I really didn't plan to post this so soon after posting chapter 4, but, well... it's ready, and I just love this chapter. Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 5. Farewell

"Your hand touching mine.

This is how galaxies collide."

- Sanober Khan

Dormé's selection was indeed impeccable as a refugee disguise, but not because it had been my dress— it had actually been one of hers. Or possibly Cordé's. We couldn't quite remember who's exactly, but we did come to the realization when we inspected it that it belonged to one of the handmaidens on the humanitarian relief trip to Jubule. Somehow, it ended up in the back of my own closet. This explained its perfectly muted, subtle appearance— at least compared to almost everything else in my wardrobe. It had been designed for the wearer to blend in with the background and not be the focal point of the scene. In short, it was perfect for a woman not wanting to be noticed, especially in transport to the very planet she'd been the face of for the last ten years.

The bulk of the stiff dress was brown with a mustard yellow tint to it, with a red pattern scattered throughout the thick fabric. It was round around my figure, continually expanding out from the shoulders down, keeping the majority of my slim outline indiscernible. The green upper sleeves puffed loosely, but tightened on the forearms with some of the most exquisite stitching I'd ever seen. Almost too exquisite. Our refugee roles would have to play as if Anakin and I were still on the more fortunate side of the class spectrum.

Dormé, as clever as ever, had made me ready to adapt to any situation. Instead of sewing a trim to a headpiece, she'd discovered she could fit a long veil up and over a metallic crown that rested upon my head in a semi-sun dial shape. The veil would trail around most of my face, thus maximizing the camouflage look she was after. The silver headpiece was more appropriate for the coming meeting with Queen Jamillia, but too flashy for a refugee hoping to travel inconspicuously. Because Jublue— the planet we hurried to aid in the aftermath of a natural disaster— was a colder world than we were used to, the dress came with an ankle-length cape. It was split down the front, but still added an extra layer without hindrance. It was almost all a deep purple, save for the top, where the floral print matched the dress underneath.

The whole ensemble was finished with a dark beige cowl that hid my neck and collarbone. We tucked my hair into it and attached the double-serving headpiece. The veil was expansive, covering the entire structure on my head with enough leftover fabric to frame my face and trail down my back in a river of intricate lace.

Just like a wedding veil.

I was fixing it around my face evenly in the mirror when Dormé took her leave. "I'm going to go on ahead then and make sure your luggage gets aboard. I'll see you on the speeder bus."

I smiled. "Thank you, Dormé."

I picked up a data pad and sat on my bed. I've never liked lying, and I truly feel nauseous sometimes just by the thought of doing it. But disappearing without contacting the closest allies I had in the Senate might've been worse than well-meaning deception. Therefore, I briefly sent off a final few correspondences to Senators Bail Organa and Mon Mothma, saying again how grateful I was for their messages of concern after they'd learned of the assassination attempts, reminding them which senators might still be viable swing votes on the MCA, and reinforcing the story that I would be staying home for the foreseeable future to recover in safety.

It felt ridiculous. Laughable, if it wasn't so gut-wrenching. Bail and Mothma knew me well enough to know that any sort of attack was more likely to light a fire in me than send me into hiding, especially if anyone I cared about had been killed in the process. Ordinarily, they two in particular were colleagues I would have trusted with the truth, but I heeded the chancellor's decree that my whereabouts be confidential. Even telling Dormé I planned on hiding in the Lake Country would've been considered a breach, but there I had no regrets. My days of queen were over, but my handmaidens would stay silent under torture before betraying me.

Or die in the line of duty.

Suddenly, even though I had been alone for a few minutes now, the space around me felt so very quiet.

"I'm sorry, Cordé," I spoke softly aloud to an empty room. "I'm so sorry."

A hallow silence was my only answer. Grief once again weighed painfully on my heart, opening the chasm anew.

Suppress, suppress, suppress.

