A/N: For those of you who are able to watch it, I hope you're enjoying the Obi-Wan show as much as I am! I am awash in feelings for canon, so I put a lot of feelings into writing the exact opposite of canon.
My mental health is still struggling big time, but I'm trying to engage more with the things I love. Big thanks to cjgladback for previewing this chapter and giving me some great feedback!
At first, Obi-Wan was not sure why he was awake. He'd been roused from a deep, wonderful sleep, but his internal clock told him that morning was still hours away. He blinked into the darkness of his room, felt the uneasiness all around him, and then he heard voices.
"He is here, isn't he? Hasn't run off without telling me again?" Obi-Wan's brain still felt watery with sleep, and he wasn't sure who it was speaking, but they sounded cross.
"He's asleep—what in the hells has he done to make you so angry? At this hour?" That voice, at least, Obi-Wan recognized. He'd probably still recognize Qui-Gon's voice if he were still actually asleep, which he truly wished he were.
"Done things without telling me." Obi-Wan reached up to switch on his lamp and squinted, vision unprepared for light so far ahead of the scheduled dawn. He cupped a hand loosely around his good eye, trying to give it more time to adjust.
"Well he's not run off—"
"For once that's not what I'm talking about." Obi-Wan realized that the mystery voice was Mace Windu only after there were footsteps growing louder and his door was sliding open to reveal the Master of the Order himself. He looked none too pleased, and was still dressed in day clothes.
"What've I done now?" Obi-Wan asked grouchily, aware that his hair was a mess and the neckline of his nightshirt was falling askew so his shoulder was practically falling out of it.
Mace might've been glaring at him, but Obi-Wan truly couldn't tell because his vision was still foggy from sleep, and depth perception hadn't been his strong suit since two Sith encounters ago. He could see Mace cross his arms in a stiff, restrained manner. The master took a steadying breath, and then he blurted:
"You have an apprentice?!" Obi-Wan felt more than he saw Qui-Gon's surprise when his old master whipped his head to look at Obi-Wan, loose grey hair splaying,
"You have an apprentice?" He blurted, delighted.
Oh Force, Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes and threw back his bedcovers, swinging his legs out until his bare feet were braced against the ground. I'd forgotten I'd done that. He didn't realize he'd spoken the words out loud until his eye finally focused and he registered Mace and Qui-Gon both looking down at him with similarly bewildered expressions. "I mean," he winced, running a hand over his face. Force, how many hours had he been asleep? Two? Maybe? It'd been the first time he'd slept free from visions and dreams in weeks. "Of course I remember that I'd—but I only heard back from the Council yesterday evening, I thought maybe it was a dream or—I hadn't registered that it'd…" He rubbed his face to wake himself up and stood, crossing his arms. "Mace, you're on the Council, shouldn't you have known?"
"I didn't," the Master of the Order snapped. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but I've been fairly preoccupied of late."
"Well I've not been," Qui-Gon interjected, tone still mild but begging for more information. "Were you planning on telling me?"
"Of course, master, but as I said, it was very late when I received the Council's approval, and you were already turning in for bed, and I—"
"Forgot, yes, so you said," Mace was still cross with him, and for the life of him, Obi-Wan could not fathom why. He shrugged helplessly.
"Master Jinn," Mace said, without looking at the man, who seemed surprised to be addressed so formally whilst barefoot in sleep clothes with hair falling in his face, "would you mind giving us a moment alone?"
More baffled than offended, Qui-Gon made some under-the-breath comment about being ordered around in his own home, but shuffled away anyway, going towards their kitchen to set the kettle on to boil. Obi-Wan sighed, knowing it was going to be a long night. Mace waved a hand and the door slid shut behind him, giving the two privacy. He pulled over the chair from Obi-Wan's desk and sat.
"Judging by your master's surprise, I can only assume you didn't tell anyone ahead of time." Mace's tone was milder now, but his expression remained irritated.
"Well… not really. Ben found me while I was meditating on it and we spoke of it, but I didn't tell him I'd actually submitted the request." This baffled Mace, who'd known Obi-Wan since he was very young, and Qui-Gon since they themselves were children. He'd never known the pair to be anything but close, one of those special training pairs whose mentor-student relationship had fully morphed into that of family.
"Why not?" He asked at length. To his surprise, Obi-Wan looked sheepish.
"To be honest, master, I wasn't confident the Council would grant my request, let alone so quickly." Mace frowned.
"You're an exemplary knight, Obi-Wan, your entire lineage and every crèche master on Coruscant has been nagging you to take on a student for years."
"Yes, well," Obi-Wan demurred, looking away, "even so, putting my own handicaps aside, this Padawan- my- I mean, the initiate that I—she's not exactly… I wasn't sure if the council had other plans for her, if she'd be an acceptable… pick, so to speak." Mace's frown shifted with curiosity.
"What's her name?"
"Ahsoka Tano," Obi-Wan watched the master's face closely.
"Ah." That one syllable answered the question of whether or not Mace had heard of her. Mace rubbed his chin. Then, to Obi-Wan's surprise, he laughed, though the wrinkles around his brows and eyes shone through in lieu of a smile.
"Force keep you, Obi-Wan, you certainly know how to pick them," the korun master shook his head. "What made you want to take her on?" Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, but found he had no words at the ready. He shrugged, mouth still open.
"I felt…" guilty, he would have said a few days ago. After many hours of meditation, he'd begun to see it differently. "I felt that she was being allowed down a path that was not hers to take," he said. "She is a promising young Jedi, no matter what the Corps masters say. I've been instructing her for several months now, and I do not feel she's where she ought to be. So, I looked into her eligibility, and, well, you know the rest." He shrugged and looked up to lock eyes with Mace. Obi-Wan focused on holding his gaze steady, challenging the Master of the Order to reprimand him. Mace looked away first. "What makes you so upset that I did?" Obi-Wan asked. Mace heaved a huge sigh.
"I'm not upset that you took an apprentice, Obi-Wan. In normal circumstances, I'd be thrilled."
"In normal circumstances," Obi-Wan echoed, deadpan. Mace glanced towards the door, as if Qui-Gon might've been eavesdropping. He gestured for Obi-Wan to sit, which the knight did, folding his legs underneath him on his bed, face remaining focused on the older man.
"Master Trebor is retiring from his tenure on the High Council at the end of this year," Mace said, and it took Obi-Wan a few blinks worth of time to catch up with the sudden change in topic. "Every councilor, including Master Trebor, has the opportunity to submit a nomination for his replacement. I was going to nominate you." Obi-Wan stared dumbly at Mace for several long beats, brain buffering slowly.
"What?" He said at length. Mace scoffed.
