*bounces* I'm so thankful for the kind words on the last story--- I know it was kind of off, so I'm glad so many took the time to read it.

I have writer's block for my other fics, but I thought perhaps if I got this out, then the other would flow more smoothly. This is the first of two stories dealing with the Tusken Masacre and the effecy it has on Ani and Padme-- promise the second one will come along soon. There's also some Padme/Beru interaction, since I was a little disapointed by Beru's small part in AOTC. I do hope you enjoy!

-Meredith

(to the tune of the Beatles' "She Loves You")
She wants feed back-- yeah, yeah
She wants feed back-- yeah, yeah
She wants feed back-- yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

There's a story written by Mere,
one of many (cause she has no li-i-ife),
Her joy at feedback can't compare,
it makes her high as a ki-i-ite.
She writes ficcies,
And she hopes that they aren't bad,
And do you know what?
Feedback would make her really glad-- oooo.

She wants feed back-- yeah, yeah
She wants feed back-- yeah, yeah
She wants feed back-- yeah, yeah

I TOLD you I was running out of nursery rhymes. ;-)
May the Fab Four forgive me.

======================
His and Her Circumstances:
Burial of the Dead 1/1
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
http://www.demando.net/
[email protected]
======================

A shadow on a plain wall; molded shade on a dome of desert clay, stretched and motionless, completely dependent on who cast it. Padme felt the ho desert wind touch her hair, and watched the stirring of her specters ether-locks. She though of a planet she'd heard of once, with a sun that burned shadows on everything. Suddenly, she turned, so she would not have to think of their merging shadows, pressed forever on the side of the homestead. She moved slowly under the sun, a few footsteps at a time, aimless with her arms limp at her sides. The world, the convergence of blue and sand on the horizon, was seen through her down-beat lashes-- a strange, almost-prison; she felt the sun on her back, and it chilled her. The air before her wavered, as though a thing alive, something that might Anakin and leave no trace at all. Padme opened her lips, to pray, to say something, but nothing came out, and the desert world seemed to eat her silence. Her footing unsure, she moved back towards the the homestead, surprised by how cool its meager shade seemed. Putting her hand on the cool wall, Padme moved down the unfamiliar hallway, thinking that perhaps the stories were true, that her soul had left her body to travel on the back of Anakin's speeder.

Spirits need an anchor, else they drift and become lost. Ill.

Light spilled into the hallway, dirty and real, coaxing Padme through the doorway and into a small room. Her body folded itself on a small stone bench, and she closed her eyes once more, hands shaking with a sickness she could sense blowing near like a storm. She kept her hands flat beside her, pressing the palms into the bench so she could know what was real and firm.

"Your highness," said a soft voice, the sound of tumbling into a stream. It was a strange sound to hear on Tatooine, and for a moment the words spoken took Padme to another time. The world shuddered when she opened her eyes; the colors were too bright and the feel of everything too certain. Craning her neck, Padme saw Beru's lithe form framed by the doorway. The other woman's lips were half open, still looking like the sound, and faint red and bloomed bellow her vibrant eyes. "Sorry," said the girl, her voice and breath making the word into "soo-ri".

"No, no--" Padme struggled to stand, but Beru motioned her back, "I'm not royalty, though."

"Really?" Beru's eyes were very, very blue. "You look like it."

Padme's lips curved, "Is that so?"

Beru moved her head like a songbird, "Yup. I think it's your posture-- your back curves like a harp. Wait--" she held a hand up when Padme one more tried to stand, "you've been out in that heat. I think I can see the blood under your skin. Let me get you something."

"I'm sorry-- I don't want to trouble you," Padme murmured, watching the other girl remove a small dish from a nearby shelf. Holding the blue bowl in one hand, she selected a polished stone from inside.

"Here," she said, holding out the small orb. It was like a petrified drop of water, the illusion of blue with a strange light in the middle. "Just open your mouth." Now the dish came to rest in Padme's hand as Beru used her newly freed hand to tilt the darker girl's chin up, pressing the stone against the senator's lips until she let it pass. "Yeah, like that," the light girl coaxed, "Settle it under your tongue. It'll help you cool down." Padme tilted her head back, feeling as though winter was running down her throat and settling as quicksilver at the small of her back. Even her fear froze; perfectly preserved.