I sighed heavily and began to type one last message. It was directed to Jurue Batar. He was an intelligent, charismatic lobbyist I'd worked closely with against the MCA here on Coruscant. We had more in common than could be listed on a data pad. For starters, he was coincidentally also from Naboo, though not officially employed by the palace or in any other government office as I was. Through no fault of his own, Jurue had a famously dastardly uncle who once held public office— before subsequently destroying the family name with scandals. The fallout had been so grave it left his nephew without hope of ever running a successful campaign himself. Nevertheless, Jurue's morality and drive to participate in public service led him down the path of working for peace-driven organizations, and he'd been a significant ally in my fight the past year. We'd gotten to know each other well.

He was single, with dark, wavy hair; many a tabloid piece had pointed out his atrractive looks. I could honestly find nothing negative to say about the young man. And yet, despite the numerous work dates we'd been on that had arguably veered more towards actual dates than not, I could never find myself mustering more than lukewarm excitement when I thought of him. To outside eyes, Jurue and I were likely in the midst of what some would consider a courtship, but I wrestled with the label for reasons I couldn't explain.

I had two messages from Jurue I had not yet replied to. One was sent yesterday afternoon, the other less than an hour ago— and with a much more worried tone. I sent off a single grateful, reassuring response, but added that my communication would be very light in the coming days for security purposes. It felt like a hollow excuse. Truth be told, I'd been needing time to gather my thoughts about Jurue away from our bubble of the Military Creation Act and, like it or not, I was about to get that space.

I heard the faint muffle of voices coming from beyond the corridor, so at last I stood. Surprising myself, I took a few steps to come to a stand near the corner of my room, in between the bed and where the (now replaced) windows met the wall. In a strangely somber moment, I looked around me, feeling an odd urge to say goodbye to my bedroom. I'd bounced back and forth between my Coruscant residence and my family home on Naboo dozens upon dozens of times, and I'd never done anything remotely like this ceremonial farewell to my inanimate surroundings. It was as if some small, prophetic part of me knew that if I returned, I would not be the same woman who had lived there before.

With a quick inhale, I shook myself out of my broody stupor and made for the reception room. Captain Typho and Obi-Wan were standing out on the balcony, their low voices carried inside on the light wind. On the opposite side of the room, Anakin was resting in a half-sit, half-lean on the top of one of the couches. He was gazing out at the grand view in front of him, his back to the balcony and the men outside. And to me. I could have, maybe even should have, walked over to the senior duo, who were apparently discussing Obi-Wan's pursuit of the assassin through Coruscant last night, but my feet carried me towards Anakin almost of their own accord. Besides, I'd already heard the hair-raising story from the younger Jedi. He turned as I approached. He stood straight, his eyes doing that evocative thing they did as he took the sight of me in. Even with a dress so progressively wide that I looked like a traffic cone, I felt like his eyes could pierce through the fabric and see the human figure underneath. Anakin himself was still dressed in his Jedi uniform.

I stopped at an appropriate distance, but then, in a very non-senatorial way, I rotated slowly in a full circle before him, rendering Anakin a full view of my attire. We were both smiling mid-way through my spin. "Do I pass?"

He nodded. His voice was quiet. Reverent. "You're perfect."

I felt my cheeks grow warm. Looking for a distraction more than anything, I gestured to the collection of material in his right hand. "Are those the clothes Obi-Wan brought for you?"

He lifted them up to chest-level. "They are. Where should I, ah?" He gestured to indicate the clothes on his body.

Of course, he would need to change before we departed. We'd need to be leaving soon, so without much thought, I simply blurted out the nearest area where he'd find privacy. "Oh, just use my bedroom."

His smile tilted, and he bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, milady." As he passed by, he paused in his gait, leaning in towards me. Even though Obi-Wan and Typho were well outside, he still whispered, close to my ear, "Guess it's my turn in front of the cameras."

My mouth parted involuntarily as he continued his measured stroll. I stood staring at the space in front of me, collecting myself as I tried to keep my mind from picturing visuals I had absolutely no business picturing.

