Anakin Skywalker dragged the pad of his thumb over the dart in his hand. He had hit a bit of a hurdle in his investigation. He'd taken the dart to the Jedi Temple for analysis, but the information droids had insisted that the dart could not be identified. Anakin had searched himself through manuals, through weaponry encyclopedias, but… nothing. He'd spoken directly with specialists within the Jedi Order. Nothing. No one could tell him where the toxic dart that the assassins had used had come from. Anakin was no closer to uncovering the truth behind the attempts on Padmé Amidala's life than he'd been before she had left Coruscant.
He was not sure what to think of her now. She had insisted that Obi-Wan Kenobi take her to Naboo. It had been explained to Anakin that this was because he'd expressed so much interest in opening an investigation about the assassination attempts, and because Obi-Wan had more experience and would make a better lone guard. But Anakin knew better. He had seen the discomfort in Padmé's face the last time he'd laid eyes on her. She did not like when Anakin looked at her. She did not like him.
She still thought of him as "Ani," as the little whiny boy from Tatooine. He wasn't that little boy, of course. He was a powerful Jedi learner now, and becoming more powerful every day. If Anakin had the opportunity to show Padmé just what he could do, perhaps she would be more impressed with him. If he had the opportunity to push her up against a wall and kiss her, to make her feel alive the way she did to him, then maybe she would realize he was a man now. Maybe she wouldn't grin and tease him and call him "Ani" like she'd done all those years ago on Tatooine. Maybe she would moan and frantically whisper, "Anakin," and then she would know that he was no child.
Anakin stared at the dart and sighed. He wondered rather bitterly what Padmé was doing right now. Naboo was a pleasant place, Anakin knew. He'd give anything to be there now, passing time with Padmé and proving to her that he was a grown man who found her to be beautiful and intelligent. Instead it was Obi-Wan there with her, and Anakin was certain that his master was boring poor Padmé out of her mind. Obi-Wan was nothing if not devoted to the Jedi way of life. He'd shown that consistently to Anakin over the years. Obi-Wan could be witty and sarcastic, and he certainly had a sense of humor. But the man had an underlying and constant sense of calm, of duty, of seriousness. Anakin knew that his master would keep Padmé safe, and that was a small comfort. But he would give anything to trade places with Obi-Wan now.
He was not supposed to contact Obi-Wan unless it was an emergency. That had been made perfectly clear to Anakin before Padmé and Obi-Wan had departed Coruscant. But neither Mace Windu nor Anakin had any solid leads on the origin of the toxic dart, and until they figured out that particular mystery, there was little hope of propelling the investigation forward.
Anakin's hand hovered over the subspace transceiver in his quarters for a long moment before he picked up the transmitter. The device was safeguarded with encryption modules, Anakin knew, and so was the device Obi-Wan had taken with him. Security of communication was not Anakin's concern just now, though.
He could pick up the transceiver, and a message would reach Obi-Wan in seconds. He could tell his master that the vast stores of Jedi knowledge held no answers on the toxic dart's origin. He could inform Obi-Wan that Master Windu and Anakin had been frantically searching for answers to no avail, and he could ask Obi-Wan for advice. But he didn't do it. He did not wish to appear weak to his master, or incapable. He did not want word to reach Padmé that he was just a child playing detective.
Instead, Anakin tucked the dart into his pocket, and he carefully put the hilt of his lightsaber in his belt. He walked from his quarters toward the turbolift, determined to arrange a meeting with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. If there was anyone who might have some answers, who might respect Anakin's abilities, and who might maintain discretion, it was Chancellor Palpatine.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
"So it is." Obi-Wan nodded to Padmé as she leaned on the balustrade overlooking the mountain-rimmed lake. It really was a gorgeous place, and Obi-Wan had seen quite a few planets in his day. The air here was crisp and easy to breathe, and the cool evening breeze off the water was soothing. The resort to which they'd come was nothing if not luxurious, and Obi-Wan thought there were few better places in the galaxy where one might spend time waiting out the danger of assassination attempts. He had been on many dangerous missions as a Jedi, and this one felt particularly pleasant by comparison.
Once their bags had been brought up from the speeder dock, Obi-Wan had settled himself into his rooms, taken a brief sonic shower, and put on fresh clothes. He'd taken a small meal on his own, having been informed by the serving staff that the Senator was being well attended. Then the sparse staff of the place seemed to have disappeared, and the sun was hanging low and warm on the horizon by the time he found Padmé on the balcony.
