A/N: Sorry for the brevity, I wanted to update while I had something to update, instead of waiting for a longer chapter.

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-TWO-

Sitting on a crowded public transport elbow-to-elbow with Obi-Wan Kenobi and his sulking padawan was not what Padmé had expected she would be doing that evening. The transport, old and in disrepair as it was, jerked with the effort of leaving Coruscant's atmosphere and she had to grasp at her shroud to keep from revealing her face. She had to wonder again how she came to agree to do this.

"You shouldn't have brought her," she heard Ani mutter on the other side of Obi-Wan.

She leaned forward to glance at the younger Jedi, but Anakin glanced away in contempt.

Huffing and crossing her arms, she found herself wanting to agree with his assessment.

The transport shivered, then balked, its fluorescent lights blinking in and out with cold buzzes. Murmurs of crowded passengers rose in volume for a moment before fading back into under-sight.

"We're almost into space," Obi-Wan assured her, as if she needed assurance from him.

"I do wonder if this transport can manage space," she replied, feeling aloof. A few nearby persons glanced her way.

She felt Obi-Wan's warmth close against her arm and he spoke lowly to her:

"If you would, please consider keeping your ruling class accent under wraps."

"Oh," replied Padmé, having not considered.

"As lovely as it is," Obi-Wan added.

"Compliments will get you nowhere," she said, though she kept her voice quiet.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to (she assumed) object, but there was a violent jolt, a rattling of metal against rust, and she was pitched sideways against him, one hand bracing herself against his arm, and her face in the folds of fabric on his shoulder. She couldn't help but catch the scent of incense which still lingered on him; a faint, smoky scent mixed with spice, and beneath that scent, something else. Something more earthen.

He took her shoulders and righted her once the turbulence subsided, and the look on his face suggested he'd mistaken her expression as fear, but she wasn't experiencing fear. She realized what she was experiencing was curiosity.

"It appears as if we've reached outer space," he said, with an encouraging smile.

She looked him over and then glanced past him to Ani, who had been watching, and the young padawan had the gall to smirk. She stood at once and, giving Ani her most chilling glance, turned and stalked to another bench on the transport and sat alone, determined to avoid both Jedi for the time being.

It didn't help that the alien she'd chosen to sit beside smelled terrible.

Closing her eyes, she willed herself to survive the commute.

"We will reach Hathon station in forty clicks," said a tinny, pre-recorded voice over the comm.

It also sounded as if its accent were affectatious.

She stole a glance towards the Jedi. Ani had grown tall in the intervening years, but Obi-Wan had grown more solid, more steady. Perhaps Ani reminded her a bit of what Obi-Wan once was, back when she'd first met the Jedi, when she was a Queen and he was just a padawan. Now he was Master over his own padawan, and she was a Senator.

He seemed to take it in stride, as if it were easy. Ani had a restlessness about him, a shuffling agitation, but Obi-Wan had solidified over the years into something that seemed to never move.

A great moon-tree of Endor.

She chuckled to herself and glanced away, finding herself silly. Why should she think so much about Obi-Wan? By all rights she should be furious with him for dragging her into this foul-smelling (literally) transport. There was, however, something about him; it was something that, despite his firmly rooted ways, smacked of an innocence, or naïveté, or even a childlike wonder at the galaxy. Obi-Wan was a man who still believed anything was possible, who saw the best in things, and believed that good would prevail.

Padmé had to fight against cynicism in the Senate. It was difficult not to lose one's momentum in a Senate filled with thousands of bickering Senators.

Still, she believed in what she did, and she believed in the Republic. She supposed that answered rightly why she was here at all, Obi-Wan or no.

Glancing back toward where the Jedi sat, huddled together like monks on an embankment. Obi-Wan was listening to Ani speak. The younger man was expressive with his hands and enthusiasm, and the older one was patient and nodding on occasion.

Obi-Wan glanced up and caught her eye, and she wanted to look away, but he gave her a look before she could that caught her like a moth in a net. He looked bemused, as if he and she shared a knowing, as if to say, "Youth!", and throw one's hands in the air, as if she knew it too and shared in the sentiment.

But did she? She found herself solidly between their ages. Did he think her old? Was she old before her time? Did he think she was so aged in principle to now laugh at the folly of youth? Padmé resisted against experiencing a crisis.

She watched Obi-Wan pat Ani on the thigh and stand before moving to join her, placing himself on the bench between her and the foul-smelling alien. It was a tight, awkward fit.

"You certainly know how to choose a spot," remarked Obi-Wan under his breath, which he seemed to be trying to hold.

She scooted over as much as she could, relieving him somewhat.

"You didn't have to come sit here," she gently chided.

"Yes, I did," he said. "You looked distressed."

"I wasn't distressed," she lied.

"Well, I am," he said, cringing from the smell.

She couldn't help but laugh.

"Come," she said, grabbing his wrist, "let's move, then."

He went mildly, allowing her to pull him away into further recesses of the transport, around a bend and to an unoccupied corner. He let out a breath of relief at the relatively fresh air. If sterile air could be called "fresh", anyway.