After I'd taken enough breaths to feel confident that I looked composed again, I went to join the men outside. They greeted me respectfully, both of them clinically approving my disguise without impassionedly dubbing me perfect or with the same heat in their eyes as Anakin. They resumed their previous discussion quickly enough. Obi-Wan seemed short on leads, which was not encouraging, but apparently he had a contact not far who was a promising start for the recovered dart. Dormé, having secured the luggage as promised, arrived at some point to discover the cause of our delay.

To be honest, I don't remember much of what everyone said. I just remember nodding along every couple of seconds, trying not to think about how Anakin was undressing. Right now. In my bedroom.

As if he knew the subject of my thoughts, Obi-Wan suddenly turned to me directly. So startled was I, I actually almost blurted out an apology for my severe inappropriateness.

Thankfully, his face gave me quick assurance that the Jedi Master had not acquired telepathic skills just yet. At least, not when it came to me. "I'm sorry for the delay, my lady. We should have you on your way shortly." He frowned. "Where is that Padawan of mine?"

"Anakin is changing into his street clothes. He should be joining us any moment."

"Aww, missing me already, Obi-Wan?" The unmistakable voice, now cheeky, called out to us from behind me.

I turned, an instinctual smile already on my lips— and froze, stunned.

Anakin Skywalker was dressed like… like a regular young man. Not a Jedi. Not a grown-up slave from Tatooine. Minus the Padawan braid, you'd have thought he was a common Coruscanti citizen who'd walked in to meet us. Mere minutes ago, he'd been cloaked in the heavy brown of his Jedi robe that practically swallowed his figure behind its folds. Now, he stood relaxed in the doorway to the balcony, one arm stretched high above him as he lazily placed some of his weight on the hand grabbing the trim— at a height I would need a ladder to reach. So, he hadn't stripped down completely in there— his trousers, shin guards, and boots were all carryovers from his Jedi uniform, but he'd removed the tabard and dark brown outer tunic. His almost transparent, gray inner tunic hung loosely down his arms even as it was secured tightly around his torso by a fitted black vest with a distinguished gold pattern. Around his waist was a wide belt that only emphasized his athletic figure.

He was staring at his master with a wide, dazzling grin, the mid-afternoon sun finding a resplendent home in the tan of his neck and face.

He looked unquestionably, undeniably, categorically, drop-dead gorgeous.

This isn't going to work, I thought. How could anyone see him and not think he's a celebrity? They'll be calling the HoloNet and asking him for autographs.

For the first time, my proper, rational mind simply threw up its hands and agreed with my reacting body without contest.

Anakin was… sexy.

"That's enough, Anakin," Obi-Wan admonished, though with a smile and light tone. Was the master actually going to miss his apprentice? I stole a more studious glance at Obi-Wan's face. He was a well-trained Jedi, but I was a well-attuned politician with just as much experience at reading faces as he likely had. No, I decided. His underlying emotion wasn't bemused mock-reproach.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was nervous.

"How do I look, Master?" Anakin asked, though his tone was a tad more subdued. But his eyes still shimmered with energy— I could easily tell, because they kept flicking over to mine. I thanked whatever higher powers were out there that he hadn't directed the question to me.

"It's not a fashion show, young Padawan. I'll trust you to not forget it is the senator's safety you'll be concerned with, not striking a pose for holo magazines."

So, I'm not the only one who thinks he has a viable backup career.

Anakin dropped his arm down to his side— the palm hit his thigh with a slap— only slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, Master."

Dormé spoke up in a rush. "Something's missing from your outfit— I'll be right back."

With that, I watched in surprise as my handmaiden scurried off in the direction of my bedroom. I couldn't fathom what she was after to add to my ensemble, but I trusted her judgment on such matters better than anyone.

Peripherally, I saw Artoo coast into the living room from wherever he'd been. Just on time, too. I was glad he would be joining us— finally, a say in this whole affair that I'd received no push back on, however small my victory had been. Who could argue with me bringing a famously handy droid?

