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CHAPTER NINETEEN:
"What do you mean, Master Yoda's gone?" asked Padmé incredulously.
She was standing with the other two Senators in the room with the holotable. Mal slouched against the side of the holodesk with his arms crossed, and Obi-Wan stood apart enough to maintain, she assumed, adequate Jedi mystique.
"Ah, yes, well," said Ruwee, "One really never knows why the Jedi do anything."
Not only did Ruwee's response come across as dismissive, but the senator seemed to completely ignore Obi-Wan's existence.
"Where did he go?" she asked, glancing at Jamillia, hoping for more help than Ruwee seemed to offer.
"He didn't say," said Mal, shrugging. "He said goodbye and left in a small ship."
Padmé looked at Obi-Wan, who appeared troubled.
"I would have liked to have told him about the Chancellor," he said, running a hand down his beard. "He might have had some insight which would help us in navigating the circumstances."
"What about the Chancellor?" Jamillia asked Obi-Wan.
The Jedi turned his gaze on Jamillia.
"What do you think happens when two worlds combine?" he inquired.
"Do not speak in riddles, Jedi," said Ruwee brusquely, appearing to be low on patience.
"Ruwee, if you would," said Padmé, "Please give Obi-Wan the benefit of the doubt. I would trust him with my life. I have trusted him with my life. He has, in fact, saved my life. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here. I'd be dead – nothing but ashes in the hole where the Senate Pavilion used to be."
Ruwee shifted his weight and seemed to be sizing Obi-Wan up, and the Jedi merely stood serene in response. Padmé was reminded of how the behavior of the Jedi tended towards the mysterious, sometimes frustratingly so. It seemed strange to her now, considering how well she knew Obi-Wan by this point. It was as if he became another person in front of others, but she could remember before, how for years he seemed aloof to her as well. But this wasn't who he was. He was warm, not aloof. He had depths upon depths. Padmé knew it and she had to admit she liked knowing it in secret.
"Very well," said Ruwee, as if it were a provisional acceptance. "Would you please clarify your statement Master… ah…"
"Kenobi," replied Obi-Wan.
"Master Kenobi," stated Ruwee.
"The Republic, as it was just a day ago," said Obi-Wan, "had three major sources of power: the Jedi, the Senate, and the Military."
"Yes, of course I know that," said Ruwee, returning to impatience.
"Now it has only one power," said Obi-Wan.
"You mean the military?" asked Jamillia.
"No," replied the Jedi, glancing at Jamillia. "It appears that all three are now combined."
"That's not possible," said Ruwee.
"How can that be?" asked Jamillia.
"Our evidence points to the probability that Chancellor Palpatine has consolidated, or rather, wrested the power of all three into his own grasp," said Obi-Wan.
"What is he talking about?" Ruwee demanded of Padmé.
Padmé shared a look with Obi-Wan, then turned to Ruwee and Jamillia.
"This is what Master Kenobi and I have been investigating all this time," she said, noticing Ruwee looked dubious while Jamillia seemed shellshocked. "It was Master Kenobi who started this investigation in the first place and convinced me, which I thought was against my better judgment, to join him. Little did I know the choice would save my life."
Padmé let her gaze slip to the ground as she felt troubled.
"Only that I had noticed sooner…" she said. "Or that we had worked more quickly."
"Senator Amidala," said Obi-Wan, touching her elbow. Though his address was formal, his tone was not.
"I just wish we had moved more quickly," she said, feeling her eyes sting and giving Obi-Wan a glance before returning her gaze to nowhere. "That we had been able to save all those lives lost."
"We are fortunate enough to be more aware of what is truly happening than most," said Obi-Wan, pressing her arm in a light, comforting grasp.
"And Anakin…" she said, blinking back tears. "Where is Anakin?"
"He's fine," Obi-Wan said softly to her.
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Jamillia asked, "Who's Anakin?"
"My padawan," said Obi-Wan.
