"Like everything else." There's a quiet, undone something to her voice that introduces itself for the first time since opening her eyes in this new world. Letting itself free from the cage of what he called her Senator Voice. That she still refers to as 'Amidala' in her head. To even the perceived, and prepared, nature of the public version of herself, that is not herself. Not ever entirely. Not the way this is.
It gets the one, two seconds before she even opens her eyes, again, looking up at him.
They've managed through a large number of truly terrible things, none of which have stopped them, or slowed them down, or turned them back, before. No one can run forever, but it's hard to let that thought ever take root. She doesn't surrender in the face of challenge, even when it seemed insurmountable and as though an entire galaxy had turned its back on her (and it once had). She didn't need someone to tell her she'd find a way.
And yet. It felt good to hear. It mattered hearing it from Anakin, even with that whispered promise, all earnest, desperate-sureness, laced with no clue how yet. They were both there, and as much as it is all terrible, and they are both already bound for certain of figuring out all of this terrible uncertainty -- her husband's face is right above hers. A breath away. In a way, it hasn't been in far too long, and she can let herself. As much take strength from those words, as not argue them, as --
Reach up. Brush her fingers up his cheek, until her palm flattens against it, thumb settle against the hollow of it, and say the thing she only ever does here. "I missed you."
She can't say it's a bonus. She can't imply she takes any delight in his presence, theirs together, a prize while so many suffer. But those three words can stand alone, on their own feet, without connection to the rest, and they will never not be true.
no subject
It gets the one, two seconds before she even opens her eyes, again, looking up at him.
They've managed through a large number of truly terrible things, none of which have stopped them, or slowed them down, or turned them back, before. No one can run forever, but it's hard to let that thought ever take root. She doesn't surrender in the face of challenge, even when it seemed insurmountable and as though an entire galaxy had turned its back on her (and it once had). She didn't need someone to tell her she'd find a way.
And yet. It felt good to hear. It mattered hearing it from Anakin, even with that whispered promise, all earnest, desperate-sureness, laced with no clue how yet. They were both there, and as much as it is all terrible, and they are both already bound for certain of figuring out all of this terrible uncertainty -- her husband's face is right above hers. A breath away. In a way, it hasn't been in far too long, and she can let herself. As much take strength from those words, as not argue them, as --
Reach up. Brush her fingers up his cheek, until her palm flattens against it, thumb settle against the hollow of it, and say the thing she only ever does here. "I missed you."
She can't say it's a bonus. She can't imply she takes any delight in his presence, theirs together, a prize while so many suffer. But those three words can stand alone, on their own feet, without connection to the rest, and they will never not be true.