Calma Verità :Alchemy Dream

A/N: Here's another part! Thank you so much for all of the positive remarks on the last chapter! I was very, very surprised, and very excited that it went over so well. Also, thank you to LincolnSixEcho, our Italian goddess for her correction! I'll be back with another chapter later in May (and hopefully far less dramatic)-wish me luck on my finals.

Please enjoy, and reviews are love.

Timeline: Very pre-ROTS. Padmé is carrying the twins. Anakin has long floppy hair (their hair is my timeline.)

Warnings: This chapter: Language, topic of abortion.

Summary: When Anakin's happily-ever-after with Padmé sours, he turns to Obi-Wan for advice. Just maybe, his happily-ever-after was a silent truth that was in front of him the whole time.

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A sharp buzzing from the door brought Padmé out of her reverie. She put down her hair brush on the vanity, and slowly rose, making her way to the door.

"Who could that be at this time of night?" she said aloud, tying her robe closed over her silk night dress. She slid her feet into a pair of matching beaded lavender slippers, and stood before the door.

"Senator Amidala, it's me. Would you open up," the deep voice said, a voice she instantly recognized. A smile broke over her lips, and she pulled the door open, her bloodshot brown eyes managing a small twinkle for the dark-haired man before her.

"Bail," she sighed, relieved to be in the company of someone. Bail Organa smiled an august smile right back at her, putting a warm, wide hand on her silky shoulder. She moved to usher the older man in, shutting the door behind him. "Bail, don't think for a moment I don't appreciate your company, but what brings you here so late?" she asked, bringing a hand over her mouth as she stifled a yawn. Bail handed her a red linen bag, topped with a little ribbon.

"You called for me, Padmé, remember?" Bail's eyes danced with amusement. "I know it can't begin to comfort you during times like these, but I hoped that...p..perhaps," Bail stuttered, looking down as she opened the bag.

"Oh, Bail!" she whispered, pulling out a single elaborate dark chocolate truffle, drizzled with a honeyed glaze. "They look wonderful," she said sadly, replacing it, and captured him in a friendly embrace.

"I...I hoped that you would like them. Breha always appreciates chocolate during hard times, I hoped you would be the same." Padmé laughed.

"I guess women are all alike," she said, turning as her smile fell. Bail cleared his throat, watching her face as the firelight reflected on her cheeks.

So beautiful...

"I don't think he's coming back, Bail," Padmé said, letting a tear run freely down her cheek. Bail had easily become her one of her sole confidantes, second only to her handmaiden. He always knew when something was amiss. He needed only to look at her face during Senate meetings, becoming aloof and disinterested. A sort of understanding had been made; Bail would never speak of her marriage, her pregnancy with the young Jedi Anakin Skywalker. He had been the first to know of the plans for abortion, although he remained painfully neutral on the subject. As Breha couldn't bear children, he had always longed to have several of his own, and couldn't imagine someone with the ability to bear children terminating that most desirable joy.

Of course, there were far different, and labyrinthine circumstances to which he couldn't relate. He stepped forward, not trusting himself to hold her. He had a wife, and his relationship with Senator Amidala was purely platonic.

"Padmé, it's only been a few hours. He will be back. Give him time. Breha and I have had arguments that have lasted for days, but...don't worry, Padmé. He just needs to think. With all due respect, my friend, he has every right to be upset with you," Bail said, lifting her chin with two fingers, "He's very tired, and very stressed. He's just come back from a mission, and-"

"Yes, but can no one ever see that I'm stressed as well, Bail?" she cried. "I may not fight physical wars, I don't use a lightsaber, and I certainly couldn't do what he does. I admire him greatly for his strength, his character, his ability to watch death after death and continue to be the sweet little Ani I met a decade ago. But," she said, her lips quivering, "I also fight wars. I fight in the arena of the Senate, I put on a calm face, just like the mask I wore as Queen. I am just as tired of the corruption, and just as he does, I carry the same lie. I carry the same threat with me, that should our relationship fall in the wrong hands, my career is finished. Bail...I love him. I love him more than anything in the galaxy. But I also love having a life of my own. Politics are all I've ever known." Padmé moved forwards and crouched in front of the fire.

