Part 37: Forever.
Padmé entered the penthouse Senatorial Residence for the sovereign system of Naboo in absolute silence. A motioning hand signal from her handmaiden indicated that the surveillance system was deactivated, before Dormé stepped forward to help her mistress out of the elaborate trappings of an imperial Senator. Layer after layer was carefully removed until a Nubian silk slip was all that remained, clinging to her slender figure. Padmé thanked her handmaiden with a nod of gratitude before walking from the living room through her bedroom and into the expansive ensuite fresher.
She switched the shower from sonic to water, turning the temperature up to an almost burning level of warmth. Her hands reached into her dark brown hair and removed the pins and combs which supported the buns and plaits, then she slid the silk slip down her body until it pilled in a heap around her feet. Closing her eyes, her hand went to the nearby entertainment system, and to the sound of soothing Nubian melodies she placed herself under the pouring hot water.
The pounding droplets hailed down her body, a comforting balm to her troubled soul, burdened by the daily deception she willingly placed upon herself. Everyday in the newly named Imperial Senate, a governing body fast becoming unnecessary in the wake of the Emperor's regional governors exercising brutal control over every planet within his tyrannical grasp, she would present herself as the loyal supporter of Palpatine, unquestioning and obedient to his every whim or rule. A cover designed to guard the Alliance to Restore the Republic, to deceive Palpatine from noticing the secret actions of her colleagues on the former Loyalist Committee, or the operations of her system's citizens, in their systematic sabotage of the Imperial weaponry and transport.
Her speeches, once proud, powerful, eloquent words about liberty, truth and justice, were now merely echoes of the Emperor's, his own form of twisted morality. Her dress was sombre purple and black, a permanent memorial for the Republic she secretly aided to restore, and the husband whose death she had faked. The social networking functions were a constant torture in studied avoidance, as she graciously refused matrimonial proposals from the toadies of her former Senator. Each of them, much to her disgust, failed to grasp the concept of her disinterestedness and loathing for their manners, characters and the methods they used in abusing the power Palpatine bestowed on them for their numerous acts of tyrannical torture.
Condensation began to steam the mirrors, the almost extreme heat of the water creating a cloud around her, but Padmé noticed none of it, so preoccupied in letting the balm work its magic on her body. Her constant fear was that the Empire would last beyond her strength to deal with the deception. Abruptly she stilled, pressing her forehead against the tiles, singing part of the melody which came from the entertainment system. Such lyrics, the work of a notable Nubian artist had always been a comfort to her. While not as good as her husband's, her voice smoothly adjusted to pitch and tempo of the song, lingering over the symbolism behind the lyrics reverently.
When she stood upright, two strong arms tenderly snaked themselves around her small waist, pressing her against his muscular compact figure. She did not jump in horror, for she knew of only one warrior who attempt such a potentially reckless manoeuvre. Obi-Wan pressed kisses along the length of her shoulders, upwards against her neck, then across her cheek until she turned to let their lips meet. Each time he visited her on Coruscant he ran the risk of the Emperor sensing him, but he'd learned a way to become an invisible void within the Force, undetectable by any who sought to track him.
Padmé turned round in his arms and caught his lips in a powerfully passionate kiss, her movements suddenly frantic. Sensing the turmoil in her mind, Obi-Wan responded with equal energy, lifting her into his embrace, opening his mouth to let their tongues duel in a sensual foreplay of what was to come. His hands clasped the soft skin underneath her hips, supporting her as he thrust himself inside her, obeying the silent urging of her thoughts; harder, faster. Blue green grey eyes met dark brown ones as their lids parted to let black pupils meet, Padmé raising her head as he pressed her against the tiled wall, the water raining between them as they cried aloud in reaching bliss.
In the heady afterglow they assisted each other's ablutions, massaging away the physical and mental aches caused by the trials of the day. Wrapping a towel around themselves they left the fresher to rest upon the bed. Obi-Wan quietly took her into his arms, her slender form resting across him as he let her hair caress his bearded chin. His eyes travelled towards the ceiling, but let the sculpted flourishes bypass his senses. Feeling her fingers fiddling with the limits of the towel wrapped around his hips, he stroked her the soft skin of her upper arm until the movement calmed itself.
"How are they?" She asked at last.
Obi-Wan smiled, then quietly told her about what she had missed in her children's lives. Cordé had just entered schooling, while Luke and Leia were receiving basic instruction of the Jedi life which had framed their father. Their eldest's training was a little more in depth, though oddly, she was not as powerful in the Force as her younger brother seemed to be. While Leia and Cordé held considerable potential worthy of any Jedi, inherited genetics be damned, Luke had something which one day would become the equal of his father's. Surrounded by adoring grandparents, Aunt, Uncle and cousins, their three children were protected from the horrors of the Empire in which their parents unwillingly lived. Padmé and Obi-Wan had both decided long ago that their offspring would not come to Coruscant until the Republic was restored.