An abrupt, robust gust of wind hit us on the balcony— a common hazard of living on the 412th floor— and my lacy head covering was so caught up that it detached from Dormé's careful bindings on my headpiece. The veil would have flown over the side of the ledge if not for Anakin's quick reflexes. When he passed it back to me, I gave him a grateful smile as the four of us surrendered to the natural elements and moved inside.

A wide, off-white tunic of rough material was draped neatly over the back of the nearest couch. I vaguely remembered seeing the color of this fabric in the bundle in Anakin's hand before he'd left to change clothes. The over-tunic in front of me was a part of Anakin's refugee look; I wondered why he hadn't put it on with the rest before he'd ventured outside.

Then, I wondered if he'd left it off on purpose.

Maybe Anakin had some idea of just how good he looked in that vest.

After a few seconds of polite hesitation for Dormé's sake, we gathered ourselves together and prepared to go. Anakin grabbed the white tunic and his large brown bundle of Jedi robe and other layers under one of his arms. I promised him we would find room for them in one of my suitcases while on the speeder bus. Obi-Wan and Captain Typho began moving out of the room towards the elevator, Artoo following dutifully behind with a whistle, while Anakin hung back a few steps with me as I waited for my dedicated wardrobe mistress to return. Sure enough, within moments, Dormé emerged from my bedroom quarters at a brisk walk. She immediately noticed my newly barren headpiece, and a small frown creased her mouth at the sight. But instead of approaching me as I obviously expected, she continued in a straight line for Anakin.

A short, orange-red scarf was in her hand. A gasp nearly escaped me as I watched her grab both ends of the fabric and swing it over the top of Anakin's head, her fingers grazing his hair. He must've been surprised, too— it was plain on his face— and his eyes darted over to me multiple times, unspoken questions in them.

Dormé took her time tying the scarf around Anakin's neck, standing in closer proximity to him than I would've deemed necessary for the task. He stood at soldier's attention as her fingers worked. Then, she muttered something under her breath as she, apparently unsatisfied, undid the tie and started to redo it in a different knot. To my greater surprise, Anakin suddenly seemed to relax, even smile leisurely down at her as she continued her ministrations. He wasn't looking up at me anymore.

I felt more and more unsettled as I watched all this.

"Thank you, Miss Dormé," he practically purred. "Is that exquisite smell your perfume?"

And I've had enough.

I cleared my throat audibly. "Time to go. The refugee ship will leave with or without us." After yet another beat, Dormé tucked half of the scarf under Anakin's collar and finally stepped away from him, her face the perfect picture of innocence. Suspiciously perfect. The receiver of her attentive efforts stood there grinning like a satisfied cat. With a reproachful eye, I walked past them as I led us out and down the hallway. Obi-Wan and Typho were talking as they stood waiting for the elevator, oblivious to us. My overtly brisk steps caught me up to them in no time.

We entered the elevator when it arrived, the assemblage around me cordially holding in wait for me to walk in first. Captain Typho, Obi-Wan, and R2-D2 followed after me. My Jedi protector and handmaiden entered last, ending side by side in their own intimate pocket in front of the closing doors. The elevator was large enough for all five humans and rotund droid to fit, but not exactly comfortably.

The stout builds of my captain of security and the Jedi Master were large in front of me, but I couldn't help but notice how many times Anakin and Dormé's shoulders brushed up against each other— despite the expert stillness of our cart's descent. The continued conversation between the two men unfortunately drowned out the pair up front, but I clearly saw the way Anakin and Dormé whispered to each other in hushed voices, wide smiles on their faces as they leaned in close to share whatever the hell it was they were saying. At one point, Dormé even laughed in an uncharacteristically high octave.

Let's just say it didn't rank as my favorite elevator ride at 500 Republica.