"Oh, Don't look that surprised. Surely you must've heard the rumors that you were being considered."
"Rumors, yes" Obi-Wan insisted, rather loudly. His eyebrows were raised high, left eye communicating enough surprise for its blind twin. "Force, Mace, do you know how many rumors have followed me since—and you think I'd actually believe—to the High Council? Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Who was I to know you'd up and get yourself an apprentice? After years of resisting the idea and all of Qui-Gon's nagging? Master Trebor only gave his notice two weeks ago, we've not even formally submitted nominations yet, I only just finished confirming that you'd be eligible, I was planning on telling you tomorrow."
"Well," Obi-Wan said defensively, then floundered. "I… I'm sor-"
"Oh, don't apologize," Mace waved away the tension, running a hand over his face and then his bald head, which judging by the soft hiss of the movement, he hadn't had time to shave smooth in recent days. Obi-Wan was suddenly struck by how… tired the Force felt between them. And it wasn't the sort of insomniatic tired that had haunted him in recent days, it was deeper than that. To him it tasted like a hazy purple, pulled thin like old muslin and fraying thin in patches. The last many years had worn down both Jedi in their own ways, but the mantle of the Order resting on Mace's shoulders had begun to leave an indent. Jarringly, Obi-Wan realized that sitting with Mace's exhausted atmosphere did not make him feel pity or guilt; rather, resolve.
"Is there any rule against doing both at once?"
"What?" Mace looked up sharply past his brow, entire expression a warning.
"Being a councilor and having an apprentice, I mean." Of course, Obi-Wan knew the answer. "Master Gallia has, and Master Fisto, for a year or two. Hell, Mace, even you—"
"Not starting at the same time," Mace interjected, astonished he had to explain this. "Force, where did you find ambition, all of the sudden? —No, I'm sorry, that's… unfair." His shoulders sank slightly, and he looked away from Obi-Wan and out the window, watching the Galactic City's midnight traffic pass by in the never ending, incessant stream that had defined Coruscanti life for many centuries, now.
"I cannot allow you to take on both at the same time, Obi-Wan, not now," Mace said, letting that sit before turning his gaze away from the window. "That would be unfair to you and Ahsoka. But at some point, I will ask to nominate you again, and it will be long before you're able to see your padawan through her Trials." Obi-Wan stayed silent, mind turning over new visions of what the future might hold, juggling the new variable of an apprentice. "I need you on the Council, Obi-Wan," the Master of the Order said, and it made Obi-Wan look up at him. "You know as well as I do that everything is coming to a head. The Council will need your knowledge and experience, before the end." The implication of end sent uncomfortable tremors from Obi-Wan's gut to the base of his skull.
"Why not nominate Ben?" He asked. "If it's knowledge you're after, Ben's a far more valuable resource than I." Mace was shaking his head before the knight had even finished speaking.
"Ben knewmore than any of us for many years, but he is growing old—in mind, if not in body. This galaxy is not one he knows any better than you or I. I would argue you know more than Ben does—or can." The very idea was anathema to Obi-Wan, who'd by now spent the majority of his life in Ben's shadow. Mace must've seen his brain short-circuiting on the idea, for he continued, more quietly than before: "Ben has warned you, shaped you, changed the way you look at the universe. But it is you, Obi-Wan, who has faced that universe and made sense of it, in all its darkness, without flinching." The Master of the Order was looking at him intently. "That is what I need on the High Council. Not Ben's memories and anxieties of past realities. He has wisdom to share yet, I know that. But he knows as well as I do that his time to lead is over."
Obi-Wan looked at Mace, brow furrowed in uncertain lines. A memory surfaced of a mission debrief some months ago where Mace had lambasted him for wanting to go out into the field. It felt like so long ago; it was astonishing how much Obi-Wan's own perception of his purpose had shifted in such a short time. To realize that Mace had seen his trajectory so long ago and mapped out Obi-Wan's own future was somehow both offensive and bolstering to a degree the knight wasn't prepared for.
"Two years," Obi-Wan found himself saying. "Can you give me two years?" Mace took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
"I think we both know he won't wait that long," he whispered at length. Louder, he said, "make it one. Master Rancisis hasn't announced his retirement, but we all expect it a year from now—perhaps a month or two beyond."
Obi-Wan thought of Ahsoka; she was fourteen. Who would she be at fifteen, a year from now? He tried to remember what his life had been like when he was fifteen, if he would've been prepared for Qui-Gon to take a seat on the Council. That was the year Ben appeared, he realized. He was not willing to let Ahsoka go through the same gauntlet that he'd passed through as a teen. Yet, for the first time in a long while, the Force felt resilient in two futures at once; that of Ahsoka, and that of her unlikely master.
"One year," Obi-Wan agreed. "Come talk to me again in one year."
"Very well," Mace said, and after a moment to ponder, stood and moved towards the door. "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan, you and your apprentice." When he reached the door, he turned back to fix the knight with a sly look. "Does she know yet?" Obi-Wan sighed, sleep deprived.
"Considering you didn't? I doubt it." This made Mace laugh.
"Well, congratulations to her, anyway. You can be sure myself or Master Yoda will be in touch. Or both." With that, the Master of the Order left the knight to himself; or perhaps, not exactly to himself.
"Well," Qui-Gon's voice appeared once Mace had left the apartment. He poked his head around Obi-Wan's doorframe and fixed his former apprentice with an unassuming but very pointed look. Suddenly, Obi-Wan realized their apartment was beginning to smell sweetly of sapir. "I do wish you would have warned me; I would have purchased a tea set meant for three."
Obi-Wan huffed an exhausted laugh, and hauled himself out of bed, shuffling out the door and into Qui-Gon's congratulatory but very curious guidance to the living room, where the two-person tea set waited. Master and student sat together and talked, as was their custom, about ideas brand new to them both.
It was the first time in a long time that a significant Jedi mission arose and commenced with almost no fanfare whatsoever.
Aside from the High Council, not a single person knew that there were six Jedi on Vandor at all, let alone that they would be squaring off against Sith acolytes. Even Aola's old master, Feemor, hadn't been awake more than an hour when news of the Vandorian campaign began to arrive on Coruscant. Though the report itself was many, many pages long, only one word would matter to the Order who'd seen so many similar campaigns end in death and defeat:
Success.
Wild, unprecedented, casualty-free success.
It was difficult to feel relieved about something you hadn't known was happening, but when Feemor heard the news, his emotions transcended relief; it was sheer joy.
"Obi-Wan, lad!" the creche master had shouted across the gardens to the knight when he'd approached his creche during their daily recreation hour, "have you heard about Vandor? Surely you have, you've heard of most things the Council has. What do you mean you haven't heard? Aola was there! Surely someone must'vementioned it. You're here for… what? Sorry, you what? What do you mean from the Clawmouse clan, you mean since I've been here—? Hold on, did you say Ahsoka?!"
