SHE’S LEFT SCUFF marks on his heart, slinging insults since his arrival he knows he deserves. But there are moments in between when she becomes his little girl again. The three year old he’d kissed goodbye in the middle of the night, seeking exile for their safety only to assume the government’s ploy was all in his head. His absence taught her steel in the place of softness, taught her to be feral when all else fails. && while some part of her is safer for it, the consequences far outweigh the benefits. 

               Anakin’s left hand hovers above her sleeping head, the other a dead weight across the couch. America’s Next Top Model sprawls its credits across the big screen, their sweating cans of coke left to flatten on the coffee table before them. It’s not until the CW icon stamps its neon fingerprint on the TV that he settles his hand in her hair. Fingers as flighty as a cornered animal, he unwinds the strands from her open mouth, tucking it behind the pale shell of her ear as he watches her fall into a deep sleep.

               Padmé finds them curled together on the couch in the morning, but doesn’t press the subject when Leia requests they never speak of this again.

               Anakin drives home the next day with a smile firmly embedded in his cheeks. It may not be much, but it’s progress. && that’s all he could ever ask for.