"Perhaps he's been taken into custody," said Jamillia. "He should be safe, there. Surely he will be given a fair trial if so, and they'll clear all this up about the explosions and find who really did it."
"You don't get it yet, do you?" asked Padmé, tears threatening to overflow.
"I'm sorry?" asked Jamillia, taken aback by Padmé's outburst.
"He's not getting a fair trial, no Jedi is!" she spat. "That's why Master Yoda ran, and he didn't tell anybody where he went. That's why Master Kenobi is in danger, and that's why we're so worried about Anakin!"
"I'm not worried," mentioned Obi-Wan.
"Obi-Wan!" Padmé chided. "Of course, you're not worried! Not worrying is your job! That's what Jedi do!"
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. After drawing a long breath, she straightened herself and looked to the other two senators.
"The bottom line is this: the Republic is now a dictatorship," she said.
"But that's not what the messages from Coruscant told us," said Jamillia.
"Of course not, not if Palpatine wants to avoid confrontation until his power is fully solidified," said Padmé.
"But wait," said Ruwee, who had been mute for far longer than was characteristic for the senator. "You said something about the three pillars of power being in one person. I can see the Senate and the Military, but Chancellor Palpatine isn't a Jedi."
"No," said Obi-Wan, and then after a moment, "No, he is not."
"If you would explain," implored Ruwee.
"He is not a Jedi, but he can use the force," said Obi-Wan. "He chooses to use it in a way that is … contrary to the ways of the Jedi."
"What does that mean?" asked Jamillia, who seemed to be getting accustomed to asking the Jedi for clarification.
"He appears to be a Sith Lord," said Obi-Wan, seeming averse to even voicing the word.
"I've only heard of those in passing, rarely in any talk of import," said Ruwee.
"Yes, they were gone for a long time," said Obi-Wan, "but my Master and I… when I was a padawan, we fought one."
"Was it terrible?" asked Jamillia.
"Yes," said Obi-Wan in a clipped manner.
Padmé stepped in to change the subject for Obi-Wan's sake.
"The situation is," she said, "all of our information we have gleaned from our investigation has led to these conclusions. The Chancellor has betrayed all of us, and now he has all of the power."
"Not all of it," said Obi-Wan. "We are yet free people, here on this moon. And are there others, I assume?"
"Some," Mal said, shifting against the holodesk as if he preferred to stay out of the conversation once everyone had turned their attention on him. "It'll be hard to organize since we'll need to stay underground and undetected. But there are others."
"Then you're saying we can't go back to the Senate?" Jamilla asked, her voice weakened.
Padmé gazed sadly at Jamillia.
"There is no Senate," she said softly, as if that would lessen the blow.
Jamillia glanced aside, blinking back tears and working to maintain her composure. Ruwee just looked angry.
"If what you've said is true," said Ruwee. "We will make the Chancellor pay for what he's done."
"I should hope so," said Padmé, offering a wry smile.
Glancing at Obi-Wan, she saw in his eyes an accumulation of things and a warmth that made her want to never look away.
"Alright," said Mal, who straightened and looked as if he was glad all the Senatorial talk appeared to be over. "Shall we go build a better rebellion?"
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Padmé and Obi-Wan spent the next several months working with the Rebellion to connect to other pockets of resistant factions and covertly work towards mutual support and unification against what daily became more evident was an Empire. All the news from the Capitol claimed how dangerous the situation was for the citizenry of the Republic because terrorists (said to be Jedi extremists or sometimes just rebels) could attack again at any time, and it wasn't safe enough for anything but militant rule. Palpatine feigned humility and a hesitance toward holding onto sole power instead of reinstating the Senate; he even said in a transmission that he wished for a safer time to come soon, but as the months wore on it became clear the Republic had been abandoned.
The best the Rebellion could do at this time was to try to maintain some semblance of free space, but they knew that eventually the Empire would come for them. It was only a matter of time before they would be found, and so time was precious.
They managed to organize to a degree with contingency plans and other groups, and every day the Rebellion got more prepared.