A part of Obi-Wan wished he had not come looking for her, that he had just stood outside her rooms and ensured her safety throughout the evening. She was wearing a gauzy pastel dress that seemed like it was adhering to her skin only through magic. Her entire back was revealed, and Obi-Wan found it impossible not to notice the allure of that. Her hair was tied up in a headpiece, and she'd dabbed a bit of perfume on. Obi-Wan might have asked why she'd gone through so much trouble to make herself look presentable, when they were isolated in the middle of nowhere and it was almost night time, but he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
"Drinking already, Senator?" he finally teased, jerking his chin to the little glass in her hands. "The sun's still up. I must say I admire your festive spirit."
She smirked and swigged at the clear liquid in her hands. She winced and made a throaty sound of displeasure as she swallowed the liquid, and then she laughed.
"Mandalorian tihaar ," she said. "Burns like the blazes."
Obi-Wan scoffed and picked up the bottle of tihaar from the small table beside Padmé.
"I got utterly sloshed on this stuff one time," he admitted, "after an unfortunate and jarring encounter with some rather hideous sand grubs. Still makes me queasy to think of it."
"To think of the tihaar ?" Padmé smiled, and Obi-Wan clarified,
"No, the sand grubs."
"So, will you be joining me, then?" Padmé asked, seizing the bottle and pouring herself a bit more of the liquid. Obi-Wan noticed the glaze in her brown eyes. She had been drinking for a while before he'd come out onto the balcony, he realized. He shook his head and said seriously,
"I think that would be ill-advised, Senator."
Her playful smile vanished, and she set down the full cup of tihaar on the balustrade. She nodded and stared out at the lake, her eyes more glassy than ever.
"I want to apologize, Master Kenobi, if I have done anything to make this mission more difficult for you than it needs to be. I already feel quite guilty about all the trouble I've caused. My place is on Coruscant, serving my people in the Senate. The fact that I am hiding at a lake resort under guard, like some sort of helpless child, is humiliating enough. It's frustrating not to be able to do my job properly. And… if I am keeping you from doing your job, Master Kenobi, by having behaved inappropriately, I do apologize."
She had prepared those words in advance, Obi-Wan knew. She spoke them with the measured practice of a professional orator. Her fingers wrapped around the balustrade, though, and she swayed a bit where she stood.
Even Senators and former Queens, it seemed, could use alcohol to dull troubling thoughts.
Obi-Wan reached for the full cup of tihaar that sat on the balustrade, and he wordlessly poured it into his mouth. It burned like flame, searing his mouth and throat and leaving an unpleasantly bitter aftertaste. Padmé stared at Obi-Wan, agape with wonder as he set the empty glass back down before her. He shook his head and said firmly,
"Padmé, you are the most profoundly capable and professional person I have encountered, and I have spent many years encountering capable, professional people."
She gave a little snort of laughter then, which dissolved into full-on giggles that made her intoxication more evident. Obi-Wan tried hard not to laugh, and managed to limit himself to a crooked smile as he watched her struggle to reign in her amusement.
"That is the most confusing compliment I have ever received, Master Kenobi," she said finally, reaching for the bottle of Mandalorian tihaar.Obi-Wan felt a little spike of worry as he watched her try to pour the liquor. It spilled onto the balustrade, and Padmé huffed quietly with frustration. Obi-Wan gently took the bottle, and Padmé gave him a dazed look.
"I thought your mandate was to protect me from assassins, Master Kenobi. Not to… to protect me from myself."
He frowned, staring down at the liquor and knowing that Padmé was only drinking it because of what had happened the night before in her parents' house. If Obi-Wan hadn't been so foolish as to kiss her then, to plant seeds of doubt and confusion in her mind, she would likely not be standing out here getting herself blindingly drunk. Obi-Wan glanced over the edge of the balustrade to ensure no one was below, and then he dumped out the rest of the bottle.
"Master Kenobi!" Padmé exclaimed, sounding rather horrified. Her words were slurred as she watched the liquid splash on the ground below. "Mandalorian tihaar is… it's very expensive!"
"Padmé, look at me." His voice was more firm then that it probably should have been. She was far too elite a woman to be bossed around the way he was doing now. But Obi-Wan clutched the empty bottle of liquor more tightly in his hands and shifted on his feet, and Padmé obeyed his command and raised her glassy brown eyes to him. She was distractingly pretty, he thought.
"Padmé," he said again, realizing that her name felt rather nice upon his tongue. He put his hand to his hip and touched his lightsaber hilt, very much on instinct, and he felt a pleasant breeze wash over him from the lake. He swallowed heavily, trying not to pay too close of attention to the way she was looking at him with sadness in her eyes. "There was an incident, many years ago, when Qui-Gon Jinn and I were in a cantina on Genarius. We had just ended a rather grueling mission to stop a violent band of pirates from terrorizing innocent villagers, and we thought we might take a well-deserved break. The alcohol flowed very freely that night. I was… oh, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age."
