A/N: I'm back again with another multi-chapter Anidala story. This is basically my take on the missing moments at the end of AOTC. Consider this my Christmas gift to you all (because in Australia it is Christmas Eve today).

I hope you enjoy xx

I'm dead. They're the first words Anakin Skywalker thinks when he blinks his eyes open after spending the last twenty-four hours under heavy anaesthetic. He is sure of it. He's died and gone to Heaven, or wherever it is you go once you die, because there is an Angel above him. The most beautiful angel he's ever laid eyes on. He's sure she's an angel, for her lovely features are outlined in a glorious, golden light. It takes a while for his eyes to completely focus, but when they do, he sees warm, beautiful eyes of the darkest chocolate, a tiny straight nose, high cheekbones and perfect pink lips parted to reveal the tips of pretty white teeth. Such beauty. Only an Angel could be this perfect.

She says his name, "Anakin," and it is the sweetest sound he has ever heard. It washes over him like a warm, summer breeze. He wishes he could speak, but his mouth has forgotten how to move. She has captivated him. There is a deeply worried look in her eyes that makes him want to hold her, but his body is numb. So, he simply blinks back at her.

"Ani," she says again, and he feels her weight shift as she sits down on the cot beside his limp form. A small, warm hand touches his own, real flesh one, softly, tentatively, but it is enough to cause the most powerful reaction inside him. Fire licks across where her skin touches his, shooting up his arm, right to his rapidly beating heart. His pulse pounds loudly in his ear and he is sure she can hear it. It is deafening.

When Anakin finally regains control of his mouth again, it is only to utter her name. "Padmé…" It falls from his lips like a prayer, softly, full of reverence, and his fingers twitch, desperate to close around her own. The sound of his voice brings a gorgeous smile to her face and her entire expression brightens. Anakin knows he will do anything to have her smile at him like that for the rest of his life.

"How are you feeling?" she asks as her fingers gently trace his own, delicately running over his knuckles. Her eyes flick over to his new arm, his mechanical arm, for the briefest of seconds, before they return to his face. He wonders what she thinks of his prosthetic, whether it repulses her. It should, he thinks bitterly. As grateful as he is that his arm has been replaced, he wants to be nothing less than perfect for her, and now he is flawed.

All he says in return is, "I've felt worse," and the blunt tone makes her laugh, a little girlish giggle that makes her nose scrunch up and the skin around her eyes crinkle and it only makes her look more perfect in his eyes. She outshines the stars. Senator Padmé Amidala is the most beautiful creature in the world, Anakin swears it.

Once again, her gaze fixes on his prosthetic arm. She's a curious thing. Her hand reaches out and hovers over it, but she pauses, as though she isn't quite sure whether she wants to touch it. Anakin encourages her with a small nod, and she ghosts her fingers over the cool metal. He can't feel it, but he knows she's touching him, because she makes a surprised little gasp in the back of her throat. Clearly, she was expecting something different. Her smooth, dainty fingers glide over his prosthetic experimentally, and Anakin watches her, fascinated by the inquisitive expression on her face.

"Does it hurt?" she asks quietly, and stills her hand in his palm, afraid of putting him in pain. It does hurt. There is a constant ache in his shoulder where his prosthetic meets his true flesh and bone and it throbs without cause, but he doesn't tell her that. He doesn't want to worry her.

"The meds help," he tells her, quirking his lips into a smirk and she grins back at him. Anakin takes this moment to surprise her and closes his fist around her hand, making her jolt a little. Her eyes widened considerably as she gazes at their entwined hands. Those perfect, pink lips of hers part and she exhales sharply. Anakin is captivated by her every action, her every expression. He knows he would be content watching her for the rest of his life.

Her hand squeezes his firmly and she flicks her eyes back to his face to gauge his reaction. "What does it feel like?"

"Weird," he tells her honestly. It's the only apt description he can come up with. While he knows the arm is there, and knows that he is holding her hand, he can't feel anything. It's the most bizarre feeling.

Padmé nods her head and smiles kindly at him. "The medical droid says you should gain feeling in a few days."

Good, he thinks to himself, wryly. It feels weird having a arm that is completely useless. It is almost as though it isn't even there. Experimentally, he flexes his fingers gingerly, watching the metal curl inwards and then snap back. Like a true hand. It does not creak or make noise. The engineers have done a wonderful job, there is no friction as he watches his fingers dance. Padmé watches too, and the sit in silence for a while, letting the hum of the medical bay lull them into an easy, relaxed state.