Padmé found herself heavily involved in administration – her unique skills were discovered to be useful for running things, not that that was a surprise, since she'd already run a planet before. Jamillia and Ruwee worked closely with her as advisors, and though it was almost immediate for Jamillia to accept Padmé in the position, Ruwee did eventually come around.
Mal and Obi-Wan worked together on defense and military tactics. Since they were already friends-ish before this and because they both had unique areas of combat expertise to bring to the table, they were an excellent match. Mal also had more patience with the mystique of a Jedi than most people, and Obi-Wan seemed to like Mal about as much as any Jedi might appear to like a person: standoffishly but persistently.
Sometimes, at night, Padmé would take out the little droid that Anakin had made and talk to it; in some way it had almost become a stand-in for Anakin for her. She never thought she would miss him as much as she did, especially with how much he tended to annoy her before. The transference of snark into his droid was just the thing for her to remember him by. The little droid never disappointed and as long as she didn't forget to charge it, it was generally tolerant of her conversations.
With Obi-Wan she kept her distance as much as she could. It wasn't easy; they worked together, after all. She saw him nearly every day and the depth of his blue eyes upon her never grew cold, or even tepid, and perhaps quite heated at times, but they were friends, after all, besides all that other stuff, and that simply wasn't something either of them were going to give up. There were glances. There were brief brushes with fate.
However, they were both consummate professionals.
One night the rebel encampment on the moon of Endor had a rare evening out; the weather was perfect with the open spaces in the canopy of towering evergreens sparkling with diamonds in a velvet blue-black sky. A bonfire was built, food was abundant, a perimeter of torches was set, and there were even some amateur musicians they'd found among the lot. They'd all spent so much time in the bunker it was a relief to be outside where they could all be together at once. In short, it was a fete.
Padmé and Jamillia tended to stick together at social things like this. They had the most in common with their mutual senatorhoods and lives in leadership roles but also, crucially, it was a relief for both to have the companionship of another woman in these circumstances. Padmé felt as if she'd practically taken on the cloth as a nun with how she'd tried to avoid the male gaze in the past several months. Well, all gazes but one.
Unfortunately, that was the gaze she couldn't have.
As she and Jamillia wandered around the party with some kind of homebrew in hand, they browsed socially and, in between greetings, Jamillia glanced aside and then nodded to Padmé.
"Your Jedi is watching you, again," she said, humor in her voice.
Padmé's first reaction was to glance over, past Jamillia's shoulder to see, and her eyes locked with Obi-Wan's for the briefest moment before he glanced away. He stood inconspicuously out of the way, but with some of the militia men whom he had been training with Mal. Padmé returned her glance to Jamillia.
"What do you mean 'again'?" she asked, and, rubbing the cup in her hand she added, "And he's not 'my Jedi'."
"Oh, yes he is," said Jamillia with a laugh.
"You've had too much of that hooch," said Padmé, glancing at Jamillia's cup.
"Please," said Jamillia. "He always knows exactly where you are in the room. He's so ridiculously aware of whatever you're doing, all the time. And I've seen how he looks at you, sometimes."
Padmé didn't know whether to blanch or to blush. She might have been doing both at once.
"I didn't know you were watching," said Padmé, not sure what else to say.
"I'm not sure how I couldn't," said Jamillia. "I mean, are you not… the two of you…?"
Padmé stared at her blankly.
"You're not?" asked Jamillia in disbelief.
"He's a Jedi!" Padmé replied with a gesture, as if Jamillia should use her common sense.
"Well, I know that," said Jamillia.
"He's literally the best Jedi. He's a Master. He was a member of the esteemed Jedi Council. Like, he's the ultimate Jedi," Padmé continued, not sure if she was explaining or starting to complain.
"But things are different now, aren't they?" Jamillia asked, aloof. She took a sip of her drink.
Padmé wanted things to be different. But there were more important things at stake.
"We're trying to hold civilization together with two strings and a piece of gum, Jamillia," she said. "I'm not going to allow the last vestiges of the Jedi Order to fall to ruin for my own gratification."
