A/N: So, uh. Hey guys. Long time no see, right? Thank you for being so patient. Even up until this week, I've been getting periodic comments wishing me well and telling me to take care of myself, and I just want to say that I really, really appreciate the support despite the long and unplanned wait. To make a long story short I've been on a pretty weird physical and mental health journey the last several years, and particularly within the last 6-8 months or so. After many detours, at the ripe old age of 28 I've been diagnosed with clinical anxiety as well as ADHD (and a bit of job burnout), which all explains a… lot of my experiences in life so far. I'm still working through this journey and there's a lot of tough stuff going on in my personal life these days, but am seeking treatment and am moving in a positive direction, albeit slowly and through fits and starts.
I'm still re-learning how to engage with a lot of my hobbies, including writing, after some serious depressive bouts, and it's slow going, but I'm hoping I can build up some momentum to finish this monster of a story and give you all a satisfying conclusion to this long-running saga.
I'm horrible at responding to comments but please know I read each and every one, and they really encourage me to keep coming back and chipping away on this. You guys are honestly the best readers out there.
The first thing Obi-Wan noticed when he woke up was how unnaturally quiet it was. Coruscant was never quiet, always clamoring with activity and the tireless struggle of billions. This morning, the universe was so quiet he could hear himself blink. Tinnitus tickled his ear drums as he sat up in bed, an unfamiliar cotton quilt folding at his waist.
His memory felt foggy, and he couldn't recall where he was. He'd travelled here on a mission assignment, he was fairly sure, but struggled to remember where and for what purpose he'd been sent. The bed creaked as he hauled himself upright and stood in the bare bedroom.
It was a small, isolated cabin on what appeared to be an even more isolated planet. Out the front door there was a lonesome road and beyond that, tidy vegetable fields as far as the eye could see. Not knowing what else to do, he began to walk. The fields passed by in serene endlessness. Before he knew it, the sun had retreated to reveal a sky full of stars, visible in their tens of thousands through the clean, perfect air of true desolation. He continued to walk, tireless and thoughtless, for an untold time. The sun returned and left, and returned again, and he processed nothing but the smell of the flowering crops on all sides, and the sweet, moist taste of soil and sun-fed leaves that lingered on the air from night into morning.
The world snapped back into focus when he saw another person, standing just off the road. Their back was turned, so Obi-Wan called out to them, asking if they knew where he was. The figure ignored him. Even as he drew nearer, the figure turned and followed an unseen path directly through a field of young tuber plants.
"Can you hear me?" He shouted after the figure. There was no response. After a brief hesitation, Obi-Wan followed them, taking care to not tread on the tuber plants.
"When they're this young, they're still very fragile, you must treat them with care and love," he'd heard someone tell him that some time ago, in an aborted lifetime. He struggled to keep up as he picked his way across the fields. The figure seemed to walk faster and faster, until at last Obi-Wan had to jog to keep up with them.
Obi-Wan did not realize they'd been climbing a hill, and he did not see the cliff's edge until they were practically upon it. At the edge, the figure finally turned to face him. The face looked familiar to him, but something about this place made it hard for him to sort through his memories for the right name. Something about her eyes seemed off.
"I will not stay here," she told him with a crack of desperation, the sun of Bandomeer staining the white of her montrals pink. "You would have done the same."
He realized who it was right as she took a step away from him, backwards, toward the edge.
"Ahsoka, wait—" Her boot slipped over the edge and she disappeared in a rain of gravel.
Obi-Wan jerked awake so violently he nearly fell from his bed. The noise of air traffic hummed through the thick transparisteel window by his dresser, the edges of the curtain limned with lights that flickered in busy patterns even in the dead of night. He glanced at the chrono. Three hours past midnight. Untangling his legs from his bedding, he wiped a hand across his forehead, grimacing when he felt how sweaty he'd become. He rose, changed and went outside to the meditation cushion that had been his since he was thirteen years old.
You would have done the same. He sat and tried desperately to clear his thoughts.
A strange feeling clung to the back of his skull for the rest of the day, just as the fresh-sweet smell of tuber sproutlings and the feeling of dirt under his fingernails. He sucked on the inside of his cheek to chase the taste away, refocusing his attention to the present.
"Careful on the wide arc, Ular, you're liable to hit your neighbor," he said. Padawan Ular nodded wordlessly and curtailed the motions of his lightsaber to avoid hitting other students. Obi-Wan crossed his arms and scanned the rest of his pupils, moving to and fro to gently correct their stances before moving on in silence. They were practicing meditative Soresu katas today, slow and deliberative, and all of his students were one by one discovering the mesmerizing effect of light and repetition that made the katas such useful tools for a Jedi—well, almost all of his students.
Ahsoka Tano's eyes were closed, brow furrowed into lines that made her look far older than fourteen as she grit her way through the kata. Her stance was sound and her movements correct, but her blade cut the air with a frantic buzz, whizzing through its arcs without the meditative grace for which the kata was made. He could practically feel the anxiety and frustration radiating off of her flushed skin, even as she pressed on with the exercise.