Feemor's joy compounded.
Aola herself returned home to accolades, praise, hugs, and much admonishment from her friends and her old master who were upset they hadn't been warned that she'd been putting her life on the line once again. But with such results, none could complain too long. They'd found five imprisoned Force-sensitive captives from the base on Vandor. Two had died—one from preexisting injuries, one in a skirmish—but three of them—three!—had survived and were safely in the care of the Jedi Halls of Healing.
With a brow full of lines etched atom by atom by the long years, Mace Windu was shocked by their success. Yan Dooku was not.
"So now we know for certain, then," the august master had said, having found Mace in the quiet, wide open floors just below the council spire, staring out at the Coruscanti dusk with an uncharacteristically lighthearted expression. "It has been the Council of Reconciliation behind our chronic defeat, after all. To think, a cadre of our own, in bed with the Sith." Dooku said it so calmly, it was as if he'd already known. Mace cast him a glance.
"I've suspected for years," he blurted, as if the words had been pressure-sealed inside of him for too long. "Years. Since before Obi-Wan ran off for the first time, I knew it couldn't be anyone else."
"And now you truly know," Yan nodded, coming to stand by the younger master, hands folded into opposite sleeves. Yan may have been getting on in years, but he towered over Mace by a few consequential centimeters, which forced him to look down slightly when he canted his head toward the Korun and said, "Adan reached out to me yesterday. The Senate received Knight Tarkona's report two days ago, and already, it appears more senators are coming out of the woodwork to send us their approval and support—quietly, of course. Politics does not move that quickly. Most of the ones I know of we've known as allies for some time. But a few are new; and they bring new intel with them."
"And does the Council of Reconciliation know about this intel?" Mace asked, turning to eye the retired Shadow. Dooku shrugged noncommittally, but his eyes sparkled in a superior kind of conspiracy, looking out over the vast skyline with a keen eye.
"Oh," he said, "I'm sure we can find one reason or another why we didn't find the time to tell them." He glanced at Mace. "The galaxy is such a troublesome place, after all, even without the Sith." The two masters held each others' gazes for a long moment, and then at once broke into smiles, the expression of two old, tired men at last blessed with a spark of hope.
The excitement around the outcome of Vandor almost diffused the news that Obi-Wan Kenobi had (finally) taken an apprentice—almost. While many masters, padawans, and (disappointed) initiates were similarly shocked when they heard the news that the lone-wolf Kenobi had taken a student at last, perhaps no one was more shocked than Ahsoka Tano herself.
Obi-Wan had asked her to stay after class, and she thought for sure she would be assigned remedial exercises. Instead, he walked her out of the dojos and along the long, window-lit path that divided the dojos from the junior level classrooms and dormitories beyond. He walked very slowly and didn't say much. Although it was excruciating, Ahsoka managed to keep from asking questions, and instead focused on keeping pace with him, although she desperately wished to walk faster. She was so focused that she didn't realize that they were alone in the hall until Master Kenobi finally spoke.
"Ahsoka," he said, jarring her out of her concentration, "you once told me you would be a Jedi knight." Ahsoka frowned before she could stop herself, feeling defensive and suddenly adread.
"I did," her voice wavered just slightly. "I will." Obi-Wan nodded, the picture of calm.
"I also remember, at that time, you admitted you had no clear path towards that goal." Ahsoka bit her lip to keep from snapping at him. To her surprise, he didn't give her time to respond and instead continued, "and I told you I've faced similar odds in my life. What I didn't tell you was that I was also sent to the corps, when I was your age." This made Ahsoka stop walking altogether, staring up at him in shock. Obi-Wan stopped too, turning around to face her with an amused expression. "The Agricorps, to be specific. Bandomeer. I was a horrible farmer, as it turned out."
"What-" Ahsoka's eyes flicked about his face, robes, scar, saber, mind racing through the mental portrait she'd held of him since childhood; the Sith-Slayer, the master dualist, the protege who excelled in every measure a Jedi knight could hope to, all while half-blind and at least partially crippled. A farmer. "What happened?" She blurted, which made the knight smile. Ahsoka realized she'd never seen him smile, not fully.
"The Force works in mysterious ways," he said, a twinkle in his eye. "It was my own temper that got me apprenticed in the end, ironically. I'm sure I'll tell you the whole story someday." Ahsoka should've been puzzled by the promise, but she was still struggling with the image of Master Kenobi as a teenager, much less an angry teenager, much less an angry teenage farmer who'd somehow gotten the attention of Qui-Gon Jinn and morphed into a Jedi Knight the history books were going to talk about. "I'm telling you this," he said, drawing her out of her abstractions and stepping closer, "because the same Force that sent me to Bandomeer and brought me back a Jedi Apprentice is the same Force that put you in the Starfighter Corps, and in my saber class. The odds are stacked impossibly against you, we both know that." Obi-Wan folded his hands into opposite sleeves, and tilted his head as she'd seen him do before, so he could focus his one-eyed attention on her alone. Her heart was beating out of her chest under such scrutiny, but she stood her ground.
"I don't know what Master Jinn saw in me, back then," he spoke. "Or at least, I didn't. But then I met you, and you insulted me—multiple times, I might add—talked back to me at every opportunity, generally gave me grief and made the last several months some of the most difficult saber instruction experiences of my career," Ahsoka felt her montrals grow hotter and hotter in embarrassment, "but," his tone lightened a shade, "you have also listened to instruction and applied yourself with such conviction as no other student I've ever had the privilege to know."
The whiplash from one statement to the next was jarring, and Ahsoka's nervousness finally got the better of her.
"Why are you saying all of this, Master Kenobi?" She asked. He smiled.
"I'm saying all of this to ask you if you're still interested in becoming a Jedi Knight."
Ahsoka sputtered, dumbfounded for a moment.
"Yes, of course I am."
"Good," he said immediately, "because I'd very much like to be the one to help you do it." It took a solid five seconds for his meaning to land. When they did, Ahsoka's eyes went wide, and in the high-pitched screech of a surprised fourteen year old girl, she said,
"You what?!" Her exclamation and Obi-Wan's responding laughter echoed through the silence of the abandoned hall. She had a million and one questions, but Master Kenobi seemed content to walk with her and answer them one by one. They suddenly had enough time for all of them.