"I miss them," Padmé murmured, the words unnecessary, but stated nevertheless. She returned to Naboo during every Senate recess, but just one second absent from her children was too much for her peace of mind.
Obi-Wan said nothing in response. Instead he bent his head to allow his lips to brush her hair, smiling as she nuzzled her face against his chest in reply. A moment later he changed the subject. "So, how angry is he?"
"Almost Sithly so," Padmé replied. "He cannot account for the mechanical failures, nor find any evidence of sabotage. Each time the project advances a step forward it takes at least four back. It is no closer to finishing than when we discovered it two years ago."
"Such a shame," Obi-Wan murmured innocently, causing her to chuckle.
Two years ago, during a regular patrol of the Imperial dockyards, one of their teams had discovered the construction of a large spherical craft, the size of a small moon. Calling on the aid of their Bothan spies, the Alliance soon discovered it was being built in mind of wiping out entire planets. Outraged at the future existence of such technology, the Alliance began to employ a series of undercover operatives in missions of sabotage upon the vessel, successfully thwarting the Emperor's plans at every turn. Her husband had been placed in charge of planning these mechanical failures. It was a continuous source of amusement for those Senators who knew of the sabotage to see the Emperor attempt to control his reaction every time fresh reports concerning the latest mechanical failure was given to him while the Senate was in session.
"What about that the search?" Padmé asked tentatively, for the other sabotage tasked to the Order was a difficult and disturbing one, not just for the Order and those belonging to the Alliance to Restore the Republic, but for Obi-Wan and herself.
Obi-Wan stiffened underneath her as he always did whenever she ventured to inquire about the Order's efforts to sabotage Palpatine's quest to find another apprentice. The task involved a visit to Mustafar to confirm official Imperial reports of Anakin's death, causing Obi-Wan to admit his less than merciful emotions as he took Mace to the place where he stood and watched as the Chosen One breathed his last.
Mace remained silent throughout the briefing of the duel, choosing to just glance at him in sympathy, then clasp his shoulder before leading him back to the craft which brought them here. Obi-Wan had almost glared in reply. Empathy he did not need, the guilt and self recrimination were still too fresh then. He wanted someone to yell at him, to blame him for the mistakes he made with Anakin. For he had failed the boy, by allowing the tension between them, blinding himself to the relationship with Palpatine, distancing himself from his apprentice, ignoring the boy's visions, instilling the strict discipline he learned from Qui-Gon's treatment of him, such methods he previously swore he would never use with a Padawan until then. Choosing not to resolve the conflict between them concerning Padmé. He continued to examine every argument with Anakin or Qui-Gon over their teaching methods until he naively came to believe that he alone was responsible for the boy's fall.
Someone finally chose to fulfil his selfish desire. Padmé yelled at him after a particularly tiring day with their twins, who picking up on his emotions had screamed and cried until she lost her temper, telling him that if he continued to blame himself for Anakin's defiance against his good instruction, for the Emperor's manipulative and merciless seduction, then he would let Sidious win, by destroying their love and destroying the twins. Her words, though deeply regretted afterwards, were much needed to quench the arrogance which lay in assuming such guilt, in daring to believe that he held a greater power over beings than that which belonged to the Force. Obi-Wan realised in his quest for someone to blame, he had forgot the wisdom of his elders, along with the Code. Slowly he began to accept all that occurred with Anakin.
Then he let it go.
However, the incident still haunted them, for with confirmation of Anakin's death brought Palpatine's wish for a replacement, and the task of sabotaging that desire fell under the jurisdiction of the Order. It forced them to examine the Emperor's methods of seduction and manipulation, to realise - much to their mutual terror -how quickly the conversion from Jedi to Sith could occur in uncertain times such as these.
It haunted Obi-Wan and Padmé every time Palpatine inquired after Cordé, or when they had to move the children from Naboo into hiding on the Jedi Sanctuary planet, because the Emperor had decided to visit his homeworld. Obi-Wan and Padmé were frightened by the possibility of the Sith getting his hands on their children, and for a Jedi to endure such emotions was disturbing, not just to the Order, but to himself.
"He tries," he answered her at last. "But that is as far as Yoda will let him succeed."
Padmé nodded, her still wet brown curls tickling his chest in the movement. Then she asked the question she dreaded to voice, for these visits were more precious to her than the ones they were granted during the Clone Wars, when they had the luxury of openness if someone happened to disturb their hard earned privacy. "How long do we have?"
Obi-Wan wanted to answer forever, but he had never been able to promise her that. This was worse than the brief interludes they were given during the Clone Wars for at least they lasted longer than these indulgences, conducted openly rather than in constant fear of discovery and death. Then she was allowed to mourn his absence, as opposed to removing all trace of his existence from the apartment when he left.
"As long as the Sith allows," he uttered.
Padmé adjusted herself to lie fully upon him, the towels shifting as she raised her slender figure to level his face with her own. "Not long enough," she murmured before kissing him.
His hands came around her, tangling themselves in her drying dark brown hair. "Forever would not be long enough, my love."