Anakin grows pensive, his mind running through all of the events leading up to this moment. Obi-wan's capture, he and Padmé going to Geonosis to rescue him and being capture themselves, her unexpected confession of love for him... It is this thought that plagues him the most. She loved him. She'd told him she loved him and then she'd kissed him and then they were sent off to die. Regardless of how insanely happy her confession had made him, he can't help but wonder if it was all a lie. Was it still true, now that their lives were not in danger? Had she meant it? Or was it merely her emotions, the adrenaline, that had gotten the best of her.

His eyes scan her face, tracing over every beloved curve and crease and he wonders whether she's thinking about this, too? Whether it means as much to her as it does to him. Anakin knows he loves her, he supposes he always has, but it had never been reciprocal. He is a Jedi - attachments of any sort of forbidden, let alone love. He always knew he would simply love her from afar, watch her marry another man, perhaps even a senator, and live a long and happy life. But now, everything has changed. If she loves him too, then Anakin feels he has to do something. Love isn't a bad thing, is it? It couldn't be. It certainly didn't feel bad.

The burning question is right there, on the tip of his tongue. Did you mean it? And yet, he can't bring himself to ask it. Padmé doesn't bring it up either, and so Anakin takes the hidden meaning to believe that she doesn't love him. How could she? She, a beautiful, passionate, brilliant Senator, could do so much better than a young, reckless Jedi padawan. He has nothing to offer her; they could never go public, they would have to live in secret, they could never raise a family without drawing attention to themselves. It is not a life many women would chose to live, and Anakin can't bring himself to disrespect her so.

So, he says nothing. The medical droid appears once again, to give Anakin his next dosage of pain killers. Padmé goes to leave, when he reaches for her hand, grasping her fingers with his flesh ones. "Stay. Please." She nods her head and does what he requests, sitting back down beside him and holding his hand until he drifts off into an unconscious sleep.

Padmé Amidala never thought she'd ever use the word beautiful to describe a man, but as she watches Anakin sleep, she decides that it is the only fitting description for him. He is simply beautiful. He eyes quiver underneath his closed lids as he dreams, his plump lips are parted just enough, but not too much, his nostrils flare with every inhale. His head is tilted slightly off to the side, his padawan braid spilling down his neck. The harsh, fluorescent glow of the medical bay lights cast harsh shadows across his blissful face, and yet he has never looked more beautiful to her. It's unfair, really, for someone to look so utterly perfect, and yet she can't even muster the strength to be mad at him.

She wants to reach out and touch him, feel his soft, smooth skin beneath her inquisitive fingers, longs to smooth out the crease in his brow with her lips, but she doesn't. She knows better. He is a Jedi. He is off limits, to her, to everyone, but that doesn't mean she can't admire him. Anakin's grip on her hand is weaker than it was before he went to sleep, yet she knows if removes her hand, he will wake up, so she doesn't disturb him. He's been through so much over the past few days. First he lost his mother, and then he almost lost Obi-wan, and then he succeeded in losing his arm. Rest is what he needs most.

He stirs and mutters something, an incoherent moan, and Padmé smiles fondly at him, wondering what he is dreaming about. Are you dreaming of me, Ani? Lately, Padmé dreams have been filled with Anakin. She recalls everything, every conversation they've ever had, every touch of his hand against hers, every sweet kiss... a flush rushes to her cheeks at the thought and her eyes instinctively rest on his lips. She is not new to romance, at least, she is not new to kissing. There have been two others in the past who she had deemed worthy enough for her affection. And yet, never had she thought that kissing Anakin Skywalker would be the single greatest experience of her life. How can one who is so unavailable feel so absolutely wonderful? While his hands are calloused and hardened from years of training, his lips were as soft as silk as they brushed against hers. At the memory, she brings her fingers up to her mouth and closes her eyes. A familiar ache resides low in her core as she remembers his trembling lips moving with hers beside the lake at Varykino.

The pleasant memories are interrupted by another groan from Anakin. This one is louder, deeper, with a hint of distress. His eyes are clenched shut and his hand closes tighter around hers. "No... no, no..." he mutters under his breath and his head thrashes against the pillow. Padmé watches in horror, placing a hand on his chest, trying to wake him. "Master..." he rasps. "No! No!"

"Ani," Padmé calls to him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, but his head his moving too violently. "Ani, please, wake up." It breaks her heart to see him like this, so vulnerable and helpless, so unlike the brave, fearless Jedi she knows he is.