Obi-Wan almost spoke up to encourage her to relax, but held his tongue. Instead, he merely watched her, looking at the frown tugging at the corners of her mouth, the desperate edges of her eyes scrunched tight. Silently, he moved away from her to the next student, casting another look over his shoulder as he continued on.
Obi-Wan lingered after class, giving parting advice to students as they passed in a tidy line. Ahsoka was last in the line. She shuffled up to him, arms folded neatly behind.
"I don't get it," she blurted, eyes anywhere but on Obi-Wan's place. "The kata. Could you… show it to me again?"
It was a surprising request, considering the many hours of grief she'd caused him over the last several weeks of lessons. In her, he could see no one but the girl who'd fallen off the cliffs of Bandomeer. A restless sort of feeling rose up from his gut and squared his shoulders.
"You're a corps trainee," he said coolly. "What use do you have with meditative katas?"
Ahsoka's eyes finally flicked up to his, grey-blue and stormy, brows accusatory. "What?"
"I know you're training with the Starfighter Corps, I've known many of the corps members as personal friends," Obi-Wan said, and she tore her eyes away, jaw muscles clenching in frustration as she stared at the floorboards. "What use does a starfighter have for lightsaber lessons?" As he watched, the whites of her montrals turned pink from the roots up to the tips.
"Just because I'm a corps member doesn't mean I can't fight," she insisted, firmer than she needed to be. "The lightsaber is the heart of the Jedi," she recited.
"That is a Jedi Knight's mantra," Obi-Wan reminded her calmly, watching the fire in her eyes spark and spread. "Not one of the corps members."
"I will be a Jedi knight!" She threw her fists out at her sides, itching to punch. The dojo echoed with her shout, and she looked away. Obi-Wan didn't flinch.
"Do you really think so?" The question was a taunt, for she had no way, no path, no hope for it.
"Yes," she said anyway.
"How?"
"I don't know," she snapped at him, desperate enough to glare. "I just… I will."
Obi-Wan watched her, silent and stern. The smell of tuber fields and fresh rain lingered in his nostrils. "This kata is about certainty, and serenity," he told her. "Your form was perfect, but your mind was clearly elsewhere." He watched as she glared at him. "You musn't let your emotions show through the kata. Like this." He fell into the exercise, forcing his mind to fall blank, as had been his discipline for decades. When he was finished and had disengaged his saber, he looked to Ahsoka, who looked crestfallen.
"How long did it take you to master it?"
"The kata, or the meditation?"
Ahsoka shrugged. "Yes."
"A lifetime. I know that sounds trite, and it is," Obi-Wan shrugged, still watching her even as she bit the inside of her lip to keep from talking abc to him. "Life does not always put us where we'd like." He let the words sink in before drawing a fresh breath. "You asked about this," he said, gesturing to his scar, and she finally looked up. "You are right, I did lie to you. Of course my master had nothing to do with it, but at the time, it seemed kinder to lie than to tell a youngling that I'd been sliced to ribbons by a Sith."
Ahsoka's eyes grew wide, lips falling slack. Uncomfortable with her surprise and sudden scrutiny, Obi-Wan casually examined his lightsaber, picking off a flake of soot with the edge of his thumbnail.
"When he struck me," he explained, not looking up, "the Sith had every opportunity to kill me, every intention to do so. I couldn't have stopped him." He rubbed at a scuff on the pommel of his blade and, sniffing in annoyance when it stayed put, clipped the hilt to his belt.
"But," Ahsoka said for him, "he didn't."
"No," Obi-Wan looked at her. "He chose to gloat instead, and lost his life in an unlikely moment. I, in an equally unlikely moment, aided by the Force itself, survived." He watched her face a moment, but she still appeared dumbstruck by the story, forehead furrowed and eyes still wide.
"Your path towards knighthood is unlikely and, at the moment, utterly invisible to anyone in this Order, including me. However," Obi-Wan's head tilted to the right as he used his one good eye to peer at her, "I have been living against unlikely odds since I was your age and younger. Before you can move forward, you must learn to accept the Force's peace in the midst of impossible circumstances."
When she did not immediately respond, he began to walk away before she could find the words to phrase her questions. Feeling her eyes on his back, in a split second he made a choice:
"Practice the same kata for next week. Do it blindfolded."
Mace Windu was not in the habit of making house calls. If Mace needed to speak with someone, he conducted the meeting in his personal office at his convenience. However, extenuating circumstances demanded flexibility from even the most unyielding Jedi.
How far I've fallen, thought the Master of the Order as he waved open the doors to the Senior Padawan's dojo complex. It was a place he never made a habit to visit, and as soon as the smell of sweat, stale robes, and saber-burnt air hit his nostrils he remembered why. At the beck and call of my greatest enemy.
Padawans of all ages stopped what they were doing to track the Master of the Order's journey across the wide arenas, curiosity only shattered when Mace fixed them with withering glares. After two more sets of wide doors, he finally came upon his destination, tucked away in the smaller private dojos reserved for the most senior of padawans, where they trained in solemn isolation with their masters in preparation for their sacred ascent toward knighthood.
