A/N: I see the tilting effects of the roller coaster are starting to be felt. :) They don't call it a slow burn for nothin'. But just since the last posting, this fic gained another 1.3k+ views (mind-boggling), and a massive chunk of that is repeat views on The Credence chapters, especially the last one. Y'all. You created a new 'most-views in a single day' record for Suppression. *tips hat* You may or overwhelmingly may not be speaking up in the comments box, but I'm glad you're entertained.
While appreciated, friendly reminder that reviews, no matter who they are left by, have never and will never affect the fic itself in any way. The story that is and will be posted is the one in electronic ink since June of '22, and in mental ink since long before that. Hearty cheers to those who continue to keep the faith with me. *raises glass*
Chapter 45. The Conference Room
All extremes of feeling are allied with madness.
— Virginia Woolf
Loving Anakin was like riding a wave just off from shore. It starts intense but safe enough. Slowly, too slowly for your alarm bells to be triggered, you are coaxed further away from the beach. Sometimes your naivete wins out, and you dupe yourself into believing you have control over the crests and dives. More often than not, however, it's an addictive rush of navigating the riptides. For, in loving such a man, you know bliss is not found in the safe harbor, in the shallow pools, in the frothy surf. The passion is intermixed with the danger, the push and pull of the currents dragging you under even as electric oxygen fills your lungs. Even then, you buy into the illusion that all is salvageable. You don't even want the shoreline anymore— you feel released from it. You feel the pressure caress around your muscles, and yet the buoyancy tricks you into believing it is freedom that you're experiencing.
When your eyes finally, truly open, you find you have been submerged in perilous depths, an impossibly thick ceiling of water separating you from the surface. You can see the sun reflecting on the top above, but its strongest rays can't penetrate deep enough to reach you. The electric oxygen has turned to lead. The winged balloons in your chest scream for life-giving air, but your muffled cry only drowns you faster.
When you wake the next morning, you are safe. You're alive.
Like a moth to the flame, you return to the beach. You stand in the surf once more, your feet repetitively splashed with the teasing beckoning of a liquid siren. You know what awaits you out there, back in the waves.
And you step forward into the water.
I will not admit to just how long I had to stay in the cafeteria until my emotions settled. Even then, it was more like a storm downgraded down to a lesser category. With Anakin apparently in his cabin hoping for my arrival, I could've reasonably felt confident that the ship was mine to roam. As if I were the first ghost to haunt our cruiser, I might've walked around it to clear my head instead of staying one more moment in that culinary den of freshly baked memories. But I had too much concern that my legs would stroll themselves to Deck 16 and right up to Anakin's door. Too much was left unresolved between us to throw the surrendering of passions into the mix as well. There was love in our standoff— a wealth of it truthfully frightening in its breadth— but too much anger and resentment currently seemed intertwined with it. As much as the rest of my body called to rush to Anakin's cabin, my romantic heart wasn't going to let me go anywhere near it.
Despite the late (or very early) hour, returning directly to my stateroom was a notion I was admittedly paranoid about, given my attuned neighbor; with such a hurricane still rotating inside me, it would be a wonder if even Threepio didn't pick up on it. I couldn't avoid my lodgings forever, just like I couldn't avoid the Jedi Master forever, but that didn't mean I couldn't stall. I waited until my exhaustion level peaked so high I was sure I would return to my cabin and simply crash into bed like a fallen tree. And I did.
It didn't matter that I was avoiding Obi-Wan anyways. The next morning, he took the initiative to seek me out himself.
My heels were carrying me through the cruiser corridors towards the main conference room. Two cups of life-giving caf were in my system— my nerves were too racked from my rendezvous with Anakin to handle any more. This would be the last sit down before the fleet contingent finally overcame its delays and made the jump to lightspeed. We were leaving Geonosis behind, and I couldn't be any happier about it. What I wasn't as ecstatic about was the loss of communication relays during the flight due to our hyperspace status. The best technicians in the galaxy hadn't figured out that one yet. Thankfully, we'd be making a stop about halfway through our route to Coruscant in order to, essentially, give some of our lingering diplomats a chance to depart, and give others a chance to get on. Soldiers and officers of the Republic who weren't clones would be joining the fold of those who operated the assault cruisers— or would be outright taking authority of them. These new fleet officers were anxious to see their new posts. Also, I imagine they considered the optics would be better if they sailed into Coruscant already in charge of the vessels which would now be associated with their name and distinguishable face. Either way, this pit stop would allow us to catch up on any news we'd been unable to receive in the first leg of our journey.
The door to the conference room was located in the middle of a long, wide hallway. As I turned a corner and made my way towards it, I saw different huddled groups lingering outside in pairs or trios. This wasn't unusual. Sometimes it felt like more important conversations happened in the hallways before the official meetings started than once we'd seated ourselves inside.
What was unusual, however, was to see Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi standing in the midst.
He'd seemingly already been watching me since I turned the corner. He appeared pleased at my arrival, which helped my suddenly racing pulse somewhat. I approached him with a smile, and a polite but quizzical expression. "Master Kenobi. Are you sitting in on our final briefing?"
"No," he shook his head. His hands were clasped in front of him, though hidden underneath the sleeves of his robe. "Not today, Senator. Though, I did sit in on a few yesterday. Your absence was noted."
It hadn't ever crossed my mind that once Obi-Wan was discharged and aboard The Credence, he might be as interested in the incoming information as much as anyone else. I mentally kicked myself for being so shortsighted, but it didn't really change anything. I'd purposely avoided conference rooms and Jedi yesterday after leaving Anakin's cabin. Trying to face both at once would have been a nightmare.
"I made myself useful elsewhere," was my simple and honest reply. Fortunately, I was a Senator, not a Padawan. I didn't need to explain my absence to him.
He jumped straight to the point. Obi-Wan was not a man to waste time with politicians or with chit chat. "I can tell your conversation with Anakin went well. Well, in the sense that it went as it should have."
I hadn't expected this positive review. Maybe I could've slept more hours in my bed last night than I'd thought.
"You think so?"
He nodded and raised his arms to cross them over his chest. He did a good job looking like a professor at a university. "I visited him— last evening, and again this morning. Anakin is radiating disappointment. I'm almost surprised non Force-sensitives can't feel it."
I forced a smile even though it felt profane to my heart. I was pretending to be agreeably pleased by hearing Anakin was in pain.
But that didn't mean there wasn't strategic advantage in Obi-Wan wholly misunderstanding the cause of Anakin's distress. He had no idea it stemmed from my rejection of a marriage proposal, not of him entirely— though, that in and of itself was an upside down, backwards, complicated matter I did not have the answer to yet.
I eased further into my Amidala mask. "I am glad you have been assuaged of your concerns, Master Jedi."
"Enough so, I am departing the cruiser imminently."
My mask teetered as I processed this. "You're leaving?"
Dear Gods, does that mean his apprentice is about to go with him? Right when he thinks Anakin and I have already settled our goodbye?
The Jedi seemed to notice my veer into overreaction territory to his news, but he only paused briefly before answering. "I am recovered and with my own starfighter." His chin dipped, and his voice became more somber. "The loss of so many Jedi has spread us thin. Active missions were abandoned in order to come to our aid."
His aid. Though, unlike Mace Windu, Obi-Wan's eyes did not say this in the slightest.
He put his arms by his sides, almost like a readying soldier. "As I am back to able-bodied status, I feel it's my duty to honor them by tying up some of the more important threads still requiring attention. I owe those Jedi my life. The least I can do is finish their work for them."
{And we suffered severe casualties on Geonosis. There are practicalities to this loss which are being addressed as we speak.}
A clue shamelessly acquired by eavesdropping clicked into place.