"Thank you," she said at last. "I feel a little better already."

"Let it sit for a while," Beru advised, "And don't worry about it-- this is the worst heat of the season. It's bad for people that were born here. Even I pass out in this wave, sometimes." A protest grew in Padme's throat, but Beru shook her head, "You did look like you were about to go under. It's still in your eyes, too-- you know, the heat."

"Yes," Padme admitted, "It was silly of me to stand outside so long." Beru turned for a moment, taking two thin poles from the wall and unfolding them into a chair. She settled into the sack-cloth cradle, resting her elbows on her knees.

"It wasn't silly," the desert girl replied, "If it had been Owen going, I would have stood out there a while, too." Beru's lips settled into an almost natural part, her nose moving like a rabbits, "He's very brave. Your Anakin, I mean."

"He's not *my* Anakin," Padme unfolded the lie, taking comfort in the distance it created. For a moment, a dark room flickered in her mind-- ('you are in my soul tormenting me'), but it passed quickly.

Beru's smile had a school-girl's naughty tilt, "Oh, I think that he is." Delicately, Padme parted her lips and let the now-warm stone fall into her hand.

For something to say, she asked, "What do I do with this?"

"Oh- ah," Beru motioned vaguely with her finger, "There's a covered pot over there-- just let me get it."

"Please don't wait on me," Padme patted Beru's soft cornsilk brains with her free hand, "'I'll do it." She moved through the stacks of crates and dust-covered sheets, amazed that she had managed to navigate the room before. "This it?" she asked, lifting a plain iron covering.

"Yup," Beru turned in her chair, "Those things are only good once, so my mom usually washes them and sells them to the Jawas for melting. I don't know what Cliegg does with them, though." She stretched slightly, "I'm a little unsure of things around here."

"I'm very unsure myself," Padme laughed a little, pausing to inspect a hardy circle of wooden beads hanging in the small window. "Really, I don't mean to impose."

"No, no, you're as much family as I am," Beru lifted a finger towards the wooden circle, "That's called a prayer wheel-- the wind moves it to bring change. I brought it with me from home."

Padme frowned momentarily, "This isn't--"

"My room?" again, Beru's eyes twinkled and her lips lifted, showing off her uneven and pretty teeth. "Yes, it is."

"I had no idea," Padme caught the words to her lips with one hand, "I didn't mean to invade your privacy."

"We've spent an awful lot of time apologizing to each other," the light girl traced her chin.

In spite of herself, Padme let out a gasping laugh, "That's very true."

"Seriously," the other girl remarked, "I'm not upset. It doesn't really look like a bedroom, does it?" She motioned towards a high wall of boxes, "I've been sleeping back there-- I only just came here after Mother Shmi was," a pause, two prominent teeth biting into red lips, "was taken. This is kinda far from the main house-- for decency, you know."

Padme nodded, "I understand."

"You know what the funny thing is?" Beru folded her arms over the back of the chair, "I only came to help out, but I don't think my mother," the last words came out like a voice breathless with running, "wants me back."

"I'm sorry," the darker girl murmured, settling back on the stone bench.

In a swift motion, Beru was sitting beside her; so much a woman of sand, and yet a child. "

Padme's voice was like her shadow, "Are you and Owen..."

"We'll get married," Beru touched a stray lock of hair absently-- the whole of her was the color of the dunes, save for her surreal eyes. "As soon as Owen has enough money for the license. I think we'll go into Anchorhead for it." She held out her hand, displaying a pale, green-pink ring.

"Feng..," Padme murmured 'pretty' in Nubian, reaching out to rest Beru's hand in her own. The ring was seamless, cut from stone.

"It's tormaline," Beru continued, blushing with her chin tilted just a little. "That's what my name means in Basic." She tilted one cheek close to whisper, "My mother is very worried-- my family only has girls, so she named me 'tormaline' for good luck. It's a very rare gem, on Tatooine."

"I like it," absently, she fingered the japor snippet held under the neckline of her dress.