He doesn't hear her. "Padmé," he moans. "No!" and suddenly his eyes flash open and focus on her face. His golden skin is shining with perspiration and he goes to sit up, when she stops him with a press of her hand.

"It's alright, Ani," she tells him in soothing tones. Her hand smooths up the fabric of his of medical gown to caress the side of his face gently, and Anakin sighs into her touch. She knows just how much her presence calms him and uses it to help him. "It was only a dream."

Those intoxicating blue eyes hold her captive for several minutes, piercing through her into her very soul. Padmé does not shy away from the intensity of it. Instead, she embraces it, basks in it. It gives her a certain thrill to know that she is the only person who has ever been gazed at like this. She is mesmerised by the delicate beads of sweat pooling in the crease of his upper lip, and a part of her longs to flick out her tongue and taste him, sip it from his skin.

She stays where she is.

Anakin's eyes never leave hers as he reaches up with his new, robotic arm, to stroke her cheek. When he is mere millimetres from her, he freezes, eyes widening in horror, and Padmé realises that he is afraid to touch her with his prosthetic. It is a silly fear, for she cares not about his prosthetic. It serves as a reminder for how brave he is, how much he has sacrificed for the good of the Republic. It makes her proud. "You can touch me, Ani," she reassures him. "I don't mind."

He swallows and Padmé watches his Adams apple bob in his throat, but his hand remains perfectly still. With a sad smile, she takes his hand and moves it up to her cheek, reiterating her words. Anakin says nothing as his metals fingers ghost over her cheekbone and up to her temple. It is a strange feeling, so cold and hard, and yet she can't deny the shivers the shoot down her spine. He takes his time, as though he is memorising every line of her face in case he ever forgot and she lets him.

"I thought I lost you again," he whispers, his voice trembling, and her heart reaches out to him.

She gives his flesh hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere."

It is a lie and the pit in her stomach drops as she realises how wrong she is. In a few days, she will be going back to Naboo. The Chancellor has granted her a few weeks respite after her ordeal on Geonosis. She will return to Varykino. And Anakin will go to war with the rest of the Jedi. Their time together is at an end, Padmé knows this, and yet she can't bring herself to remind him of that fact. How can she, when he is so vulnerable, when his eyes are searching her face for some kind of hope?

He knows it too, she can tell by his expression, but he says nothing more and his hand drops back onto the bed beside him. Padmé takes the opportunity to find a damp cloth and tends to his forehead, wiping the sweat off his brow. "You don't need to do that," he mutters in partial embarrassment.

Padmé shushes him. "I want to." She wants to take care of him, because it may be the last time she can and she wants to savour every minute spent with him.

Anakin grins at her stubbornness and reaches up with his flesh hand to take a hold of her wrist. "Stop. I'm fine."

She huffs at him, petulantly. He can be so infuriating sometimes, so arrogant that he can't even accept a little help. "Anakin Skywalker, let me take care of you," she growls at him. Then, her expression grows sad and she drops her voice. "It may be the last time."

The air around them grows tense and thick and Padmé sinks her teeth into the cushion of her bottom lip, willing herself not to fall apart. Instead, she concentrates on Anakin's thumb rubbing soothing circles on her wristbone and busies herself with patting his forehead and straightening his medical gown. She refuses to look at him directly, for she knows what she will find in his eyes and she can't handle that right now. Sighing, she draws her attention to the drip hanging beside him, and notices that his fluids are running low. With purpose, she stands up and announces, "I'm going to find a medical droid. You need more fluids."

Anakin's eyes never leave her retreating form as she leaves, they burn into her skin and make her feel more vulnerable than ever. With a silent curse, she refuses to look back. If she did, she might never leave.

It is so much cooler outside Anakin's room, the air is thin and clearer and Padmé can breathe easier out here. She finds Obi-Wan sitting on a lounge out in the sitting room and his head snaps up at her presence. Poor man, she thinks miserably. He has been through so much too and it can't be easy always chasing after Anakin. It is a miracle that his hair hasn't turned grey. There is a tired expression in his sea-green eyes and she wonders whether he has even slept at all? Whether he is plagued by the same terrifying nightmares that cripple his Padawan.

"How is he?" Obi-Wan asks as she takes a seat beside him.

