Sky Song

Summary: Droids do not cry. OneShot – C-3PO, R2-D2 and Padme, after the loss of Anakin Skywalker.

Warning: -

Set: After the events of Star Wars – Revenge of the Sith. And I know Padme is supposed to die at the end of the movie. Bear with me, just for this.

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

Naboo was being drowned in the sheets of warm rain that were so familiar for Padme Amidala, the rain season which she had loved so much only just beginning. The skies were grieving in the only way they knew how, mourning the death of an Era. And despite everything she could not bring it over herself to cry as well, to mourn the man who had become what he had feared most: Darkness.

Deep inside her, her babies were silent. They hadn't moved since she had gotten up that day, as if they were grieving along with her. Padme had sent away everyone, her handmaidens, her servants, even Obi-Wan. The Jedi had been very kind, had helped her to return to Naboo and worried over her health and the health of the babies. He had made sure she ate, and had a doctor to look after the unborn children and after Padme herself. But he, too, hadn't been able to tell her the only thing that she wanted to hear: that everything had only been a dream, and that she would wake up next to her beloved husband and nothing of all of this had happened. So finally he had taken his leave. Padme had no idea where he was going: the Jedi Temple on Coruscant was still red from the blood of the younglings that had been massacred, the Jedi were being hunted down by law (the Senate had stopped even pretending they weren't on Palpatine's side but completely objective) and most of them were dead, anyway. If he was smart, Obi-Wan would run and hide somewhere, wait until it was safe to appear again and then would continue to live as a normal man for the rest of his life. But Padme knew very well – with the knowledge that had always told her what Anakin thought and felt, and with her experience as queen of Naboo – that Obi-Wan wouldn't run. Not if there was anything left to save. He'd looked at her as if he was unsure whether to smile or cry, and she had seen he was not really seeing her but seeing the mother of Anakin's children, and perhaps the twins themselves. In a way she was glad he was there, because it meant her children would be safe. If anything, Obi-Wan would protect them with his life, not because they were children but because they were Anakin's. No matter how much he would have to sacrifice, no matter the cost. She was pretty sure she would see him again quite soon. But that wasn't what was important right now. Nothing was. Anakin was dead. Padme stared out into the rain from her balcony – the one she had stood on with Anakin so often – and felt the emptiness she was drowning in.

A shrill whistle interrupted her grief.

Artoo was rolling in her direction, his dome swiveling and his receptors blinking. If droids could have displayed emotions, she was pretty sure; the little astromech would have looked devastated. Even his usual beeping sounded muted. Anakin had taken so much from them. Leaning down heavily, Padme red the translation scrolling across the data pad attached to Artoo. Then she shook her head and started walking.

C-3PO was standing in the softly falling sheets of rain, his silvery body a mere scheme against the vivid colors of Padme's home planet. His head was bent, his photoreceptors lifeless. The thought that he had been built for a different planet, and a different weather, flashed through Padme's head before she pushed aside the memory and stepped next to him.

"Threepio," she said softly. "Why are you standing in the rain? You will be damaged."

With a squeak and an audible pang, his photoreceptors came back on, blinking unsteadily and then slowly dimming as the droid recognized his surroundings.

"Mylady – oh, look at how bad the weather has become! My, I should have moved inside as soon as it started to rain, my circuitry will be damaged!"

But despite his words, the silver protocol droid did not move.

Padme carefully took his arm. It felt strangely warm, probably because the rain water that ran down his metallic skin was warm, too, and because the servomotors inside of him created excess energy. "Let's go inside. Why didn't you go before the rain started?"

Resisting her soft drag, Threepio blinked. "Why – Mylady, I must say, I do not have an answer to your question. It seemed I was standing here, thinking of my Master – and then I realized it would rain soon but my servos wouldn't comply."

Worried, Padme gave him a once-over. "Are you damaged? We'll have Artoo run your diagnostics as soon as we're inside and you're dry again."

Threepio shook his head, a gesture so very human she felt her heart ache.

"I assure you, my diagnostics program has been updated this morning and there has been no report on any malfunctions. There seems to be some problem with my logic routines, perhaps."

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, Mylady-" The droid's photoreceptors wandered back to the mountains that were invisible in the distance, obscured by the sheets of rain that still were falling. "It seems like I am missing something, but I cannot say what."

Behind them, Artoo whistled sadly. He approached them, one of his arms holding a great umbrella, and suddenly they were out of the rain. Padme shivered slightly in her drenched dress and felt wet tendrils of her hair stick to her shoulders. Her hands wandered down to her swollen stomach, caressed the twins, and she sent down calming thoughts. She received only silence and a grief so thick she almost choked. Whether it was her own sadness, mirrored in her children's thoughts, she wasn't sure. Ani. He had attacked her, had threatened her life and his children's lives. He'd fought Obi-Wan, the man who was like a brother to him, for his life. The man she'd known as Anakin Skywalker was dead, burnt in a lava pit, and she refused to see Darth Vader as Anakin Skywalker.

"What do you mean; grief?" Had Threepio been a human being he would have frowned. As it was, his voice only sounded slightly more interested. "We are droids. We do not grieve."