Everything and nothing changed. Qui-Gon pre-empted Obi-Wan's trip to the Quartermaster's office by going there himself the very day he'd learned Obi-Wan had taken an apprentice, something for which Obi-Wan would nag him later. The master was not at all ready to part with Obi-Wan's company in their shared apartments, but by the same token he was entirely ready to enjoy his retirement in peace and quiet while his apprentice wrangled the next generation. By the time Ahsoka was officially Obi-Wan's Padawan, the braiding ceremony complete and all the paperwork filled out, Qui-Gon had relocated his meager belongings—including all of his plants—to a small, isolated, single-occupancy apartment directly off the Temple gardens.
"Isn't this meant to be the Gardenmaster's rooms?" Obi-Wan had asked when he'd help his old master haul the last of his many plants into their new home.
"It is," Qui-Gon replied easily, setting down his cargo and letting out a stiff breath as he straightened his spine. Obi-Wan, arms still full and face half hidden by fern branches, stared at him and eventually said,
"You didn't." It made Qui-Gon laugh. "I mean, really, master, I only just—it's only been a week, I blink my eyes and suddenly you're moved out and become Gardenmaster, no less?" Obi-Wan was chuckling by the time he asked his question. Qui-Gon shrugged, and sank into the unfamiliar but comfortable sofa before he looked up at his old pupil.
"Oh, I've always had my ways, you know that." Obi-Wan did, so he only set down his plants and went around to join his master on the sofa, sitting to his master's right so his left eye would be nearest.
"Qui-Gon Jinn finds his true calling at last," he declared, looking around them, admiring the natural light afforded both by the exterior window that looked out onto the Coruscanti afternoon, and the breezy interior windows that faced the vast Temple gardens. "At least I won't come home to a potting station on my desk anymore," he teased.
"You'll miss it," Qui-Gon quipped. "How will you know you're in the right apartment if you can't smell potting soil?" Obi-Wan snorted.
"I think I'll manage," he chuckled, reaching out with a foot to move one plant pot away from its neighbor so their leaves did not get tangled.
"That reminds me," Qui-Gon said, standing. He went over to the kitchenette and returned with a potted plant, which was small and mostly green, with one fiery red spindle sprouting upwards—whether it was a flower or fruit or poisonous barb, Obi-Wan had no way of knowing.
"What," he said warily, knowing his master's habit of taking in problematic organisms, "is that."
"An Aurilian plant," Qui-Gon said, sitting back down holding the small plant in one hand and resting his free arm on top of the couch behind Obi-Wan's shoulders. The knight was sitting ramrod straight as he eyed the plant—and Qui-Gon himself—with suspicion. It made the old master smirk. "And it's for you," He extended the pot towards Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan looked at it but made no motion to take it.
"And what exactly is an Aurilian plant—it's not sentient, is it?" Qui-Gon laughed.
"No. It's a rare and quite expensive plant that grows on Aurilia as well as Dathomir, although it is invasive there. It bears fruit under optimal conditions, but it is notoriously difficult to maintain and incredibly easy to kill." Obi-Wan, whose thumb had always been more black than green, looked up balefully and asked in a longsuffering voice,
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because it would be incredibly rude of you to refuse such a valuable gift, and because I know you won't be able to keep it alive without advice from someone who knows plants—a Gardenmaster, perhaps." Qui-Gon's eyes softened. "And because I'd like you to have a reason to come see me from time to time."
"Master," Obi-Wan demurred, taking the plant with a sigh. "You know you don't have to give me a reason."
"All the same, I think it will help you learn a thing or two about the care and feeding of headstrong things—apprentices, for example. I always found plants useful in that regard." Obi-Wan frowned suddenly, remembering how many rare, difficult, and high-maintenance plants Qui-Gon had brought home over their many years together.
"Now hold on," the younger said indignantly, angry but subconsciously holding the plant closer to himself, "I was hardly a model apprentice, master, I know that, but I wasn't that bad, was I?"
Qui-Gon chuckled and held out his empty hand in a placating gesture, moving his other arm from the couch to rest across Obi-Wan's taut shoulders.
"Peace, padawan. You are as headstrong as your old master, and I wager as headstrong as your new apprentice. No amount of plant-rearing will ever rival the joy I've had in knowing you." The air was suddenly thicker than before, quieter. Qui-Gon regarded Obi-Wan's face for a silent moment before saying, "Your destiny has always held a gravity I had no way of preparing you for, I still don't," he gestured to the plant in Obi-Wan's protective grasp. "I only want to remind you that you are more than capable of doing difficult things, and when you feel like you aren't, you can always come to me." Taken off guard by such an admission, Obi-Wan looked down at the plant and brushed a thumb over the ridge of the pot.
"Thank you, master," he said, "I'll treasure it." Qui-Gon smiled and said nothing, but leaned over to wrap his arm gently around Obi-Wan's head and pull the younger man to him for a quick kiss on the temple, which morphed into a hug.
"Bring Ahsoka by sometime," Qui-Gon said when they pulled apart. "I have a new teaset to inaugurate, and if I'm going to share all my embarrassing stories about you before I die, I'll need to get started sooner rather than later." Obi-Wan groaned, and Qui-Gon laughed.
Much to Ben's chagrin, Anakin was continually tapped by the Chancellor for all manner of jobs—some high profile, some so small it was as if Palpatine was openly flaunting his power over the Jedi, over Ben. His apprentice was always requested by name, and Mace Windu was only occasionally able to find legitimate reasons to refuse the request. While Anakin was still an apprentice, the requests were always for one Jedi and one Jedi only. Technically, Anakin had been eligible for solo missions the moment he reached Senior Padawan status at 18, though it was an unusual eligibility to exploit so prolifically so long before the Trials. It had been weeks since Anakin had had the time to meditate with his master, days since they'd even shared a meal together. Ben had no way of knowing if the boy—no, man—still dreamed of Mortis, or what his dreams portended for their own future.
Anakin himself was dumbfounded but flattered by the Chancellor's interest. He knew Ben didn't like anything about the situation, but privately Anakin relished the opportunity to find his own footing in the field. He was close with Ben—he loved Ben, in fact. But Ben was Ben and Anakin was Anakin, and being able to experience life outside of Ben's shadow was its own kind of drug, a vast unknown that made Anakin's mind race with possibilities.
For better or worse, Anakin was a grown man and no longer had anyone to look after him, and he knew it. Ben's only hope for the situation was that Anakin found himself in the orbits of people who had Anakin's best interests at heart. Ben knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he had one such friend at his side, but Padme Amidala presented entirely different constellations of anxiety for the old master.
