Author's note: We missed an upload yesterday due to some home internet issues. So sorry! To make up for it, there will be two chapters posted today. Here's the first—enjoy!

Chapter Forty-Three: A Last Goodbye

Sunset stretched across the ceiling of the Temple courtyard, all pinks and oranges in the center and deeper violet at the edges. A soft breeze brushed against Padmé's face and stirred what leaves were left on the massive, gnarled tree in the center of the garden—ancient, here for eons longer than the Temple had been. If she were to lay her hand against the bark, Padmé knew, she would be able to feel the life pulsing within, even as someone without a noticeable connection to the Force—tapping directly into a deep vein of something the Jedi here could access all the time.

Her hand brushed against the wood carving at her neck, the one that, even years after it had been removed from the tree, still stirred when it sensed the Force. The one Anakin had given her.

I just wanted you to have something you could take with you when we're apart, he'd said. Something to remember me by.

She'd never asked him how he'd gotten permission to take the snippet of wood from the tree—deep down, she'd known he probably hadn't, had slipped into the garden when no one else was awake and hacked a piece off before whittling and polishing it clean. Looking at the tree now—faded, graying, still alive but so so old—she felt vaguely guilty. It seemed as though the thing needed every piece of itself it could get.

Without thinking, her fingers went to the cord about her throat, the one she hadn't untied ever since Anakin had put it on that night they watched Flamewind hover over Oseon. The knot had gone even more inflexible with age—she'd probably have to get a rock or something sharp, slice it apart—

"Excuse me. May I pass?"

Turning around, she saw an aging Togorian, the fur of its pointed ears gone white. The Jedi wore only an olive robe, and stood behind a wheelbarrow about half her size. Hastily dropping her fingers back to her sides, Padmé stepped to the left. "Sorry."

"Not at all." The feline Jedi trundled by, laying the wheelbarrow to rest atop the tree's roots and then turning back to look at her. "The arks are being prepared, you know. Each one needs enough to start a new enclave, and that means taking cuttings." She rested a reverent paw against the gnarled trunk. "I won't make them too large, of course. This old thing will need to stay strong, especially once we've left it."

Padmé was startled—she supposed it was silly, but she'd always been under the impression that this tree was the only one of its kind. "How many of them are there?"

"Oh, one at each of the main enclaves," replied the Jedi, removing a pair of pruning shears that looked about as old as her from the wheelbarrow, "and more at sacred sites. Not many, but enough to keep going, thank goodness. I suppose in one way this is a blessing—we'll be sending a new crop out into the galaxy." She lowered her voice exaggeratedly, looking at the other Jedi who were scattered throughout the courtyard. "I must confess, I haven't ever done this before with this tree, but you mustn't tell anyone else. Wouldn't do for the Temple groundskeeper not to know what she's doing."

Smiling in spite of herself, Padmé put a finger to her lips. Then, as the groundskeeper turned to her work, the human woman found herself taking a step closer. "What will happen to this tree once everyone's left?"

"Well, the arks will go out in waves over several months, and those of us who are in charge of our disciplines—Quartermaster Qlik, Madame Nu, Cin Drallig, me . . . well, we'll be on the last one. So that gives me a long while to prepare it—be good to it while I can. And from there . . . well, these trees are incredibly hardy. This one has survived for thousands of years. So I think it's a bit arrogant to assume it needs us to look after it. It will take care of itself."

Meant to be comforting, Padmé supposed. But looking at the courtyard, she found herself feeling overwhelmingly sad—imagining the ceiling's view of the sky going dim, the rest of the garden's vegetation browning and withering, the tree sitting here alone with no one to visit it. The last tree alive in the soil of Coruscant, and no one else will ever know.

"Hey," she said, reaching again for the cord around her neck, "there's something I should give you—"

"Oh, that piece of mischief young Anakin made?" When Padmé's eyes widened, the groundskeeper chuckled, fur rippling. "Yes, he thought he was being clever carving it off at night when no one else was around, til I caught him. I didn't make him give it back, though—there was nothing to be done, and he meant well. I sensed it the moment you stepped into the Temple."

Her cheeks flushed red. "Sorry about that."