"Motherkarking kriff-kark of the nine hells!" The shout echoed loud and clear across the room right as the doors parted. The Master of the Order sighed.
"I see training is going well, Padawan Skywalker," he said, and Anakin looked up at him, face still pulled into a grimace as he rubbed at a singed portion of his upper sleeve. Ben Kenobi pressed himself up off the wall where he'd been leaning, grin still visible under his mustache.
"Master Windu," he said, with a level of schadenfreude visible in his features that was, perhaps, unbecoming of a Jedi master. He waved his hand, and five remote blaster droids fell harmlessly to the ground. Anakin deactivated his lightsaber only after he saw all the droids were asleep. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" Ben asked. "Come to join the fun?"
"Only if your definition of fun involves diplomatic assignments," he said. "I've just spoken with the Chancellor about your performances at the gala last week."
"Oh?" Ben's entire demeanor shifted, and he crossed his arms guardedly. "Has there been a problem?" Mace glanced at Anakin, who was attentive to both masters while also trying desperately to shake off the pain in his stun-shot arm.
"No," Mace said, and looked behind himself to ensure the dojo door had closed. "Not as such. It seems you made something of an impression on the Chancellor. He wants to thank you both for your service at the event, and give his personal compliments to you, Master Kenobi, in training such a capable student." As he eyed the aforementioned student, Mace watched Anakin stand a little straighter and preen under the unexpected praise. Ben was a different story.
"I'm… glad to hear it," the master's face was anything but, brows low and furrowed into a suspicious frown. "But…"
"But why am I spending my afternoon in the sweaty, hormone-soaked halls of the Padawan dojo?" Mace finished for him, ignoring Anakin's brief look of effrontery, "I'm afraid because we're short on time. The Chancellor is set to keynote a planet-wide conference for the Senate Mid-Rim Caucus across planet tomorrow evening. The conference will draw an intergalactic audience and considering the current… turbulent politicalsituation across the Republic, the Chancellor is concerned about his personal security. The SBI is lending a few special agents to the chancellor's detail, but he's requested Jedi presence at the event for his personal protection." Mace eyed the two Jedi, eyes lingering on Anakin. "He's requested you specifically."
The Force jittered with opposing threads of excitement and trepidation. The master-padawan pair look at each other in sync, and then back to Master Windu.
"Why?" Ben wanted to know. "There are plenty of teams on call better positioned to take on such an assignment."
"Actually," Mace blinked at him. "I didn't mean you, Master Kenobi. The Chancellor requested Anakin specifically."
"Me?" Anakin asked, looking briefly at Ben, who was stock still. "W-and not Master Ben?"
"Just you," Mace affirmed, glancing at Ben.
"I don't suppose I have any say in this?" Ben snapped, more harshly than he'd intended. Anakin looked to his teacher, surprised at the outburst.
"I'm afraid my hands are tied," though Mace was typically difficult to read, the frustration was evident in his entire countenance. "I realize you're both off the active roster at the moment, and I realize Padawan Skywalker has his final exams coming up shortly. However, neither I nor the Order which I lead is currently in a position to deny the Supreme Chancellor this kind of request." He looked to Anakin. "Your acceptance of this assignment would be a personal favor to me, Padawan Skywalker."
Ben crossed his arms in a flurry and immediately put a hand to his mouth to keep himself from saying anything. Mace ignored him, and kept his focus on Anakin, who was eyeing Ben with something bordering on hurt.
"Well, Padawan?" Mace asked. Anakin shook himself out of his thoughts and held his chin high, straightening his jaw and nodding his head.
"Of course, Master Windu. I'd be happy to accept."
Moments later, once he'd cleaned up the deactivated droids, Anakin jogged off to shower. As soon as the door hissed behind him, Ben snapped,
"Mace, this is utterly unacceptable."
"Oh is it?" The Master of the Order retorted, exasperated. "If you have some alternate course of action hiding up one of those sleeves," he spread his arms, "please share."
"We cannot leave him alone with Anakin, I will not allow it."
"Unless the Kaminoans have a clone of Anakin floating around that I don't know about, I don't see how we can prevent it. Everything we've been working towards since Alderaan has existed purely at the Chancellor's—at Palpatine's pleasure." Ben winced at the name; Mace did not. "The fact that he hasn't already recalled every Jedi outside the Core back to Coruscant is a miracle in and of itself. More than half the senate is growing tired of our scavenger hunt for the Sith—who in case you haven't been following the news, some politicians are claiming is a fiction cooked up by Master Yoda himself. With that kind of public opinion, the Chancellor won't have to keep pretending to like us for much longer. If Anakin's favor with him can buy us even another six months, a year—"
"You expect him to remain at the beck and call that long?" Ben snapped. "You know how it went last time, Mace," he hissed, stepping closer so he didn't have to raise his voice. "This is exactly what he did, exactly what he wants."
"And unlucky for us, we might have to give it to him." Ben stared up at Mace, furious but speechless. "You are a strategist without peer, Obi-Wan, you always have been," Mace said evenly. "Either you defend whatever innocence you think Anakin has left and sacrifice the advantages we've been safeguarding since you appeared under that heap of rock, or you trust Anakin and the training you've imparted to him, and buy us whatever advantages we can find before the Sith tips his hand."