Anakin had never spoken to Ben about his attraction to the young senator, but he was pretty sure Ben knew about it anyway. Still, he'd never said anything about it, and seemed himself incredibly fond of Padme. It was difficult to not be fond of Padme, Anakin thought. He knew from past conversations that she had political opponents, people who would relish in striking down any legislation she proposed. When she'd told him such, he'd said without thinking, "How in the galaxy could anyone relish attacking you?" Padme had laughed and absorbed it as a coy joke, but Anakin had been entirely serious, though seeing her laugh had made him too embarrassed to say so.
Padme seemed equally fond of Anakin as he was of her—I mean, hells, she'd kissed him. Or had he kissed her? Honestly, Anakin couldn't remember much about the kiss, except the fact that it'd happened, and it'd been perfect, and he'd be thinking about it probably for the rest of his life. The next time they'd seen each other he feared it would be awkward, but Padme had greeted him more happily than ever, poised and professional but shooting him a smile that made Anakin feel uncomfortably warm. Anakin was not entirely sure what was going on between them, but he was determined not to kark it up. Even if Padme Amidala never kissed him again, he could not entertain the idea of losing her friendship.
So, naturally, when she approached him on his way out of the Senate hall and asked if he wanted to join her and a few other senators for a small party to celebrate the passing of some bill about this or that by a committee that Anakin couldn't remember the name of, he'd said yes before Padme was done asking him.
That was how Anakin ended up seeing Padme's Coruscant apartments for the first time, and was simultaneously dazzled by how large and how sparsely appointed it was. Her other guests, obviously familiar with the space, made themselves at home, but Padme hung back while Anakin craned his neck to see how the walls rose to join the curved ceiling far above.
"I don't really have much time to decorate," Padme had explained, a little sheepish as Anakin took in the bare white walls. "I only live here when the Senate is in session, anyway."
"Where do you live when you're not here?" Anakin brought his gaze back down to her. He had no idea she ever left Coruscant.
"Naboo, of course," she told him. "My family has an old estate there, it's beautiful in the summers. Have you ever been to Naboo?"
"No," Anakin looked around, eyes landing on the main living space where other senators, some with their spouses, were mingling. It was a gorgeous room, sunken into the floor and surrounded on all sides by floor to ceiling windows. He thought he could see a balcony beyond. "I've heard only amazing things, though." He looked back to Padme and was surprised to see that she'd stepped closer to him.
"You should visit someday," she'd said, and Anakin's heart hoped she meant that he should visit with her someday.
"I'd like that." They both stood still, looking at each other, equally hesitant to move or say anything to break the moment.
"Senator Amidala," Garm Bel Ilis called from across the apartment, "Master Skywalker, come, we're pouring a toast!"
The evening passed in much the same manner as other times Anakin had seen senators relax and drink together. Conversation started off lighthearted and was to do with anything but work, but as the drinks continued and sky grew darker, somehow politics was the topic of discussion once again. Anakin took the inevitable shift to excuse himself to find food, and was happy to run into Breha Organa. He'd seen her earlier in the evening, but hadn't had a chance to say hello.
"Anakin," she smiled widely when she turned to see him, "It's so good to see you—may I," she laughed and explained, "you mother demanded that if I were to see you, I should give you a hug for her," she opened her arms slightly and Anakin laughed, accepting the hug with a smile.
"You must do the same for me," he told her. "It's been way too long, I've been meaning to call her, but I've barely had time to eat these days, and certainly not during Alderaanian daylight hours." Breha's smile faltered.
"Oh," her face read of motherly concern. "What has been keeping you so?"
"The Chancellor, actually," Anakin said, and he missed the surprised quirk of Breha's brow or the way her lips suddenly pressed into a thinner line than before. "I've become something of a… well, an expert on virtually every role a Jedi can have in the senate," He joked, grinning, but it took a moment for Breha to smile back.
"Surely there are other Jedi to share the burden," Breha said, voice still maternal. "Your master?" Anakin shrugged, unbothered.
"Master Ben has other duties at the Temple," He said, not actually knowing if it were true, "And these are all solo assignments, two Jedi aren't really needed. I don't find them difficult," he said, attempting to assuage the concern still evident in her expression, "It's quite an honor. I'm not sure what I did to impress the Chancellor, but I'm grateful for his friendship."
"Friendship," Breha echoed, relying on a lifetime of social training to veil her emotions. She opened her mouth to speak again, but at that moment, her husband appeared.
"Ah, young Skywalker. How do you keep ending up at these things?" He teased, coming to stand by his wife and offering her a drink, which she took with a grateful but distracted expression. "You're not leaving the Order to pursue politics, are you?"
"Oh, Force no," the apprentice replied, perhaps a bit too readily. The senator barked a laugh.
"For the best. You're a good Jedi, and I'd hate for the Senate to ruin you." Bail joked, glancing cheerfully between the Jedi and his wife, who was smiling not quite the way he knew she could. "Excuse me, Master Jedi," Bail said politely, "I need a quick word with my wife." Anakin nodded and gave a polite bow to them both before turning away. Bail let him walk a ways before stepping near his wife and asking quietly,
"What's wrong?"
"You joke about the Senate ruining him," Breha said, voice deeper and more candid than the one she used among politicians. "He claims the Chancellor has taken special interest in him, called him a friend." She looked up at Bail, whose expression had grown more serious. "Palpatine has all but vilified the Order, I thought?" Bail's mind turned backwards, tracing all the times he'd seen Anakin hovering about committee rooms, galas, dinners, ceremonies.
"Nowhere where Anakin would hear it," he realized.
"But why…?"
"I don't know." He watched Anakin smile and talk to his colleagues. Privately, guiltily, he began to wonder if Anakin Skywalker, apprentice to his oldest friend in the Order, posed a threat. "But we ought to keep an eye on him."
Anakin had learned eons ago that the best way to mingle with politicians was to smile when they smiled, and always have a sensible portion of food nearby to bite into when you wanted to avoid getting involved in the discussion. However, this strategy began to fail him when the conversation strayed into the topic of the Jedi and moreover, of the Chancellor.
"I thought Senator Shif would cry when she came in that morning to such news," Mon Mothma was saying, "and who could blame her?" Padme, who was sitting near Anakin, leaned over and whispered helpfully,
"Senator of Vandor." Anakin had certainly heard of Vandor—there wasn't a Jedi on Coruscant who hadn't. He nodded a thanks to Padme.
"Hells, I almost wept, myself," said Garm, "it's been so long since we've had good news against the Sith, for a moment I was afraid it couldn't possibly be true." He glanced at Anakin. "No offense to our friends in the Order, of course," he said. Anakin was suddenly the object of attention, so he lowered the cream puff he'd been about to eat and said,
"Oh, believe me, the entire Order is still buzzing about it. When the news came in, some thought it was only rumors." He thought of Obi-Wan, who he'd seen sprout grey hairs and fine wrinkles since he'd begun pursuing the sith training centers in earnest. A phantom pain rippled through his artificial hand, and he flexed it by his side. "I don't blame you." The gathered senators hummed their agreement.