Despite the budding, eleventh-hour friendship Dormé and Anakin seemed to have blossomed, she sat by me on the transport ship. Obi-Wan and Anakin sat in the front, side-by side. Anakin donned the white tunic before he took his seat, and Dormé had the rest of his few belongings stashed into one of my suitcases before we even took off.

Our next stop would be the western spaceport of Port Quarter, where we'd board the refugee ship, the Jendirian Valley. It had been decided that any large, public ship— even a refugee vessel— heading straight to Naboo from Coruscant the very morning after a second attempt would be too on-the-nose for a senator hoping to sneak out unnoticed.

Or, better said, for her handlers who hoped to successfully scurry the reluctant passenger off-planet.

Therefore, while one of the three refugee ships leaving this afternoon was actually making the nonstop thirteen-hour trip to Naboo, Anakin and I were to board the second option— a ship which would first stop briefly on Alderaan to deposit an initial group of immigrants before carrying on to our final destination: Theed. This detour would add six hours to the flight time, but that alone didn't necessarily bother me. Suddenly being isolated with Anakin for nineteen hours before we even reached Naboo— where I did not know how long we'd be kept— was a notion I found myself having no clear feeling about.

I looked out the window of the private speeder bus as we departed 500 Republica, watching the building that hosted my residence grow smaller and smaller in the distance. I kept my eye pinpointed on my veranda for as long as I was able to. At first, I thought I could even make out the tiny glint of the fountain. For a moment, I had a stark reverse viewpoint, as if I was sitting in my favorite lounge spot— watching the sight of the speeder bus fly away like someone else was riding in it, and I was blithely free to go back to my regular activities of planning for meetings and holo calls from the familiarity of my couch. Just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. As if reality aimed to remind me of my circumstances, my seat shook underneath me as we hit a lull of wind and the speeder bus rode through it. My building steadily became a gray blur, one floor indistinguishable from the next. It was a dark moment when I realized I couldn't be sure, with one-hundred percent certainty, that I would ever return to my peaceful overlook ever again.

The ones who were sure to return just after they saw us safely off were the two dedicated persons at my sides, all while the killer(s?) were no closer to being found than when they'd struck twice yesterday.

I think I can fairly say that reality sank in for all of us as we soared through the air, as it was mostly silent traveling for all passengers. The only break in the quiet happened every one or two minutes, when Obi-Wan would turn to Anakin and remind him of something "absolutely critical" to remember while on mission. "Stay put on Naboo", "Don't attract any attention", etc., etc. While I'm sure he meant well, everything he brought up seemed to meet the level of "absolutely critical", and every time this happened, Anakin's posture sunk lower and lower. I think whatever excitement he felt earlier faded with every last-minute outburst of warning that displayed the lack of faith his mentor seemingly had in him.

There were ample seats on the transport, but I was thankful to be seated directly next to Dormé. It was as if I hoped to soak up the sight of her very much alive presence as much as possible and keep the memory of it with me in the coming days. It was I who took her hand silently, holding it securely in her lap. She placed another warm, albeit shaking hand over mine. We didn't look at each other, our attention focused forward at the interior of the speeder bus, seeing nothing.

Too soon, we arrived at the transport station, our droid pilot finding us a perfect departure point in the shade of an administrative building. Out the opposite windows I could see the massive starfreighter which would take us to Alderaan and then Naboo. It wasn't a sleek Nubian yacht or an N-1 fighter jet, but it would serve its purpose well. Our party stood and walked towards the exit, but I stopped and turned to Dormé and Typho near the front of the aircraft.

The soldier spoke first. "Be safe, milady."

"Thank you, Captain. Take care of Dormé," I urged. As if I even needed to say it, I added, "The threat's on you two now."

A spark of the sassy Dormé I knew came back for just a moment. "He'll be safe with me."

But the smile on her face didn't reach her eyes, and two tears spilled from them. Dropping her mask of pretense, she looked at me with a level of pained anxiety I rarely saw from Dormé.