"My lady...I don't have any words that would comfort you...but I extend my heart and my ears, and this offer to you." Padmé turned her head slightly. "A family, children are a career of their own. Though I cannot say from experience, I imagine the experience you and Master Skywalker would have would be beautiful. To have a family that neither of you really ever saw, from what you tell me! Should you choose to resign your duties in favour of having his children, you-and Anakin of course-are welcome to come to Alderaan, live with Breha and I. You would be welcomed with open arms, and offered a choice apartment with a beautiful view of the mountains," he said, excitedly, opening his arms symbolically. Padmé smiled as another tear slid down past her chin and onto the carpet.

"Bail...I don't know what to say...I...it sounds so beautiful. I will keep it in my heart, Bail. Thank you," she cooed gently, wrapping her arms around her belly.

An apartment on Alderaan? With Bail and the Queen? How beautiful! She thought. As beautiful as Naboo, but much safer in the company of her friends, people in power. Her mind began regressing to the early days of her pregnancy, to thoughts of her and Anakin fixing up their new home, of finally having a kitchen to cook for him in, of being a real wife and not a politician, of her husband being solely married to her and their child, not her and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Of finally having this man she adored all to herself.

Oh, Anakin...what is the right thing to do?

An outstretched hand was visible to her right, and Bail slowly pulled her up, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Padmé, tell me if there's anything I can do for you. And if you decide in the affirmative on my offer, you only need give word to me, or even Breha. She has been worried, and nags me on a daily basis about you. You always have family on Alderaan."

"Bail...you are far too kind to us. How can you be a politician?" Bail chuckled, looking down. For such a presence, he was remarkably shy.

"It is no trouble, not for you, my lady. Get some rest now, have some chocolate. Think."

"I will. Thank you for your trouble. My mind is at ease now," she lied a little. Bail beamed a bit, before striding to the door. He bowed gracefully before her, and she nodded her head with gratitude.

As the door closed, she let out a sigh. Alone again, in her empty apartment. Her finger went up to gently twist the chestnut ringlets around her ears as she looked about in the firelight. Her thoughts were quickly redirected to the obvious absence. Echoes of Anakin's familiar laughter, the ghost of his tall, filthy boots placed by the bedroom door. She grinned bitterly, looking at the table that, when her husband was around, was littered with cups filled with various drinks. Anakin always had a habit of drinking half a cup of his juice, or water, or tea, or ale, and a half hour later, forgetting there was already a glass out, would get another one. It was an endless cycle, and resulted in gallons of wasted drinks. She choked out a sob, masked as a cough. She missed him dearly. Shedding her robe and slippers, she made her way to her bedroom, securing the door and sliding between the soft, satiny sheets that still bore his heady scent from yesterday.

"Anakin..." she cried, as she pulled the duvets over her body, resting her hand above her stomach. Her liquid brown eyes drifted out the window, and her thoughts were full of love and regret as she watched the Coruscanti traffic pulsing endlessly outside. Never ceasing. She wondered if Anakin was out there.

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There was something comforting about the sound of Obi-Wan peeing in the morning.

It was the strangest thing. Anakin shifted slightly on the sleeper sofa in the cocoon of blankets Obi-Wan had practically wrapped him in last night. He had tried to convince the man that he only really needed a pillow and a blanket, or even a sheet, but instead, his Master had draped him with two sheets and a thick red patchwork quilt from his own bed, all of which Anakin had tacoed himself in on the couch over the course of the night. The couch was actually rather comfortable, large and accommodating as a bed just as much as a seating unit. Of course, he wouldn't have complained in any case.