"I only hope it can continue," Padme chimed in.
"Yes, or else I fear he's going to hamstring the Order altogether."
"Garm," Mon chided. He shrugged back at her.
"What? You've been in the same committee meetings as I. He only celebrates the Jedi so long as they're actually rooting out Sith. The moment they make him look bad," Garm snapped his fingers, "he'll show his true colors."
"He?" Anakin asked, confused.
"Your friend, Palpatine," Garm said. Alcohol had always made the Corellian bolder than he ought to be. "I still can't make sense of that, you know. How it is you became so important to him in such a short time—and how your master let it happen. I mean, what's Palpatine got to gain from you?"
"Garm," Mon snapped once again, this time firmer.
"I-" Anakin was unsure what to say. "Gain from me? I'm only fulfilling my duties as a Jedi," he insisted, and he meant it. "I don't know why the Chancellor keeps requesting me specifically, but he's a kind man, and a good friend, and I don't appreciate you talking about him like that."
"Anakin," Padme put a hand on his arm, trying to reel him in before he said something more explosive.
"Duties as a Jedi, huh? You eyeing a place on the Senate's Council?"
"The what?" Anakin was confused.
"He means the council of— it doesn't matter. Garm, please, don't antagonize him, we're here to relax, not stir up arguments," Padme intervened, and Mon Mothma sighed in relief. Padme kept her hand on Anakin's arm, and while it calmed him a little, his mind was still racing with confusion and anger. Garm had shrugged his acquiesce and turned back to his drink for a long sip. Behind his glass, he muttered,
"I'm sure he's always looking to put new ears in the Order,"
"Senator Iblis, that is enough,"Senator Mothma said, glancing at Anakin, who must've looked as confused as he felt, for her expression started wary, and ended somewhere near pity. "No more politics, no more senate," Mon begged. "Not tonight. We're here to celebrate small victories. Leave your battles for tomorrow."
The conversation lightened after that, turning towards more congenial topics of conversation that Anakin failed to follow, brain still caught on what Garm had said. What's Palpatine got to gain from you? What could he mean by that? Palpatine was the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. What could Anakin Skywalker, an untried Jedi Apprentice, stand to offer him?
"I think it's time I ought to go," Anakin said after a while, when he realized his thoughts were not going to give him peace that evening. "Ben will be wondering where I am."
"Oh," Padme seemed surprised, "of course. Do you have a speeder?"
"Back in the Senate district."
"Let me order you a cab there," she said.
"Padme, you really don't have to—"
"Please," she insisted, and Anakin wasn't going to tell her no again.
"Thanks." He said his goodbyes to the assembled senators and let Padme escort him down to the speeder bay.
"I'm so sorry about tonight," she said, "I know it's not the first time you've butted heads with Senator Iblis—to be fair, he butts heads with most everyone at one time or another."
"So I've noticed," Anakin said, and Padme chuckled nervously, watching Anakin somewhat bashfully as he looked out into the night, obviously lost in thought.
"It was good to have you here, all the same," she said with a smile. "I don't think I've been able to see you outside the trappings of work before. It's been nice."
"I could say the same for you."
"Well, yes," Padme deflected, "but after all this time, I'm pretty sure you've seen half of my wardrobe, workwear and otherwise, while I'm still not sure you own another set of clothes." Anakin shot her quizzical look.
"Only half?" he said. "Force, do they send your clothes over in their own barges?"
"Oh, hush," she chided. "At least I have more than one outfit. One of these days I'm going to find a reason for you to wear something as colorful and gaudy as me, just to see who will recognize you." This made Anakin snort and break into a grin, which Padme watched with a sense of victory.
"There. Now I can leave you knowing at least I made you smile once this evening," she said, and Anakin looked over at her.
"You've made me smile more than that," he assured. "You always do." Padme watched his face for a moment, perhaps trying to decide if he were being earnest or polite. Eventually, she stepped forward and kissed him, hand snaking up easily into his hair. All the fuss of the evening melted away as he brought his own hand to rest on the back of her neck, pulling her gently against him, where she fell willingly, a slender arm finding its way around his waist. Any argument in the world would've been worth this, Anakin decided. The Force hummed around her in sparkling bursts of gold and Anakin had never felt anything like it, the feel of her breath against his face, the warmth of her mouth, the tug on his hair. Too soon, she pulled away, and Anakin leaned forward to follow her.
"Your cab," she said, placing a hand on his chest before he could follow her further. Anakin blinked and suddenly remembered where he was.
"My cab," He repeated, momentarily bewildered. "Yes. Right."
"Right," Padme echoed, businesslike even as her cheeks burned and she quietly caught her breath.
"Have a, ah, have a good night, Senator," in awkward moments, Anakin's brain defaulted to the formalities Ben had drilled in his brain from a young age. This time, he heard it without prompting. "Padme," He corrected. Her face melted at that, and oh, he had it bad. "Thanks for inviting me."
The cab pulled up to the bay, and Padme had to go back to her guests, but Anakin couldn't resist reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze, liking how it nested in his. "I'll see you later," he said. Padme nodded, he stepped into the cab, and that was that.
In the darkness of a cab far nicer than what Anakin would've been able to afford, the padawan ignored the droid pilot, the traffic, Coruscant, the universe itself, and stared at his feet.
"Kriff," he said aloud, because somewhere along the way he'd fallen in love with Padme Amidala, and he was pretty sure she'd fallen in love with him, too. He heaved a sigh. "Kriff."
Even as the entire Order continued to celebrate the victory at Vandor, Mace Windu and his close inner circle didn't wait around for the Sith to figure out how they'd done it. Information flowed to Dooku and Mace alike, and between the two of them they managed to trim and edit the stories for the High Council's consumption, finding any excuse in the book why the Jedi needed to respond to any particular incident, with absolutely no mention of the Sith.
They timed their attacks carefully. "We cannot allow it to look like a windfall," Dooku had mused late one evening in Mace's study, alongside Master Yoda. "We cannot allow them to see that we've gained any advantage that exceeds simple good luck."
"You're saying we should continue to lose," Mace had accused. "Purposefully send good knights to their deaths in order to veil our own advantage." Dooku had not looked comfortable, but he'd held his ground.
"I'm saying that you must make a choice to purposefully lose, and yes, perhaps risk a life or two in the process, or accept that when you press your advantage to its fullest extent, you are risking far more lives—Jedi lives and those of our allies—on an unknown timetable. The Sith are undoubtedly already investigating how we learned of Vandor. If we do not disguise it as dumb luck, the response will be swift and costly. And yes," he'd admitted, "I'm sure we will lose some good knights in the process."
