AN:

Ivy – Ahh yay! Thanks! xo

Cheire – Exactly! xo when you're afraid of your feelings you'll do anything to dismiss them.


The Game Of Love


It just takes a little bit of this

A little bit of that

It started with a kiss

Now we're up to bat

A little bit of laughs

A little bit of pain

I'm telling you, my babe

It's all in the game of love


"Padme?"

The sound of Dorme's voice made Padme raise her eyes up from her desk. Together she and her colleague made their mutual workspace a delight in feng shui style, with foliage and flowers making patterns along the walls that alternate between a sage green and off-white hue separated by a stone obelisk. The room was smart, green, pure, and professional – just like the two of them. Padme's desk got full view of the large full-length window overlooking the street, and the corner of Dorme's desk met hers; their desks connected, creating an L shape; their corner, their right angle, their teamwork.

"She's all yours."

Dorme was referring to the woman standing in the waiting room. Padme looked over and saw through the glass door a woman older than the two of them, roughly thirty-seven years old. She dressed like she had money and wanted to flaunt it – along with her pride. She was attractive, glamorous; she looked like she kept fit to maintain her figure. She wore pearls around her neck, her thick blonde hair in a vintage french twist hairstyle, and she was head-to-toe in an old-money fashion sense, dressing far older than she looked, perhaps to keep up appearances. But she wore it well – the discreet, classic elegance of a chiffon blouse with lace detailing, a black A-line skirt and a scarf around her neck to match.

"I'm taking my break." Dorme grabbed her handbag and snuck out.


"Hello!" Padme shook the woman's hand. She could feel the disturbance of the woman's many rings. "Have a seat."

"Miss. . .Amidala." The lady read the name plate on Padme's desk before sitting down, even though the receptionist had informed her of the lawyer's name before she walked in.

"Miss Scintel. How can I help you?" Padme encouraged, sitting back down herself.

"Well," Scintel began with a smile, unfailingly polite. "I'm in the process of writing a book. An autobiography, really. And I want to be sure I won't be messed around when it comes to licensing and the like."

"Okay..." Padme tried to work out how she fits into this equation, connecting the dots between what the client wants and her own search for meaning. "Well sounds like what you need is a reputable publishing house."

"It's not just that." Scintel paused. There was a discomfort in the way she sat, like she was searching for refuge––or recognition. "Quite a few journalists will want to get their hands on this book. My husband – I mean, my late husband..."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Scintel seemed to appreciate the empathic nature of Padme – a nature that was foreign to her when it came to most of the lawyers she encountered. "Well, he. . .he was quite a prominent public figure in politics. Until he died three years ago. And I have spent my entire adult life plagued by insults and accusations of marrying for status. He was quite a bit older than me. And well... There are probably many people who want to tear me down. . .and rewrite my story."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Padme said sincerely. "But. . .this isn't the kind of thing that I do."

"The proceeds will go to building a public library here in Tatooine – get kids reading again. Every sale I make I will put that money into restructuring this town, giving back. With your help, I hope."

Padme's cheeks lifted, feeling an intuitive calling, a divine vocation, trusting that a purpose had found her.


Padme noticed a flicker of movement, a persistent motion from the corner of her eye. She looked up from her desk to find Anakin standing outside the large office window. He subtly waved over before sinking his hands back in his pockets. His hair unruly and in need of a comb through it; he wore a simple black t-shirt, faded denim jeans, and a half-smile – one that teases the soul. He then urged her to come outside by giving her a little nod directing her to join him. Just the act of a little head jerk, a persuasive signal, was surprisingly seductive. Perhaps it was the unavailability, the forbiddenness as she remains bound to her desk while the mysterious charmer tries to lure her away.

"Is that Anakin Skywalker?"

Padme jumped up at the sound of Dorme's ascending tone as she entered the office.

"You know him?" Padme glanced up at her, baffled.

"I know of him." Dorme lowered back in her seat with a face that acknowledged and is almost tickled by the circulation of gossip; like a boomerang, it travels quick and fast in rotation. "He has quite a reputation."