Did she fear for her safety even more than I thought? I told her the one thing I had to believe. The one thing that allowed my feet permission to step off that transport and leave them to whatever fate the assassin(s?) might deliver upon anyone seeming to be Senator Amidala. "You'll be fine."

"It's not me, milady. I worry about you," she countered. "What if they realize you've left the capitol?"

I could feel Anakin's presence just off my shoulder, listening. "Well," I dared a look, confirming my suspicion. For his ears as well as hers, I smiled and teased, "Then my Jedi protector will have to prove how good he is."

He'd split both Kouhuns in two with a lightsaber in the dark without so much as singeing a strand of my hair, all while leaping eight feet from a running start in another room. Knight or not, to say I wasn't already impressed by his skills would be a lie.

I was eager to hear how Anakin would reply to my playful taunt, but I didn't get to hear it. Obi-Wan began sternly warning him yet again about passing all his decisions through himself or the Jedi Council. The fact that Obi-Wan felt the need to say it once more, but even more so the urgency with which he spoke, informed me yet again that Anakin tended to march to the beat of his own drum. There must have been a rebellious glint in my eye as I noted that Obi-Wan had no such authority to give me the same directive, as much as I'm sure he'd like to. As if he was the one who'd been telepathic all along, Captain Typho pursed his lips at me. I'd seen that expression before— in him and in his uncle Panaka. His frustrated eyes conveyed that he wanted to say the same thing to me as Obi-Wan had to Ani, with the same stress, and for the same reason. Maybe he would have if others weren't present, or if he didn't respect rank and decorum like a soldier of a former queen and current senator must. Either way, he knew better. I winked at him before taking another look outside the window.

Obi-Wan addressed me now with much more civility than he had Anakin. "I'll get to the bottom of this plot quickly, milady. You'll be back here in no time." The stressed way he spoke gave me the impression a rapid return would relive him even more than it would me.

I looked at him, flashing momentarily back to my earlier conversation with Jar Jar. Not that I saw the two beings as alike in character or capabilities whatsoever, but in that, yet again, I recognized that some things were just out of my hands. I reminded myself that part of being a good leader is knowing when to place trust in the guardianship of others. At least with Obi-Wan Kenobi I had little to no doubts. I could believe that it was a matter of when, not if. "I would be most grateful for your speed, Master Jedi."

Almost curtly, Anakin interrupted. "It's time to go."

"I know." Goodbyes were over. The unpredictable future awaited. As Anakin moved towards the doors, I turned to give the woman before me one last hug, trying hard not to give myself away by squeezing her too tightly or for too long.

"Anakin." I was still embracing Dormé, but my attention was on the Jedi Master. I fully expected the delivery of yet one more trite guidance, but to my surprise, Obi-Wan warmly wished, "May the Force be with you," a sincere smile on his face.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the Padawan look back with a look of honest devotion. "May the Force be with you, Master."

What an odd, complicated relationship these two have.

With a deep breath, I turned to face the landing platform, picking up one heavy piece of luggage for Anakin's two. All three, however, of course were mine. It seemed Dormé had taken the liberty of packing for a lengthy trip, regardless of the collective hope that I'd be boarding the next ship back to Coruscant the second I stepped onto Naboo.

We disembarked from the bus, and after carefully navigating the stairs, I gave one last, quick look back. Artoo was diligently following, expertly descending the stairs himself. The smiles on the group watching us walk away seemed contrived.

My focus returned to the terminal as we continued our procession forward. No more call outs. No more looking back.

I am not Force sensitive. And yet, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a pinprick on the back of my neck as we crossed the platform. It was like a distinct future was now actively in motion, one no longer within our control. It might just be my hindsight playing tricks on me, since only now am I aware of everything that would happen once Anakin and I fatefully stepped off that speeder bus. But in my clearest of recollections from that moment, somehow, I knew. I occasionally argue with myself that there were not multiple forks in the road— the inevitable was set the day Qui-Gon decided he wanted a smaller dealer and chose Watto's shop. Other times, though, I vainly attempt to point out trigger-moments in the timeline, where Fate watched as we unknowingly optioned a path with no return. If the latter argument is true, this was undoubtedly one of those forks. This one instance more than any other, Fate permitted me to feel It breathing on my neck, Its echoing effect prophetically trespassing into my blood and bones.