Padmé nodded, leaning heavily on the balustrade, though she looked a bit confused. She blinked slowly, as if she were having trouble registering Obi-Wan's story. He plucked the half-full glass of tihaar from the balustrade and emptied onto the ground, setting the glass and the bottle of liquor beside him and rising up the meet Padmé's eyes again.
"Qui-Gon Jinn was never a big drinker, you understand," he said, "But that night, Qui-Gon had four Wookiee-wangos. The Sallustan gin hit him harder than he expected, I think. I had to practically carry my master up to his room in the hotel. It did not feel safe or wise to have a Jedi so incapacitated, so do you know what I did?"
"No." Padmé shook her head, looking very blurry-eyed as she dragged her fingers along the balustrade. "What did you do?"
Obi-Wan took a risk then, wondering if she would slap him for touching her. He reached for her cheek and cupped it in his hand, and Padmé surprised him by shutting her eyes and leaning against his palm. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath and said in the steadiest voice he could manage,
"I used my powers in the Force to heal my master, to erase the presence of the alcohol in his veins and its effect on his mind. I could do the same for you now, Padmé. If you'd like."
She kept her eyes closed, and she breathed so slowly as she burrowed her cheek against his hand that Obi-Wan wondered for a minute if she'd fallen asleep. But then Padmé murmured,
"No… thank you, just the same. Do you know, Master Kenobi, that I had rather hoped you might get drunk with me and do something silly? I thought maybe I could convince you to drink some tihaar and kiss me again, and that way, in the morning, we could both just tell ourselves it had been the liquor this time. It would be nice, wouldn't it, to have an excuse?"
"It would be," Obi-Wan admitted, thinking he ought to pull his hand from her face at once, "but I do not need to be drunk to want to kiss you again."
Her eyes blinked open then, slowly, and the trees beside them rustled gently as the evening breezes picked up. The setting sun was golden on Padmé's face, and she was so pretty that it was hard for Obi-Wan to breathe properly. He made no effort now to meditate or to settle himself the way he'd done at her parents' house. He found he did not want to remove himself from this, from the feel of her face in his palm or the sight of her eyes locked with his.
"You are an honorable man, Obi-Wan Kenobi," she slurred quietly, nodding against his hand. Obi-Wan did not know whether she was making an observation or trying to convince him of something, so he said nothing. Padmé reached up and wrapped her hand around his on her cheek, and her feet stumbled a bit as her inebriation threatened her balance. Obi-Wan's right arm was around her waist at once, drawing her against him by the small of her back to steady her.
This was far too much, he knew. It was beyond the pale of Jedi ethics to be standing here with her flush against him. It was excessive to have his arm threaded behind the back she'd bared so boldly in her gauzy dress. It was wholly unacceptable, he knew, to want her so very badly like this, to feel a pulse of craving work its way out from his core as she stared up at him. And he knew he was very wrong indeed to be pressing his lips to hers. That was wrong of him.
Only, it didn't feel wrong as he did it. It felt very right indeed. There it was again - the honey and lavender flavor that intoxicated him straight through their kiss. And she smelled like the flowers that surrounded them, like the breeze coming off the lake. Her skin was soft and smooth, and Obi-Wan found himself drifting his fingers around her bare back. Stars, but she was delicious.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had kissed a few women before. After all, brief sexual encounters were not entirely forbidden to the Jedi. What was forbidden was possession and relationships that required emotional ties. But sex, raw and simple, was something that happened without much discussion. Sex without emotion was a private matter that, as far as Obi-Wan knew, was not in violation of the Jedi Code. Qui-Gon Jinn had certainly had many a woman in his quarters at various hotels in various systems. As a Padawan, Obi-Wan had observed prostitutes, pretty girls from bars, and the occasional fellow Jedi Knight slipping quietly out of his master's sleeping space. Obi-Wan himself had been with a girl or two of his own, in a purely exploratory capacity.
Then there had been Satine, the duchess on Mandalore for whom Obi-Wan had born great affection. They had been physical more than once, and for a time Obi-Wan had been afraid he might have been in love with Satine. It was good, probably, that he had not seen her in many years now. His relationship with Satine had become entirely too emotional by the time they parted.
In the world of the Jedi, lust was permissible. Bonds of possession were not.
As he stood on the Naboo balcony with Padmé in his arms, Obi-Wan tried desperately to convince himself that it was mere lust making her taste so exquisite. It was only lust, he reminded himself, that had made him go hard and was causing the little whimpers to vibrate from Padmé's mouth into his. It was just a primitive - if powerful - lust that made him envision putting his hands beneath her filmy dress and doing very indecent things to her.