Words weren't exchanged in the night, as both men were too exhausted, and Anakin's wounds too fresh to be prodded. Obi-Wan had simply tended to his bedding crisis, and patted him on the shoulder, whispering his goodnights before disappearing behind his bedroom door. Anakin had fallen asleep almost as soon as he hit his pillow, cuddling up in the odd comfort he took in the familiarly masculine scent he breathed through Obi-Wan's quilt. It brought to mind situations of sleeping too close for comfort in a lone tent on an obscure planet, of being reluctantly wrapped against Obi-Wan's chest as a child. It smelled like sandalwood. And fresh water. And...the subtle ambrosial scent unique to men, almost more alluring than the scent of a female. The sparse apartment was full of familiar comforts.

Including Obi-Wan's early morning bathroom rituals.

Obi-Wan revered his early morning peeing. How many mornings had Anakin, ever a light sleeper, heard his Master slip out of his room at exactly six a.m., saunter to the washroom, and pee for what seemed like an eon? It was as if he saved it all up during the course of the day for that one time in the morning when he had some peace and privacy.

Anakin simply laid, his chest rising and falling under the blankets, reveling in the warmth of his habitat, listening to Obi-Wan relieve himself. In the beginning, it was a steady stream, becoming a soft trickle, and then a clearing of the throat ending with a yawn, a scratching of the belly, and a washing of the hands. The washroom door opened, and there were footsteps down the hallway toward the common room, toward Anakin's makeshift bedroom. Anakin's heart sped up, and he quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep like a child caught awake at midnight. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to seem vulnerable.

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Obi-Wan stifled a yawn as he approached the back of the couch, placing a hand on the soft cushioning. Looking down in the early morning darkness, he made out the contours of a young man's soft breathing underneath his red quilt. Anakin's haphazard curls spilled out over the white pillow, his lashes dusting his cheeks, pink in sleep. The blanket was pulled up over his nose, his fingers curled around the fraying edge. He smiled a little, noting the long, tanned toes that stuck out at the end over the edge of the sofa.

He felt his heart clench inside. Anakin looked younger when he slept. It was times like this that he could see the little boy he had practically raised, when he used to wander aimlessly into his bedroom some nights, checking that he wasn't dreaming, that he was asleep, that he wasn't on the floor with a flashlight tinkering with a new droid to trick him with. He had often felt like a new parent, not exactly aching to be with Anakin, but drawn to him, driven by instinct to peek in that bedroom, sometimes even stand at the edge of the bed, witness that compact bundle of raw energy at rest. But here, now, Anakin looked defeated. As if sleep was his escape, and one he intended to stay lost in for an eternity. Obi-Wan had often revered sleep as an intimate act. The ultimate vulnerability, when the body and mind rested, where the subconscious took over. Anakin was, in fact, only the third person he had ever fallen asleep next to. He hated people watching him sleep, and felt slightly voyeuristic watching Anakin. Anakin shifted slightly, turning towards the back of the couch, and burrowing his face into the corner where the cushions met.

He's going to suffocate himself, Obi-Wan thought, resisting the urge to turn Anakin back over. He's twenty-one years old. He doesn't need me. Obi-Wan pried himself from the vision of his sleeping apprentice, and wandered into the kitchen, his bare feet sticking a little to the linoleum floor. He waved the little stove light on, and began the task of preparing breakfast. Looking in the cupboard, he pulled out a mostly empty bag of wheat flour for pancakes. In the refrigerator, there was only curdled milk, and one egg. He searched the refrigerator, surprised at how little he had. With the absence of Anakin's voracious appetite, he had had to adjust his grocery habits, buying only a little for himself.

The milk is out of date, no fruit, one slice of bread left...Force, did I think I wouldn't need to eat again? He thought, shuffling things around in the cupboards. The alcohol cabinet was stocked and ready, of course, but there was little of nutritional value to be found. Sighing loudly in the gloom of early morning Coruscant, Obi-Wan began putting on a pot of water for tea, and retrieved his dark brown robe from the nail in the wall.

I suppose it's a cafeteria breakfast for us, Anakin. The door closed softly, and he made his way to the Temple Kitchen, in vain hopes of something delicious.

