(Random pointless sentence to create a space which makes chapter title below show up centered. Because it bugs me if it isn't!)


Chapter Eleven

"The Sleeping Giant Awakens"

A civil conversation was in order. The time for accusations and complaining was past. Surely, thought Padmé, she could manage to put aside her extreme difference of opinion regarding this matter to enjoy the company she was being forced to keep. The truth was, she loved Dormé like family, and she liked Anakin as well.

But Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan was an entirely different subject. She had always admired and respected him. She definitely liked him, but her feelings went a little deeper than just friendly admiration, although she wasn't sure of their depth. It was something she needed to study - when she had a moment to herself, that is. Presently, the two sets of eyes which were locked onto her were making her uncomfortable. Someone needed to say something and soon. The silence between them was coming close to being awkward.

"The other day, I was forced to, uhm, borrow a speeder and it was the sweetest ride! Did I mention that to you, Dormé?"

Padmé appreciated Anakin's attempt at small-talk, although the particular topic was not of much concern to her. Dormé, however, seemed intrigued. Padmé imagined the Jedi could talk about bantha poodoo and the young woman would be fascinated with every syllable that came out of his mouth.

Is that what true love is, the Senator wondered? After watching the couple grope each other on her sofa for the past few weeks, she had initially believed the two were merely in lust. Now, she wasn't so sure. Although they bickered and complained quite often, at other times such as this, they looked completely enamored. It was a balance of sorts, Padmé supposed, but not something she would like to be a part of.

She had always imagined being in love would be like negotiating in the Senate. Even when there were disagreements, a settlement could be accomplished through a sharing of ideas, concerns, and compromising; something which maturity and respect for a colleague demanded.

It didn't mean screaming in anger at a person one moment and then kissing them senseless the next. That wasn't love. It couldn't be. She didn't know exactly what that was.

Unless there were different kinds of love, and who was she to label it? To put love into a neat little, organized compartment? Until she had experienced it herself, she had no right to define it or judge those caught in its grip.

Or maybe she was just jealous. The shocking thought came unbidden to Padmé's mind. Perhaps what bothered her most about Anakin and Dormé wasn't the instability of their relationship, but the fact that they couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other.

What would it feel like to be desired and devoured like that? Padmé honestly didn't know. As a young girl, she had only one experience with love; with a young man who had signed up with the Refugee Relief Movement with her. They had spent a lot of time together assisting others through the program, and she had believed herself to be in love with him. But after a time, they had discovered their goals were not the same, and eventually decided to break up. Her first and last romance, she was ashamed to admit. They had never even kissed.

And then there was Obi-Wan. Padawan Kenobi – the handsome, young Jedi who had so courageously joined her in battle and saved Naboo. Although her handmaidens had counseled her and defined her feelings as a crush, Padmé hadn't been so sure, although it mattered very little. He was gone out of her life almost as quickly as he had entered it. Time and duty took care of the rest, stealing away all but the occasional thought of him, until the fateful day he showed up at her door.

What had she said then? Oh yeah, something stupid about it being a long time since she had seen him, when all she really wanted to do was throw her arms about his neck and make a fool of herself.

"Isn't that right?"

She hadn't been listening and could only vaguely recall Anakin mentioning something about an HKT44 modified speeder which was painted yellow.

"I'm not at liberty to say," the Senator answered her aid. "I'm afraid my mind was drifting."

A look was exchanged between the two sitting across from her which Padmé couldn't clarify. It was probably a secret message regarding an inside joke the two of them shared – one which she really didn't care to hear at the moment. She had heard Dormé's jokes before and although they were funny, they often bordered on being obscene.

"If I weren't a Jedi, I wouldn't mind owning one of those myself. " She tried to focus as Anakin continued, though her mind began to drift yet again.

Maybe she should go check on Obi-Wan. He may have kicked the covers off, or maybe the medicine had started to work and he'd be waking up. He would need help, as well as an explanation. She should excuse herself and go check on him.

"Padawan?"

The call coming from her bedroom was unexpected and stopped the dull conversation completely, immediately prompting Anakin to hop up from his seat and bolt toward her suite. Padmé and Dormé stood as well, though neither made any attempt to follow the young man.

"Should we go in there?" Dormé posed the obvious action.

"Let's give them some time," Padmé nervously suggested. She wasn't hearing any yelling – though she imagined Obi-Wan never raised his voice. All she could hear was a low rumble of a familiar voice speaking words she couldn't make out no matter how hard she tried.

It seemed as if an hour had passed before Anakin made his appearance in the common room. It wasn't relief showing on his face, as Padmé had expected to see though, it was apprehension.

Was Obi-Wan angry? Of course he was! How could he not be?

"My Master is awake and is lucid," the young Jedi explained. "He would like to speak with…"

Here it comes, thought Padmé. Obi-Wan was going to basically vent all his frustrations on her, but she could take it. Dormé and Dormé's actions were her responsibility after all. She would walk into that room and patiently listen to whatever Obi-Wan had to say; respectfully, and apologetically. She owed him that much.

"…Dormé." Anakin finished.

"Me?" her assistant squeaked.

"Afraid so," the Jedi Padawan uttered, offering no further support, other than a wink as Dormé brushed past him, walking with dread as if she were heading toward her executioner.