"I feel very dizzy," Padmé murmured suddenly, pulling her lips from Obi-Wan's and letting her head loll a bit. He held her shoulders and felt like an absolute cur then. She was far too drunk for him to be kissing her, he knew. She couldn't even properly want it right now. He gnawed at his lip and sighed, and then he scooped beneath Padmé's knees with one arm and put the other behind her back. She went limp as he cradled her, and Obi-Wan wondered exactly how much Mandalorian tihaar she'd drunk before he'd found her on the balcony.
Her bedroom was an airy space with a grand entryway to the balcony. Durosian marble columns lined the circular walls, and the bed sat low and wide with luxurious silken coverings. Obi-Wan encountered little resistance from Padmé as he placed her atop the bed, and she said nothing as she rolled onto her side and tucked her knees up to her chest a bit.
He stared down at her for a moment and then flicked his eyes out to the balcony. It did not feel as though it would rain tonight, but the air would continue to chill as darkness fell. Obi-Wan did not think it appropriate to manipulate Padmé's body so intimately as to truly tuck her into her bed, nor was she in any state to change from her gauzy backless dress into a nightgown and robe. He huffed a little sigh as he realized again just how much more drunk she'd been than he'd realized.
He pulled off his brown outer robe and placed it atop Padmé's body, and her hands reached around the hem to pull it more securely about herself. She made a quiet sound of contentment, but her eyes were closed and she seemed more lost to to the liquor than ever. Obi-Wan did not want to stand here staring at her; it felt wrong, even if it was an alluring sight. He dragged his fingers through his hair and turned to go. His boots made an obnoxious sound on the marble floors, but he still heard her voice as she murmured,
"Obi-Wan?"
He turned back, his hand wrapped protectively around his lightsaber as his eyes settled on her. She stirred a little beneath his rough brown robe.
"I think… I think I shall forever be apolo… I think I will always be telling you sorry , Obi-Wan," she mumbled then, her voice more slurred than ever. She was trying to sound dignified, Obi-Wan knew, but she was failing miserably. He pinched his lips, crossing his arms over his chest as though he could lock her out from himself like that. He had experience blocking blaster shots with a lightsaber blade. He could keep others from his own mind. But somehow, he was useless against Padmé.
"You do not need to apologize," he told her lightly. "It is I who… I should have known better than to take advantage. Goodnight, Senator."
"Stay with me tonight, will you?" she drawled, and a pang of physical discomfort struck Obi-Wan in his chest. He looked at her atop the bed, beneath his robe, and he shook his head. She could not see him do it, he knew. It didn't matter.
"I will retire to my own rooms," he said in a quiet tone, "because I would much prefer if you did not despise me when that expensive liquor works its way out of your system. You have more than enough enemies. I should like to count myself among your allies. So… goodnight."
She didn't answer him, and he suspected she was asleep. He turned to go, wondering distantly what Qui-Gon Jinn would think if his master could see him now.
"Your Excellency."
"Ah, yes! Please do come in, Anakin. It is good to see you again." Chancellor Palpatine rose from his desk in the Executive Office. Palpatine strode across the red carpeting, his robes swishing grandly about him as he approached Anakin.
It was good to be so warmly received by a man in such a position of power. Anakin often felt that the Jedi Council thought very poorly of him, and it had been obvious that Padmé Amidala still thought of him as a child. At least Chancellor Palpatine respected that he was a grown man with gifts and powers.
"I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice, Your Excellency," Anakin said in a deferential tone. "I had hoped to get your advice on a matter of great urgency."
Palpatine raised his eyebrows and held out his hands. "Why, of course! Whatever is the matter?"
Anakin pulled a small, gleaming object from his pocket and held it out in his palm toward the Chancellor. "Have you ever seen one of these before, Your Excellency?"
Palpatine carefully plucked the toxic dart from Anakin's palm and gave a soft little gasp as he examined the object.
"A poisoned dart," Palpatine breathed. He held it up to Anakin and asked, "Was this used against someone, my boy?"
Anakin nodded gravely. "As I'm sure you know, the second attempt on Pad - on Senator Amidala's life - involved two kouhons being released into her bedroom. Obi-Wan Kenobi and I tracked the assassin who planted the kouhons. A female Clawdite bounty hunter. But just before she could tell us the name of who'd hired her, she was shot dead… with that. "
He jerked his head toward the dart in Palpatine's hand. The Chancellor marveled at the small device for a moment, and then looked back at Anakin.
"And you hope that if you can identify the weapon, you might get more insight into the plots that threaten the Senator's life?"
"That's right, Your Excellency," Anakin nodded. "The problem is, I've consulted with the Jedi librarians, with the analytics droids, with weapons specialists. Nobody can tell me where this dart comes from. I know it's a long shot, but I had hoped maybe you'd seen something like it. Maybe you could offer me some new insight."