Artoo fell silent for a while, then whistled a question.

"Of course I thought of him," Threepio replied. "He was my Maker. Everything I am today, I am because he created me, put together the circuitry necessary for my logic routines and adjusted my receptors and my microphone. To say he was important to me is like saying you are little more than a clump of cables, Artoo. Although I remember understatement is used as an equivalent for irony in serious situations on 98 per cent of all major star systems I do not think it suits you and this situation."

Peep. Whistle.

"What will I do now, without him? I am a protocol droid. I was not built to live on my own. I guess I could find another Master to serve, perhaps Senator Amidala was serious when she offered me a position in her staff…"

The droid stopped, turned back to the rain.

"I am not familiar with such conflicting logic," he finally said. "A part of me knows there is nothing I have to worry about because droids like me can find owners easily enough. But another part insists that something has been lost, and that this something was essential to my entire being. Mylady, if you still think of acquiring me as a protocol droid you should give a newer model a thought, since there seems to be a major error in my programming."

"What do you mean, Threepio?" Padme asked, her heart already fearing the answer.

"I fear I am not fit for fulfilling my duty anymore. I seem to have the strange sense of not wanting to serve anyone anymore, Mylady. I should be put out of commission as soon as possible."

"I don't think it's a programming error," Padme told him and took a deep breath. Her heart was a cold, cold stone, but it hurt so much she wanted to scream. "I miss him terribly, too. And no matter what you say, I am not going to let you be replaced by a newer model. I don't want a model that can do better than you, I want you. You will stay with us, end of discussion."

Threepio was silent for a long while. Finally, he said: "Lady, if that is your wish, may I be so insolent and ask a favor of you?"

"Anything."

"Please delete my memory."

Artoo whistled in protest but Padme laid a hand on his dome to silence him. She was looking at Threepio. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

The droid nodded jerkily. "I am. I am of no use to you, the way I am, Mylady. And Master Skywalker…" Padme swore she could hear his voice break as he uttered the name. "Master Skywalker made me promise to stay at your side."

"When was that?" Padme asked as Artoo beeped in surprise.

"When we still were on Tatooine, Lady. I overrode my self-preservation codes to save his request and copy it into my core routines when he told me that. It seemed so… important to him."

The tears came only then. Padme stood in the warm summer rain, feeling the huge void Anakin's death had created in her, and knew nothing would ever be the same again. The few months of happiness they had shared, the love that had shone from the eyes of a twelve-year old boy that had already then made her feel loved and protected… The warmth of his hands, the smile on his face when he looked at her – nothing of it she would ever see again, feel again. He would never surprise her again by bringing flowers, never would share her favorite Jaquira fruit again. His face had been so full of joy when she had told him she loved him, all of his cocky, arrogant behavior disappeared when he had just looked at him. It was as if there had been two Anakin Skywalkers in Padme Amidala's mind: there was the small, resourceful child that won pod races and shivered at the loss of his mother but refused to cry. And then there was the other Anakin, cocky, self-confident and strong. And still, there had been strength in the child and fear in the adult. Padme had known both of his sides, and she had loved them both, had loved them so much she had let him break down her walls and had shown herself to him the way she was. He had always seen her – his eyes always had been able to read her completely – and she had felt beautiful when he looked at her, no matter when and how. So, despite everything. Despite war and danger and politics Padme had been happy; and she knew Anakin had been happy, too. And now it was over. Anakin was gone. She had lost him – in the most horrible way possible – and she would never be able to determine why he had turned, and whether she had really done everything she could have to save him. She should have tried harder. She should have fought on, should have held on to him and refused to let him go. She should have made sure to talk to Palpatine, and to the Jedi Masters, perhaps she could have stopped them from sending him with her. Perhaps then he would not have started to fall. She should never have let him get close to her, should never have fallen in love with him. She should never have…

Something stirred deep within her.

Shocked, Padme stilled; her hands both on her stomach. It had been short and gentle, almost like a nudge. It was gone again but the feeling remained, a soft wave of affection and reassurance. Of course babies were too small to know such things, but the most primal instincts often were the ones easiest explained by feelings like love or hate. What Padme felt now was love in its rawest form, innocent, untainted and warm. Tears sprang to her eyes again as she tried to focus on the tiny sentient beings inside her, the same way Anakin had taught her. The thought almost made her waver but she caught herself. Anakin Skywalker was dead, but she still had his legacy. He had taught her love, unconditionally and un-selfishly, the same way her babies now reminded her she would never be alone. Her senses caught on two separate entities, two heartbeats, two minds, but the love she felt was the same from both of them. It was amazing, a wonderful feeling, and again it was something Anakin had given her. She would remember this, she promised herself, the way he had tried to explain that she, too, was Force-sensitive in a raw form, and that she should be able to focus on the Force around her. Now it was in her, as was Ani.

The Senator caught herself again, slowly and painfully, and took Threepio's arm.

"Let's go inside."

Both droids followed her this time while the skies continued to mourn. But droids didn't cry, did they? Padme asked the palace technician to erase Threepio's memory, and thought it was a kindness that never would be extended to her.