"Impossible, such a decision is," Yoda had mused, holding his cane under both hands. "Faced such ultimatums I have," the grandmaster looked particularly ancient then. "only in dark times. Wartimes."
"Unfortunately, master," Mace had replied, weary beyond his years, "I'm afraid we live in such times."
And so it was for the following four months. Every mission routed through the Council of Reconciliation was doomed, and every mission they launched from Adan's secret network succeeded. They won on Ubrikkia, lost on Mimban and Cyrillia. They won again on Christophsis, the news of which was buried by a simultaneous loss on Commenor and a stalemate on Ruusan. The only time they risked two wins in a row was on Yag'Dhul and Sukkult, and they only risked it because the planets were close neighbors and relied on the same intelligence for justification. After that, they allowed several losses and several stalemates to give the Sith's inevitable panic time to die down somewhat, and to give themselves time to work with whatever trainees they managed to recover—even successful missions had only brought back one, maybe two at a time, and as of yet they were still too far gone to offer any additional intelligence.
The latest report in from Adan, however, outlined a target they could not afford to lose. Not only was Metellos a nextdoor neighbor to Coruscant itself, the planet also controlled the Core's access to Ilum and thus, to kyber crystal. To make matters worse, according to reports, this particular outpost was large and old. In fact, it was very possible, Adan had suggested darkly, that the Metellos base was the parent to all the others, feeding places like Alderaan into existence by funneling kyber across the Galaxy.
"So this is how they've done it," Mace had hissed upon reading the report. "Commandeered Ilum itself." This battle was no longer in the interest of the Republic alone. Ilum, to the Jedi, was deeply personal.
Due to the importance of Metellos and its sheer proximity to the Capitol, circumventing the Council of Reconciliation on this particular assignment would be doubly risky, and could very likely blow their cover when they managed against unlikely odds. However, at the end of the day it was decided that the potential gain outweighed the risks, and a team was assembled.
"You realize that as soon as he hears the Jedi are on Metellos, he's going to come to you for an explanation," Dooku said to Mace, both awake before dawn to see the mission dispatch. Out the window, they watched as the ship pulled out of the Temple hangar and began its taxi toward the hyperspace ports in the barely-dawn light.
"He could've done the same for any number of the missions we've conducted since Vandor. It's not as though the distance of the world changes the distance between the Ziggurat and the Senate building."
"Yes, but Christophsis and Vandor didn't control the hyperspace lane to Ilum," the older man warned. "Something tells me he might take the loss of Metellos rather less calmly." Mace huffed out a helpless laugh; it was not difficult to imagine a scenario where Palpatine himself arrived at the Temple steps to speak with Mace in person. The master shuddered to imagine what it would feel like to allow a Sith lord into their sacred home.
"Is it wrong of me to feel more worried about executive meetings than a dozen Jedi being dispatched to fight darksiders?" The Master of the Order asked balefully. Dooku smirked and replied,
"Wars are conducted in boardrooms as much as they are in the battlefield. Let us hope our good fortune follows us there."
"I can't believe you've never been here before," Anakin teased with a grin, pausing to let Padme catch up with him after getting caught behind some other pedestrians. "You've lived at least most of the year on Coruscant for how many years now?"
"You do knowhow big this planet is, don't you?" Padme shot back, holding her overcoat closer to herself. She was dressed casually in neutral tones and sensible trousers; but even Padme's casual wardrobe was worth enough that she winced whenever she stepped in a mystery puddle or brushed against something dirty. Poor Dorme was going to kill her when she saw her clothes.
"Only as big as you let it be!" Anakin grinned, and took her hand to quickly steer her out of the way of an incoming wookie. She held onto his hand as they walked, and it was more for the guidance than it was for affection as they wove their way forward. She looked up and around them. The view was framed on all sides by stratotowers and grids of air traffic far above, but they were lower into the city than Padme was used to, all congested foot traffic and ground speeders and the hustle and bustle of working people who regarded politicians and the upper class as little else but dots on their vertical horizon.
"And anyway, how do you know about this place? It's not as though I'm any more sheltered at the Senate than you are in your Temple."
"Ben used to bring me here when I was younger," Anakin explained, "The owner's an old friend of his. Well, friend slash informant." A memory surfaced, and he smiled. "You know once Ben had to leave me with him for an afternoon cause he got an emergency call, and I got bored so he taught me how to make and diffuse a bomb. I think Ben actually met him through Master Qui-Gon, or maybe it was him who introduced him to MasterQui-Gon…? I can't remember."
"That's… nice," Padme said, because what, really, was she supposed to say about that? "So it's a front?"
"What? No! This is his dream job, just don't ask him where he got the starting capital. Seriously, the food's amazing, I promise. He's just… colorful. But a good guy."
An old fashioned bell jangled as Anakin pulled open the door, and Padme was suddenly hit by a cacophony of smells; some off-putting, some divine, and most of them fried. Anakin gently released her hand so he could raise his above the crowd and wave across the restaurant.
"Heya, Dex!"
Padme hadn't known who Anakin was talking to until a truly massive basilisk unfolded himself from where he'd been hunched over a table taking orders and glanced around until his eyes fell on Anakin.
"Well what do you know!" his face split in a wide smile, and he turned fully around to peer at the newcomers. "Skywalker, is that you?" The man's speaking voice was more of a bellow, bass tones reverberating across the entire dining room.
"Unless you know another Jedi named Anakin," the apprentice beamed, which made Dex laugh. He called a droid over to finish taking orders and began to lumber towards the front door. Padme could feel each footfall as Dex stepped closer, and she took an involuntary step back.
"Well would you have a look at you! I swear I took my eyes away for half a day—you must be taller than Ben now, aren't ya?" Anakin's smile became more impish than Padme had ever seen it.
"Don't tell him that," he said, and Dex laughed. As soon as he reached the pair he drew Anakin into a hug, which essentially obscured the Jedi from view for a moment even though the Basilisk was only using one set of arms. They exchanged a few pleasantries—Anakin sounding amusingly breathless under the press of Dex's massive arms—before Dex let him go and Anakin straightened out his robes.
"And who's this?" Suddenly, all attention was on Padme, who smiled pleasantly at Dex even if she felt entirely out of her element.
"Ah, Dex, this is Padme, Sen-"
"-sent here by my family for university," Padme interjected. "Anakin's a close friend, he offered to show me around his favorite spots." Anakin was eyeing Padme, not sure why she'd lied, but Dex didn't notice.
