Author's Note: Adding this as the third part of the "Jedi Cooking Lessons" series, but this is definitely a one-shot that can stand on its own (just like the others). I intend to add one more work to the series, but if anyone has prompt ideas for more, don't hesitate to PM me! Hope you enjoy!

"Ani, I love you, but you are a terrible cook."

"Aw, come one, it can't be that bad!" He picked up the fork in front of him, grabbing a generous amount of noodles with the tines. His eyes bulged as the food reached his mouth. "Oh, yuck! Ugh, you're right, Padmé."

His wife gave a smug smile. "I always am."

"Well," he immediately countered. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Padmé crossed her arms, mock-glaring at him from across the dining room table. "Excuse me?"

He put down his fork, giving her a roguish grin. "You heard me."

She huffed, sipping her Correllian wine with an icy expression. "Well. Perhaps I won't be needing the "protection" of a Jedi Knight tonight after all. Perhaps I'll just go to bed on my own."

"Who says I was joining you, anyway?"

Anakin laughed loudly at the look on his wife's face. He knew he wasn't really in trouble, though. Not when it was only a moment before the hard line of her mouth split in a grin. "You never were one for subtlety."

"So Obi-wan always says." He picked up the fork, still with its helping of, apparently, inedible pasta. "Seriously though. This is disgusting."

Padmé pushed her plate away, agreeing. "Did you not follow the recipe closely enough?"

"I didn't have a recipe!" He exclaimed as they both pushed their chairs back to head for the living room.

"You what?!"

He shrugged, resting one arm on the back of the couch as he sat down. An open invitation.

"I can't believe you- why? Following a recipe when you've never made a dish before is… is how… how you cook!" Carefully balancing her wine, she fumbled for words as she snuggled into her husband's side. And Padmé Amidala never fumbled words.

His right arm curled around her shoulder. "I don't know. Obi-wan always made it look so easy, cooking anything and everything under the suns."

She craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of his face. "Obi-wan used to cook for you?"

"Yeah, when we were Master and Padawan. At first he had too, since Master Che - the Head Healer - said I was "underweight for my age and species"," he quoted from memory. "Then, because I think he liked it. And I wasn't complaining. Eating with Obi-wan was miles better than eating in the Padawan's Hall. So noisy and crowded in there. People always staring. And anything was better than that awful nutrition paste they crammed into me at first." He shuddered, remembering the taste. "Slave life doesn't exactly feed you well."

He felt Padmé's free hand slip into his, and he grasped it readily, bouncing their joined fingers slightly on his knee.

Padmé, ever the expert at switching people's minds to different topics, asked, "And you never wanted to cook with him?"

Anakin huffed a laugh. "I didn't have time! I was eight years behind my peers, every spare second I had was spent trying to catch up."

"Eight whole years?"

"Yeah. Most children come to the Temple at one or two. Until I came along, Obi-wan was considered one of the oldest at three."

"Wow." Padmé let out a breath, the air ruffling his hair slightly where it hung down over her face. "I had no idea they took you so young."

"That's the way they've done it for thousands of years. Or at least, that's what my crammed history lessons tell me." He grinned at her.

"Well, whatever age it is, I'm glad they found you. If they hadn't, I never would've had you in my life."

Her head slid down from the crook of his arm to his lap as he leaned down to kiss her. Barely able to keep the wine level, she succumbed, giving the kiss just as much pent-up passion and longing as he did. Until they finally drew apart for air, and she could reach over to set it on the floor.

She gave him a warm smile. "I still would've met you. But I wouldn't have you like I do now."

He chuckled. "It's a good thing you do have me. You constantly need rescuing."

"Excuse you, I can take care of myself!"

"Can you though?"

"Yes."

"Really? What about that time on Grievous' ship, the Malevolence?"

"I had Threepio, I was fine! And I was never found."

"Because I snuck in to rescue you! What about the bounty hunters who took you hostage in the Senate building?"

She crossed her arms from her place on his lap. "As I recall, we were both hostages."

"What about the time you were poisoned trying to spy on Clovis? Or taken prisoner by Ziro the Hutt?"

"Hey, that one I got myself out of just fine. And I didn't hear you complaining when it saved your mission."

"But if I had been there, you wouldn't have had to! And yes, I definitely did complain. I always do when you put yourself in danger like that. "

She sat up out of his lap, pushing at him as she did so. "At least I know how to cook! Whereas you put five tablespoons of salt in pasta and think it's done!"

"Is five a lot?"

Now standing, she froze in place. Turning back to him slowly, she examined the incredulous look on his face. "Anakin, how many did you put in?"

He laughed, getting up off the couch. "Oh, a lot more than that!"

Padmé smacked her hands against her face. "Oh, Anakin!"

Firm hands slid around her waist… right before her stomach rumbled.

She looked up as he chuckled. "I'm sorry, love. I wanted to give you a romantic dinner."

"Anakin, I have fancy dinners all the time," she said, sliding her arms around his neck. "While I appreciate the gesture…" she lowered her voice to a whisper. "All I really need is you."

They both laughed as her stomach protested again.

"And some takeout would be nice."

"Hmm, how about Madame Treskka's, on Level Eighteen?"

"Ohh, that sounds good." She paused. "Yes, let's do that."

"Your wish is my command." He pulled away to call out across the room. "Hey, Threepio!"

C-3PO's shuffling steps quickly came around the corner. "Yes, Master Anakin?"

"Can you order us some Madame Treskka's?"

"Anakin," Padmé admonished.

"Please?" He added, only the slightest sarcastic undertone to be heard.

"Of course, Master Anakin! I will call them at once."

"Thank you, Threepio," Padmé called after him.

"Now," Anakin said, pulling her body flush with his own. "What are we gonna do while we wait for our food?"

Padmé idly rubbed her thumbs across the back of his neck, pondering the question. "Hmm. Oh! I know!"

He raised a brow in invitation.

"I wanted to show you the new curtains I got for the bedroom!" Slipping from his grip, she took his hand, pulling him in the direction of the stairs.

"Curtains?" He said, bewilderment clear in his voice.

She'd tugged him maybe two steps before his face lit up. "Ohhhh, "curtains". I hear you." And he swooped her up in his arms just like he'd done after their first married kiss.

She laughed, playfully hitting his chest. "No Ani, I really do mean curtains!"

Continuing to the stairs, he gave her a solemn nod. "Of course you do."

"No, seriously!"

"Yes, yes, I have to come see the new "curtains" in your bedroom. I hear you!"

"Then why are you still saying curtains like "curtains"?"

"I'm not saying them like anything."

"Yes, you are!"

Her laughing protestations carried them all the way to the bedroom, where, curtains or no curtains, their love for each other remained undiminished.

And if there were more than the usual amount of clothes for a Senator's bedroom spread across the floor when 3PO delivered their food… well, that was nobody's business but their own.

The End

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Your favourites are much appreciated, and comments triply so! Have a goodnight:-)