Palpatine frowned deeply as he held the dart up to the light and squinted at it. It seemed like an eternity to Anakin as Palpatine studied the intricate notches and characteristic wings along the side of the dart. But the Chancellor finally shook his head and said with a regretful tone,
"It is some sort of saberdart. I would guess that the central rod was loaded with a potent, fast-acting neurotoxin ampoule that exploded on impact. As for its origin, I'm afraid I can offer you no new knowledge on that matter. But… why don't you leave this with me? I will gladly get in touch with some metals analysts, some additional information droids… I will try my best to source this for you, Anakin."
Anakin felt a wave of relief come over him. He nodded and didn't try to subdue the smile that crossed his lips. "Thank you, Your Excellency."
Palpatine tucked the little dart into his robes and clapped his hand onto Anakin's shoulder.
"It is important that Obi-Wan Kenobi and Senator Amidala know how hard you are working to get to the bottom of this terrible mystery. Rest assured that I will vouch for your efforts, for your persistence and your thoroughness, when at last it is safe for the Senator to return."
"Thank you, Your Excellency," Anakin nodded. "In the meantime, I may seek out a meeting with a few of the Siniteen bounty hunters known to be operating on Coruscant. They may not like the Jedi, but perhaps they'll at least have a conversation with me."
Palpatine's white eyebrows shot up, and he tipped his head to the side as he said, "Be very cautious, Anakin. I know you are devoted to your goal of protecting Senator Amidala, and I do greatly admire your tenacity. Indeed, I think this is all foreshadowing of the great Jedi you will be. But those bounty hunters are ruthless, and many are enemies of the Republic. Tread carefully."
"I will, Your Excellency. I appreciate you looking more deeply into the matter of the toxic dart." Anakin gave a polite incline of his head and touched his hand to his lightsaber hilt. Palpatine's face warmed a bit, and he nodded.
"I will contact you as soon as I have more information for you. Thank you, Anakin."
As Anakin strode from the elegant Chancellor's suite, he was glad he had not contacted Obi-Wan Kenobi about the dart. His master, while intelligent and experienced, certainly would not have more knowledge about the weapon than did the resources of the Jedi libraries. He had been right, he thought, not to admit to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Padmé Amidala that he was having such difficulties in his investigation. It was far better that Anakin had enlisted the assistance of Chancellor Palpatine, who was proving more every day that he was a very good model and mentor for Anakin outside the strict bounds of the Jedi Order.
The rains on Naboo were rarely punishing. Usually, rain on this planet was misty and fine. This morning was no exception. When Padmé woke, she felt delicate flecks of water on her cheekbones, and she realized that rain was being swept into her bedroom from the open balcony. She blinked a bit, glad that the clouds had stifled the sunlight since her head was pounding. She should not have drunk the tihaar , she thought. That had been an ill-conceived thing to do.
As she sat up, she realized that the blanket atop her was no blanket at all. It was the rough-hewn brown material she'd seen around the shoulders of a certain Jedi Knight. Padmé twisted her fingers around Obi-Wan's robe, letting out a shaking sigh as she thought back to how he'd kissed her again. She had practically begged him to do it, having swigged liquor and spoken suggestively about him doing the same and the two of them having excuses to be silly . What nonsense. Being silly…
Padmé felt her cheeks color with humiliation. She had not been so drunk as to forget what she'd said to him, though she rather wished she could forget. He'd tried to convince her to let him sober her up - apparently Jedi had the power to do such a thing - and she'd rejected the offer. That had been stupid, too, Padmé thought. She'd wanted to stay drunk so that she would have her excuse to be silly , to kiss him. And he had tasted so warm, and he had been so very gentle. Again.
The parts after the kiss were a blur. She could vaguely remember the feel of his arms around her, carrying her inside. She could half-hear his voice explaining why he wouldn't stay in her bed, and that made Padmé flush a deeper scarlet than ever. It also made her reflect on the truth of one thing she had said to him. You are an honorable man, Obi-Wan Kenobi. She stared at his robe in her hands, and she nearly cried.
She rose from her bed and walked to the wardrobe on the wall. She pushed a small button to summon the attendant droid, which arrived swiftly and helped her make herself presentable. By the time the droid was finished with her, Padmé was cleaned, dressed, had her hair styled, and had makeup on her face.
Her hair had been neatly knotted above her head in a twist of braids and curls, from which hung a sheet of airy turquoise lace. She had chosen understated attire for the day - a skirt of copper-colored velvet that danced when she walked, over which lay a long, tight-fitting tunic with long sleeves. The tunic was turquoise raw silk, embroidered with copper thread and had slits up the sides to allow movement. For most women in the galaxy, perhaps, this outfit would be considered luxurious and formal. For Padmé, who had been known to spent hours preparing for a public appearance, this look was positively provincial.
