Breathe, part two
Sep. 7th, 2006 11:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
matrilWell, one reader's enough for me to keep going. ;) So here's the resolve to the little cliffhanger that he last part ended on:
The pains started sometime in the night. Padmé awoke him with her cries, startling him from a nightmare whose memory was immediately banished by the look on his wife’s face.
“It’s – the babies are coming?” he asked breathlessly, his insides writhing. She gasped, then abruptly turned calm again.
“I think so. It – it’s been going on for a while – getting worse –”
Somehow in all his worries about the babies’ birth, Anakin had not anticipated having to helplessly watch Padmé endure unspeakable pain. “I – what can I do?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.” She sat up with an effort. “Just send for the midwife – and try not to panic.”
The latter was far more difficult than the former. The midwife was summoned without trouble, commenting dryly that babies usually chose the middle of the night to arrive. She was skillful, calm and pleasant. Anakin was a wreck.
He sat at Padmé’s side, his hands clutched into fists, his eyes fixed on her face. As the pain struck, she cried out, clenched his arm and breathed frantically no matter what the midwife said about calm breaths. Between pains, she was very quiet and still, which somehow disturbed Anakin more than the crying out. At the back of his mind he thought he ought to be comforting her somehow, but fear clutched his tongue, made every word of comfort seem like a lie.
Hours passed, perhaps days – there was nothing but Padmé and her unsurpassed ordeal. Anakin felt that his own life was inextricably bound with her pain, that all hope or despair hinged upon the moment of birth and relief. He marveled that the midwife should be so easy, was tempted to berate her complacency, but his mouth was too dry to speak in any case.
At last, at last – Padmé let out a shriek that turned Anakin’s skin to ice – and the midwife was holding a squirming, squealing, messy thing that, she announced, was a boy.
Padmé’s eyes were shining with tears and delight. “Luke,” she breathed. And, to the other one that made her shriek again so that Anakin’s chest constricted enough to suffocate him, “Leia.” Then she was quiet, but this calm quiet, at last, told Anakin that everything was right and well. He bent over her, stared in wonder at the little ones she held in her arms, and let out a shaking breath.
“I don’t ever want to go through that again,” he said, his voice unsteady and low. Padmé looked at him, bemused.
“What are you talking about? You didn’t go through anything!” Her tone was teasing; she was back to herself. But Anakin shook his head.
“I mean – watching you go through it. I couldn’t – the thought of losing you –”
“Losing me!” Padmé repeated, startled. “Anakin, I wasn’t in any danger – no more than any other mother –” Her gaze returned to the babies, wondering. “Anakin, I’m a mother. You’re a father!”
The pronouncement drew him out of his brooding, and he blinked, leaned closer to look at his son and daughter. “Luke and Leia,” he smiled, shaking his head. “Are they really ours?”
“They had better be,” the midwife said briskly, mopping up the last of the mess on the floor – it gave Anakin a cringe to think of all that blood. “Now, you’re to stay in bed for at least these next two days, do you hear?” she directed at Padmé. “Let him do all the work,” she nodded at Anakin. “After two days in bed, you’ll want to stay rested for another two weeks, at least, before you can even think of being up and about like normal. Do you understand?”
Padmé nodded absently, intent on Luke and Leia. Anakin straightened. “I’ll make sure she does,” he told her. The midwife looked him up and down.
“I’ll bet you will.” She gathered up her things. “Well, I’ll be off then – catch up on some sleep. Not a bad idea for you to do the same,” she added, and was gone.
Anakin turned back to Padmé. She gave him a tired smile.
“You get some sleep,” he said firmly. “I’ll take them.”
“Do you have any idea how to care for a baby?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.
“You don’t think I’ve just been sitting around doing nothing these past few months? I’ve been studying,” he grinned. “Don’t you worry.”
He had done enough worrying for the both of them that day.
--
The nightmare came again several nights later, between the time Luke finally dropped off and Leia awoke with a shrill, demanding cry. Anakin sat up in bed in a panic, hand at his throat. It took several moments to realize he was not being choked; the feeling of the dream had been so real. He glanced at Padmé, sprawled beside him in the exhausted sleep of new parenthood. What would she say if he told her about it? “It was only a dream.” And that was true; she would be right – except some dreams became real; horribly, painfully real.
The worst of it was that his place in the dream had been confused, uncertain. Was he the one being choked, or the one doing the choking? He shuddered, recalling the brief sensation that had passed through his dream-mind before waking – a sensation of pleasure, delight at causing pain. That was what had frightened him most.