She smiles. "Awake. You should go and see him. He'd like that." The older Jedi nods gravely but makes no attempt to move. There is something troubling him, she can tell, but whatever it is, she does not press him. Padmé has a lot of respect for Obi-Wan Kenobi - he is everything a Jedi should be; brave, calm, good. Not for the first time, she is glad that Anakin has him for a Master. "Have you seen a medical droid?" she asks him. "Ani needs more fluids."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "No." When he says nothing more, she makes to stand up, when the Jedi reaches out and touches her hand, silently asking her to stay. "Senator Amidala, may I speak honestly?"

His formality makes her laugh. "We have known each other far too long for such formalities, Obi-Wan. Please, call me Padmé."

"Padmé," he says with a nod.

She closes her hand over his, prompting him gently. "What is it you wish to speak to me about?"

He says nothing for a moment and merely closes his eyes. From his composure, Padmé is a little concerned. What does he want to tell her? It must be serious, otherwise he would have mentioned it already. She hides her impeding worry with a gracious smile and waits patiently for him to continue. When he opens his eyes again, there is a deep sadness swimming there.

"What are you intentions with Anakin?" he finally asks, his voice soft.

The question takes her by surprise and she makes a small noise in the back of her throat, her eyes growing wide. Her intentions? What does he mean by that? As far as Padmé is aware, she has no intentions. She knows that they cannot logically be together, she knows it has to come to an end, whatever it is. "I don't know what you mean."

Obi-Wan sighs heavily. "You may not know this, but Anakin harbours deep feelings for you, Padmé. As a Jedi, he is forbidden to form attachments. Most Jedi understand this, but Anakin..." he breaks off sadly and his eyes drift towards his room. "Anakin feels too much. He often let's his emotions get the best of him."

Padmé nods. This she knows. She's seen it first hand. His anger, his grief, it had overwhelmed him and he had lost all control, and avenged his mother in the only way he felt was right. She didn't like thinking about it; for she was torn between being horrified and being sympathetic. As horrible as it was, what he had done, Padmé couldn't help but feel a sense of justice. She had always been against slavery. A part of her believed the Tuskan Raiders got what they deserved.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks.

"Because I worry about him. His attachment to you runs deep. He will do anything to protect, even if that means rejecting the Order, even if it is not the right thing... I know it is not proper to ask a lady such personal questions, but I need to know what your intentions are, for Anakin's sake. Do you return his feelings?"

Padmé froze. A hard lump formed in her throat and that pit in her stomach dropped. Yes, she wanted to say. I love him. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. The fact that she returned his feelings only made the situation that much worse. It couldn't happen, she knew that. They could never be together, regardless of what they felt for each other. If she was being honest with herself, she regretted telling him her true feelings. If she'd known they were going to survive, she would have kept them hidden away. Now, she'd given him hope, even if it was just a sliver, only to tear him down.

"No," she lied. "I care for Anakin as a friend, nothing more."

"Then you must tell him at once," Obi-Wan pleads desperately, clutching her hand tightly and staring deeply into her eyes. "His infatuation will only grow stronger the longer he is kept in the dark. You must end it, Padmé. It will hurt him, I know, but he will soon move on and it will all be for the better. Promise me, Padmé. Promise me you'll do this, for me, for Anakin."

Padmé swallows. Her heart is racing. She knows what Obi-Wan asks of her is for Anakin's benefit. Still, she doesn't know if she could do that to him. Even if it is the right thing to do. She would break his heart. His emotions are fragile enough as it is. It would tear him apart. And yet, there is an underlying truth to the older Jedi's words. Eventually, he would move on, and all would be set right.

She nods her head slowly and whispers, "I promise," and the sigh of relief that escapes Obi-Wan's lips informs her that she's done the right thing. Obi-Wan stands and smooths his robes, wishing her good day as he retreats into Anakin's room, leaving Padmé alone and distraught on the lounge.

If it's the right thing to do, why does it feel so wrong?

He expects a medical droid as the door slowly opens, and is pleasantly surprised when he recognises his Master's face peering into the room. In this moment, Obi-Wan Kenobi looks far older than his thirty-five years. His expression is grave, his face lined with worry and there are dark circles under his eyes that indicate he hasn't slept. He's been worrying about me again.

Anakin beckons him inside with sly grin. "Anyone would think you're the one who lost an arm, Master," he quips, light-heartedly as the older Jedi approaches his side and sits on the end of his bed.

Chuckling, Obi-Wan shakes his head. "You are going to make me grey before my time, Anakin," he sighs, though his lips quirk into a familiar smirk.