"Ah," Beru held her hands out towards the pendant, as though it might fear and take flight. "May I see?"

"Of course," Padme lifted her hair, watching the rough leather coil about the charm in her hand, before she pressed it into Beru's palm.

"How pretty," the desert girl cooed, "Hand carved?"

A blush, "Yes."

"Your name is very nice," the other girl offered, in return for the words Padme had accepted. "Does it mean anything?"

"It's relatively boring," Padme rolled her slim shoulders, "'Padme' is a small flower on my home world."

"I don't think flowers are boring. We don't have any-- Oh look," Beru ran a delicate fingertip over the design, "what a clever little portrait."

Padme's lips went slack, "Pardon?"

"See right here?" Beru turned the pendant to that it rested on two edges, and Padme watched the familiar symbols change. A young woman was formed by the spaces between the glyphs for health and love , framed by stars. Her hair tumbled down, obscured by the silky-like folds of her wings. Breathless, Padme touched the carving, remembering the feel of desperate hands cradling her own.

"To think," she said in a voice that was laughing and crying, "I've head this ten years, and I never saw that."

"Did Anakin make this for you?"

Padme's ribs seemed to be closing in over her heart, "Yes." Curling a fist around the snippet, she turned her sightless eyes to the window, feeling sick and freed all at once. The wind moved through the wooden beads, and the circle turned; praying.

"Don't worry, Padme," Beru's voice lilted a little, touching on the name, "He'll come back." Easing her hands away, Beru stood, moving towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Padme asked.

"To sand-scrub the dishes for dinner," Beru moved her hands together, eyebrows raised in challenge, "You can stay here as long as you like. I've heard Owen and Cleigg talking about-- well, they're not always tactful, so you might not want to hear it."

Padme shook her head, hair brushing against her cheek, "No, no-- I want to help. If I sit here, I'll just think about things."

"You sure?"

Rising to her feet with her pool of light blue skirts, the senator put an arm around the desert girl, hand at the small of her back, "You just show me what to do."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

His tears had soaked into her neck-- she could feel them under her skin, not clean or dirty, but all Anakin. Padme gently lifted Anakin's cheek from her shoulder, holding him as a mother would child. In sleep, his face was alive with pain until it seemed an ethereal mask, hovering over the little boy sleeping in Anakin's rib cage. There was a lightness about him, too-- he seemed hollowed out and different, but still the person who gave her the most and allowed her to give in return. Gently, Padme made soothing noises, like birds just before sunset, and rested him against the wall. She pulled her heavy wool robe over her head, shaking the beads free of her curls when they caught, and then folded it over her arm once, twice, and a third time. Laying it down on the softest side, she helped Anakin to lay down, shivering when he murmured into her scent, trapped in the blue cloth. Her hands lifted from his body, and she thought for a moment that there was blood dripping from her fingers in the slow, steady rhythm of rain. Anakin was still, breathing his nightmares, and Padme crouched like a frightened cat, her body all smooth feline. Rocking back on her heels, she stood and moved from the garage on silent feet, out into the courtyard where the towering vaporators looked as though they supported bodies in the moonlight. Padme stilled utterly, the blood in her veins slowing like the hardening of liquid silver; she waited to hear the sound of death riding, a woman of bones and hollow eyes, with her feet hooked in the exposed chest of her horse.

She ran then, the folds of her dress chasing her heels, into a darkened corridor-- down, down. She had no destination in mind, it was the movement that satisfied, and she stopped only when she felt she had the distance she needed. Now she simply walked, one foot in front of the other, so tired that her mind was consumed with the mechanics, and her pain lessened. The sand felt good against her bare feet, and the cool of the underground corridor skimmed over her trembling shoulders. Her breasts heaved, trapped within the corset of chintz, and she thought that perhaps her heart was trying to loosen itself. Now she passed the homestead kitchen, and the room where Cleigg Lars slept in his empty double bed with his head tipped far back. Owen's room-- just a pile of blankets spread on a sleeping pad lifting with inhale and exhale. Here was the room stacked with computers she'd heard Owen refer to as the 'naviroom', and a long closet filled with preserves. A turn in the tunnel and a brush of cold wind from somewhere; Padme swallowed her fear. Through the narrow threshold, she could see Shmi's body laid out for embalmment; the profile was still fine, with the nose Anakin had inherited, and the darkness seemed to hide the scars. Faster now, hands thrust back with fingers open like wings, and she stepped into the dust of the storage room, straining her eyes to see the boxes and shelves she might encounter. In the window, the prayer wheel moved backwards, mocking pleas for mercy. Padme felt her way against a long row of crates, until she stumbled in their absence. Through the dim, gray air, she could see Beru curled on her sleeping pad, arms over her breasts and nose tucked under the faded blanket. Padme knelt beside the other girl quietly, and her hands shook with the thankfulness of being with another living person.