"Tartoon?"
Something of an amused grin appeared, raising his round cheeks. "As I said, milady, your discernment does you credit."
I smiled back at him with tenderness and appreciation. "That's very noble of you to finish their missions, Master Kenobi."
"I am only one man of many trying to pick up the slack, but I will do what I can." His grin flickered, and he seemed to be eyeing me more pointedly now. "We are a very odd family, Senator Amidala— the Jedi. But we are family."
"Almost like the Senate, I'd like to think." Uncharacteristically of me in a conversation with a fellow professional colleague, I rolled my eyes a sighed good-naturedly. There was an obvious note of wry amusement as I spoke of my complicated, morally ambiguous if not downright corrupt family.
He chuckled openly at my expression. "Quite right. Two separate families. Working in harmony, but apart."
He may as well have taken the words right out of my mouth. In fact, he'd echoed me so closely, I wondered if Anakin had purposely slipped Obi-Wan an accurate recounting of some of my statements when his Master came to visit him post-rejected proposal. Whether or not that had happened, there was most definitely something in his eyes when he said the word separate.
Reaching for a swerve, I asked, "Will your astromech be joining you? Arfour was it?"
"Yes. I think I'll have to see to it that she gets a full body soon."
"How soon did you say you depart?"
The reality that Anakin's Master, and the only other Jedi on the ship, was leaving it and us was finally starting to register. I felt equal parts relieved, elated, and agitated. I squashed those feelings as fast and as much as I could.
"Very shortly. My ship is already prepped in the hangar bay. After I take my leave of you, I shall head straight there. As you should be relatively safe between now and then, my Padawan will resume his bodyguard protections when you both reach Coruscant."
I failed to hide my surprise at this. "He will?"
Obi-Wan looked more discontent than before. "I do not have the authority to relinquish him of his assignment. It was handed down by the Council and the Supreme Chancellor— who has more pressing matters to attend to at this time than a Jedi whose prosthetic has been signed off on and is otherwise healed from his additional injuries. I have specifically instructed Anakin to use the flight to Coruscant to further his acclimation to the arm." Then, he regarded me more sternly. "Though, milady, if you feel any reason why he should be reassigned, please don't hesitate to say so upon returning to the capital. If you are deemed to still need the protection of the Jedi, we will be happy to make arrangements."
Meaning, disappointment radiation aside, he still doesn't have enough faith to be confident in Anakin's attachment once we were off the ship.
He thought Anakin would sit in his cabin practicing his cup grip while I kept busy elsewhere. For a moment, I marveled that we had endowed the Jedi with the security of the Republic.
I set my face passively and nodded stately at him. "I understand. Thank you for the clarification."
And then, Obi-Wan looked at me with what I can only call regretful eyes. He inhaled to speak, but hesitated just a moment, before finally saying, "Many Jedi have had their bout with this particular breed of disappointment. He will recover, in time."
"Have you, Master Kenobi?"
It wasn't until the question lingered in the air that I realized it would sound as if I was asking this in response to his second sentence. In fact, I'd intended it to be a spontaneous inquiry as to his penultimate remark… but when his eyes dropped to the floor between us and stayed there, the longer they remained, the more I adjusted my own intent.
"I apologize," I quickly added. "I overstep." I carefully shifted gears into territory I dearly wanted to know before Padawan Skywalker's Master left the ship. "Has… Anakin elaborated to you on our visit to Tatooine?"
His focus rose and met mine. There was a beat, and then he ominously replied, "We had an enlightening conversation." I used all the political acumen I'd acquired over the years to read his eyes. But I hadn't needed to, for he supplemented, "I am aware Anakin went there to mourn his mother." He gazed back at me with morose innocence.
The best poker face in the galaxy wasn't that good. Obi-Wan didn't know about the Tuskens, or what Anakin had done to them. Perhaps, for all he knew, Shmi Skywalker was already dead by the time of Anakin's dreams.
But the pain in his expression that he obviously felt for his apprentice is what moved me the most. For all their talk about forbidding attachments, if I understood the story correctly, Obi-Wan had challenged his superiors to take on Anakin as a Padawan whether they approved it or not, solely based off a deathbed promise. Such a measure of loyalty to his fallen Master sounded an awful lot like an attachment to me.
"If there's more to know, I am sure he will tell me in time," he continued softly. Then he stood up straighter. He seemed to drag the words out of his chest as he said, "Unless there is anything you would like to enlighten me about?"
"Amidala!"
Considering all the time and conversations we'd had together over the course of a year, I could never explain to myself why I'd never given Jurue permission to call me by my casual name of Padmé. In almost every other friendly fashion, right down to the way I always passively allowed him to greet me with his cultural kiss on the cheek, we were comfortable with each other. Yet I'd never brought up. He was never forward enough to ask for the familiarity token in the beginning, and in time, I think we both simply became used to him addressing me by my formal name. From the harbor of hindsight, I question now if it was because a part of me— deep down— knew what our pairing looked like, what it could become, and my heart tattooed by fate wanted that tiny but significant barrier up.
On this particular day, I turned to see a bright face set under dark curls walking over to join us. "Hello, Jurue," I greeted back with a smile. He nodded at Obi-Wan respectfully and then approached me for his customary dose on my cheeks.
Surprising even myself, the side of my face briefly hidden from Obi-Wan's view by Jurue's head flinched at the moment of contact. The only lips my body wanted touching it were Anakin's.
I recovered quickly before either man noticed. Jurue smiled effervescently at the figure opposite him as he took a stance at my side. "Hello, I'm Jurue Batar." He extended a hand out, and Obi-Wan shook it with bemused energy.
"Hello there. Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Jurue looked low across his shoulder at me. He bumped mine once with his own. "I've missed you. Shall I see you inside for the meeting?"
He was a very pleasant man who I had never before and still did not have any negative feelings towards. But that apparently did not stop my body from acting as if his presence had triggered antibodies released by my immune system.
Mindful that we were being closely watched by someone who could read emotions almost as well as he could all other visible cues, I reached for the memory of Anakin's face as I gazed into Jurue's, summoning emotions this man would not elicit if I gave him one hundred years in one hundred island huts.
"I have missed you too."
Unconvincing.
Reach.
{Oh, but I left out the best part about the freighter.}
{Which is?}
A dazzling smile.
{It has seven cafeterias.}
Seven cafeterias. In a parallel universe, Anakin and I took that on as a nocturnal and risqué challenge. My grin naturally expanded. "And, of course— let us dine for lunch together again today as well."
"I hope they have better fish on the menu than yesterday. I never thought, as a son of Naboo, that I would ever reach my maximum intake." He laughed. The sound wasn't melodic enough, and it dangerously almost broke my haze of self-manipulation.
Reach!
{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.}
"I feel the same way."
"We've seen the day when Amidala no longer looks forward to fish? My, my, the galaxy is changing."
"I'm just going to finish wishing Master Kenobi farewell first," I carried my sentence as I tilted my head towards the man opposite us without taking my eyes off the mesmerizing blues I was super-imposing on to Jurue's eyes. "He is departing the ship in a few minutes. I'll see you in the conference room."
"I shall save your customary seat at my side."
{Well, sorry there are no honeymoon suites on board. But I can get you stationed on the level with the best cafeteria. Best I can do for ya.}
An unbroken, adoring gaze. His smile only grew wider. A winner's spirit, a ridiculously infection light.
{That's a prized wedding present if I ever heard one.}
I could practically feel Anakin's arm around my side and see the way the sun had lit up his face. No. The way joy had lit up his face. Lost in the memory, I beamed up at Jurue.