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Anakin stirred at the clanking of plates and dishes, the rattling of sacks and utensils, and the smell of hot food. In his attempt to seem asleep, he actually had fallen asleep. The bleary sun had since risen, and Anakin shielded his eyes from the little bit of light that reflected off the durasteel city. He shuffled a little on the couch, moving to sit and look around the kitchen at Obi-Wan setting up the table. He felt a smile creep onto his face at the older man, hurriedly pulling small boxes of food from a large sack, divvying it all into portions on two plates. He stopped to run a hand through his messy copper hair, brushing the other over his mustache for a moment in thought. Suddenly, he remembered something and snapped his fingers, going to the kettle and pouring two steaming cups of black tea, setting them beside the breakfasts. Anakin stood up, keeping the quilt wrapped around his bare shoulders, and made his way to the table. Obi-Wan looked up shamefully, turning his back to grab some napkins from a drawer.

"I have apparently been down on the job, Anakin. I'm sorry you have to settle for cafe food today...it is unacceptable," Obi-Wan said, somewhat gruffly. Anakin laughed, clear as a bell at Obi-Wan's frustration with himself.

"What makes you think I have any groceries in my apartment, Master? This is perfectly fine," he said, settling into the chair, waiting for Obi-Wan to slow down and join him.

"Well, perhaps you'd join me at the market this afternoon, then? It'd at least...get your mind off things for a moment." Anakin looked down at his plate, sullenly remembering the occasion for his visit. He nodded, and began tearing into the sloppy orange omelet. Obi-Wan had an equally grotesque reaction, but stomached his far worse than Anakin, being ever the picky cook.

"For Force sake, how much cheese did they think this bloody thing needed? I can't even eat this. I'll be clogged for a month." Anakin laughed, tossing his head back.

"Well, believe it or not, it's the best food I've had in a month. Padmé's cooking leaves a lot to be desired." Obi-Wan stifled his bristling at her mention, and smiled.

"Oh really? Perhaps you should teach her?"

"We want her to be capable, Master, not retarded. But," he paused to take a bite of soggy toast, "she does her best. She's very good with pasta, but she wants to become a vegetarian, and she refuses to cook any meat, even eggs. She's horrible at baking, too. I guess I keep comparing her lasagna with yours, which is mistake number one." Obi-Wan laughed at this, wiping his mouth and pushing his plate aside.

"I appreciate you feathering my ego, Anakin. But I have a lot to learn."

"How did you learn to cook, Master?" Anakin asked, happy for unstrained conversation.

"Well...mostly out of necessity. After all, I had a young boy with a hideous appetite to look after. Especially since he was so socially awkward that he wouldn't eat in the food hall with the other Padawans. But before that," he smiled sadly, sipping the tea, "Master Qui-Gon was of help. He was a fantastic cook, Anakin. It was his spe-ci-ality, upped only by his use of the Force. I wish you'd known his food, it puts mine to shame."

"What did he make?" Anakin asked, not really caring, but not willing to risk silence.

"My favourite was-you guessed it-his lasagna. That's where I got the recipe. However, he uses Corellian brandy in the recipe, and not the white wine I use. I always forget it at the market, though. He also used more spice than I do," Obi-Wan trailed off, lost in memory. Anakin cleared his throat, an ancient jealousy rearing it's head.

"Thank you, Master. It was...quite good." Obi-Wan smiled, and watched Anakin take a sip of tea before rising and rushing to the washroom, completely at home. In a moment, the 'fresher started, and he began clearing away the dishes, making a mental note to remind Anakin that while he was here, he still had to to help with chores.

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"M'lady?" Sabé ventured as she pulled her mistress's long curls back, twisting them into a coiling rope. The young handmaiden who had been the Nubian Queen's best friend and decoy had been called back to her after the period of the Clone Wars, when all of her Senatorial handmaidens, including the ever devoted Dormé had been dismissed. Padmé required someone to stay with her for the duration of her pregnancy, especially without Anakin present, and could think of no one better than her dear Sabé. Padmé remained silent as she dusted her face with the soft loose powder. Just as her clothes and suites were some of the most luxuriant in the galaxy, her cosmetics were just as fine. The powder was made from ground sands from Capza, a resort renowned for its pinkish sparkling beaches. Crushed into soft, tiny grains, they made her skin shimmer, bringing a blush of youth she would never lose. Her eyes were thinly lined with brown kohl, her somewhat short lashes adorned with tiny brown feathers. She pursed her plump lips together, staining them with the red pigment. It was time to play Senator again.