"Beru," she let the words blur and be quiet, moving her hand against the other girl's shoulder, "Beru." Again, louder, and once more; the desert girl stirred and rose on her elbows, light lashes fluttering over her eyes.

"Padme," not a question, and Beru seemed wide awake, her loose, feather hair settling about her shoulders. Silence poured from Padme, until she felt her body was a tomb.

"He killed the Tuskens, Beru," she managed softly, listening once more for death.

"Owen killed a Tusken, once," Beru's voice was as long and low as her companion's. "In defense-- no one should have to die, but living things always kill each other. And, Padme... the Tuskens hurt a lot of people."

"You don't understand," Padme drew her legs up, held on tight, "He killed all of them." She looked up, seeing Beru's face change and become white, "All of them-- the whole tribe is dead."

"Anakin," Beru murmured, as though it was an alien word. Padme grabbed for the other girl's hands, help on until she knew she was hurting both of them.

"I have to go see," she knew her eyes must be all pupil with the darkness she felt inside, "please, Beru. I can't go by myself."

"Of course," the other girl nodded firmly, "If we go now..."

Padme let the sentence hang, "Anakin is asleep in the garage."

"Owen keeps his sand-hopper out back," Beru reached into the leather bag that doubled as her pillow, pulling a dress over her short nightgown. Padme rose as well, feeling as though they were two shadows lacking masters, connected at the ankles and grasping at each other.

Silence kept the wind from both of them as Padme moved the speeder along the blurry lines of Anakin's confession. The desert, at first smooth as an ocean of glass, began rising in canyons and towering boulders-- nightmare battlements with hidden windows that watched and watched. In the light of the double moons, they seemed to be faces, death masks, the death cry of those she knew and cared about-- she thought she could see Anakin destroying himself, and felt run through with her love and her horror. With the world careening by, it seemed that one of the mountains was a high tower, and she could see herself leaning off the balcony, hair as wild about her face as her manic laughter. Hands tight on the steering sticks, Padme bit into the softness of her mouth, then moved the small craft around a turn in the seemingly endless ravine. The desert ocean greeted her eyes once more, and then--

It was like a black hole, or a circle in which children dance until they loose their senses-- the place was so filled with death that life was alien. Padme felt Beru's fingers digging into her arm, and had no memory of how either of them had gotten out of the speeder; it seemed as though they had simply been drawn into the center of the carnage.

"I..." Beru leaned heavily against her companion, like a wilted flower. In a child's voice, "Are they all dead-- are you sure?"

"They're all dead," Padme disentangled herself from Beru, moving through the rows of bodies-- such a strange, silent garden. "One," she counted, "two... fifteen, sixteen..." she could see Beru standing where she'd left her, afraid to move in the maze, "forty-three, forty-four..." It was like a wheel of stars, the charts she memorized as a child. Something like an elaborate dance, moving amidst the dead, "seventy-eight, seventy-nine...." Somewhere, she stopped counting-- somewhere it became just numbers and numbers and numbers that lost their meaning. Beru came to her side, having navigated through the corpses. The desert girl made a noise with her throat, but there was nothing to say. "We should bury one of them. A mass grave would be awful-- even worse than the... slaughter," Padme broke off, "I have to bury one them, though. When bodies lie around... they stop looking human."

"Padme," Beru was kneeling beside a full, motionless robe, taking something into her hands, "Let's bury these two. See," she held out the bundle in her arms-- a baby, wrapped tightly, a breather obscuring its face, "a mother and child."