"Thank you," Padmé murmured to the droid once she'd decided she could accept her appearance. The attendant droid chirped and wheeled itself from her room. Padmé followed the droid out, carefully folding Obi-Wan Kenobi's brown Jedi robe over her arm and walking toward the dining rotunda between their quarters. She thought he might be in there now, taking his breakfast.
She was right, as it turned out. The moment she walked into the dining rotunda, Obi-Wan rose from where he sat at the elegant wooden table. His eyes seemed a more vivid blue than ever in the gray light of the rainy morning, and Padmé gave him a little smile as she walked to where he stood. She held out his brown robe and said simply,
"Thank you for the blanket, Master Kenobi."
He just nodded as he took his robe back, and she turned to go to her chair. She sat opposite him and let a serving girl bring her a plate of ghibli fruits and a small muja muffin. Padmé thanked the girl and took a bite of the muffin. From across the table, Obi-Wan said quietly,
"The food at this retreat is generally of very good quality, though I find I much preferred the muja muffins you baked at your parents' house."
Padmé raised her face to him and grinned. The rest of the meal passed in a surprisingly comfortable peace, until Obi-Wan set down his cup of blumfruit juice and said in careful tone,
"I worry that my young Padawan learner may not be entirely capable of unraveling the mystery behind the assassination attempts on his own."
Padmé was surprised to hear Obi-Wan speak so frankly, and she balked a bit as the pleasant atmosphere in the dining rotunda evaporated. She folded her hands on the table and straightened her back.
"Anakin seems like an intelligent young man," she said cautiously, "and, correct me if I am wrong, but I thought you said he had the assistance of more senior Jedi in the investigation."
Obi-Wan stroked his beard a bit. He tipped his head, opened his mouth, and shut it again. He was holding something back.
"Please speak your mind, Master Kenobi," Padmé said, feeling ill at ease all of a sudden. Obi-Wan's bright blue eyes locked on hers for a minute, and then a look of determination came over him.
"Premonition and foresight is not a skill to be relied upon among the Jedi, for it is not something that is terribly dependable. And I have not had any vivid visions of the future. What I have experienced, rather constantly since last night, is a dull but distinct sense of unease about Anakin and what he is doing. I can not be more illuminating than that, I've afraid; it is often difficult to describe sensations in the Force to those who can not experience them."
Padmé tried not to react too heavily to what Obi-Wan was saying. She took a measured breath and nodded. "You think something is wrong. That… something has happened to him?"
"I am not sure what to think," Obi-Wan admitted. "A sense of foreboding, almost of dread, surrounds my mind when I focus on Anakin and his task."
Padmé felt a bit queasy then, as if she were suddenly drunk on tihaar again. "Perhaps we should go back to Coruscant," she suggested, but Obi-Wan shook his head.
"That would be in direct violation of my orders from the Jedi Council," he told her. "I think perhaps I ought to bring Anakin here to Naboo, at least for a brief meeting in Theed. It is not secure enough to communicate about this issue with him in depth over subspace transceivers, even encrypted ones. I would like an update from him on what he's found out thus far, and I would like to gauge what's happening on the other side of things. My objective is your safety, Padmé, and I think it will be more difficult to assure that unless I can speak directly with Anakin."
Padmé nodded and sighed. "If you think that's best, Master Kenobi, then I leave it to you to contact whomever you must to arrange for him to come to Theed. I will disguise myself in the city, and we will meet with Anakin. My unease was in being alone with him, which I know you understood. But I also know why it is the Jedi Council first wanted you to be the one investigating the assassination attempts."
"So you have no confidence in Anakin when it comes to either task, then," Obi-Wan said, sounding darkly amused, and Padmé gave him a scolding look.
"I know that if you have such a serious sense of anxiety, it can not be for nothing. I trust your judgment, Obi-Wan. Send for Anakin, and we will return to Theed to meet with him."
"Master Kenobi, the transport speeder will be arriving in about two hours." Padmé swept into the Jedi's bedroom, trying to walk with confidence. She could no longer be coy around him, acting like a doe-eyed little girl. She was a Senator, and so she tipped her chin up and let her elegant, dark green skirts fall neatly around her where she stood.
"Thank you." Obi-Wan nodded, and Padmé eyed him curiously where he sat on his bed. His brown leather boots were in front of him, and he was cleaning them with a crude-looking rag. Padmé fingered the gold braid around her waist and said carefully,
"Would you like me to fetch the cleaning droids for you before we go?"