"At least let me go with him."
"I can't."
"I'm his master."
"And you were not requested," Mace insisted. "Palpatine asked specifically if you might be willing to spare your apprentice, not join him."
Ben cursed more colorfully than Mace had heard from him in many years, before fixing his gaze on the ground. Through the cream of his sleeves, Mace could see that his hands were strangling his wrists.
"And what if he is asking you to give him a winning hand in your efforts to preserve your own?" Ben asked.
"Anakin is not a sabaac card," Mace said, and then, more quietly, "He is not the slave Qui-Gon plucked from Tatooine. And he is not the frightened boy you saw on Mustafar."
"He could be."
"I know you raised him better than that. I'm asking you to trust him as you never seem to trust yourself." Ben looked upon hearing that, and Mace raised his eyebrows in challenge. Ben bit the inside of his lip and looked away.
At that moment, Anakin jogged back through the door, hair still damp from his shower, fresh linen robes crisp and not yet creased. Mace looked over to him.
"Padawan Skywalker, my office, fourteenth hour today. You'll leave this evening, overnight accommodations across planet have already been arranged."
"Uh—of course, Master Windu," Anakin said, glancing again at Ben and then back when the master didn't reciprocate. "Thank you for the opportun- that is," he straightened his robes and tried to stand taller. "I'll be there."
The Coruscanti sunsets were, more literally than any other sunsets in the galaxy, scheduled to every minute, blush, and flare. The skies were a precise five-thirty-seven shade of fuschia when Ben Kenobi knocked on Yan Dooku's door and let himself in without waiting for an answer.
Yan looked up from his game of chess with uncharacteristic surprise.
"Ben," he said, straightening his spine with the pops and cracks he'd earned in his eighty-one years. "I wasn't expecting you for another," he consulted his chrono, "thirteen minutes." Ben
ignored the greeting and sat himself on Dooku's couch and scrubbed a hand over his beard. Dooku looked him up and down and nodded at the tea tray nearby,.
"It's decaf, if you're interested," Dooku told him. Ben sunk his face into his hands, taking a deep breath before coming back up and looking away.
"I don't suppose you have anything stronger?"
"Ah." Dooku surveyed his chessboard before pushing back from the table, straightening his tunic as he stood. He glanced down briefly to summon a thin, sleek cane to his hand, a morning and evening accessory that had made its debut some months ago as his joints aged. He let his eyes drift over Ben as he stepped toward his liquor cabinet, taking out two glasses and a flask of brandy with his free hand. "And to which member of my lineage do I owe this rare drinking companion?"
"Which one do you think?" Ben retorted, rubbing tired lines out of his brow. Dooku returned to the table and poured both glasses generously.
"What's Anakin done now?"
Ben only sighed. By the time the master had explained Palpatine and the gala and Mace Windu's newest assignment, Ben's glass was nearly half gone. Dooku had barely touched his, reclining at a serene angle while Ben melted into his slouch.
"This is exactly what he did last time," Ben huffed, hardly paying Dooku any mind. "He lured us all into a false sense of security, veiled in politics and petty diplomacy, and stole his heart right out from under my nose. And what did I do? What couldI do?" He paused to shake his head and said, almost in a whisper, "what can I do?"
Dooku swirled his drink and sat back in his seat, measuring each movement against the probability that Ben would startle. "I suppose him in this context would be—"
"Darth Sid- Palpatine," Ben finished for him.
"Of course." Dooku looked down at his glass and carefully traced the rim with the tip of his finger, watching the legs of the brandy slide back down. "After all this time, Obi-Wan, do you really think things will happen the same way twice?" Ben didn't react for a long moment. At length, he looked up, dark bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual.
"Palpatine is Chancellor. Maul was his apprentice, then Savage. The Clone Army progressed just as he planned; Sifo Dyas is dead. Geonosis was a bloodbath, the Senate is at its own throat, and the Galaxy is on the brink of war. The Jedi will be powerless to stop it, and powerless to resist when we're drawn into it."
"And what of me?" Asked Dooku softly, deep brown eyes boring into Ben. "What of Qui-Gon? Shmi Skywalker?" Ben barely kept from rolling his eyes as he sank back into the couch, arms crossed. "What of Anakin himself, Obi-Wan?"
"Anakin is different," Ben pointed a firm finger, voice thickening. "Anakin is the loadstone of the whole thing, of the galaxy, of… of my life," he looked up.
"Is that what you're worried about? Losing your life all over again?" Dooku asked, shrugging dismissively. "You've already died once," he chuckled, "I would've thought that took the sting out of it." Ben downed the remainder of his brandy and set the glass aside, slumping further.
"I don't fear death," he said. "But if I die having failed him again..." Pensively, Dooku uncrossed his legs and moved the tea tray aside to replace it with the chessboard in between them.
"This is young Obi-Wan's game with me, but I imagine you will be able to pick up where his gambit left off. It's an ambitious play, and I admit, not one I've seen before." He stroked his beard and moved a piece before sitting back. "You cannot hope to avoid failure by treating Anakin like a child. He's a grown man, he can make his own decisions, you know that better than anyone."