"Wonderful."
Jurue put his arm around my shoulders once, a gave me a squeeze, inadvertently shattering the illusion instantly. He let go and bowed slightly towards the Jedi. "Pleasure to meet you. Safe journeys."
"Oh, likewise."
I shifted my attention to Obi-Wan. He looked like he'd de-aged by ten years in the span of under a minute.
His eyes followed Jurue as he left my side and walked towards the conference room door. When he turned towards me again, there was unabashed relief on his face, which seemed to quickly follow with a more studious look of understanding.
"Pleasing fellow." He crossed his arms pensively again, lifting a hand to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "Anakin is aware of your… relationship?"
How would Senator Amidala act to such an abrupt, personal question?
I made my back stiffen, as if I was uncomfortable. It wasn't a difficult pretense to force. "I don't see how that falls under the purview of the Jedi, Master Kenobi." Good, now remember the goal. "But… yes."
Another stroke of light brown facial hair. "When I broached the subject of relieving him of his assignment, Anakin imparted on me that he intends to see his duty to protect you carried out until the final minute."
I hoped to hide the ache of my heart. Knowing Anakin, I had no doubt what devoted duty he'd been talking about, in leveled phrases even Obi-Wan wouldn't catch.
A husband's duty.
Stick to the truth.
"Your apprentice can be very… headstrong." I smiled. "But he takes his responsibility towards my protection very seriously. He's made that quite clear."
"Yes, Anakin can be very blunt. His feelings are very rarely disguised."
"He's forthright," I amended, using better connotation than his words allowed.
I was worried I'd tempted luck, but Obi-Wan only rewarded me with an agreeing smile. "Indeed, that he is."
"Thank you for coming by, Master Kenobi." I paused. My most genuine smile yet came through, and I had nothing but honest gratitude in my voice. "And thank you for everything you did— your efforts to hunt down the masterminds behind the plot to kill me were invaluable. If not for your diligence, the Republic would still be in the dark about a great many things."
"And thank you, Senator Amidala," he replied warmly. "For coming to rescue me on Geonosis."
"Padmé," I replied, a softness in my tone. "Call me Padmé."
He hedged, seemingly torn between different replies.
Anakin and Obi-Wan were more alike than they thought. Two men, always searching for the center, never quite confident when they'd found it.
At last, there was a twinkle in his eyes as he echoed Jar Jar's introduction of him in my apartment. "Senator Padmé?" And we laughed together, like friends. I hoped we could become them to each other, truly. "Thank you," he bowed deeply. "Padmé."
I saw a new side of the austere Obi-Wan Kenobi as he gave me a playful wink. Then he walked past me in the direction of the hangar. I followed him over my shoulder with my gaze as he began his measured stroll, his hands burying themselves deep into his brown sleeves.
Yes, indeed, he and Anakin were more like than they knew.
In the future, I'd strongly come to suspect that Obi-Wan knew about me and Anakin, though I never dared to broach the subject with him myself. I can still remember where I was sitting when I realized I'd significantly slipped up as far back as on The Credence. I'd told Obi-Wan to call me by my personal name, yet when the man I'd pretended to be my blossoming beau joined us, it was clear Jurue called me Amidala. If Obi-Wan caught the revealing clue, which he surely did, he excused it enough to believe my lie. People, even Jedi, sometimes can only see what they want to see. In this way— when it came to Anakin— Obi-Wan and I were the alike ones.
As I watched the Jedi go, the smile on my lips faded away. I did not relish the realization that I'd played my role well, as I thought I had at the time. A somber mood settled over me.
The secrecy and lies had officially begun.
I stood there for a few moments, ruminating over the direction my life was heading in. I was lost in my thoughts until a tall figure down the hall, opposite the direction which Obi-Wan had walked, moved in the outskirts of my vision. Plenty of others were milling around me near the doorway to the briefing room, and so the movement of this robed figure in the distance shouldn't have necessarily stood out.
However, some deep layer of my subconsciousness had memorized that build, whether it was clasped in dark brown tunics and visible legs, or completely enshrouded in a brown robe, like now.
Anakin was here. Anakin was watching me.
His arms were crossed over his chest. The look on his face sent a chill through my limbs.
My illustrious smiles at Jurue, sourced by happy memories, flashed before my eyes. The Jedi directly in front of me had not been the only one in the proximity who could supernaturally detect feelings.
Others still ambled around me, busy with their conversations or silently scrolling through data pads. I dared not raise my voice loud enough for them to hear. I counted on his Force abilities to capture the sound of my whisper. "How much of that did you see?"
How much had he heard?
How much had he felt?
I had my answer when black eyes disappeared into a further darkening face.
His arms swung by his sides as he suddenly stalked towards me with obvious intention. The brown fabric of his new cloak bellowed behind him with the wind of his movement.
I started towards him, coming to a stop near the doorway to the conference room. I opened my mouth to speak—
And he walked right past me.
All I got of him was his luscious scent wafting into my nose as the air from his passing moved across my face. He'd turned at the last second to step into the room, disappearing from my sight.
I stood there, momentarily stunned. A few long seconds went by.
"Amidala?" Jurue had emerged from the doorway. Hallway stragglers were filtering through the door; I'd been so focused on Anakin that I hadn't even noticed I was standing in people's way. Jurue looked at me expectantly as he took one of my hands in his. "Are you ready for the briefing? It's about to start."
I gave his hand a polite squeeze before letting it go. "Mm-hmm," I answered, far more cheerfully that I felt.
We stepped inside the large doorway of the rectangular room, and my eyes immediately sought out the figure standing in the back, far right corner of it. He was watching us, his arms folded over his chest again.
I swallowed nervously. Anakin and I had been operating on poor or little sleep for weeks. I didn't have to ask him his thoughts to know the passionate urges of our bodies had us both in constant, frazzled states of frustration. He'd lost his mother less than a week ago to her tortured death. He'd slaughtered her killers and their families against his brethren's code. He'd dueled and been butchered in the process. And I, the brightest light in his life right now, was the woman who'd rejected his heartfelt marriage proposal. Compounding his hurt and confusion in this, I'd then selfishly been unable to reject him out right so that he could at least start to try to find a measure of peace. He'd witnessed my scene in the hallway and was now watching me walk in with the man I was fairly certain he believed to be my planned betrothed.
{You don't want a man served to you on a plate any more than I want to watch it happen.}
This was going to be bad.
The conference table was long enough to seat fifteen on either side, but only twelve or so beings in total were putting it to use. Some nine or ten familiar faces from other briefings were scattered through the area, some standing, some already sitting, but all were either engaged in their conversations with each other or with their private holocalls. Sub-meetings were happening up to the very last second before our own briefing was to start. The only eyes that acknowledged us as I awkwardly stopped at the front end of the table were the blue ones staring us down from the back of the room.
We then ambled along the table in search of two open chairs next to each other— an innocent seating habit Jurue and I had picked up during other briefings, but which now I considered to be poor destiny. We were about halfway along when Jurue finally noticed the rapt audience our movement had. "Master Skywalker," he acknowledged kindly. "Good of you to join us." I reminded myself that they'd met yesterday in a meeting I'd been unable to witness or mediate.
Tight lips came up into a smile I didn't trust. "Didn't want to miss the show."
Jurue let out a light chuckle. "Not quite an entertainment venue, I'm afraid. Lots of military and political jargon. But it's good to have the Jedi still represented here, now that Master Kenobi has departed The Credence." He looked at me and gestured towards the table, indicating to me to finish our walk. "Amidala?"