"Not at all. After all, aren't I doing the same thing now?" The groundskeeper hefted the shears in her paw. "And if you're going with Master Kenobi, it's good to know he'll have a piece of home with him."

Nodding gratefully, Padmé was seized by a sudden reckless compulsion. "Do you mind if I . . .?"

Smiling, the Jedi shook her head. "Not at all."

When Padmé placed her hand against the trunk, she didn't embrace the temptation to stretch outward with feelings suddenly enhanced, to feel the connection between herself and every being in the Temple, on the planet. Instead, she turned her perceptions inward, to a glowing spark of light deep within her. A seed, already growing.

Hi there, she thought. Sorry I haven't been thinking about you . . . at all, really.

Hope you like me anyway, when we get there.

When she pulled away from the tree, the groundskeeper had started cutting. "Good luck with that," Padmé told her. "And if Obi-Wan comes through looking for me, would you tell him I'll meet him here? Have a couple of things to do first."

"But of course!" The Jedi raised her free paw in a wave. "Good to meet you, Padmé Amidala. And may the Force be with you when you go."

I don't know about that, Padmé thought, but she found herself nodding gratefully.

The one time Padmé had been to the Temple previously, Qui-Gon had given her the grand tour of just about everything. One place she hadn't been taken was the brig—for the simple reason that it hadn't existed then. As the random Jedi she'd flagged down and asked for directions had told her, it had been hastily erected in a closed-off section of the dormitories just a few weeks ago—and had an occupancy of one.

It didn't resemble a prison cell so much as a room in a mental ward. There were no sharp edges, no hard surfaces—through the fine mesh that formed its window, Padmé could see nothing but cloth, coating the walls in rounded, padded shapes. There was no bed, just a cot on the floor; the door was not locked but tied shut by a byzantine loop of rope.

Despite herself, she smirked when the room's sole inhabitant caught sight of her. "Imprisoned in a pillow fort?" she asked. "Not exactly what I thought you'd be up to when you said you had a job to do."

Windu glowered. "Cute."

Restraining a snort, she shook her head. "All that time learning shatterpoint when you should have learned to pick a lock."

"Shatterpoint is why there is no lock here," he retorted, nodding toward the door. "Any metal or plastic I could break. But you can't shatter textiles. Bet they thought they were real clever figuring out that trick."

She wanted to lob another joke—it was good to see the bastard, and even better to have someone she could make fun of for a little while—but looking down and seeing the twine wrapped around his wrists in tight knots, Padmé felt guilty. "Sorry," she said more softly. "My plans haven't exactly been working out either lately."

Now it was Windu's turn to snort. "What makes you think I'm not exactly where I want to be?"

"Just seems like getting shanghaied by your Hutt Space friends and dragged back to Coruscant when the Temple issued a recall order is a funny way of deposing a chancellor."

"It has its advantages," he shot back, turning away from her briefly to lower himself onto his cot. "Plenty of time to think in here. Plan. Meditate."

"Meditating, wow. You're going soft."

Turning back to her, Windu sneered. "Shatterpoint isn't just about breaking things, Amidala. It's about knowing when to break them."

A sudden pop sounded directly above her. Padmé immediately flinched backward, raising her hands to protect her head; when she looked up, the corpse of a light fixture swung from the ceiling, sparking irregularly. Shards of glass littered the floor at her feet.

"Cute," she echoed, stepping forward and grinding the glass under her heel.

Curling his lip in a sneer, Windu nodded in mock appreciation. "Palpatine's a shatterpoint, same as he ever was. But his shatterpoint is different, now. When I focus, I can see it. Somewhere in the future. The moment that'll make or break him. I've gotten a lot better at focusing."

"Yeah, well, when that moment comes you'll still be here basket weaving."

"And where will you be?"

At that, she rubbed her foot back and forth, taking a perverse sort of satisfaction in listening to the squeak of its scratching against stone. "Not here. This is just a pit stop. And then, quite frankly, Windu old buddy, I have no idea."

"I guess this is goodbye, then. That why you came to see me?"

In a way, she supposed, it was—there was no other friend to say goodbye to, besides a clandestine note to Bail. Seeing someone in the flesh who knew her, who'd maybe care about her leaving, was nice in its own way.

It wasn't, however, the only reason.