"There was a reason the seat beside that alien was left vacant," said Obi-Wan, looking amused and relieved.

"I didn't care," she said with a faint shrug, "I just moved."

"And why did you move?" he asked curiously.

She glanced askance.

"It was Ani," she said. "He clearly doesn't want me here."

"He doesn't know what he wants," replied Obi-Wan, as if it mattered little.

"It has the effect of making one feel unwanted," said Padmé, feeling a little affronted at Obi-Wan's lack of concern.

He noticed.

"Let me assure you, Padmé," he said, touching her wrist, "that you are wanted."

His reassurance and the way he touched her wrist made her feel a peculiar agitation, and she had to glance away. For a moment she felt ashamed for seeking out validation that wasn't necessary.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm being ridiculous. It's just that I feel a bit like a fish out of water, here."

When she glanced back, she saw he was smiling at her.

"Well, you are," he said.

She laughed, despite herself.

"Then let's talk about what happens next, shall we?" she inquired.

He shifted closer for what she assumed was secrecy's sake and said, "Once we arrive at Hathon station we're going to get you a decent disguise and-,"

"What's wrong with this one?" she asked, indicating her shroud.

"It's far too fine of a garment," he said.

"Ugh," said Padme, "pirateering."

Obi-Wan shrugged at her, as if it was to be expected.

"Well, what about you?" she asked, giving him a once-over. "You'll stick out looking like a Jedi, won't you?"

"Probably," he said.

"Shan't you disguise yourself, then?" she asked.

"I'm on the fence about that," said Obi-Wan, shifting his weight. "It could work in our favor to be recognized as a Jedi. It would draw attention from you."

"But it would draw attention to you," she replied.

"That's not always bad," he said, scratching his beard in consideration.

She sighed at him.

"What?" he inquired of her sigh.

"You're so maddeningly fearless," she said. "What is it about having the force that makes you think you're above danger, above injury, or above death?"

Obi-Wan considered that a moment.

"Do you recall that a Jedi is required to forego attachment?" he said to her.

"Yes," she replied.

"I think it's that lack of attachment combined with compassion that allows me, and other Jedi, a certain level of fearlessness," he said, thoughtful. "It allows us to fulfill our duties with a greater effectiveness than otherwise, for one's greatest fears often stem from attachment to things or… people."

"Ah," said Padme.

"But that isn't to say I'm perfect at it," he quickly added.

"At what?"

"Disattachment," he said.

"Is that a word?" she asked.

"Now it is," he replied with a smile.

"How are you not perfect at… that abomination of a word?" she inquired, finding herself smiling back.

"It isn't easy to remain free of attachment," he said to her, "Not when there are so many… intriguing persons about."

"And intriguingness is what causes you to become attached to a person?" she asked, laughing a little.

He looked vaguely embarrassed.

"No, of course not," he said, and then, leaning back against the wall nearby, he glanced across the cluster of passengers in view.

She found this behavior more curious.

"It can be all sorts of things," he said, glancing back at her, as if he knew she was waiting for more. "A master who teaches you and to whom you feel you owe more than you could ever repay, a padawan to whom you feel obligated to protect and guide correctly, or even a colleague, who…"

"Who…?" she prompted.

"Well, a colleague, who you find intelligent… and gracious," he said, and she suddenly had a chill as if she felt as if he might be talking about her. "Who you hold in high esteem, and who you would feel immense guilt over if, during an undercover operation, that colleague should be harmed by pirates due to your own negligence."

She then knew he was talking about her, and she glanced askance.

"Ah," she said, for lack of anything better to say.

"That's attachment," he said to her, relentless. "That is fear, and it doesn't go away easily. I struggle with it daily. Some days are better than others."

She leaned against the wall, too, to look at the nearby passengers, but she didn't really see them.

"Are you admitting you're attached to me?" she inquired, almost humorously.

She kept her eyes on the crowd as seconds ticked by with no response, and soon she began to feel a little bit stupid for asking.

He drew a short breath and she turned her head to look at him. He met her gaze, his response halted, perhaps by indecision.

"Did you know that the Blarina of Rina Major are famously accomplished liars?" he asked her.

She blinked.

"What?" she asked.

"In fact, they're notably fond of words," he said. "One of them finished fifth in a galaxy-wide soliloquy competition."

"Oh?" she inquired, feeling lost.

"Naka Iit," he said.

"Naka-what?"

"That's his name," he said. "The soliloquy finalist."

She simply had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She couldn't believe this was what he was telling her about, right then, in this place. Using the wall as her support, she allowed the tension to leave her through her laughter, and once subdued, she glanced at him again and could see he looked pleased. His smile was infectious. Perhaps hers was, too.

"Arriving at Hathon Station," said the tinny, recorded voice over the comm.

"Are you ready?" he asked her.

"No," she replied.

"Neither am I," he said.

"Then, let's go," she replied with a smile. "Your padawan will be worrying."

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