I eyed the two open chairs at the bookend of the left side and dutifully headed towards them. Jurue's hand, while not exactly salacious, was suddenly low on my back as he escorted me further along the table. I wanted to presume it was a harmless accident, but I felt a pang of guilt and regret as I recognized it was likely a byproduct of my affectionate demeanor whilst we talked to Obi-Wan. I'd been so caught up in my act, I'd unfairly not taken into account what my scene partner might think of it.
I almost pointedly stepped away from his touch as we walked, but paralyzing indecision kept me from settling on the best recourse before I'd reached my seat. On the one hand, removing Jurue's contact might alleviate the imminent danger currently erupting from the look in Anakin's eyes. On the other, with the way he was lethally staring Jurue down, Anakin seemed a breath's trigger away from pulling his lightsaber out and hacking the hand away himself. I didn't want to give any sign that I was uncomfortable, and thus risk inadvertently tipping off my overly motivated protector to come to my aid. Therefore, I dumbly absorbed the heated stare as it shifted from the hand at my back up to meet my eyes, in the possibly irrational— possibly not— attempt at preserving Jurue's pulse.
In his strained eyes, I saw anger. Bewilderment. Pain.
My heart lurched towards him, ratting the bars of its ribbed cage in yearning.
Anakin.
When we reached the first pair of open seats, Jurue pulled out my chair for me and helped me push it in once I'd situated myself upon it. Throughout this maneuver, I didn't take my eyes off the scowling face to my left, especially when its attached body started to tensely walk towards us. It became clear to me that Anakin's objective of standing where he'd been was to wait and see where I placed myself around the table before he took his own seat.
He was eerily silent as he pulled out the chair directly across from Jurue and I and sat down. Even though the meeting hadn't started just yet, most attendees had already angled themselves in their seats towards the front of the room. But Anakin kept his torso straight forward, giving himself less of a view towards the front and a more a full view of us. Of me.
"Are you sure you want to be here, Anakin?" I eyed him cautiously. "You might get bored. It will be difficult to slip out once the meeting starts."
He tilted his head and regarded me coolly. "I couldn't pass up the chance to see Mémé in her natural habitat."
Jurue lifted his head at this from the data pad he was stowing away. He looked at Anakin first, then at me, then back at Anakin. "Beg pardon, what is a Mémé?"
Dark blond eyebrows rose. He was surprised and amused. "Interesting."
A man in charge of coordinating the meeting appeared at the head of the table. He apologetically announced to all that a technical issue was holding up the start of the briefing on the other end. He assured us it was being worked out and we would begin as soon as it was resolved. Light conversation grew to a low buzz in the surrounding seats. Jurue settled himself more comfortably in his chair.
"If you don't mind me asking," he directed towards the young man, "how is your new arm fairing you, Anakin?"
He shrugged. "It gets the job done." He seemed to hesitate, then added— I thought, sincerely, "But I'll be glad to have the chance to upgrade it when we get to Coruscant. I want to make the feeling sensors even more advanced." His eyes flicked over to me for a split-second.
"That's good," Jurue replied. "You know…" he paused, then let out a light laugh. "When I was a boy, I used to dream I would grow up and become a Jedi. Every single day I would check to see if my Force abilities had manifested yet."
Anakin's forehead shrunk as his eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?"
Jurue didn't hear the slightly musical tone in Anakin's voice that indicated he was mocking him, which I was glad for. "Oh, yes! I would even try to move things with my mind. My parents gave me a big brown robe when I was about five— broke my heart when I grew out of it. The Jedi were celebrities to me the way other kids idolize Holo stars and the like. I even had a poster of Master Yoda on my tablet jacket at school."
"So, life-size then?"
I couldn't help it. I covered my mouth behind the back of my hand, stifling my smile as discreetly as I could.
Jurue also chuckled at Anakin's joke, but he seemed too engaged in what he was sharing to be thrown off. He became a charming mixture of embarrassed yet excited as he continued, "The kids in the neighborhood and I would pretend we were Jedi Knights; pick names of legendary members of the Order which we'd call each other, envision ourselves on daring missions. We'd run around our houses, pretending to wield imaginary lightsabers." His eyes shone as he shook his head in recollection. "We'd climb over couches, beds— you get the idea— and have these epic fights, make the saber noises and everything. You know— wooaaamm, wooaamm." He laughed softly. "Drove our parents crazy."
My voice was kind yet questioning. "You never told me any of this."
Jurue shifted his gaze to me, and my cheeks warmed a bit— uncomfortably— at the obvious adoring in his eyes. "Well, I've always wanted you to think of me as dashing, not as a little boy playing pretend."
"You don't consider the Jedi 'dashing', anymore?" Anakin's voice was losing whatever very light civility it'd had.
Jurue gave a bashful smile and looked back over to the other man. "My apologizes, I didn't mean to offend. I'll always credit the Jedi and wanting to be one with steering me towards my life's passion. It's one of the main reasons why I went into public service." He looked back at me, his face softening again. "Seemed like the closest way I could realize my childhood dream of saving the galaxy."
The sentiment was sweet, and I gave Jurue a genuinely appreciative smile.
"Have you ever seen a lightsaber in action before?"
Jurue and I both darted our eyes back to Anakin, but only one of us was still smiling. I rose an eyebrow, immediately suspicious.
Jurue only grinned with hopeful energy. "No, can't say I have."
The answering smile was more teeth than lips. "I'd be happy to give you a personal demonstration."
"I wonder what's taking them so long with the transmissions," I leaned far forward in my seat in an overly enthusiastic attempt to look down the long table, as if I by my sheer stare I could fix whatever the technical glitch was.
Anakin splayed his hands flat out on the surface. The gray fingers jetting out from his right sleeve reflected the abundant light in the room. "Sooo. Jurue from Naboo. What do you do?" He sang-song the words, spacing them out and speaking with enunciation.
"I'm a lobbyist."
"Ahh." Anakin's eyes narrowed. "The only thing worse than a politician."
I shot him an admonishing glare. I was speaking my words to Jurue, but I addressed my tone to the man opposite us. "Anakin doesn't like politicians."
He gave me a look that could cut like a lightsaber. "I like two or three, but I'm really not sure about one of them."
Our sweet-smelling meadow felt lightyears away.
"It's alright," Jurue answered with a good-natured laugh, as he brushed off Anakin's remarks. "I hear similar feedback all the time. Such is the life of a lobbyist." He stilled, and an eyebrow crept up. "Though, hearing it come from a Jedi is rather new."
"Anakin's not a full Jedi yet," I interceded. My voice was animated as I echoed myself, "He's still just a Padawan learner."
"Oh!" Jurue pointed at the braid as if he hadn't noticed it before. I have to imagine he didn't have a clue as to the heat of the fire he was playing with as he innocently said, "I didn't even stop to think— well, yes, you look a little old to be a Padawan, Anakin. Wouldn't you normally have had your trials by now?"
The eyes were an inferno. "So some would say."
"How old are you?"
This can't be happening.
He dragged the word out with unnecessary pronunciation. "Niine-teeen."
"A teenager?" Jurue shook his head. I knew him well enough to know the sympathy on his face was genuine. "That makes me all the more sorry for the loss of your arm. You're in the age group more likely than most to be affected by a galactic war." He shook his head again, mournfully. His brown eyes trailed off, unfocused from us. "Soldiers. Boys. They'll come back from the battlefields scarred— in more ways than one." Jurue's tone was suddenly committed, in that way it became when he felt strongly about justice. He reminded me of Bail Organa, in some ways. His back straightened as he snapped his attention back to us. His knuckles tapped the table. "All the more reason for us to find a diplomatic solution as quickly as possible."