"They killed his mother," Padme heard her own voice, unaware that she was speaking, "and he..." She whirled on Beru, her face desperate. "Why would he do this?" The other girl simply stood there, helpless, but keeping with Padme's eyes until the senator at last returned her attention to the mother's corpse. Nimbly, her fingers dove into the face bandages, taking away strip after strip.

"No eggs," Beru said suddenly, holding the baby up to the moon. There was a hole where it's heart might have been, and the white light came on Beru's face through it.

"What?" Padme closed her eyes, knowing that if she had her own children, she would fear their hearts might be cleaved out.

"That's what the doctor said," the younger girl replied, "'I'm sorry, my girl, no eggs in your ovaries.'"

"Beru--" pausing mid-task, Padme searched the other girl's face, seeing now that there was a wide rim of darkness between the blue and white of Beru's eyes.

"I'll never have children," she cradled the baby, coming to kneel beside her friend, "I don't know why Owen wants to marry me."

"He loves you," Padme said wondering why there was surprise in Beru's face, "He loves you."

"My mother said I was stupid to think so," and then they were kneeling together, Beru with the child, and Padme stripping away the female's mask. With the bulk of the bandages gone, the outline of the features seemed faintly familiar, the layers came away until Padme feared it was like an onion, endless with nothing in the center. At last, pale skin; a chin, fine and rounded, a mouth loose and full, a dainty bird nose, green eyes wide and unseeing.

"They're human!" Beru's voice was a clap of thunder through night rain. "No one-- Padme, no one's ever seen a Tusken before, we thought they were-- and yet they're..."

"She could have been anyone," the senator took the body up into an embrace, studying the beautiful face and the long hair that fled its wrappings like liquid ebony. "She was somebody's mother." The corpse was a snow white, and this was a fairy tale played out in the firelight-- shadows grotesque and unmatching.

There were tools in the back on the speeder, left over from one of Owen's runs to the moisture fields, and both women took them up like weapons to the soil of Tatooine. They carved a crater, round like a bowl, and deep-- a womb for the dead. Padme thought perhaps that she could dig until she herself was buried under the weight. She strained to lift the sand, but the pain in her arching back was welcome, and the lifting gave her something to put her arms around.

"That'll have to do," someone said. They were both breathing hard-- perhaps it was only the desert speaking. Beru moved the sleeve of her gray dress over her forehead, and the two exchanged looks. Padme let her tool clatter to the ground, gathering up the woman's still and death-heavy body. She was a bizarre Prince Charming-- too little, too late. Laying the body down in the bowl of earth, she spread the hair about it gently, pulling the lids over the vibrant green eyes. Beru came into the hole's shadow as well, laying the baby within the circle of it's mother's arms. Padme's hand moved to the back of her neck, and she lifted her hair, drawing forth the japor snippet. Weaving the leather strap through the dead woman's fingers, she closed the fingers around it, before Beru's hand came to cover her own.

"Padme," the other girl's lips folded over themselves, disappearing momentarily, "the prayer wheel-- it's a symbol. What you do comes back around. If you take this for Anakin--" she frowned, angered with the flat words of Basic, "Someone who isn't punished for doing bad things doesn't learn not to do bad things. He just learns he can get away with it."

"I love him," Padme said, then struck the ground with her fist, "Love is a stupid word, but it's like that. He's... he's the only person I know who takes just enough from me, and gives just enough to me. I'm never missing anything, and it was so much easier when he was little--" She broke off, placing the corpse's hand over the still heart, "I have to have some responsibility for the company I keep. He's touched this," she moved her arms, trying to take all the death inside her, "and I don't want that to happen anymore. He'll stop being Anakin." Beru nodded slowly, and in the cool night air Padme realized they were both crying. Hand in hand, they climbed from the grave, Beru's ring pressing against Padme's slim fingers. They parted, taking up the flesh of Tatooine to heal the rip in the desert.

Under the sand and the suns, the Tusken woman and her child were warm-- and the bones of the hand became a cage around the affections of a young slave boy.