"Someone has to keep you on your toes," Anakin informs him smugly, raising his eyebrows. "I help you stay young and youthful. I'm doing you a favour." He can sense there is something troubling his master, something other than the fact that his padawan is lying in a hospital bed with a robotic arm. Normally, he would pester his master for answer, but he is too tired. Obi-Wan will tell him when he feels the time is right.

"How are you feeling?"

Anakin shrugs. "I've felt worse." When his arm had been sliced off. The thought makes him narrow his eyes and a surge of anger courses through him. "If I ever meet Dooku again, I'll make him wish he'd cut off both my arms," he hissesdarkly.

His words distress his master, but Anakin doesn't care. He wants Dooku to pay for everything he has done, not just to himself, but to the Republic. There is war in the galaxy, a galaxy that had been in an era of peace for decades, and it is all the fault of the Sith. The thought makes Anakin's blood boil. He can't wait until he is fully healed, so he can join Master Windu and the other Jedi out in the field.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says sadly. "Be mindful of your feelings. Revenge is not the Jedi way."

Scowling, Anakin groans, "Some people deserve what they get." His mind automatically returns to his mother's limp form, hanging from the ceiling, bloodied and bruised and dying. Unconsciously, he clenches his fists and grits his teeth together in order to maintain control. If his comment alarms his master, Obi-Wan makes no show of it. Sometimes, Anakin thinks his master is just like him, underneath his facade of rules and propriety and selflessness. He knows Obi-Wan has felt the need for revenge, when his own master was slaughtered at the hands of the Sith Lord Darth Maul. Perhaps that is why he says nothing.

A medical droid enters the room and replaces his drip. Anakin wants to rip the tube from his arm, take back his lightsaber and train. He longs to do something, anything, besides lying on this cot. If he loathes anything, it is a lack of freedom. Here, in the medical bay, he feels like a prisoner. He feels trapped. "How long until I can leave?" he asks the droid.

The droid fixes him with a mechanical stare. "Two days, Master Skywalker."

He grumbles and sticks out his lip with a huff. Two more days of hell. Two more days of being completely bored. Two more days of debilitating nightmares. He wonders if his master has nightmares too?

"Anakin..." Obi-Wan begins tentatively once the droid leaves. He looks up at his master, furrowing his brows in confusion. "I know that you and Senator Amidala have grown... close... over the course of your assignment."

He says nothing and and stares sullenly at his lap. He doesn't want to talk about this. Not now. "Padmé is a good friend," he concedes, hoping that will abate his master. It doesn't.

"I'm no fool, Anakin," Obi-Wan frowns, crossing his arms. "I know you have feelings for her."

With a scowl, he fixes his master with a stony glare. "What do you know of it?" he snaps. It is unfair, really, to take this out on his master, but he can't help it. He knows she is off limits to him. He knows. Still, he can't help but love her. If he could wish away his feelings, he would. But he can't. It is this that frustrates him most of all. Anakin didn't ask to fall in love. Sure, he admired her when he was a child, but it was only when he was with her again that he realised his infatuation ran deeper than simple, primal lust. He was in love with her.

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his auburn hair, his eyes growing sad. "I once harboured feelings for a young woman when I was your age," he confessed. Anakin can't believe what he is hearing. His master, the righteous Obi-Wan Kenobi, had felt love? It almost makes him laugh. Even so, he can't help the incredulous expression on his face.

"It's true," Obi-Wan continues. "I was a young padawan, and Master Qui-Gon and I were assigned to protect the young Duchess of Mandalore. We... we fell in love, accidentally of course, but I knew that it would have to come to an end." He meets Anakin's eyes and holds him there, deadly serious. "It's not that we aren't allowed to have these feelings, Anakin. It's natural. But, we have to know when to put them aside. You are a Jedi. Your feelings for Senator Amidala must only remain friendly."

Anakin grits his teeth. "I know, Master," he says. "I know what is required of me."

"Then, you must know that you have to break all contact with her." Anakin says nothing. He can't even bear the thought. "If you are to truly move on, you must cast her aside."

"I..." Anakin begins in a small voice. "I can't do that. I... I love her."

Obi-Wan remains firm. "You must, Anakin. You have no choice." Then, his expression softens, and he reaches for Anakin's hand. "I know how hard it is. I'm not saying it won't be painful. But, in time, you will understand you made the right decision."

As he leaves, Anakin stews on his words. Can he do it? Can he sever ties with Padmé? Can he forsake his feelings for her for his duty to the Jedi Order? To the Republic. His fists clench as he sinks his head back into the pillow. Because he knows the answer. He knows his responsibilities.

I must.