The image of young beings on the front lines swam in my mind's eye. Why is it almost always the young who fought the old's wars?
But Anakin, a recently bereaved son and survivor a duel, was very much a man of the moment this week. He wasn't thinking ahead to battlefield casualty numbers, Senate hearings on an exposed marriage centered around one of their own, Jedi tribunals, or the logistics of raising children in such an environment. I'm not even sure he was thinking ahead to the briefing hopefully just seconds away. He was the member of our trio very much still focused on the here and now.
"And how old are you, Jurue?" A last second courtesy smile. "If you don't mind me asking?"
My eyes on Anakin tightened in warning. He ignored me. In my peripheral vision, I could see the man beside me shrug casually in his seat. "I'm twenty-nine."
I tensed. It was the exact same age difference as me and Anakin, only reversed.
"Ah." He sank back into his chair, his human and mechanical hand folding together low on his stomach. There was a distinct pause as cold blues frost-burned into me. "Older."
I don't know if I felt sorrier for Jurue or for myself when he asked, confused, "Older than who?"
Anakin's stare lingered on me for one more pointed second, and then he looked back to Jurue as if he'd forgotten he was there. "Older, no, my apologies, I meant to say younger than what I was expecting," he covered badly. "You look older for your age than you are."
"Ah, thank you." Under his breath, I heard Jurue add, "I think."
I sweat to the Natural Gods, I almost kicked Anakin under the table.
The lights of the room finally dimmed around us. The cool blue static light of a commlink coming to life hovered above the platform situated a few feet beyond the other end of the table. The room quieted as almost all eyes watched the first speaker step into view to give opening remarks, which mostly consisted of a long rollcall of who he and his team would be "pleased to update today."
As the meeting began, I was able to at least pretend to focus my attention towards the front of the room. I kept my eyes on the holographic figures as they took their turns buzzing in with their presentation of recent developments. Sometimes it was a droll recitation of status reports, sometimes it was aiding visual of maps. Nothing groundbreaking— no words on Count Dooku's whereabouts— though I hadn't expected there to be. These same images were being simultaneously broadcast to other ships, to Senatorial offices on Coruscant and many other planets, and even to the very office of the Supreme Chancellor— though I doubted he was watching. This was a more run-of-the mill update, and whoever was observing it on the Chancellor's side was likely just one of his junior aides keeping notes. A few receivers had the ability to chime in and ask questions, but today, our end on The Credence was a one-way, 'watch and listen' audience. None in our room, not even me, had even been specifically mentioned in the opening rollcall— we were merely colloquially grouped in with the other ships around us as "the Geonosis fleet." More than half of anything I heard went in one ear and out the other. And not because of boredom.
I was well aware that Anakin's gaze hadn't moved from the left side of my face since I'd turned towards the presentation. But I was just coming round to actually ignoring him, instead of just making a show of it, when I felt a small sensation low on the back of my neck.
It was barely perceptible, to the point when I thought I'd imagined it. But— Oh— there it was again. A feather-like touch to my skin. Reflexively, I rose a hand to scratch what I presumed to be an odd itch.
A few seconds later, the itch returned. Again, I raised my hand. This time, I applied more pressure in the form of a rub.
However, as I lowered my hand down to where it had previously been resting on the table, it was as if the back of my hand had caught whatever phantom rash had been on my neck. I stared through the dim lighting at my hand— looking at the empty air above the skin, but certain I could feel soft, caressing lashes drape back and forth across it. It was like someone was brushing me with a silk ribbon.
I snatched my hand back into the safety of my lap, as if taking it away from the invisible fabric.
And then my eyes went wide, as I felt two points of pressure— light but unmistakable— at my sides, just under my rib cage. These touches were much wider, more expansive than the thin ribbon. They had multiple extended points. They felt, they felt like…
The pressure felt like hands. Two palms and ten fingers. Nothing mechanical but everything impossible shared between them.
My eyes flew up. Anakin was sitting forward in his seat, staring at me. The blue from the presentation lit up one side of his face while the other was almost hidden in black shadow. He had an air of concentration about him, but a light smile was on his mouth, and his eyes were alive.
Delicious pressure began to move across the sides of my waist, up and down, then circular, in a knead. My eyelids involuntarily fluttered closed before I jilted them back open.
I swallowed nervously. Jurue and I were sitting at the farthest end back from the reporting. The man to my right was a seat closer to the presenters than I was. No one sat behind Anakin or myself. There were none who saw the panic and reckless pleasure play out on my face. But I dared not move too visibly. I only gave my head a short, curt shake from side to side.
As if the movement caught his attention, Anakin's eyes, which had dropped down to my waist as I'd manically scanned the others around us, languidly crept up my chest and neck. But he stopped just before meeting my stare.
The luscious caresses around my sides didn't cease, but light— then firmer pressure slowly grazed along my bottom lip, like a thumb pushing its way across. Despite this, it was I, not him, who parted my lips as I gasped.
I'd been lucky enough to make the noise— however soft it was— during a moment when two speakers were trying to talk over each other— a military strategist from Coruscant was trying to interrupt whoever was already speaking. Or at least, that's as far as I could gather. They could've been debating baking tips for all I cared.
But Anakin's eyes flashed up to meet mine. He'd heard me. A satisfied smirk grew on his face.
I wanted to bat it away just as much as I wanted him to keep going. After days of pining, my body had finally gotten a real taste, so to speak, of Anakin's touch back in his room. Against my body's will, I'd starkly cut off reveling in those physical ecstasies. Now that my body was thoroughly enjoying his ministrations again, my skin, pulse, and answering heat jointly discounted the warning sirens going off in my head.
As if he could feel the battle raging within me, Anakin doubled his efforts. Ghost-like fingers trailed across my cheeks, down my neck, and across my collar bone. I gave him a fiercely stern look, adamantly cautioning him against going any lower, even as my own spine ignored me and I arched slightly forward in my seat.
A hint of acknowledgment came in the barest nod of his head, but it seems I should have been more clear on the terms of my warning. He skipped my breasts, but the pressure on my waist increased, as his "hands" moved to coast up and down my lower back. I shut my eyes in an attempt to block him out, but the loss of my visual sense only amplified the impact of the others. His endeavors suddenly gave the exquisite feeling of fingertips dragging down low to my hips. My thighs tensed. Pressure continued on my lips. I squirmed in my seat, frightened and thrilled as I fought back the primal urge to moan.
Every fantasy I'd ever concocted in this room on my own flew out the metaphorical window, never to be retrieved again.
I peered through half-mooned lids curtained by my heavy lashes. Anakin was watching me intensely, all traces of pretense gone. He remained quiet, but his chest expanded more laboriously with his deeper inhales. I surmised this was no longer from any mental exertion of using the Force. His eyes devoured me from afar as much as his phantom touches did on my skin, his very gaze having an equally arousing effect. I shocked myself when I brazenly and sensually licked my lips. The resulting way the bulge in his neck moved as he constricted his throat sent a powerful thrill through me. It was a brief victory lap.
At my own growing smile of triumph, Anakin reminded me who was in charge with a surge of sensation, and I felt invisible fingertips rake their way up my inner thighs. My head tilted backward, and I was sure I was about to start helplessly emitting sounds as my knees actually began to separate of their own volition.
Suddenly, I blinked back brightness as the lights came to full power. I hadn't even noticed the closing remarks were being given. My body still hummed achingly, but the spell was broken as the sight of the others around us returned, however unaware they were of the heat storm happening between my chair and Anakin's.