He smiled patiently and shook his head, continuing to rub the rag on the toe of his boot. "Jedi are taught from a very young age, M'Lady, to respect our uniform and to treat it with pride. I have been wearing a Jedi uniform for as long as I can remember, and I have never before let a droid clean my boots."
Padmé hesitated. "I hope I did not do dishonor to your uniform by using your robe as a blanket, then."
Obi-Wan looked up from his boots, and the hand holding the rag stilled. "No," he said quietly. "Of course not."
"In any case," Padmé said lightly, gliding to his bed and sinking down to sit, "Tell me, Master Kenobi. What exactly did Anakin Skywalker say when you contacted him and told him to come to Naboo?"
Obi-Wan's lips curled up a bit as he turned his eyes back to his boots. He buffed a bit at a stubborn spot on the leather, and he said thoughtfully, "Anakin is very confident in his abilities. But he has skipped a great many steps in the formal structure of the Jedi training, and it has been difficult, at times, to deal with his arrogance."
That didn't answer Padmé's question, of course, but she still found it an interesting thing to note. She studied one of the shimmering shed beetle wings on her gown and murmured, "You seem like a patient and able master for him."
"I try. Unlike Anakin, I am not so very confident in my abilities," Obi-Wan said. He sighed deeply and set down the boot he was holding, moving onto the other one as he examined the leather for dirt or scuffs. His voice was measured and level as he said, "When I ordered him to come here to meet, he was a bit too enthusiastic for my liking."
Padmé frowned. She raised her eyes to Obi-Wan's face, but he was deliberately keeping his focus on his boots. Padmé straightened her posture again and said delicately, "You worry that he is too eager to see me? Is that it?"
Obi-Wan nodded, and he finally met Padmé's gaze. His blue eyes shone with a strange, distant sentiment for a second, and then serenity seemed to come over him again. He lowered the boot and rag to his lap and said, "Anakin is not very good at accepting that many times we don't get our way. Once he puts his mind to something, and he decides he wants it, it can be nigh impossible for him to accept failure or rejection."
Padmé scoffed quietly and smiled. "Well, unfortunately for him, he'll have to take rejection from me. I'm not interested, and, anyway…"
Her voice trailed off then, for she had been about to say, ' He isn't allowed to seek me out. ' Then she realized the deep hypocrisy in that, and she lowered her face.
"Padmé." Obi-Wan's voice was gentle. How was it, Padmé wondered, that a man so known for his prowess in battle could always be so gentle with her? She forced herself to look at him, even as he shoved his pair of boots and the rag away. A distant part of her mind thought she ought to chastise him for his lack of respect toward his Jedi uniform, but she couldn't speak as she stared at him. Finally, she blinked and managed to find her voice.
"I don't want Anakin Skywalker," she said again, "and I won't hesitate to make that plain when he comes here. I will be as diplomatic as possible in rejecting him if it comes to that, Master Kenobi."
"You don't have to want anybody at all," Obi-Wan reminded her, though Padmé wondered whether he was talking to her or to himself. She smiled a bit as he rubbed his forehead and said firmly, "You are an accomplished politician in your own right, and you owe no man your attentions."
"No, I do not owe attention to anybody," Padmé agreed, "but I am free to offer it nonetheless, am I not?"
She did something then that she knew to be foolish, and she hoped that Obi-Wan Kenobi would not reject her outright. She reached for his face, cupping her hand around his red-gold beard. Then she leaned forward and touched her lips to his. At first, he did nothing. He didn't react at all, and Padmé panicked for a moment. Her lips trembled against his, and she was rather afraid that she had ruined everything. So much for diplomacy.
But then it was like something had detonated inside of Obi-Wan. His own hands suddenly cinched on her waist, locking around the woven green material of her gown. He drew Padmé closer and crushed his mouth more firmly against hers than he'd ever done. Padmé realized at once that Obi-Wan had given up on holding back, on fighting her off, and she whimpered softly against his lips.
Her fingers drifted to his belt, finding the cold metal clasp, and she pressed the sides until it popped open. Obi-Wan sucked air in hard through his nose as he kissed her, but he did not protest as Padmé pulled the belt and cloth beneath it away. She finally broke their kiss, very carefully placing the belt and obi near his boots on the other side of the bed.
"Utmost respect for the uniform," she murmured, staring for a moment at the brown leather. Obi-Wan's hands were on her face then, turning her back to him as his lips met hers once more. Padmé felt a strange flush of heat go through her, and a rather insistent sensation of want between her legs that might have been embarrassing under different circumstances. She wasn't embarrassed now. Not anymore. She wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi, very badly. He dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth, and Padmé made no effort at all to stifle the moan that that elicited.