Unbidden, an image of Padme rose to mind, belly swollen with twins. Memories of Palpatine followed, bent over Anakin's ear as the senator neared her due date.
"Yes," the word escaped Ben as a sigh. "I know."
"Regardless, you are not without friends in the Senate," Dooku watched as Ben half-heartedly engaged in the chess game, taking time to calculate his move in spite of his sour mood. "Bail Organa has something of a small coalition forming under his wing, or so I hear."
"Who told you that?" Dooku spared Ben a glance.
"My nephew has imparted a number of titillating insights into the Senate's mood of late. I'm not at all surprised Master Windu feels obligated to acquiesce to whatever the Chancellor wants, and you know even better than I how much he detests the man. The Senate's relationship with the Jedi is teetering on the edge of a cliff, and what few bonds remain are, apparently, rotting from the inside out." Dooku moved his bishop, finger lingering on its pointed tip as he mapped out all of Ben's possible moves. "Grey Jedi will be with us until the end of the cosmos, but the Senate's present Council is more charcoal than ash, if you understand me."
"The Senate's Council?" Ben frowned. "Do you mean the Council of Reconciliation?"
"I hardly see anything reconciliatory about them," Dooku at last drank from his brandy. "Their pockets are full of senators, pykes, dregs of the Trade Federation, and worse, though these days it seems pointless to differentiate. It's your play, Master Kenobi."
Ben shook himself and made a move that must've surprised Dooku, for the elder man leaned back and tilted his head.
"But if their council is corrupt," Ben picked at the tips of his beard, one of the few places where his hair remained ginger rather than silver, "then the Jedi's entire endeavor against the Sith is corrupt. If they're working with the Pykes, and the Trade Federation, then surely they must also be connected to—"
"Palpatine himself? Yes, though I'm not sure they know it. Some of them may be simply following protocol, which of course can become its own kind of maleficence. There is a reason the newscasters are calling this a war; sooner or later, everyone must take a side. Some, by following protocol, have made their choices earlier than others." He watched as Ben considered the chess board, though it was clear his thoughts were lightyears away. "So you see why every Jedi mission to locate more Sith outposts has failed." Ben moved his knight, and Dooku quickly captured Ben's last remaining rook, but the other master did not seem to notice.
"Have you spoken to master Windu about this?" At the question, Dooku scoffed.
"If he doesn't already know or at very least suspect, he'd be negligent in his duties. Unfortunately, he's under too much scrutiny to do much about it. I, on the other hand, am too old to be of any real nuisance to the Sith," the master let his voice grow thin and croaking as he adjusted the cane near his knee. Ben frowned and fixed him with a deadpan stare. Dooku pretended not to notice. "Speaking of, I don't suppose Padme Amidala will attend this… newest assignment of Anakin's, will she?" Ben found the thought of Anakin being near Padme was almost as alarming as him being near Palpatine, though for profoundly different reasons.
"I imagine she will," he answered warily, "why?" Dooku reached into a sleeve and produced an old fashioned paper letter, small and sealed with actual wax. He slid it across the table to Ben.
"Do you suppose he would be willing to play messenger for an old man?"
If someone had asked him, Anakin would have been upfront about his feelings toward the Senate Mid-Rim Caucus Annual State Dinner. Even as he'd been tasked with representing his august Order with the newfound expectations and pressure of travelling solo, he found it more difficult than ever to keep his mouth shut. As the glass-enclosed lift soared higher and higher into the atmosphere, past gossamer sheets of clouds and into the clear air of the Coruscanti canopy toward their penthouse venue, it became too much to bear.
"This is the fanciest kriffing place I've ever seen in my life," he whispered to himself under his breath.
"Hmm?" Asked the SBI agent at his elbow, a clone Anakin had only met moments ago. "What was that, sir?"
"Nothing," Anakin insisted quickly. "Please don't call me sir. Just Anakin is fine. And you said your name was—"
"Agent," the clone told him. "Best keep things professional tonight, sir, you know how the more conservative politicians tend to be."
"Right." Anakin didn't, and frowned when he realized it. What have I gotten myself into?
"But…" the clone shrugged. "If you need help remembering, the others call me Kix."
"Kix, right—Agent, Kix." Anakin flashed him a grateful smile. "Thanks."
The lift came to a halt and the doors hissed open, revealing a massive, bustling penthouse suite that looked more expensive than anything Anakin had ever seen in his life—and he'd been to several palaces before. Though the penthouse was not as physically large as a palace might be, it was ludicrously roomy by Coruscanti standards, and furnished in materials Anakin was afraid to appraise. The chaise in the entryway likely cost more than Anakin's entire upbringing.
Kix stepped around Anakin and strolled comfortably into the space. "Good luck, sir," he bid on his way. That got Anakin to straighten up.
"Right, thank you K—Agent." Force, he wasn't cut out for this. Missions, sure. Solo work was something he'd been longing for for years. But as soon as rich people entered the room, that was Ben's game.