He had reason to be frightened of late. Everything in his life had been thrown awry after Palpatine’s death. He no longer had a mentor to confide in, to guide him where the Code left him uncertain. His secret marriage to Padmé, already difficult to conceal, had been complicated by her pregnancy, and now by the babies. The Council no longer seemed the bulwark of strength and certainty he had once imagined it to be. Master Yoda kept insisting that the shadow that threatened the Republic had somehow diminished, yet the war raged on. Anakin had been trying to grasp onto something secure and solid, something that would not change or fail him, and finally concluded that that something must be Padmé.
But what if he lost her?
The possibility came crushing down upon him all at once, bleak and unendurable. He had known, during her passage through childbirth, such breath-robbing fear as he had never felt before, not even when he dreamt of his mother’s suffering and knew that death was looming over her. He had learned the meaning of absolute, unmitigated loss, and its strength terrified him. Was this the meaning of his dreams? Fear, like a stranglehold, sucking the life from him –
Leia’s cry broke his reverie, and Padmé woke, bleary-eyed. He did not tell her of the nightmare; it was not the time for it.
His nightmares came and went over the next two weeks, and he somehow never found the time to mention them. And then he had to leave. Two weeks was already stretching it – any longer, and his excuses to the Council would no longer carry any plausibility. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told Padmé firmly, and tickled Luke under the chin. Leia was sleeping; he bent over the crib and kissed her forehead. Padmé came to his side with a sigh.
“Be careful,” she said. “The Council is probably already suspicious.”
“I suppose so.” He frowned. “Will you be all right?”
“They’ll keep me busy,” she shrugged, “but I’ll manage. My mother is coming to help,” she added, frowning slightly. Anakin knew it pained her that she had to wait until he left for her parents to come; that she had to hide the truth from them.
“What are you going to tell her?” he asked quietly.
“As much as I can. That I’ve married someone who can’t be known.”
“If I could –” he began.
“Don’t.” Padmé looked at him with bright, blazing eyes. “I won’t have you lose everything.”
“You’re everything,” he countered. “You, and Luke and Leia.” He stroked her hair. “You’ve already given up so much yourself.”
Padmé waved her free hand dismissively. “The Senate was getting to be a mess anyway; I’m glad to be out of it.”
Anakin knew she was lying; knew she was aching to go back and have her say in stemming the chaos that engulfed the Republic. But he also knew that her passionate devotion came just as readily – more so – for her children, and so she would not be miserable with them on Naboo.
“I may come back to Coruscant,” she whispered. “If I can manage it. It’ll be easier to meet there.”
“Harder to hide,” he frowned.
“I know.”
He gave each of the children a kiss again, held her tight and left at last.
The pains started sometime in the night. Padmé awoke him with her cries, startling him from a nightmare whose memory was immediately banished by the look on his wife’s face.
“It’s – the babies are coming?” he asked breathlessly, his insides writhing. She gasped, then abruptly turned calm again.
“I think so. It – it’s been going on for a while – getting worse –”
Somehow in all his worries about the babies’ birth, Anakin had not anticipated having to helplessly watch Padmé endure unspeakable pain. “I – what can I do?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.” She sat up with an effort. “Just send for the midwife – and try not to panic.”
The latter was far more difficult than the former. The midwife was summoned without trouble, commenting dryly that babies usually chose the middle of the night to arrive. She was skillful, calm and pleasant. Anakin was a wreck.
He sat at Padmé’s side, his hands clutched into fists, his eyes fixed on her face. As the pain struck, she cried out, clenched his arm and breathed frantically no matter what the midwife said about calm breaths. Between pains, she was very quiet and still, which somehow disturbed Anakin more than the crying out. At the back of his mind he thought he ought to be comforting her somehow, but fear clutched his tongue, made every word of comfort seem like a lie.
Hours passed, perhaps days – there was nothing but Padmé and her unsurpassed ordeal. Anakin felt that his own life was inextricably bound with her pain, that all hope or despair hinged upon the moment of birth and relief. He marveled that the midwife should be so easy, was tempted to berate her complacency, but his mouth was too dry to speak in any case.
At last, at last – Padmé let out a shriek that turned Anakin’s skin to ice – and the midwife was holding a squirming, squealing, messy thing that, she announced, was a boy.
Padmé’s eyes were shining with tears and delight. “Luke,” she breathed. And, to the other one that made her shriek again so that Anakin’s chest constricted enough to suffocate him, “Leia.” Then she was quiet, but this calm quiet, at last, told Anakin that everything was right and well. He bent over her, stared in wonder at the little ones she held in her arms, and let out a shaking breath.
“I don’t ever want to go through that again,” he said, his voice unsteady and low. Padmé looked at him, bemused.
“What are you talking about? You didn’t go through anything!” Her tone was teasing; she was back to herself. But Anakin shook his head.