People started bustling about in their chairs; a few pulling out their data pads to skim. While I remained tense and frozen, a dark, satisfied smile spread across Anakin's lips. He leaned far back in his chair, the robe parting across his wide chest to reveal his tunics and black tabard as he stretched then bent his arms. His hands lazily cradled the back of his head. "Well. That was unlike any meeting I've ever sat in before."
Jurue was one of the ones who had pulled his data pad out on to the table, but he looked up at Anakin's words and the oddly pleased tone. "I'm surprised you found it so enjoyable, Anakin."
The Chosen One only smiled bigger. "It was a sensual feast."
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to stand up and shout in angry reproach at his audacity. I wanted to not care that anyone else was here, climb on the table, grab his collar, and crush Anakin's lips into mine.
"Amidala?" Lost in the last scenario of my daydreaming, I turned to look at Jurue, somewhat dazed.
"Hmm?"
Jurue was looking at me with innocent, completely oblivious eyes. "Did you find it stimulating?"
My mouth dropped and words failed me. I clamped my mouth shut as fast as I could and merely gave a meek nod. Across from us, Anakin was poorly hiding a laugh.
"Lunch then? Shall we go now?"
Right. Food. The other primal urge.
A sign I'd seen earlier flashed in my mind. The cafeteria was serving guelee fish, a cultural staple of my home world which I'd gone too long without. Pleased at that prospect, I nodded, then affirmed, "Yes." My guilt of being completely unaware during most of the briefing was starting to weigh on me. I'd need to come up something creative to get Jurue to tell me what the hell I'd just missed. "In fact, I just remembered— they are serving fish today."
I turned my head sharply at the sound of Anakin's chair scratching noisily along the floor. He'd put his hands on the table in a swift motion and pushed his seat back. From my lower position, I could see the way his fists clenched under the sleeves of his robe as he stood in front of us. The dark cloud had returned to his face, and he didn't look at me before he turned and stormed out of the conference room. My eyes trailed after the retreating sight of his back, and I resisted the pained impulse to call out to him.
Jurue whistled. "Quite a Jedi specimen you have there. Think he was offended we didn't invite him to lunch?" He made a defensive face before I could answer. "He barely gave us time to ask."
I forced a smile. "He just takes his role of protector a little too seriously, that's all. And he doesn't have much protecting to do on a fortified ship like this." Hopefully, that was enough to drop the matter.
"Still," Jurue continued, as he stood and pulled out my chair for me. "He seems…" As if he was shocked he had to use the word when describing a Jedi, he said, "Belligerent?"
I made myself go against my heart, which wanted to rush to Anakin's defense. "You know how teenagers can be— you give them a little power and it goes to their heads. Here on The Credence, he's got the big responsibility of babysitting a Senator when there's no danger to parry a lightsaber at."
"So, you think he's bored?"
I felt like I was committing blasphemy against the emotional maturity Anakin had gone to great pains to demonstrate to me over these past weeks. I swallowed the poison of my words before I uttered them with fake light-heartedness. "He may be a Jedi student, but he's still a teenager."
{But I am grown up. You said it yourself.}
My Amidala mask wasn't usually used to show excitement— mostly only composure. But I made the facial movement sellable. "It's guelee fish for lunch."
Jurue broke into a wide grin. "My favorite!"
I hated, absolutely loathed this secrecy act already.
Thankfully, Jurue naturally talked about what had been covered in the meeting so much on our walk to the cafeteria, I had a well enough grasp on the content as if I'd heard it myself. I'd been so invested in listening to his details, though, that I hadn't realized which cafeteria he'd steered us to until we were standing outside the wide, open door. I could see the white tile and gray walls just beyond.
Absolutely not.
There were bound to be questions and misunderstandings if I spent the whole lunch blushing in my seat as memory assaulted my senses. I enjoyed guelee fish, but not that much. There was also the fear that Anakin, and his famous appetite for all things food and me, would stumble in and see us casually dining in the very same cafeteria he and I had nearly driven ourselves to debilitation in just hours earlier. Thinking it was a far better idea, I suggested we get our food to go and have lunch in my apartment. The foolish rationale was that Anakin was still too angry to seek me out there.
Jurue and I were making amiable conversation as I directed us down the hallway on the floor my cabin was stationed on. As we neared it, my stomach audibly growled. I don't think my companion heard it, but I smiled anyways and reflexively put one hand over my stomach. Then I used both hands to open the deliciously smelling carry-out box in my grip.
We approached the door, but I was still relishing in the aroma of the guelee. It smelled like home. My stomach announced its impatience again.
This time, Jurue witnessed and heard my hunger. "I see someone is ready to eat."
I could not feed my body Anakin's touch, but I could grant it this. For the moment, it seemed to graciously accept. "I am."
One of Fate's ironies, of course is— not that there ever needed to be any confirmation that Anakin Skywalker was the father— during my pregnancy, I was hit with massive hunger cravings for shaak ribs. When I told him this on that last evening at our home when we only knew bliss and excitement, Anakin beamed brightly with the smile of an already proud father. But he absolutely howled with laughter when I informed him I hadn't been able to smell, much less eat one thing during my pregnancy. It had unexpectedly become the meal my stomach most rejected.
Fish.
His resulting laughter filled our living room with so much voluminous mirth that I thought the traffic beyond our windows would hear it. Even the life in my womb stirred. I rolled my eyes at him at the time, but now, I relish in this moment.
It eternally solidified an undeniable truth— though the sound was muffled, those tiny ears heard the magic that was Ani's joyful, unrestrained, and happy laughter.
Jurue was standing nearing to the door panel than I was, and my hands were still occupied by the double grip required to secure an opened box. "What's the pin code? Or, if you'd rather enter yourself, I understand."
I waved away his politeness as I tucked my box closed again to preserve the heat for one more minute. I was famished and just ready to get inside. "It's 0516."
After admission was granted, we entered the long hallway and the opulent space. Jurue did a poor job of hiding his impressed examination of my quarters. As I likely would've expected, he was mostly taken with the expansive view. We were well into lightspeed now, which definitively meant Obi-Wan had left. But my thoughts weren't on him as I stared at the white and blue streaks sailing by faster than any human could count them.
Jurue was talking about the furniture now. Or something. My eyes remained on the electric, horizontal stream. The longer they lingered, the more nostalgic I became. The past wrapped its smoky fingers around me, and when it clenched them into a fist, I was lost in its fog.
{What's your name?}
{Anakin Skywalker.}
{Well, Anakin Skywalker. Would you like to send this ship into hyperspace?}
Eventually, I remembered the weight of the box in my hand and the man starting to notice my wistful continence. Threepio was helping him to set the place settings. It seemed he hadn't had the opportunity to host in such distinguished accommodations before, and every protocol atom in his programming was fired up in delight. The only grievance he gave us was that we hadn't provided him with prior notice. Artoo, who'd been returned to my possession at this point, rolled around occasionally but mostly kept to the side, making sarcastic comments about the torrid droid hurrying about the dining area.
When we sat down to finally eat, Threepio interrupted us enough times that I eventually told him to take a "rest" and power off. He obliged reluctantly. A few minutes into our meal at the long table, Jurue excused himself to use the guest lavatory. I dabbed my lips with my napkin and nodded as I watched him walk towards the requite door. In the silence after it shut behind him, I stared at the utensil by my plate. A fork.
Blast! My life was to be cursed. I couldn't even look at utensils without thinking of Anakin. How am I ever supposed to sustain my life if I have an aversion to touching the tools that allow me to do it?
I didn't even have time to ponder an answer to that before there was a knock at entry the door.
Denial, as I've said, is a powerful thing. Some part of me knew exactly who was standing on the other side, waiting. But I ran through every reason why it wouldn't be him as I rose to a stand.