"Ladies' man?" Padme guessed as she watched Anakin stroll around in circles with a casual tediousness.

"No." Dorme assured. "Women seem to love him but that's not it – and I never understood the hype. Not a fan of his extracurricular activities. Him and the rest of those downtown delinquents at that crappy sand park have made quite a name for themselves. . .contributing nothing to society – unless you count mayhem."

Dorme noticed Padme's face fall and she picked up on the subtle cues that never lie – the downcast eyes, the tight lips, the symbolism on the face which basically represents the hopelessness rolling in – like the rolling sea regressing to water ripples once they reach the shore, they die out – and she sees the futility of her idealism.

"Trust me." Dorme offered a sympathetic conclusion. "You don't want to trouble yourself. If you want the respect of this town and more importantly Vallorum's, steer clear. He won't want anyone working for him associated with one of them."

Padme looked on, feeling like she was forced to cling to one side of the pendulum – to abandon propriety or abandon erotic allure. The pulls of the intuitive compass are sometimes better ignored. But there is a chasm of light that leads to her yearning for something soulful – and it is eclipsed by doing the right thing. Was there a right answer, a good answer, a fair answer?

The heart can lead you to places the head knows not to go, and she has stuck to the reliability of a rational mind most of the time. To deny the heart free rein is often wise but now, for the first time, she was afraid to not listen to it and risk it burning in the flames of sacrifice.


Tell me

Just what you want me to be

One kiss

And boom, you're the only one for me


Padme made her way outside to where a calm and patient Anakin awaited, doing a decent job of suppressing his zeal – perhaps due to the delay of pleasure finally coming to an end.

"Anakin..." She spoke with an airily light sigh – familiar, relaxed, sultry. "What are you doing?"

He took slow strides to narrow the space between them. He was debonair, looking down at her with racy eyes that pinned her to her spot. "I'm racing in a bit. I want you to come."

Padme governed herself to not get caught up in the exotic demands of his gaze. With a regrettable huff, wishing he didn't put her in this position, she spoke, "Anakin, I can't just drop everything and go. I have responsibilities."

"Aren't you almost done?" He placed a loose straight hair strand behind her ear, and the sudden gesture of his fingertips on the side of her neck left a lingering, tangible longing.

"No." She breathed out defiantly like she was fighting to prove her own strength. "And you can't just show up at my work. I'm busy here." Her words might as well have been a whine with how much she struggled to get them out.

"What's the big deal, so you cut out a little early."

His air of nonchalance towards her obligations rubbed her the wrong way. Why was he making it difficult for her? Why was she making it difficult for herself? Say what you need to say. Tell him no.

The struggle between letting him go – and letting him know – and the temptation to join him left her with a knot in her stomach, twisting faith, contorting values. She grew defensive at their profound differences. She was on the cusp of an aspiration––or a precipitous fall.

He had wed and woven too many of his unutterable desires to the vision of her – without her even knowing. And it was putting pressure on her to make a decision. To allow the swaying toward a taboo, or to stand firmly on principle.

"Some of us take our jobs quite seriously." She knew as soon as she uttered the words they would travel with a tone she had not intended – a quick restless burst in the moment, a fleeting expression of frustration. And as soon as the sound wafted through the air and settled on his ears, she was met with the glare of his disappointed, let down eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

They share the moment their eyes meet and exchange an acceptance – and a dread – of the distance they had involuntarily planted.

"Fine." His face, illustrative of the stagnate cadence of his life which he often tries to reverse, eject, speed up or slow down – not wanting to associate with his own shortcomings or have her see the parts of himself, the remnants of a person he's not trying to be.

He turned away from her, about to walk away. His hands still fixed in his pockets, agitated, hiding under his own inadequacy.

Defensiveness crept up again, and Padme lashed out, trying to conceal what her features so generously exposed – that she didn't want him to walk away, she just wanted him to understand. "See that's – that's exactly what I was talking about. I don't have time for this Anakin. I came here to figure out what I wanna do and you just come barging into my life and demand I change my plans?"