She was clumsy then as she tried to pull away his layers of sashes and tunics. He helped her, peeling away one piece at a time and half-heartedly folding them. Padmé marveled a bit as his chest was bared to her. He was lean and hard from decades of training and battle, though not so sculpted as to seem inhuman. There was a dusting of his red-gold hair scattered on his chest, which was heaving a bit now as he stared at Padmé. She dared to ghost her fingertips along his skin, and Obi-Wan shuddered beneath her touch. His own hands pawed helplessly at the waist of her crocheted dress, and he said with a breathy laugh,
"I confess I wouldn't have a clue how to start getting you out of this gown, Senator. I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but one might be inclined to think this dress was designed with chastity in mind."
Padmé smirked and curled her fingers around his, pulling them up the side of her torso along the beads and pearls.
"I can't make it too easy for you, can I?" she teased, leaning backward a bit and urging Obi-Wan to follow her. He did, and suddenly Padmé found herself lying on her back with Obi-Wan Kenobi hovering above her. He leaned onto one of his hands while the other one reached between them and yanked a bit at the heavy skirts of her gown.
Padmé tried not to gasp or cry or do anything else that gave away how overwhelming it all was to her. She had never, ever done something like this, and she found herself baffled by how strongly her body was reacting. He had made her come completely alive, from the inside out, in a way she'd never felt before. Her whole body was thrumming and pulsing, and a warm ache between her legs told her that she was very ready indeed for something new to happen there. Padmé had touched herself alone before, of course, as any woman might do. But this was categorically different. The fire in her veins at the sight of him was nothing she'd ever experienced, and her eyes burned from it.
She reached up on instinct and rubbed his arms a bit, whimpering quietly at the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers. So this was why women all over the galaxy went mad for men. Obi-Wan's hand had managed to work its way beneath her skirts, which Padmé realized were being hoisted up around her waist. This was progressing quickly to something forbidden, something unknown, but she wanted it badly. She felt Obi-Wan's fingers tentatively stroke the inside of her thigh, and she shivered and arched her back a bit as her heart raced faster.
"Padmé," she heard him whisper, though her eyes were wrenched shut so that she could not see him. His voice was different than she'd ever heard it. Usually Obi-Wan Kenobi spoke in slick, controlled tones, no matter what chaos or danger was around him. Now there was a wobble in his voice, a little crack, and Padmé reached up to take his face in her hands as his fingers stroked her thigh again.
"More, Master Kenobi," she murmured desperately, opening her eyes and finding herself locked into his blue gaze again. "Please."
He grunted quietly, sounding more uncontrolled than ever, and then there was a feeling of firmness against Padmé's abdomen as he rolled his hips forward. They were separated by her gown and his trousers, but she was still shocked by the feel of his erection grinding against her. Padmé's hands tightened on Obi-Wan's face, and his hand stilled on her thigh as he surveyed her face. Suddenly he frowned, his brows knitting deeply. His fingers twitched against Padmé's thigh, and he shifted a bit, making his hardness rub her again.
Padmé knew that her eyes were round with alarm, that she was panting and red-cheeked and probably making a complete fool of herself. But Obi-Wan Kenobi must have seen something else, because a look of grim awareness settled on his features, and he pulled himself back. He sat back on his knees beside Padmé, dragging his hand through his hair and sighing as he asked her gently,
"You've never done anything like that at all, have you?"
It wasn't really a question. He clearly knew the answer. Just the same, Padmé slowly sat up, feeling rumpled and embarrassed, and admitted, "No. I haven't. I've been a bit busy for such things. What difference does it make?"
Obi-Wan looked at her like she was speaking another language entirely for a moment, and then he blinked. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, and his tone was more kind than ever as he said,
"Somehow, it seems as though a situation like that has no hope of being free from emotion, Senator. The… the type of emotion which Jedi are prohibited from experiencing."
His cheeks went scarlet, and Padmé realized what he meant. He would not be able to be the first man she was with in that way without feeling a bit possessive. He would not be able to help her discover sex without feeling a bit of ownership over the experience. And he would not be able to say it had only been lust. Padmé nodded and huffed out a little sigh, struggling not to cry as she pulled herself from his bed. She smoothed her dress, noticing but not much caring that some of the shimmering wings had fallen loose. She reached up and touched at her braided hairstyle, knowing it was utterly destroyed, and she said quietly,
"I think I'll go freshen up and ensure that everything is properly packed. I'll eat something light on my own and meet you at the speeder dock."
Obi-Wan said nothing. He sat on his bed as she walked with regal posture from his bedroom. As Padmé stalked through the doorway, she knew he was still there, with his tunics and robe and boots scattered about him… trappings cast aside during their brief bit of passion that he would put right back on.