#for anakin

The world was upside down and pink and purple, like that time he’d drank a little too much and had to call Obi-Wan for a pick-up. That was a low moment for him, but this...this. This was something else entirely.

He lifted a weightless hand to his neck and fumbled around until he found the small, feathered needle. Iktochi poison dart. He’d only ever seen pictures of them.

Muffled yells surrounded him and he became vaguely aware of someone kicking at his hand. His lightsaber; gone. His fingers clenched as he summoned the weapon back to him, but the Force was silent. Inhibited.

The colours around him became more vibrant and his mind cleared.

Padmé.

He tried to stand up, but his joints were like noodles and he didn’t make much headway. Rough hands came to grip his shoulders. Pathetically, he tried to pull away.

“Careful Jedi,” a voice growled in his ear.

“–the girl?” another voice was saying from somewhere to Anakin’s side. He strained to catch a glimpse of the voice...a glimpse of her...but the pink and purples overwhelmed him and he could barely keep his head from hanging limply in front of him.

“No. She’s not armed.”

Ha, Anakin thought wildly. Shows what they knew about his wife. Not only was Padmé armed–she had weapons built into every layer of her clothing. And she had so. many. layers of clothing.

He’d know.

“Let him go,” she demanded from somewhere in front of him. He should be able to see her or feel her, but he can’t.

“You’re not in a position for negotiations, girl,” the man holding Anakin chuckled darkly.

“On the authority of the Galactic Senate of the Republic, I demand you let him go.”

“The Galactic Senate of the Republic? Well, why didn’t you say so?” the man sneered.

The pinks and purples began to clear again and Anakin finally saw her. She was okay–not drugged like him. Still on her feet and only being mildly restrained by an Iktochi man.

He tried to move his mouth, but his tongue felt heavy and large in his mouth.

“What is the purpose of this?” she demanded. “We are here on a diplomatic mission to meet–”

“Shut up,” the Iktochi holding Padmé hissed. “We don’t care why you’re here. We’re taking the Jedi with us...then, you can get back to your diplomatic mission, for all we care.”

Anakin tried to speak again, but his words were incoherent and garbled. Immediately, he bowled over in pain. The man with a grip on Anakin–also Iktochi, he could now see–was holding an electrostaff, still sparking with the energy that had just jolted through Anakin’s body.

“Don’t!” Padmé cried, before covering her mouth with her hand. She shut her eyes tight and steeled herself, looking as she always did when she was about to propose something to the Senate.

“No.” he managed. Tried to lunge toward her.

She stood tall and took a breath. “Take me instead.”

“Padmé...what are you–”

“I’m a Senator,” she said, her voice even and poised. “A highly effective one, in fact. Surely my ransom would be higher than one of ten thousand Jedi knights.”

“No, you–” His voice became a strangle as another current of electricity coursed through his body.

Padmé watched him with seeming indifference, but Anakin caught the way her eyes widened at his cry of pain. He shook his head violently, unable to form words. Urging her not to do this.

“The offer will not be on the table indefinitely,” she said sharply, with all the composure of Senator Amidala. But Anakin knew her. Panic. She was panicking.

“No,” he croaked, before another shock brought him to his knees.

Her voice pitched the slightest bit higher. “Your answer?”

Anakin felt the bounty hunter tense at his side. The Force went static as the Iktochi man considered his options. If this was any other situation, Anakin would roll his eyes. Iktochis were, generically speaking, some of the most self-serving, deceptive scumbags he’d ever encountered.

Padmé huffed impatiently, her posture stiff and erratic. “Fine, if you–”

“Wait,” the Iktochi growled. “You would willingly...trade places with this Jedi?”

She nodded shortly.

“Why?” he said, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“You can continue to senselessly question me or you can accept my offer and let him go.” She peered at Anakin and a sliver of her cool countenance fell. “I know this Jedi. He will not go quietly with you. Take me instead.”

“Padmé, no–”

“Foolish girl,” the man sneered. “Your Republic will not come for you.”

“I don’t think you understand the state of the galaxy,” she said evenly. “We’re at war. The Republic will do anything.”

The Iktochi holding Anakin hesitated again, then grunted in frustrated acceptance. “Here,” he shifted behind Anakin, grabbing something from his waist and throwing it to the man holding Padmé. A rope. “Tie her up and take her to the ship.”

Anakin took the distraction as leverage and slammed his shoulder into the man’s side. His movements were still clumsy and spastic, but he hit his mark. The Iktochi hissed in pain as he fell to the ground and Anakin took his moment, running at Padmé’s captor. 

Her eyes widened as he ran toward her. “Anakin! No! Don’t–”

He collapsed to the ground in a heap, his body shaking as current after current of electricity was shot through his body from the blow point on his lower back. 

“Say goodnight, Jedi,” the bounty hunter rasped above him, before stepping on his flesh hand. Anakin heard the bones in his fingers snap before he felt it. He picked his head up to look at Padmé.

She was scared, he could tell. She opened her mouth, words forming on her lips. He strained to hear and see–

The Iktochi swiftly kicked him in the head and his world went black.