"Ben's not here," he grumbled to himself amid the clamor of the droids and waitstaff setting up chairs and holo stages, microphones and tables. "You don't need his help, you're not a forcedamn youngling."
"Ah, Master Skywalker!" Anakin perked up when he heard the Chancellor's voice, and turned to find the man himself picking through the
"Chancellor," Anakin smiled, feeling at ease around a familiar face. "Good afternoon, sir," Anakin mirrored the chancellor's own smile as the elder man approached.
"So good to see a familiar face," Palpatine chuckled, patting Anakin good-naturedly on the shoulder. "They've sent so many loaned droids over I hardly recognize my own home," as he spoke, he dodged out of the way of a bartending droid as it clattered by, refrigeration units clattering with glass bottles.
"This is your home?" Anakin was not sure if it was more stunning that the chancellor lived somewhere as lavish as this, or that he did not simply sleep in the senate chamber itself.
"Yes," Palpatine looked both ways for droids before resuming his spot in front of the young Jedi. "I'm afraid you're seeing it outside of its element. When I offered to host the Mid-Rim Caucus I was not expecting quite so large an attendance, you understand. Come, this way, or we'll both be trampled for sure." Palpatine put a hand on Anakin's back and guided him away from the traffic.
"I have to say, Chancellor, I'm surprised you're keynoting a caucus event at all."
"Well, you understand, I am a son of the Mid-Rim, I myself served on this caucus before I served as chancellor, you know."
"Yes, of course." Anakin glanced over at him. "You're from Naboo, aren't you?"
"You have an excellent memory, Padawan Skywalker," Palpatine plucked two glasses of sparkling water off a passing cart and handed one to Anakin. "Indeed I am." Anakin sniffed at his glass before drinking, which made the chancellor laugh.
"There's no intoxicants in it, if that's what has you worried." Anakin laughed.
"My master would kill me if I got drunk on my first solo mission."
"Your first solo mission? Surely you jest, Padawan," Palpatine said. "I would think that the Council would have rewarded your capabilities long ago. I thought you were a scant step away from knighthood, are you not?" Anakin coughed around a sip of his water. The chancellor was not a Jedi, so of course he had no way of knowing Anakin was still quite young for such an honor.
"You flatter me, Chancellor, I've not yet begun to prepare for my Trials."
"All in good time, I'm sure," Palpatine gave Anakin a grandfatherly smile, and the Padawan couldn't help but let the gesture relax his anxieties. "Careful," the elder man reached out and pulled on Anakin's sleeve with surprising strength and yanked him to safety just before a droid laden with heavy tablecloths lumbered by. "Come, this way, I'll show you where you'll want to be this evening."
Having expected to be shown the venue by Kix—that is, Agent Kix, Anakin was flattered and honored to be given the grand tour by Palptaine himself. He was shown the main stage and the reception hall, the back corridors used by the serving droids and hired staff, the main exits, the emergency exits, the skyline windows, and the refreshers, which were some of the nicest 'freshers Anakin had ever seen. When Anakin asked who all was expected to attend, Palpatine quickly devolved into a nostalgic train of thought, reflecting on his many years of service in the Caucus and the members who'd come and gone through the decades. Truth be told, Anakin zoned out for most of it, but then Palpatine mentioned a familiar name and Anakin perked right up.
"-of course, when I met Senator Amidala, she was still Queen of Naboo. You've met Senator Amidala, have you not?"
"I-Yes, Padme-that is, Senator Amidala and I have known each other for several years."
"Ah," Palpatine chuckled. "I haven't heard someone else call her by her first name in a while. She's still so young, but very capable of course. I don't suppose you've worked with her before, have you?"
"My Master has worked with her more than I," Anakin admitted.
"Of course," Palpatine was not facing Anakin as he spoke, looking upwards as hovering droids draped long, elegant banners from the crown molding of the room. "Master Kenobi as well as his young counterpart, if memory serves. Obi-Wan, was it?"
"Yes, Obi-Wan is a close friend of mine." At this Palpatine turned and scrutinized Anakin with a bizarre look.
"I wasn't aware you were so close to him," the Chancellor said, and for a moment, Anakin was struck with the realization that the Supreme Chancellor was, bizarrely, unreadable through the Force, like a void in fabric of reality, a great nothingness where something should exist. "What a very small galaxy we live in." And just as quickly as it appeared, the empty feeling was gone. "Oh dear, they're going to break something important, I just know it," Palptaine groused, watching the droids hovering over the decor on his walls, "excuse me, Padawan Skywalker."
Time after that seemed to compress. Just as soon as Anakin felt he could navigate the penthouse without getting lost, the guests began to arrive, and all was chaos after that. Kix and half a dozen other tax-paid hands were screening attendees at the security checkpoint at the front door, but it was up to Anakin to ensure no threats arose once everyone was inside. He was so preoccupied with this mandate that he didn't hear his stalker until they were practically upon him.
"Boo," Padme said, and much to Anakin's embarrassment, he jumped. Padme laughed.
"Kriffing hell, Padme," he said, which made her laugh.