"How good are you at . . . you know. Reading people's thoughts?"

Windu frowned. "I don't do it to people I respect, as a general rule."

"Yeah, well, we don't respect each other, do we?" Before he could ask what she was talking about, she raised her eyebrows and said, "I'm just saying, this is probably the last time you're ever gonna see me. And I worked Senate security for a long time."

Very slowly, Windu rose from the cot. Then, when he nodded, Padmé closed her eyes and thought very long and hard.

Afterward, she took one slow, steadying breath. "That's all I got."

Mace, for once, had no retorts. Instead, he looked at her, stony as ever, and said, "Thanks."

"You got it." Stepping back from the mesh, she raised her hand in a wave. "Good luck with your plan, Windu."

"Good luck yourself," he replied. "If I were about to be going on the lam with Kenobi, I'd be weighing my other options."

At that, she surprised herself and broke into a real laugh. "Weighed, tried, and blown. And hey, it won't be my first time."

Hands bound, Windu didn't return her wave. But as she headed back through the dormitories, another light broke with a sharp crack.

An air taxi would have risked their being spotted, and one of the Temple's private speeders could have been traced back. Instead, Obi-Wan and Padmé had taken a train as far as they could, then headed out for the diner on foot. The last vestiges of the sun were fading on the horizon, and despite the pollution of a planet-wide city, it was still the winter season here; Padmé pulled her jacket a bit closer against the chill. At her side, Obi-Wan was mostly silent; he'd not said anything since the two of them had emerged from the tunnels that led outward into the Works.

"What do you think they'll do about him?" she asked. No need to specify who they or him were.

The Jedi paused for a half-step, then fell back into stride alongside her. "I don't think they'll do anything. Anakin may be dangerous, but Vader isn't being used against the Jedi. And if this stunt he pulled at San Sestina went half as badly as you say, it doesn't seem as though Palpatine will be using him for much of anything." He exhaled, his breath fogging in the evening air. "For all we know, he's destined for a jail cell."

You know, she thought, screw it.

There was no point insisting to Obi-Wan that he hadn't been there, hadn't seen. That he was operating off memories of a friendship years old. The important thing was that they were leaving together; who cared whether it was to run from Palpatine or to run from Anakin?

"Welp," she said aloud, "this is the last time we'll be inhaling this much smog for a while. The baby will thank me for that. Hard to believe people raise kids on Coruscant."

Obi-Wan looked at her in surprise, as if he couldn't believe she'd used that phrase aloud. "Yes, the baby. Is it . . . well, healthy?"

"Hell if I know. Couldn't exactly check in to a hospital for an ultrasonic when I got here. It's still there, at least." She ran a hand along her belly. "Good thing we're hanging up the adventuring for a while—in a few weeks I'll be starting to show, can't be running and gunning when I present that big a target."

After a few paces, Obi-Wan pulled to a stop, putting a hand on her shoulder to make her do the same. "I . . . Padmé, I'd like to apologize."

When she opened her mouth to object, he raised an open palm. "I've not been fair to you, and I've not been a good friend. And I . . . I want you to know that I will do the best for you and your child that I can, while we're gone. You deserve that much."

His face held the repentance of a child sincerely apologizing for bullying his sibling, to the point that Padmé almost laughed. Instead, low profile be damned, she pulled him into a hug. The Jedi gave a small noise of befuddlement, but then gingerly hugged back.

"Let's have Dex make us too much food before his guy shows up?" she asked as they resumed their walk to the Starfire Diner. "Could be a while before we get that again, too."

Chuckling, Obi-Wan nodded. "I imagine we won't have to work too hard to have him cook after hours."

When they reached the diner several minutes later, its neon sign was black, the windows opaque. But had anyone been watching from outside, they would have seen the door slide open all the same, the proprietor hurriedly beckoning his two guests inside before shutting it and slamming home the lock.

Jedi Archives: Roots of the Force

The Tree

It is one, and yet it is many. Its branches shelter us, its roots hold us up in the Force.

Connected, the glowing strands stretch across the galaxy. Through the stars, weaving and winding. Binding together as one.

Reach out and feel their expanse, O Jedi. To touch the tree is to touch the Force Itself.

Nurture it, as it nurtures you, and all will be well.