“I mean – watching you go through it. I couldn’t – the thought of losing you –”
“Losing me!” Padmé repeated, startled. “Anakin, I wasn’t in any danger – no more than any other mother –” Her gaze returned to the babies, wondering. “Anakin, I’m a mother. You’re a father!”
The pronouncement drew him out of his brooding, and he blinked, leaned closer to look at his son and daughter. “Luke and Leia,” he smiled, shaking his head. “Are they really ours?”
“They had better be,” the midwife said briskly, mopping up the last of the mess on the floor – it gave Anakin a cringe to think of all that blood. “Now, you’re to stay in bed for at least these next two days, do you hear?” she directed at Padmé. “Let him do all the work,” she nodded at Anakin. “After two days in bed, you’ll want to stay rested for another two weeks, at least, before you can even think of being up and about like normal. Do you understand?”
Padmé nodded absently, intent on Luke and Leia. Anakin straightened. “I’ll make sure she does,” he told her. The midwife looked him up and down.
“I’ll bet you will.” She gathered up her things. “Well, I’ll be off then – catch up on some sleep. Not a bad idea for you to do the same,” she added, and was gone.
Anakin turned back to Padmé. She gave him a tired smile.
“You get some sleep,” he said firmly. “I’ll take them.”
“Do you have any idea how to care for a baby?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.
“You don’t think I’ve just been sitting around doing nothing these past few months? I’ve been studying,” he grinned. “Don’t you worry.”
He had done enough worrying for the both of them that day.
--
The nightmare came again several nights later, between the time Luke finally dropped off and Leia awoke with a shrill, demanding cry. Anakin sat up in bed in a panic, hand at his throat. It took several moments to realize he was not being choked; the feeling of the dream had been so real. He glanced at Padmé, sprawled beside him in the exhausted sleep of new parenthood. What would she say if he told her about it? “It was only a dream.” And that was true; she would be right – except some dreams became real; horribly, painfully real.
The worst of it was that his place in the dream had been confused, uncertain. Was he the one being choked, or the one doing the choking? He shuddered, recalling the brief sensation that had passed through his dream-mind before waking – a sensation of pleasure, delight at causing pain. That was what had frightened him most.
He had reason to be frightened of late. Everything in his life had been thrown awry after Palpatine’s death. He no longer had a mentor to confide in, to guide him where the Code left him uncertain. His secret marriage to Padmé, already difficult to conceal, had been complicated by her pregnancy, and now by the babies. The Council no longer seemed the bulwark of strength and certainty he had once imagined it to be. Master Yoda kept insisting that the shadow that threatened the Republic had somehow diminished, yet the war raged on. Anakin had been trying to grasp onto something secure and solid, something that would not change or fail him, and finally concluded that that something must be Padmé.
But what if he lost her?
The possibility came crushing down upon him all at once, bleak and unendurable. He had known, during her passage through childbirth, such breath-robbing fear as he had never felt before, not even when he dreamt of his mother’s suffering and knew that death was looming over her. He had learned the meaning of absolute, unmitigated loss, and its strength terrified him. Was this the meaning of his dreams? Fear, like a stranglehold, sucking the life from him –
Leia’s cry broke his reverie, and Padmé woke, bleary-eyed. He did not tell her of the nightmare; it was not the time for it.
His nightmares came and went over the next two weeks, and he somehow never found the time to mention them. And then he had to leave. Two weeks was already stretching it – any longer, and his excuses to the Council would no longer carry any plausibility. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told Padmé firmly, and tickled Luke under the chin. Leia was sleeping; he bent over the crib and kissed her forehead. Padmé came to his side with a sigh.
“Be careful,” she said. “The Council is probably already suspicious.”
“I suppose so.” He frowned. “Will you be all right?”
“They’ll keep me busy,” she shrugged, “but I’ll manage. My mother is coming to help,” she added, frowning slightly. Anakin knew it pained her that she had to wait until he left for her parents to come; that she had to hide the truth from them.
“What are you going to tell her?” he asked quietly.
“As much as I can. That I’ve married someone who can’t be known.”
“If I could –” he began.
“Don’t.” Padmé looked at him with bright, blazing eyes. “I won’t have you lose everything.”
“You’re everything,” he countered. “You, and Luke and Leia.” He stroked her hair. “You’ve already given up so much yourself.”
Padmé waved her free hand dismissively. “The Senate was getting to be a mess anyway; I’m glad to be out of it.”
Anakin knew she was lying; knew she was aching to go back and have her say in stemming the chaos that engulfed the Republic. But he also knew that her passionate devotion came just as readily – more so – for her children, and so she would not be miserable with them on Naboo.
“I may come back to Coruscant,” she whispered. “If I can manage it. It’ll be easier to meet there.”
“Harder to hide,” he frowned.
“I know.”
He gave each of the children a kiss again, held her tight and left at last.