"I'm not sure I've ever heard you curse," She crossed her arms in an amused shimmy, and once Anakin's surprise wore down, he was quite suddenly frozen on the spot. Still laughing, Padme's collar bones were visible beside the polished brass collar of her dress and the flowing purple velvet sewed into place against the metal. Her hair sparkled with gemstones that might've been real or fake, but Anakin could not have cared because the faint dimples near her mouth twinkled brighter, and his scowl very quickly shifted into a grin that blossomed from a warm feeling deep in his soul.
"Well," he said, and cleared his throat when his voice began to crack, "Irresponsible senators have been known to do that."
"Oh, please," Padme rolled her eyes with a smile. She quickly shifted attention back to him. "What are you doing here? Of all people, you were the last I expected to see tonight." Anakin frowned at her, feigning magnanimity.
"And here I was, thinking I was the very picture of Mid Rim diplomacy," he teased.
"I wouldn't like you so much if you were," she said, and Anakin's chest grew unusually warm upon hearing it. "What are you doing here?"
"The chancellor requested me specifically," Anakin shrugged. "Apparently I made something of an impression at the Gala." Padme was surprised by this.
"Specifically?" She said, and glanced around. "And what of your master?"
"He's back in the Temple district," Anakin raised his chin, trying to look as mature as the assignment merited of him. "I was sent alone today."
"Oh," Padme blinked at him, and privately Anakin was hurt by her bewildered tone. "I didn't realize… that is, the Chancellor hasn't seemed overly fond of the Jedi of late, I'm surprised he…" her eyes drifted back over to Anakin, who was watching her with a furrowed brow. "I apologize," she said, "I overthink everything."
"The Chancellor is a good man," Anakin insisted, sensing her uncertainty. She held her smile for him, but something in her eyes shifted as he spoke. "He's been nothing but kind to me, he's encouraged me in my future knighthood, and been very appreciative of the Jedi Order this last year." Padme's face inscrutable.
"Hmm," she said. "Be that as it may, Anakin," she glanced at the Chancellor where he was socializing some ways away, and wordlessly drifted closer to Anakin, her hand landing in the crook of his elbow with an absentminded protectiveness, "be careful around the Chancellor. Politicians can be…" her train of thought drifted when she turned and found herself far closer to Anakin than she'd planned, looking up into his rather surprised face with a similar expression of her own.
"...they can be rather tricky, yes," Anakin said, the slightest hint of a smirk tickling the corner of his mouth. "It's good to see you again, Padme." Perhaps it was Anakin's imagination, but he could have sworn she blushed at that.
"You should call me senator Amidala for the evening," she told him, pulling her hand away from his arm and smoothing out his sleeve on the way. "I'd hate to send you back to your Council with an ill report." Anakin cocked an eyebrow.
"And who would give the Council a bad report?"
"A responsible citizen of the Republic," Padme tipped her chin up in a show of superiority. "And a senator, to boot."
"That's very rude of you."
"It's very responsible of me."
"I prefer it when you're irresponsible."
"Oh, dear—" Padme glanced away, cheeks pink but smiling bright. She turned back to him with a threatening look. "Don't press your luck, Padawan Skywalker," she said through her grin, and Anakin tried to hold a poker face but it cracked in short order, and he looked aside to laugh.
"You know, the masters have been saying that to me since I was a youngling. I never learned how," he glanced at her. "You'll have to do better than that." It was Padme's turn to look away. More guests were arriving, and Padme craned her neck to watch as several of her close colleagues made their way into the reception hall.
"Do Jedi dance, Padawan Skywalker?" She asked suddenly. Anakin blinked.
"I mean, well, I can dance," surely she knew this, they'd danced before on Alderaan, at his mother's wedding, not that he remembered the entire dance in minute detail, because that would be creepy, and Anakin was not a creepy man, he really, really wasn't—"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to, what with the security detail tonight with the—"
"Good," Padme interrupted. "I'll find you later."
The next several hours were a blur for Anakin. The Chancellor's speech happened earlier in the evening than he'd been anticipating, and he'd spent most of it just behind the stage, surveying the crowd from a concealed perch, hand on his holstered lightsaber waiting for threats which never materialized. After that, he'd been released into the wilds of the crowded reception hall, shadowing Palpatine as the Chancellor shook hands and hugged his way through his Mid Rim constituents.
Stomach rumbling, Anakin had paused by a refreshment table to stuff puff pastries into his face while he watched the Chancellor socialize from a respectable distance. After dinner was served, the dancing began, but Palpatine was too wrapped up in conversation to be drawn into the dances himself, so Anakin and the rest of his security detail remained sidelined. Several times, Anakin tried to meet Padme's eye, but it appeared Palpatine was no the only one too engrossed in conversation to dance. Whereas Palpatine was smiling and shaking hands, however, Padme's brow was furrowed deep in thought, head bent forward to converse with the same two women for over half an hour. Anakin didn't recognize either, but they looked like they could be senators.
Eventually, when the music grew louder as the partiers grew more lubricated with their liquor, Palpatine interrupted a conversation midway to suggest to his security detail that they would continue their meeting outside on the balcony. Anakin dutifully followed, belatedly realizing that Palpatin's conversation partner was a Pyke.