The feeling, so strong and so unexpected, rattled me, and an exclamation of blunt honesty broke through.

"Suddenly, I'm afraid."

I could see Ani regard me from the corner of my eye. "This is my first assignment on my own. I am too."

He announced it devoid of any perceivable embarrassment or hesitation. This was one of the first trademarks of Anakin I would grow to love. He rarely, if ever, hid his feelings from me. At least in that first year.

I looked over at him, appreciating his own honesty. He could have lied and provided false confidence. Instead, I felt a little better at the simple fact that he could easily admit this was not a normal operation for him, either. It was a subtle but important sign of his maturity. Unable to hold his gaze for very long— why is that becoming a recurring habit?— I broke away and continued our progress.

"Don't worry. We have Artoo with us!"

Was he mimicking my own defense from last night? I met his eyes again, and then there was no doubt he was using my own words against me. The levity of the silliness cracked through my somber exterior. I heard myself laugh— for the first time since before the explosion on the landing platform, I actually laughed. Artoo whistled with fanfare, either not picking up on Anakin's joke or choosing to ignore it.

"The way things could go, I might just be able to sit back and relax and let him do all the work."

Now my reliable astromech beeped an indignant rebuttal in response. I laughed again.

Okay, I dared to think. This might not be terrible.

As the Jendirian Valley loomed ever more above us, Anakin's eyes grew wide as he took it all in. His face shone with excitement. "I've always wanted to ride on one of these."

"Really?"

My genuine surprise must've been evident in my voice, because he turned towards me and grinned. "Oh yeah. It's an AA-9 Freighter-Liner. Botajef Shipyards." He nodded appreciatively in the direction of the beast of a ship. "This beautiful piece of craftsmanship can hold 30,000 passengers with over three months of emergency food on board to support all manner of species. But," he shrugged, like an engineer admitting the failures of his own design. "It only has a class four hyperdrive. Hence, the long trip."

I stared at him, impressed.

He smiled back at me wickedly, obviously enjoying my amazement. His eyebrows made a quick reach for his upper forehead. "I still have a thing for ships."

At this point, we'd maneuvered ourselves to the back of a boarding line. "I'm shocked you're so favorable of it, considering it lacks your favorite element." I arched an eyebrow. "Speed."

He smirked. "Maybe they'll let me take a look at the three engines when we get onboard. I'm sure I can do some tinkering and bump that class rating up."

I laughed, but I shook my head. "Low profile, Ani, low profile."

"Oh, but I left out the best part about the freighter."

"Which is?"

He dazzled me with another toothy smile. "It has seven cafeterias."

Spoken like a true teenage male.

After waiting through the line, we approached the ticket counter. The agent behind the desk was obviously tired, stressed, and perhaps even in physical discomfort bordering on pain. The stool he sat on was designed for a human; his large gray body made him look like a Hutt with longer arms. The alien must've dubbed as security— no one was getting on the freighter docked just beyond us without his permission.

My heart went out to this creature, stuck under the sun all day, processing a sea of anxious faces. "Hello," I greeted kindly. "Busy day?"

"Eh?" The agent looked back at me suspiciously. His voice was gruff. "Yeah. Lots of refugees. Little room on the ships." He rubbed the side of his thick neck.

I smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure you're doing your best. You're helping a great number of people."

Ani shifted his weight, moving behind my ear just close enough to murmur, "Low profile, low profile."