"He hit you, didn't he, m'lady..." Sabé said softly, tucking a veil around the coiled topknot and securing it with two long ruby spears.

"No, Sabé, he didn't. And frankly, it's none of your concern," Padmé snapped, all the time keeping up her mask. Sabé's head fell, nervously tending to her work, clasping the japor snippet around her neck and letting it fall between her breasts. Padmé cursed mentally, and stood suddenly.

"Sabe...I..." Padmé reached out, and pulled her handmaiden to her in a crushing hug. She tucked her head against Sabé's neck, trying to hold back her tears. It would only ruin Sabe's diligent eye-job. Sabe slowly stroked her mistress's back, and caressed the velvet of her gown.

"I know, m'lady. It'll be alright. He'll be back," Sabé offered, kissing Padmé's cheek. "But should he ever touch you..."

"I know. He wouldn't, Sabé. He's my husband. Anakin loves me very much," she paused for a moment, "Sabé ...what would you say if," she licked her lips, tasting the sweet sugary lipstick, "if I resigned from being Senator?" Sabé gasped a little, genuinely shocked.

"If It is what you wish, m'l...Padmé. But...will I follow you to-"

"To Alderaan? Yes, Sabé, of course. You are my only true confidante. You are like my sister." Padmé moved to sit again, and Sabé smiled, tears filling her eyes. She tugged nervously at her draping pink and orange robes.

"So you will have his child, Padmé?" she asked as she checked to be sure Padmé's pregnancy wouldn't show through the gown. She slid her hands over her mistress's belly lovingly, and pulled at the silky fabric along the cape.

Padmé remained silent, lost in thought and questioning herself in the clear mirror.

Anakin...

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Obi-Wan Kenobi never thought he would have to use his superior Force-sensitive skills to find his apprentice in the grocery store. He sighed, just deciding to continue with his shopping, and looked in his already full shopping bag. Perhaps the two of them had gotten a little carried away?

Anakin had nearly cleaned the instant pudding section out, leaving nothing but vanilla flavoured pouches behind. Also, there were two jars of peanut butter, two sacks of wheat flour, around five pounds of interplanetary fruits, mostly organically grown on Naboo, three boxes of black, green, and medeis tea, eggs, a gallon of blue milk, and an assortment of other ingredients and snacks.

"I found you," Anakin breathed, dumping another armful of stuff into the sack. Obi-Wan's arms sagged with the load, and handed the younger man the heavy sack.

"I'm tired of carrying it, it's your turn. I told you we needed two sacks, one for you and..."

"Oh, stop your whining, old timer. That's it. And," Anakin held out a dark amber bottle, "can we make lasagna tonight, Master?" Obi-Wan smiled at the small bottle of Corellian brandy and nodded. He had been thinking the same thing.

They stepped up to the line, and Anakin and Obi-Wan began unloading the large canvas sack, watching the items fly past on the conveyor belt. A very young Twi'leki girl dressed in very little rang up all of the items, putting them into another sack, while smacking on some flavoured putty. She couldn't have been over twelve. Anakin looked at Obi-Wan strangely, whispering.

"Master, maybe I'm crazy, but does Coruscant not have child labor laws?" Obi-Wan frowned a little, making sure the girl wasn't looking. He spoke over their bond.

She's probably a failing prostitute, Anakin. Many female Twi'leki children are sent to Coruscant to make money the best they know how.

Anakin bit his lip. A child, a daughter to someone, a prostitute? He had seen it before, laughed at the whores of Coruscant, demeaned them, passed them without a moment's thought.

Why then did it bother him so much now, to see this young girl, a whore of twelve, ringing up their groceries?

Pushing it from his mind, Anakin smiled at the girl, and helped her load the items into the bag.