Oba Diah is part of the Outer Rim, not the Mid Rim, his brain supplied, causing him to tilt his head. What on earth is a Pyke doing here? He had to shake himself out of the thought. Stop being speciesist, he could represent any number of Mid Rim worlds. Yet, though Anakin was hardly a savant in xenolinguistics, he thought he recognized the humm and burble of an Oba Diah tongue.
"That'll be all for now, gentlemen," Palpatine was saying to him and the others. "My colleague and I have much to catch up on, and I know you all must be starving. Please, leave us for a few minutes and grab a bite to eat. I highly doubt there are any would-be attackers out here."
Reluctantly, Palpatine's security stepped away. Anakin was last to go, and cast a curious look at the Chancellor as he did, but Palpatine only gave him a reassuring smile and a nod before turning back to his Pyke friend. They strolled further down the balcony and down a short stairway and around a corner. Anakin knew from his previous tour that all there was beyond this corner was an isolated table and chairs hidden by a small fountain. Still, he lingered.
"Ah, there you are. I thought you'd disappeared." Anakin turned.
"I could say the same to you. You seemed quite engrossed in whatever conversation you were having."
Padme huffed a laugh. "Oh dear, you saw that?" She fanned herself. "What can I say? Shea and Terr have the gift of gab. Kriff, it's hot in there."
"I don't think I've ever heard you curse," Anakin said, stepping towards her. She shot him a sharp look.
"Oh, don't you start." He laughed, smiling bright.
"Come on, you said it first. Enjoy the dancing?"
"I missed it. And it looks like they've…" she cast a look back inside, where the dance floor had turned into a bit of a drunken rave. "Well. I do hope this won't color your perceptions of the Senate. It's an inglorious bunch, for sure."
"You're not drunk," he said.
"As I said, I was a bit preoccupied."
"As am I, as a matter of fact," he cast a look to where the Chancellor had gone, but both Palpatine and his friend were still somewhere around the corner. "So, since we both missed all the fun," He held out his hand. "M'lady, might I have this dance?"
Padme laughed at him at first, but then playfully took his hand. "You may. I just hope your dancing skills have improved."
"Hey now! I was doing my best on Alderaan."
"Oh, hush, I'm teasing."
They began to dance a strange waltz, too fast and offbeat because of the party music wafting out from the dance floor. As they bounced around, Padme began to laugh.
"No, no, stop," she said though laughs, "we've completely lost it,"
"I have not," Anakin insisted, smiling, and dragging her along for an off-tempo jaunt, "This is a new dance."
"Oh, is it?"
"It is, I think you'll find it's all the rage in—ah—well, across the planet in—kriff, I'm sorry, I stepped on your—oh you know what, kark it all." Padme dissolved into laughter, and Anakin laughed along with her as they came to a halt, but continued to hold onto her hands to keep them upright. And thus, when Padme pulled her arms to herself to right herself, she pulled herself closer to Anakin.
They ended up nearly chest to chest, smiling far closer into each others' faces than either had intended. In a few heartbeats, their smiles faded. Padme untangled her hand from Anakin's and pressed it against his cheek, stood on her toes, and kissed him on the lips. She lingered there before jerking away in an instant.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"Don't," he interrupted, eyes wide. "Seriously, don't apologize, it's not—that is, I'm—" Quickly, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, or her mouth, or somewhere in between, but it didn't matter, because after a nerve-wracking second she corrected it and they were really kissing again, her hand on his face and his hand still grasping her free hand tight. A burst of laughter from inside the penthouse startled them apart and they stared at each other in mutual bewilderment for several deafened heartbeats.
"I should go," she said.
"Yes, me too," he said.
She pulled away, but as he watched his own hand reach out to follow hers, he remembered.
"Oh, Padme, wait," and it stopped his heart how eager she was when she turned.
"Yes?"
"I almost forgot, I was supposed to give you this." He reached into one of his sleeve pockets and produced a folded letter.
"What is it?" She asked, flipping it over and back.
"I'm not sure. Master Ben asked that I give it to you."
"Master… yes, of course," She held it close to herself, and then looked back up at Anakin. They froze in time together. The spell was broken when the sounds of voices echoed in from the other side of the balcony. Palpatine and his guest were returning. Padme hastened to leave. Before she did, she said,
"Anakin, do be careful of…"
"...of what?" He asked. She glanced to where the Chancellor and his Pyke friend were coming into view. "Just… be careful, please."
"Yes," he said, not sure what else to say. She smiled at him, picked up her skirts to cross the threshold back into the penthouse, and was gone. He stood watching the space she'd occupied, like the fool he was.
"Anakin my dear boy," said Palpatine, who lingered while his Pyke colleague snuck back inside to the party and the drinks. "Are you quite alright?"
"Yes," Anakin snapped to attention, blinking several times to rid his mind of thoughts of Padme. "Yes, I'm sorry sir, what do you need?" Palpatine chucked good naturedly, eyeing Padme's retreating form before flicking his vision back to Anakin with a quiet smile.
"Nothing at all, my boy. Come. Let's get something to drink, I'm parched."