"My stars, you are nobler than I," said Jamillia, who cast a lingering glance towards Obi-Wan. "And if you ask me, I think he might want certain last vestiges of the Jedi Order to fall to ruin with the way he looks at you."
Padmé felt a great surge of frustration, which was joined by a surge from the musicians, who started up a jaunty theme, causing many of the revelers to cheer in response.
"Oh look!" said Jamillia, turning back to Padmé and glancing around them. "It appears to be time for a dance."
Sure enough, some of the rebels around them had begun pairing off and launching into one of the country dances known from some of the more rustic planets in the sector.
"It is certainly charming, isn't it?" Padmé remarked, watching them dance.
"Ah Jamillia, can I claim you for a dance?" Ruwee's voice came from behind them.
Jamillia spun to see him. "Ruwee! I was wondering how long it would take you. I see you made it here astoundingly quick."
Ruwee didn't seem to know whether to be embarrassed or pleased.
"If you're done analyzing my metrics," he said, and his trademark imperious nature came over his features. Yet, he held out his hand for her, imploring: "Shall we?"
"Of course!" laughed Jamillia, giving her hand. "Do you know how to do it?"
"No idea," he said, and began to pull her towards the others.
"Wait, wait!" protested Jamillia. "I won't take another step until I've taken care of my dear friend Padmé, first."
"Yes?" inquired Ruwee, glancing at Padmé curiously.
"I'm fine," is what Padmé would have said, were not Jamillia already in the act of waving down Obi-Wan. Instead, it came out something like, "I'm fi-iii-ack!"
"Master Jedi! Your services are quite desperately needed here!" called Jamillia, gesturing him over.
Of course, being the perfect, best, most dutiful and wonderful Jedi ever, he came right away. Padmé wanted to dig a hole and slump into it, but at the same time, Obi-Wan looked really nice. She blinked and glanced away because she was certain she may be experiencing psychosis since Obi-Wan was wearing the same thing he always did and looked the same way he always did. She glanced at her hooch in her cup but found her eyes lifting to watch his approach. Maybe he just always looked really nice. He looked as if he'd done something, though. Perhaps he'd spent extra time in the fresher, or taken extra time with his robes? His eyes drifted to Padmé and she cleared her throat and glanced aside in embarrassment.
She'd been really eyeing him without realizing it.
"Thank you so much, Master Kenobi," said Jamillia.
"Of course, Senator," said Obi-Wan. "How can I be of service to you?"
"Well, you see, I'm here with Senator Amidala, and Senator Ruwee has just asked me to dance, and now she's going to be all alone," said Jamillia.
Obi-Wan's glance briefly flitted to Padmé, then returned to Jamillia.
"I hardly think she's alone while standing amongst a crowd of revelers," said Obi-Wan.
"Oh, but she is, she is," said Jamillia, with more drama than was to Padmé's taste.
Padmé groaned and elbowed her way into the debacle.
"I'm so sorry, Master Kenobi, Jamillia is just-," began Padmé.
"If you insist, Senator Jamillia," said Obi-Wan, completely ignoring Padmé, "I have no course but to believe you."
Padmé stopped, open mouthed.
"Yes, very good," said Jamillia, "She did say you are a very good Jedi."
"I only hope to be adequate," he replied, his eyes lowering in a briefly demure act.
"And so, I think it would be the best course of action for you to dance with her, Master Kenobi," said Jamillia. "Consider it an act of benevolence. Of pure charity. Love of your fellow beings, if you will. You shall take the burden of loneliness from her like a bestowing angel."
Obi-Wan's eyes shuttered briefly at Jamillia's first suggestion of a dance as if it was unexpected, perhaps even disorienting, but he recovered with quick, devastating precision.
"I must relent that your argument is sound," said Obi-Wan, and his gaze shifted to Padmé. "It must be so… but only if Senator Amidala will have me. She is, after all, the master of her chosen circumstances."