"Payment?" she said softly.

"Republic credit, oh and please take an extra five percent of the tab," Anakin replied, fishing for his and Obi-Wan's joint credit chip. She slid it in the small slot, and returned it. She offered a thankful, lusty smile, and he looked away, uncomfortable.

"Come back sometime, Jedi," the Twi'lek said as she began scanning the next in line's items.

Obi-Wan could feel the anger roiling off of Anakin. He quickly caught up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"What was that all about, Anakin?"

"Nothing, Master," Anakin said nonchalantly, setting the sack in the back of Obi-Wan's yellow speeder. "You want to drive?"

"No...no. You can. I'm sure your patience can't handle my piloting skills," Obi-Wan half-joked. Anakin flung himself into the seat, buckling himself in. Obi-Wan followed, his eyes never leaving Anakin.

Something was very wrong with his counterpart.

"Anakin, tell me what's on your mind. I've left it alone since last night, but it's clear now that-whoa!" he lurched closer to Anakin as the boy steered between two much larger vehicles. The speeder shook, and Obi-Wan turned to check that their food was still intact. It only got worse from there. Anakin kept speeding up, racing in between small spaces Obi-Wan would have determined too dangerous to squeeze through.

"Anakin! Slow down!" Anakin clenched his jaw.

"How can people cast out their children like that, Obi-Wan?" he said coolly, his expression giving him away.

"What?" Obi-Wan said, holding on to the grips on the side of the door.

"How can people let their children become whores? Let them work among the basest of Coruscant?" he repeated, his voice rising.

"Are you still on that? Anakin, we've discussed this. As unjust as it is, Coruscant-among other worlds-is a pyramid. There are politicians, there are warriors, there are workers, there are artisans, there are whores. It's the way of the galaxy."

"Well, it isn't fair. They deserve a chance." Obi-Wan sighed. He was used to Anakin's mood swings, but this one was completely unexpected.

"Anakin, no one ever said anything was fair. Talk to me, tell me what's bothering you. It's something deeper than that market worker, I can feel it. You're aching," Obi-Wan said, feeling a few drops of rain spattering on his face. "Put the top up, Anakin," he said, reaching back to close the bag further.

"We're almost home," Anakin griped. But quickly, the weather deteriorated, and one of Coruscant's heavy storms engulfed them.

"Put the top up, Anakin!" Obi-Wan yelled over the rain. The sky had grown dark amongst the lights from the speeders, and the neon lights of bars and shops coming on automatically. When Anakin refused, Obi-Wan put his arm over to the steering bar, and not-so gently, pulled them to a halt.

"I said put the damned top up, Anakin." His eyes burned with irritation at his moody apprentice. Anakin smirked snottily at him, and jammed his foot down on the latch, the top sliding from its hidden compartment behind the back seat, and encapsulating them. The speeder was suddenly lost in the sounds of the rain pattering on the plastiglass, and the sounds of citizens blaring horns at the motionless yellow obstruction. Anakin's nostrils flared, and his heart began pounding in his ears.

"You wanna know what's wrong? My fucking wife is pregnant, Obi-Wan. Three months pregnant," Anakin shouted, then becoming still, and shaking. His face fell, realizing the futility of being angry with Obi-Wan for pressing him.

Obi-Wan was all he had, and he refused to lose him.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, shaken, as he closed his eyes. He pushed back his Jedi mentality for the time being. There would be plenty of time to reprimand Anakin in the near future. "Why are you so angry?" he asked, lacing his fingers in the curls on the nape of Anakin's neck, comforting him as he would a tense animal. Anakin's eyes, once again, filled with tears. He reached up to dig at the corner of his eye. A flood of images racked his brain. Images of their wedding, of the nights he would creep into the Senate district from the Temple, of nights spent between her sheets. They slowly became memories, not realities.

"She's decided to terminate."

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Close my eyes
Feel me now
I don't know how you could not love me now
You will know, with her feet down to the ground
Over there, and I want true love to grow
You can't hide, oh no, from the way I feel

-My Bloody Valentine - "Sometimes"

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