"Mom! Look! I finished my droid!" Four year old, Luke Skywalker exclaimed, his bright blue eyes gleaming with pride, as he rushed into the living room of his family's apartment on Coruscant. Padmé Amidala looked up from some important papers regarding a senate bill. Right behind the boy was Luke's twin sister, Leia and a little droid, about the size of a mouse droid, whirring and tootling. She smiled, and pulled her son into a hug.

"Luke! I'm so proud of you! He looks like he works perfectly!" She beamed. He reminded her so much of his father, Anakin Skywalker, who had built their protocol droid, C-3PO and a podracer at only nine years old. "Daddy will be so excited to see it when he gets home." The mother and son smiled at his accomplishment.

Leia on the other hand, was pouting, "He won't let me paint it, Mom!"

Padmé looked at her daughter, who was a spitting image of herself, but had her father's rebellious personality. "Leia, it's Luke's droid, so he gets to decide what it looks like. If you want to build a droid, you can paint it however you want," Padmé explained. Leia pouted. Being a politician for as long as she could remember, Padmé rarely had trouble getting her children to a consensus.

"Can we call Dad!? On the holo?" Luke inquired, much too impatient to wait until his father was home to show him his new droid, another trait he had gotten from Anakin.

Padmé thought for a minute, trying to remember if he had told her recently when he would be engaging the separatists in battle. She could remember a time when the Jedi didn't allow marriage and children. In fact, it was only four years ago and when news got out of her marriage to Anakin, and her consequent pregnancy, the rules were changed. Not before seeing that the Jedi's Chosen One actually thrived off of attachment and wasn't negatively affected by having his loved ones, but the absence of them. Now the Order was slowly beginning to see more Jedi with spouses and families of their own (more so the younger ones who weren't already set in the old ways).

Padmé looked at the chrono and decided that if Anakin was in the sector he'd said he would be the last time they'd spoken, that it would be evening and an all right time to contact him.

"Sure," Padmé agreed and led the children over to the holo table. Just as she was about to input his code, the transmitter beeped, indicating an incoming transmission. She accepted it and up popped a projection of a close friend and Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Obi-Wan!" Padmé said, shocked to see him.

"Hi, Uncle Obi-Wan!" Luke and Leia greeted in unison.

"Hello, children!" The Jedi Master feigned excitement for the children's sakes, but had a sorrowful look on his bearded face. "Padme… there was an explosion on Chandrila…"

Chandrila? That's where Anakin said he would be, Padme thought as her brain put all the pieces together. She was no longer hearing what Obi-Wan was saying and interrupted. "Is he going to be okay?" She demanded. Obi-Wan bit his lip.

"We don't know. We should be coming out of hyperspace in an hour, meet us at the Jedi Temple medical center."

"Obi-Wan, is he alive though? Right? He's still alive?" Padme asked quietly, but frantically. Thought logically she knew that she would know if he wasn't. Luke and Leia would be able to sense it. Logically. And logic was losing the war against fear and irrationality in Padmé's brain at the moment.

Obi-Wan hesitated, "Yes."

Before she knew it, Padmé was en route the Jedi Temple's medical center with Dormé, Luke and Leia. She had ignored Captain Typho's insistence that he accompany her. She had debated whether or not to take Luke and Leia, seeing their father injured could be hard for them, but this little voice in the back of her head said to take them… in case they needed to say goodbye. But she told herself that it was because she felt safer knowing where all of her family was at once.

Padmé ran up to the droid at the desk of the medical center, "Skywalker," she demanded in a panic. "Anakin… where's Anakin Skywalker?"

"This way ma'am," the droid said in a monotone voice, as if there wasn't a panicking senator in the room, and led her to some double doors.

"Luke, Leia, stay with Dormé, I'll be back soon," the worried wife reasoned and walked through the doors, almost walking ahead of the droid. Once she realized where it was taking her, she broke into a jog, almost tripping over herself as she reached a small, white, sterile room.

Inside the room, on a bed, lay a young man, with droids off to the side monitoring vitals.

"Anakin!" Padmé gasped and ran to the man's side and taking his hand. The sight of her husband brought tears to her eyes. He was unconscious, bandaged on his head and bare chest and his prosthetic forearm was missing. All that remained was the residual upper arm. Padme turned around to the Jedi Master behind her, "Obi-Wan, what happened?" She choked out a sob.

"Oh, you know, he was saving the day and thought it wise to try to use the Force to stop a landslide from falling on everyone instead of running. Everyone else got out of the way, thanks to his efforts but he got hit," Obi-Wan explained trying to lighten the mood by bringing to light Anakin's tendency to always have to be the hero. "They're repairing his prosthetic as well."

"Thank you for getting him here so quickly, Obi-Wan," Padme said, sincerely

and Obi-Wan nodded.

"I'll leave you alone with him," he said and left the room.

Padme looked at her husband, his body all bruised and worn. He was only 26. This wasn't supposed to happen to him, she thought, even though she well knew that this was a result of him being overly heroic, as he always was. He felt as though he had to save everyone, and often disregarded his own safety, something she hated and loved about him.

Then her eyes went back to something she had only glanced at before, his right arm. The prosthetic was gone. It must have gotten damaged in the accident. All that was left was a healed stump right above his elbow. Padmé almost forgot that Count Dooku had cut off his arm all those years ago, since his prosthetic was so realistic feeling when he touched her, and he always had a black glove on over it. She had almost forgotten that her handsome young husband was an amputee.

Padmé reached out slowly and lightly touched the healed skin of his arm where his prosthetic would normally be attached, and softly stroked it. Her hand made its way up to his jaw and forehead. Caressing his skin comforted her. It was soft and rough at the same time and she loved it.

"Wake up, Ani."