I have a bad feeling about this.
I gathered my composure as I steadily advanced down the hallway, similar to how one walks in a funeral procession. As awful as things had ended in the conference room, I knew they were about to get so, so much worse.
I took a deep breath and pushed the button that would lift the door.
The speed of such doors is near immediate in their rise, but it my mind, it ascended in slow motion. Brown boots first. Shin guards. The wide slits of a leather tabard. I even had a single half-moment to feel authentic fear for Jurue when the silver hilt of a lightsaber attached to a belt came into sight.
To my not surprise, Anakin's marvelous visage stood opposite me. To my shock, however, was the expression already morphing his features. I knew his face and its repertoire of looks better than my own at this point, and where I expected to find a display mirroring what I'd seen in our last exchanges— anger, resentment, accusation, feral need— it was replaced by an expression I'd seen in a dim garage several nights ago… after the fiery confession had stolen the wind from him.
Anakin Skywalker was absolutely coated in remorse.
It was in the hunch of his shoulders, the defeated posture of his entire body, but most of all, it was in his eyes. They were peering at the floor when the door between us first opened, but they dragged themselves up to meet mine with evident, growing apprehension.
"I came to apologize."
I shook my head, bewildered at the change in the man before me. "Anakin?"
"I," he blinked several times and dropped his chin again. "I wish to apologize to you." He stepped forward, angling himself around my left shoulder though he grazed it in the passing. I involuntarily gasped at the contact. So little meant so much to a soul that needed him even more than a body did.
After he entered the passageway, he touched the button on the inner side of the door to close it. I only managed to turn to face him where I stood, still stunned. We were inches apart in the suddenly narrow space.
He swallowed thickly, but the voice that came from his tightened throat was soft, tender. "I have-I have not been conducting myself in a manner worthy of you." His jaw clenched. "It is tearing new scars in me, this anguish." Glossy eyes bore into mine like Tatooine's suns burned blue. His distress bespoke of a torture he still endured though his mother's had ended— a distress only compounded by the strain between us. "It is as I told you… when I'm with you, my mind is not my own. Madness has consumed me, and I have not respected your needs in all this the way I should have been— in the way a man deserving of you would."
My jaw went slack. I hurriedly shut my mouth even as the tear ducts opened it its place.
"You are a great woman, Padmé, and I should be addressing your valid concerns, not—" He paused, halting his deliverance long enough to read my own expression. His features shifted into something more questioning. "What's wrong?"
"Anakin," I panted through a startled gasp. I thought I knew what to expect when I opened the door. At any other time, this man's arrival would have been a gift— a burst of sun breaking through a planet solely made of clouds. But I had just remembered the other man in my stateroom, and that suddenly made all this even worse than I could have imagined. "This is— I am so thankful and grateful— and I want to— this is not a good time."
But Anakin had already tensed in that way he did when he was tuning into the Force. He looked into the hallway beyond, then he dropped his gaze down again to meet mine. There was a new hardness to his eyes, but it hadn't taken completely over them yet. "Someone is here?"
He already must've known the answer, and the who, because he suddenly turned and stalked down the hallway at the same time Jurue opened the lavatory door.
"Anakin," Jurue greeted, seemingly genuinely surprised to realize he had joined our lunch hour. There was no indication he'd heard the other man's low, earnest whispers by the door. "Well, this is unexpected. We only brought two meals, but I'm sure we can share."
Anakin stared at him for so long that the air became awkward and tense. Jurue's eyes flashed to mine, puzzled, and with growing discomfort.
"I can't stay." The young Jedi had finally graced us with his voice. "I was just here to… to…"
He turned on his heel in the dining room, putting his back to Jurue but his face clear to me. Hurt, betrayal, and accusation— not of the heated kind, but of the far worse, soul-shattering kind— emanated from his features.
I rushed to come up with the first excuse my brain could come up with. The words flew out with a barely achieved semblance of calm. "Anakin is just here to pick up his clothing."
Both men, even Anakin, looked at me perplexed. Fortunately, Jurue couldn't see this expression any more than he saw the broken one.
I looked at the dark-haired man as unaffectedly as I could, for a variety of reasons. "When we went into hiding, Anakin had street clothes brought to him from the Temple. He merely came to retrieve them." My eyes darted over to the object of my speech's ruse. "Haven't you, Anakin?"
Slowly, that angry heat was overpowering the hurt in his eyes, swallowing the pain and replacing it with ire. He bowed courteously at me in a bend that only appeared that way to an outsider unaware of the subtext. "She is right. I want to relieve the Senator of every unnecessary weight. She has enough to carry without anything of mine slowing her down."
I spun and headed towards my bedroom, far more out of a desire to hide my crumbling face than under a want to carry out this new errand. I hurried into my room and rushed to the storage space where I kept the clothes. Though it was reasonable to assume they'd respect the privacy of a lady's bedroom, I was terrified that both men might follow me and see where I'd kept Anakin's vest and belt. I yanked open the drawer and stared down at them, freezing. The idea of removing them— and like this— felt like slicing a knife across my heart. But at this point I'd backed myself into a corner. I had no choice.
I returned to the open dining and receiving area to find Anakin had walked further in the lounge space towards the window. White and blue light bounced off his features, evoking more memories I did not have the current wherewithal to endure.
"Impressive stateroom, is it not, Anakin?" Jurue was gamely trying to elicit polite conversation.
Anakin had his hands together in a grasp resting behind his back. He turned over his shoulder and looked at me, standing near an archway holding pieces of his refugee disguise, then he took in the high ceilings, ornate rugs, polished stone floor, and a couch long enough to seat a Hutt.
His lips turned down.
Of course. What was a stateroom to a man who thought I deserved a galaxy?
Or at least, thought that way before he'd walked further into my cabin.
"Given its current occupant," he threw a look my way that held absolutely zero warmth. "I would say it lacks some yellow. And green."
He had absolutely no right to make me fall any more in love with him at a moment like this.
But then his lips turned down even further. "But then, I don't know the Senator very well. I'm only a bodyguard assigned by the Senate to protect her."
He started moving away from the wide window and towards me. Long strides on those impossibly long legs carried him swiftly. He took the vest and belt from my hands, his eyes staring into mine with loud speeches, though his mouth never parted.
I followed him down the long hallway to the door, out of Jurue's line of sight but not free of his listening ears. "Anakin," I half-pleaded, straining to sound relaxed. I fought to find coded words as well as he had in Dooku's hangar to communicate how I felt. I clearly needed practice, as the best I could come up with was, "Please, don't sell yourself short. Your protection is sorely needed."
"Not at all, my lady." Anakin hit the button on the panel door with a knuckled fist. It rose quickly on his other side. "It seems the right man is already here."
He stepped through the doorway. My mouth opened but no sound came out. I didn't know how to fix this with Jurue standing in the dining room, every word we spoke now echoing down the corridor to him.
Damn Anakin's position in the Order! Damn their archaic rules!
But before I had the wretched experience of watching Anakin walk away, he turned at the last moment just beyond the door. His eyes bore into mine again as he stuck his hand, of all places, into the innermost folds of his tunics. Dark brown, beige— he dug the fabrics apart until he reached skin. I saw his hand— his right, mechanical one— grip into a fist around something under the tunic closest to his bare chest and tug harshly. It sounded like cloth had ripped.
When he removed his hand from the space just over his heart, he extended the object to me in his gray fingers of metal and circuitry. In the palm, folded over several times into a small, neat square and attached at one side with a pin, was the reddish-orange, Chimiliean silk scarf I'd not seen since we'd departed the palace in Theed.