He stopped to look back at her, expending the last of his energy in calling her out. "Thought you moved here to stop planning your life."

Padme waded through rough waters of observations. One kiss and suddenly she's meant to attach herself to him?

She released a slow exhale, with all the politesse she could muster, "I also don't need some boyfriend making me feel guilty for putting myself first."

Anakin clicked his tongue, begrudgingly granting her relief, repose. "Don't worry. I'm not your boyfriend." You've made that clear. He walked away, to concede, with the tempo of an exhausted, scorned lover's footsteps, strained, enervated.


Love is whatever you make it to be

Sunshine instead of this cold lonely sea

So, please, baby, try

And use me for what I'm good for

It ain't saying goodbye


Watching Anakin walk off left Padme to ruminate once she stepped back into her office. She hated the wrenching of the gut; it made her feel uneasy, unsure, like she was missing some puzzle piece that kept her disconnected from the present moment.

"You did the right thing." Dorme soothed from her own desk. But it didn't give Padme much consolation.

"Then why do I feel so awful?" Padme slumped into her chair.

"Perhaps you just don't like seeing people upset." Her colleague ventured a guess.

Padme sat at her desk, introspective, letting her thoughts run on like a rotisserie spinner, a rotating spit, trying to cook up an answer. "Yeah, you know what, I owe it to myself to make a decision with no one else's feelings in mind." She asserted. "Besides. . .he'd probably break my heart anyway, right?" She finished off, forcing out a nervous chuckle that ended up being a mere puff of air, and it quietened Dorme.

Dorme's silence did not fall on deaf ears. Padme studied her suspiciously. "What?"

"Nothing," Dorme shrugged but Padme's stare impelled her to answer. "It's just – well, those are two very different reasons to push someone away."


"What happened?" Wald asked, wearing his signature green bucket hat, joining Anakin who sat on the convertible car door of a 1955 silvery-blue Porsche 550 Spyder.

"It's overheated." Anakin explained as he slid off the car and walked off, popping a toothpick in his mouth.

"You won't be able to drive it?"

Anakin grabbed Wald's arm to check the time on his friend's watch to gauge how long he had left the car to cool off. He then proceeded to pop open the hood.

He let out a breath that expressed him shrugging off the day, the drama, the inconvenience. This was simply another thing that didn't pan out. A heated day, a heated tension, a heated argument, and a heated engine... all which were not granted any release or reconciliation. Just the rumbling sounds of frustration, a disservice, a relegation – he had to give up his favourite car and his favourite girl all in the same day.

He always assumed romanticism would outweigh, outlast, and outrank realism. But the steaming disruption punctured holes in the illusion pretty quickly.

"Doesn't look like it." Anakin rested his forearm on the hood of the car. "Next time, Artoo."

Anakin closed the hood of the car, and as it lowered, it revealed the view behind it. Amid the scuffling of feet, the noise of accumulated conversation, and the constant motion of the crowd was one outstanding vista.

Padme

–who was clearly coming home from work, wearing the grey pencil skirt and sleeveless white shirt he saw her in earlier, and her straightened hair that extended past her shoulders was tamed behind her ears.

He tossed his toothpick aside and approached her with a lazy walk, one that didn't exude much excitement – but behind his eyes, there was a glimmer of hope.

He now stood before her with the same look he had when he met her outside her office but she no longer witnessed his ardour – just his curiosity. "What are you doing here?" His voice slightly deeper, low, missing its enthusiastic drawl.

She left him to hang in the moment for the duration of a heartbeat, or two, offering nothing but a shrug (but a peculiar one – one that she knew would evoke descriptive thinking on his part).

"I don't know." She folded her arms with air of whimsy. "I didn't plan it."

The edge of his mouth curved into a, reluctant at first, half-smirk.


You roll me, control me, console me

Please hold me

You guide me, divide me into one


Santana feat. Michelle Branch - The Game Of Love