"Of course I will," said Padmé, displeased that her voice came out sounding a little breathless. She didn't know if she'd lifted her hand to his or if he'd reached for her faster than she could perceive, but it seemed only an instant before he was pulling her toward his arms, taking her cup from her hand, tossing it aside with the abandon of a heretic, and, with a delightful play of centrifugal force, falling alongside the other dancers to dance. The uncharacteristic nature of Obi-Wan's full embrace of the proposed dance made Padmé laugh, and she watched in his face as he balanced the two precipices of maintaining Jedi mystique for those around him and his deep familiarity with her with astounding skill.
The dance, though having its own steps, was by design not difficult to learn for ease of use in gatherings like this one. She found Obi-Wan a quicker study than she would have thought, for she'd never once seen him dance. Even at the Coruscant events where she had seen him there, and where she had been asked to dance, he had never done so. She always assumed it simply went against the Jedi look, so to speak.
"Do you find occasion to dance, Obi-Wan?" she asked him, attempting to inquire about his past with dancing, but in the politest way she could imagine.
"Rarely," said he. "And you?"
"These sorts of things occur from time to time within my profession, you know," she said. "But yours…?"
He smiled at her.
"Almost never, I admit," he said. Then, he allowed her turn beneath his arm and said, "Perhaps less than five times."
"But yet you're not bad at it," she said.
"Why, thank you," he said, looking amused at her non-compliment.
"What I mean is," she said. "You're far quicker on the draw than the average person who's only danced five times in his life would be."
"Hm," he said, his arm around her waist to guide her in the right direction. "I would say that it is likely the mastery of a Jedi fighting technique, and a passing understanding of several others, that makes this all seem familiar."
"How fascinating!" said Padmé. "Which do you like better?"
"Well," he said, glancing down at her. "While I found the mastery of a fighting technique very satisfying, I have to say this is highly rewarding in its own right."
"Is it?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, his eyes warm and upon her.
Padmé suddenly felt she wanted more, and the closeness of Obi-Wan and perhaps the hooch drew her to ask for it.
"How?" she inquired, keeping his eyes locked with hers.
Obi-Wan simplified the dance to allow his focus to be hers; his arm held her waist, his other hand held hers, and he guided her as he would, though not far and not fast.
"It is with you," he said, and she felt a rush of intensity and glanced down at his blunt reply.
"I didn't ask Jamillia to do that, you know," Padmé said to Obi-Wan within the internal world of their dance of two.
"Of course you didn't," Obi-Wan told her. "You never would suggest such a thing. Neither would I."
"Yet, here we are," said Padmé, being warm with the awareness of their proximity.
"Yes, shall we thank her?" he asked.
Padmé laughed.
"I think we should," she said, and as she glanced up at him, she realized how much she'd missed his warmth, his arms, even the unique earthen scent of him. His expression softened, his Jedi mystique began to slip, and he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and she found herself falling, falling, and only with great effort she hung back from the precipice. She decided to make more conversation for a distraction.
"How is the militia going?" she asked, though gently.
"It goes well," he said, his voice also gentle; a caress. "And you? How is your work?"
"Very little drama," she said with a soft laugh.
"Good," he said softly, his eyes traveling over her face.
She dropped her gaze to his mouth. She found she wanted to touch his beard.
"It's nice to get outside," she said, lifting her eyes back to his. The warmth had built in his gaze, her voice became breathless. "We hardly ever do."
She didn't really know what she was saying, anymore.
"No, we don't, do we?" he said, every word caressing her with his voice, his eyes. He tilted his head a little and glanced to her lips, to her eyes, and back.
"It's so beautiful here," she said, her voice coming out as a sigh.
He seemed overcome, and he touched her face lightly.
"This is why we wouldn't have instigated a dance," he whispered to her, an undercurrent of passion emerging in his voice that made her feel weak. "We knew this would happen."
"And so quickly," she whispered back. "Obi-Wan…"
She thought he might kiss her then and there, in the middle of everyone, and perhaps he nearly did, but he restrained and took her by the hand and pulled her away into the trees.
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