"It seems we've both said things recently which we didn't mean."
I shook my head, my mouth agape. "Anakin, you're—"
"It's alright. You know how teenagers can be— you give them a little power and it goes to their heads."
I lifted my eyes from his extended, still open hand to meet his.
Damn his Jedi hearing!
My shaking fingers reached to take the scarf he'd kept next to his heart. Recognizing the pin as one from my own assemblage, my own heart wavered as I wondered how long it had been there under his tunics. Since Geonosis? Since Tatooine? Since all of Naboo?
He didn't give me a chance to ask him as he turned on his boot heel and stormed away.
This time, Jurue wasn't so easily persuaded to dismiss Anakin's behavior. Mercifully, despite his boyhood aspirations, he had no prior experience interacting with Jedi prior to boarding The Credence. I, however, had over a decade of it, as he well knew. I capitalized on this to give him the impression that Jedi perpetrated a reputation for being stoic but were still very much human— or whatever species they may be. Such a reality came with all its natural moods, including the brooding kind teenagers deal with. Jurue Batar had never been a Jedi or become associated with one, but he'd been a teenage male before, and when that connection was finally made, he suddenly laughed with keen understanding and told me I should look into getting a new bodyguard. Beyond that remark, though, it seemed Anakin didn't cross his mind again. Like others, whatever suspicions Jurue had about the Padawan, he never even for a second seemed to entertain the idea that any inconvenient and inappropriate attraction was reciprocated.
I didn't dissuade him. I deftly resumed discourse back to matters of the government, and we resumed our lunch. He talked at length about his ideas, and I let him. He was company who couldn't sense underlying emotions like the other men of my day could, and I took advantage of this to let my Amidala mask contain all the swirling cyclones wreaking emotional havoc.
At one point near the end of our meal, however, something unexpected caught our attention. Due to the dining table's positioning, we could easily see the view from the floor-to-ceiling window beyond the couch. Though we never felt the ship shift, the fact that we'd suddenly come out of lightspeed was obvious when the streaks of light stopped. A black sea of space stretched out farther than the mind can comprehend, with dotted, singular stars taking the place of the horizontal lines. Jurue and I traded hypotheticals for a couple minutes, trying to figure out what could have caused an interruption to the fleet's travel plans, but before long, the streaks returned, and the actual explanation became mute.
I stood outside Anakin's cabin door, nervous but committed. The anger in his eyes had dissipated once today— I wasn't going to leave until I'd permanently banished it. Obi-Wan was star systems away and Jurue had no reason to expect my company for dinner or anything else. I was devoting the rest of my day— the rest of the flight, if need be— to Anakin. No more misunderstandings. No more getting sidetracked by primal desires. It was time to have a grownup conversation about my needs and his, and to hope dearly that we could find common ground… one way or another.
I lifted my hand and knocked on the door.
Several seconds went by.
I knocked again.
It was a formidably large ship. He could be anywhere. But before I began the daunting task of trying to find him on a cruiser with this many decks, I needed to know for sure that he wasn't in his room. After all, given his particular ability to know exactly who was on the other side of the door without needing to come near it, it wasn't impossible to think he was in there now, ignoring me.
I was too stubborn to allow for that right now. Despite the calamity which had occurred after, his words in the entry hallway of my quarters fueled abundant hope. There was a chance for us to talk to each other, truly, and I wouldn't permit that to be stalled by his misguided notions about me and Jurue.
After one more knock, I recalled the pin code he'd so clearly and memorably given me when he'd walked out of the cafeteria. Punching 1138 into the panel, I watched the door rise.
I walked into the hallway much tighter and shorter than mine. I hit the inner panel's button, and the door closed behind me. It was silent apart from the sound of my own breathing and the rustling of my skirt.
I immediately realized the air felt stale, mundane. I didn't need the Force to know my surroundings lacked the electrifying weight of a unique presence.
Anakin's not here.
Something slowly moved my feet forward though. The lights in the cabin were on. When I rounded the abbreviated entry way and took in the scene in front of me, my hands flew to cover my mouth in horror.
Blood. Streaks of it on the floor. On the back of the table's chair. On the sheets— not sheets firmly pressed into the side of the bed, but sheets crumpled in a mess on the floor by the wall, as if they'd been thrown against it and slid down to their present heap.
My eyes lingered on the small, gray digits haphazardly splayed about on the ground. Artificial fingers, torn from their appendage. Wires leaked out of one side of the ends like tiny veins strewn across the flooring. There were bent pieces of gray metal on the table and on the naked mattress.
I turned and ran from the room.
"Stop the ship!"
All heads on the bridge snapped in my direction the second I crossed the threshold. I felt wild, panicked, and I didn't care. But my anxiety only skyrocketed when, in my mania, I searched for a distinguishable face and only saw the identical one peering back at me in shock from multiple bodies.
"Senator?" One of them, over on the right, stepped away from the other clone he'd been speaking with. I recognized the uniform— he was the kind, respectful one who'd given the pacifist the ironic honor of naming the warship. "Is everything alright?"
"I just came from the medical bay." I swallowed and gasped for air. I wasn't parched of it from running, but from my disordered emotions. Information gleaned from the nurses had me rattled just as much as what I'd found in Anakin's cabin did. "Padawan Skywalker was moved over to the hospital ship during the break in lightspeed. I need to— we need to stop this ship and his shi— stop the fleet so I can taxi over to him."
Concern etched into his features, but also something far worse. Regret.
"Yes, Senator, I know. I gave the order to the fleet to pause long enough to ferry him. His injury was quite severe."
"I know," I pressed. "That's why I need to get to him."
The officer took steps to bring himself nearer to me and dropped his voice. We still had an audience, but they were less privy to our exchange now. "I can assure you, the injury was grave, but not life-threatening. He was to be rushed into surgery to stop the bleeding. He would be in the process of that right now. You would not be able to go to his side even if we stopped the ships."
I lifted my chin and played my Senator card even as rational thought took a back seat to desperation. "I will decide how best to be by his side when I get there." I paused and took a breath in, a half-hearted effort to steady myself. "At the very least, I can be there for when he comes out of surgery."
But the one who had the card of being in charge of the ship stared back at me with sorrow and a set jaw. "I am sorry, Senator. We've already had one unscheduled stop—"
"It was only two minutes while he was transferred!"
His patience far out did mine. "Yes, and I allowed it because it was a medical emergency." He offered me a compassionate smile. "A clear hyperspace lane is only good so long as it's utilized in time. The slightest delay can send us into an asteroid or planet. Now, we can happily have you taxied over in eleven hours, when we make our stop at the appointed rendezvous point."
"But while we're in hyperspace, I cannot get updates on his condition!"
It was another ten minutes of arguing before I finally admitted to myself that I wasn't going to win. Morose, I dredged myself back to my cabin. I ignored Threepio's cheery greeting as I closed the door behind me, leaned my back and full weight against it, then sank to my rear on the floor. I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my face between the gap in my knees.
The nurses, the captain, all of them seemed to think it was a freak accident. A brand new, untested prosthetic gone tragically wrong. "He might have rushed the rehabilitation too soon." "It was signed off on too quickly." Unexpected spasms of pain, unforeseen malfunctioning— it was as if they were programmed to assume only unemotional, logical reasons had separated Anakin's mechno-arm from him, loosening the very base attached to his forearm.
But I'd seen the violence of his room. I saw the large dent in the table's surface in the exact same spot where he'd perched me in passion just yesterday. It was the perfect size of a clenched fist having slammed down into it.
There was no malfunction. Anakin had ripped his right arm off.