"That's them, that's got to be the spies!"
Grandpa Bekurat barely paused in his brewing of the welcome pot of caf. Music sputtered and fizzed from their ancient system, the perfect background noise for a middle-of-nowhere Outer Rim hotel. "They're married."
Kiida sighed, tossing her cloth in the sink. The counters sparkled — or at least, they sparkled as much as they ever would. "Yes, that's what their registration said." Who honeymooned out here? "You believe that? The timing is a bit much."
Grandpa Bekurat just snorted and nodded his head at the viewscreen. Though it was as dingy as the rest of the place, Kiida could still make out the figures on the street. "Look at them." A knowing chuckle. "Married."
Kiida peered out, doubtful. The couple was still unpacking their battered speeder, piling the luggage in precarious stacks without regard for any other traffic in the area. The woman, pretty and slight but with an imposing posture, had hair far too extravagant for travel, but the intricate braids didn't seem bothered by the dusty wind Kiida knew was roaring outside.
As if sensing she was looking, the man turned, his wavy, sandy blond hair not quite covering a thin scar by his eye. Kiida sucked in a breath, somehow feeling like she'd been caught out, but the woman touched his hand and said something. He turned back to her, smiling sheepishly. Kiida noticed they didn't part hands, even when another gust nearly toppled their pile.
"Okay, fine," she grumbled, a little flustered at being proven wrong so easily. "But they could still be spies! Married spies!"
"My sources aren't always accurate, little one," Grandpa Bekurat said fondly. "Nobody has to be spying on us. We've been careful."
"Still." Kiida crossed her arms tight over her chest. Every guest had made her anxious since they'd started their work on the side, but this couple? She could feel something was wrong, all the way down to her montrals. "I don't like the look of them. Too Coruscanti."
"You don't like the look of anyone, little one. Now, would you help me set up the mugs? It looks like they're coming in."
After a few days, Kiida had to admit Grandpa Bekurat was probably right. She couldn't think of a single moment they hadn't been connected when they were around each other — whether by gaze or simply reaching fingertips.
Not only that, they couldn't stop kissing. Mostly just pecks on the cheek in public areas, like the kitchen or library. More than once, though, Kiida had run into them on her patrols. They were always in areas they weren't supposed to be in, all wrapped up in each other and desperate and wanting. She still sort of thought it was suspicious, but… They were soft and sweet and stuck together like taffy, no matter where they were. Even when they didn't know someone was watching, they clung to each other like they were afraid the other would evaporate from under their touch. It was almost…
Heartbreaking. But that was ridiculous. This was their honeymoon. Even so, Kiida saw the same look in the man's eyes that she saw in Grandpa Bekuarat's when he thought about Kiida's grandmother.
It was unnerving to see them both mourning for what they already, obviously had.
The day Kiida decided the couple from room 66 weren't spies was the day Grandpa Bekurat got one last piece on information on their supposed Republic spy — A Jedi.
On one hand, it was awful. They'd rated that high? Even with a war going on? All they were doing was being a tiny, insignificant way station, a place for information to pass safely by on its way to Separatist space. It was treason, Kiida knew, but like she'd said — who vacationed out here? It was in the same region as Mustafar, for crying out loud. People swore they could smell the fumes from space.
And they needed the credits, desperately. Grandpa Bekuarat wouldn't survive on the streets. They had to do this. The republic's humanitarian aid was a joke.
On the bright side, there definitely weren't any Jedi around. Aside from the sickeningly married couple, the only other visitors was a family of Twi'leks, none of whom were able to refrain from tripping over thin air at the slightest provocation. Besides, none of them spoke a word of Basic.
It was just… Every so often, that man did something odd. His reflexes were as absurd as his wife's hair. And one time, Kiida could've sworn his wife had tipped a glass off the table — but he had twitched a finger and it was back on the table, stone still.
Maybe she'd imagined it. That had to be it.
"Grandpa," she said anyway. It was late, all the guests long since asleep. They were still up past all reasonable hours, washing all the remaining dishes by hand. Electric light filtered in from the street, lighting their kitchen in odd angles. "The code says Jedi can't marry or fall in love, right?"
Grandpa Bekurat sighed, more tired than the comment called for. However much he denied it, he was as worried as she was about the possibility of getting caught. "Do you still think they're the spies?"
"No- It's just- I don't know." Kiida's cheeks flushed, and she dropped a spoon onto the rack to dry. "Someone's gotta be. I'd say it's them but it's just that-"
"They're in love."
There was relative silence as they scrubbed at their respective dishes. "The code forbids attachments like that, little one, yes."
Kiida's fingers tightened painfully around the plate. "That's awful."
Grandpa Bekurat shrugged and said, "They're Jedi," like that was an answer in and of itself.
Then, the nightmare.
— a blue lightsaber, burning into existence.
"By the laws of the Republic—"
"—the smuggling of information. Treason."
Anakin was the one to hustle Kiida into the brig, her hands in binders behind her back. He was Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi general whose name was plastered all over the HoloNet. But he was— But he was—
— his arm around Padmé's shoulders, his head ducked, affection and quiet adoration written all over his face.
He was—
— the two of them pressed up against a wall on the fourth floor, kissing with greedy lips and shaking hands.
He was—
—a Jedi.
And it was awful.
"But you loved her!" Kiida pleaded, the force field sizzling into life between them. Static sparked against her montrals, prickly and painful. "You loved- she loved- I don't understand!"
Anakin's eyes were dark in his face as he turned, striding back down the hall with his Jedi robes swirling around him, ignoring Kiida's words, then her sobs.
At the end of the hall, Padmé waited, serene and composed. When she turned to join him, their fingertips brushed. But just barely.
"Jedi," Kiida said, and it was a curse.