I ignored him and maintained my smile. The being opposite regarded me with a growing hint of appreciation. It was a shame, really, how he'd obviously been met with such little kindness and understanding during his work. As the Separatist movement grew, desperate refugees had flooded the system. It was only going to get a hundred times worse if war broke out. This agent was an important leg in the immigrant relocation process.

His words were cautionary, but his tone became more friendly. "Hope you've got your chip, 'cause we're booked up if you don't."

Ever the multi-tasker, Dormé set all the documentation in motion before she even finished packing for me, but I stifled my sudden alarm as I realized I'd forgotten to retrieve it from her. I breathed a small sigh of relief as Anakin produced the square chip from his back pocket and handed it over to the large operative, who promptly stuck it into a slot on his counter.

A stream of blue text materialized on the ticketing desk, though due to its being backwards to us, I could read none of it.

"Let's see here. Mr. and Mrs. Zulub, eh?" He looked Anakin and I over. I fought to keep my face straight.

Dormé.

What the Force.

She had us posing as a married couple.

The agent peered over the documentation a little more, his three eyes drifting over the details of our fabricated story. I regretted all the wasted time on the speeder bus when I hadn't asked about our cover myself. I'd have to stay silent as much as possible and hope that Anakin at least knew the details of the fake identities. As close as they were standing, I wondered if Dormé passed the chip to him on the elevator. With my eyes forlornly looking out the window en route, I hadn't been paying enough attention to notice whether or not he'd read over its contents during the flight.

The trio of purple eyes in front of me got a little bigger, and even a smile cracked out. It looked friendly, even though the teeth were razor sharp. "Oh. Congratulations."

"For what?" I bit the inside of my cheek right after I spoke. So much for staying silent.

The agent looked up at me, as if surprised I would question him. "According to these dates here, you just got married."

I felt a toned arm settle around my upper back. I looked up to see Anakin's smiling face gazing down into mine, the sun behind him outlining his hair like a halo, and my breath caught. This was the closest we'd stood next to each other since he'd… well, grown up. It was much closer than any time in my apartment. His eyes twinkled mischievously, giving his cool yet affectionate demeanor away.

"Had to do it. Even as we were forced to flee our planet, I knew I couldn't wait any longer for her to be mine."

For all the tricks I've picked up over the years, especially with handmaiden decoys and my Amidala mask, I am not a professional covert agent. If any other Padawan or security member brazenly pulled this maneuver, I would've leapt out of their hold and immediately given the game away. For this fact, although I was reluctantly in on the hoax, it still felt strangely natural to step further into his side, wrapping my left arm around his waist and tentatively leaning my weight into him. Taking advantage of my closer proximity, Anakin adjusted his long arm to a much more extended grip around my slim back, drawing me further into him. The tip of his hand snaked to just under my rib cage. He was warm. And he smelled good.

It was too easy to smile back at him, even while I reminded myself to scold him later for obviously enjoying this too much. "Well, sorry there are no honeymoon suites on board," the agent said with a laugh. Under my "husband's" sparkling eyes, I tried to suppress a blush. "But I can get you stationed on the level with the best cafeteria. Best I can do for ya."

Anakin still hadn't broken our locked, adoring gaze, and his smile only grew wider. I promptly forgot how to breathe. With a winner's spirit, he joyously replied, "That's a prized wedding present if I ever heard one."

I shook my head, but I was beaming. Anakin's light was ridiculously infectious; playing along with this ruse was getting more enjoyable by the second. "Sir, you have no idea how happy you just made this man."

At my comment, with his face still turned towards me, Anakin winked the eye the agent couldn't see.

The gatekeeper picked up a marking device and pointed it at the blue holographic ink. The gadget laser printed a unique code into the top left corner. He swiftly pulled the chip out, and Anakin let go of me to retrieve it and pick the luggage back up. We were free to move on.

We were waved forward with a four-pronged hand. "Have fun, you two. Best of luck to ya."

How I wish Fate had listened to him.

A/N: Credit for the name "Port Quarter" and the details of the Jendirian Valley from research on Wookiepedia.

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