

"You can just call me Padmé," she said gently. "I think we know each other well enough by now."

"Of course," Obi-Wan replied again, and his smile relaxed.

"Let's sit," Padmé told them, motioning to the collection of couches and chairs nearby. At Obi-Wan's motion that she should go first, her belly preceded her to one of the chairs. She lowered herself gingerly into it.

Obi-Wan approached more slowly, taking his time as he seated himself. "How is the... the baby?" he asked Padmé.

"Active." Padmé glanced at Anakin, who found a spot next to the Master. "Sometimes I worry he's too active. He's settled down today, except for that giant kick you witnessed coming in."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows rose. "He?" the Jedi Master echoed mildly.

"Oh," Padmé said with a self-reprimanding shake of her head. "We don't know for certain yet. I think it's a boy... Anakin thinks it's a girl."

"The Emdee droid didn't tell you?"

"No," she said. "I asked it not to."

"But the child is healthy?"

"I believe so," she said.

"Has its midi-chlorian count been taken?"

Padmé's eyes returned to Anakin's. They'd talked about it, but only the clinics—not the Emdee droids—offered such tests, and they had been trying to avoid such clinics. There had already been too many questions about the child's paternity. Plus the documentation at the clinics was thorough, and the Jedi would get word of any extraordinary sensitivity levels.

"Not yet," Anakin answered uneasily for them, knowing that their situation probably seemed more precarious by the minute. "We know it'll have to be done at birth."

Obi-Wan's hand came up to smooth his beard. "I think, then," he said, "the first step is to see a medical doctor. To make sure everything is okay."

Anakin had suspected he might say that. There was a good chance that neither of them would come out of this unscathed, because it wouldn't just be talk if the media found out—it would be scandal. Scandal if the Senator claimed the child didn't have a father; scandal if the Jedi knight claimed the child as his own. Probably the most scandal the media would get their hands on in a while. The ground dropped beneath him. Expulsion. That's what would happen to Anakin if he admitted he was the father.

"There're already rumors," Padmé said softly. "The newsholos love to gossip."

"I think your safety is more important than exposure, Milady," Obi-Wan said.

And seeking out safety was better than living in shadows. Hadn't Anakin felt recently that living in the shadows wasn't living at all? Perhaps Padmé had been right all those years ago. Perhaps they couldn't live a lie anymore.

"Perhaps it is," Padmé said softly.

Obi-Wan waited for the thought to sink in.

Padmé folded her hands in her lap, smoothing the fabric of her dress. "Do… do you think Anakin will be expelled?"

Obi-Wan took a while to answer. "I think he probably would be."

It felt strange hearing it from his master's mouth. But somehow that thought wasn't as disturbing as the possibility that Padmé wouldn't make it through.

"The Council wouldn't reconsider?"

"Anakin took an oath," Obi-Wan said carefully. "He pledged his life to the Jedi, to a life of service, and… nonattachments."

Padmé sat in furrowed contemplation. If her state ever got out, he knew they would fight about whether or not Anakin would claim the child. But they both knew what he would pick. Because he couldn't watch his child grow up without him. He was proud of the fact that he was the father. And Padmé knew it too.

She met Anakin's eye, and a multitude of emotions passed between them.

"Anakin…?"

"I know," he said, and the firmness of his voice surprised him. "I—I think we should do this. I've been thinking... I think it's better that we risk exposure."

She watched him for a long while. "But the Jedi—your dream…"

"I know."

Her brows creased, and he watched her with a hint of sadness. He knew. But he also knew it was better this way. Living in the shadows had grown overwhelming. He didn't want to hide anymore.

Padmé sat for a long, silent moment.

"Alright," she said finally, softly. Her eyes met his one final time, and he passed her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, though he only felt his lips twitch.

She rose to her feet with a small sigh, as if she had aged a great number, and her dress fluttered to the carpet. Anakin followed her a moment later, feeling the same weight on his limbs. So this was it.

"I—I hope you'll understand I'll do the most I can to help you."

Anakin and Padmé both paused to look at their old friend. More wrinkles lined his forehead and mouth than ever, and gray streaked his hair. But his eyes held the same warmth and genuineness they always had, and Anakin felt his chest constrict when he realized his master's claim was directed to him, too.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," Padmé said, shoulders sinking. Her hand came down to brush her belly's swell.

Obi-Wan's cheek pulled at his lip in the start of a smile, and Anakin managed to meet it.

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