"Oh," the besalisk said in a conspiratorial voice, looking between Anakin and Padme, "A close friend, is it?" Padme betrayed no reaction, but when Anakin's mind finally processed Dex's sly look, the apprentice flushed red. Dex only chuckled.
"Ah, Dex, she's not—"
"Oh, no of course not," the Basilisk tapped a finger to his nose. "Not to worry, Padawan, not a word outta me, o'course," he winked. "Let me find you two a spot—less noisy, maybe. Only the best for my Jedi friend and his, ah, special friend." Padme smiled sweetly and followed him.
"That's very kind of you, sir."
"Sir!" Dex burst, smiling, and looked to Anakin. "Me, a sir! You should bring her 'round more often, Skywalker." Anakin, still bright red, wanted to die.
Embarrassment aside, Anakin did appreciate Dex's discretion, because it landed them one of the nicer—and yes, quieter—booths in the diner. Tucked away in a far corner where some of the staff droids were folding silverware into napkins, and other guests seemed to be taking quiet lunch breaks in ones and twos. Dex left them with two menus and a promise to be only a shout away.
"Thanks for agreeing to come," Anakin said once they were alone. "I know this probably isn't what you were expecting to do on your day off."
"Are you kidding?" Padme leaned forward to smile across the table, and Anakin thought not for the first time how much he adored her face free of its makeup and political mask. "I never would have known about this place if you hadn't shown me, and I never have time to explore this part of the city."
"Still, I know greasy spoons are probably not your thing."
"Master Skywalker," she said, using the misnomer assigned to him by unaware Senators, "are you saying that I am not a woman of culture?" She placed a hand to her chest and gave him an affronted look, and he burst out laughing.
"I would never, your highness," he said, repaying misnomer for misnomer.
"Good," she said haughtily, "so stop apologizing for it."
They ordered their food and it was brought out with the speed and efficiency afforded to Dex's personal friends. As Padme suspected, much of it was fried, but she'd never smelled anything more delicious in her life, and it managed to taste just as good. The duo fell quiet as they ate, only pausing for Anakin to ask her how she liked it and for Padme to make various unintelligible and undignified sounds around a mouthful to express her approval.
After their initial appetites settled, they slowed down and fell into contented silence, which gave way to contented conversation.
"I'm glad I could catch you on your day off," Anakin said, breaking the silence between bites.
"I could say the same thing about you—you're at the Senate as often as I am, these days." Anakin snorted and shrugged.
"I swear I could drive from the Temple to the Senate and back with my eyes closed."
"I don't doubt it," Padme laughed. After several more bites, Anakin asked,
"Why did you lie?"
"What?"
"Earlier, to Dex. About being a Senator. Why lie?" He clarified. Padme thought about it and shrugged.
"I suppose… It's nice to be able to pretend you're someone else, sometimes," Padme explained. "Set aside the responsibility for a while."
"Yeah," Anakin said, smile dimming somewhat, "I know what you mean." A beat of silence passed between them while Padme picked through the remnants of her meal.
"Padme," Anakin said eventually, and maybe Padme had an idea of what he was about to say, because her expression grew measured and neutral while he searched for the right words. "I know you're familiar with the Jedi Order, and have probably read about the Jedi Code." He glanced up at her for confirmation, but she said nothing, only giving him a small, encouraging nod. He swallowed. "And so you know that I—that is, Jedi aren't… we're not supposed to have…" his voice trailed off, not sure how to label what had been going on between them.
"You aren't supposed to be kissing senators?" Padme ventured for him. Anakin choked on his own tongue for a moment.
"What? No—well, I mean, yes, but I meant—"
"I know," Padme cut in, giving him a shy smile that faded quickly into something more serious. "I'm sorry, Anakin. For… It was truly never my intention to put you into this kind of situation, I know it goes against your Code. I don't want to lose your friendship because of it—I let my emotions get the best of me, and—"
"No," Anakin cut in, reaching out across the table to grasp her hand, "No, no, hey, I didn't mean to make it sound as bad as that. I mean… I kissed you back at that dinner, didn't I?" he said.
"And at my apartments," Padme reminded him.
"And at your apartments," Anakin confirmed.
"And…" Padme looked nervous when she said it, and Anakin was utterly unused to seeing the emotion on her face. "Do you regret either time?"
"Absolutely not," he gripped her hand harder. She looked down to where their hands were joined.
"And would you," she licked her lips uncertainly before continuing, "if you could go back, would you do it again?" Anakin knew what he should say, as a Jedi, as a future Knight of the Republic. But Force help him, it felt as though his decision had been made for him.
"In a heartbeat," it was the easiest thing he'd ever said. Padme looked up at him. "I just… I know it's complicated, with me in the Order, and you a Senator, and it really—I mean there's a million and one reasons we shouldn't go any further with.. all of this, if we're being honest, and while I'm risking the lecture of a lifetime and probably more years as an apprentice than I'd been planning for, you'd be risking your entire career, and I know I'm being stupid and irresponsible and impulsive and all those other things Ben tells me not to be, but,"
"But you want to try anyway," she finished for him. Their eyes met, equally uncertain, equally defiant. Anakin did not know how to reconcile the anxiety in his belly with the feeling of rightness that overtook the Force between them.
"I really do." He said. She smiled at him, and turned her hand within his so she could interlock their fingers on the table.
"So do I," she said, squeezing tight. A silent moment passed between them that said everything they meant and a lot of things that neither could figure out how to say.
Padme's comm beeped, loudly. She jumped, which broke both of them out of their trance. She sighed.
"No," She insisted, as if the comm in her belt pocket could hear her, "I am on my day off, having a wonderful time, no work calls."
"I'm glad to hear you're having a wonderful time," Anakin said earnestly, and she shot him a smile. She let go of his hand only so she could reach across the table and take one of his fries.
"Hey, I wasn't done," he complained, but she ignored him and leaned over the table to take more. He waved her back into her seat, where she munched in a self-satisfied sort of way. Her comm beeped again.
"No," she repeated to her imagined audience, "whatever you want, it is very much a tomorrow problem."
"Do Senators often work on their days off?" Anakin asked, eyeing the blinking device. Padme rolled her eyes.
"Like you wouldn't believe. It's a bad habit in all levels of politics, but when you're going between Coruscant and your homeworld, I think some people forget that they have days off, because they can't tell what day it is."
"Ah," Anakin nodded sagely.
"But I'm not going to talk about work," she declared. "You've shown me one of your favorites, why don't I show you one of mine? There's a really great bar a few kliks away," she leaned in and whispered loudly, "Rumor has it, if you catch them on the right day, they'll sell you all kinds of banned spirits smuggled in from the Outer Rim." Anakin's eyebrows raised, shocked that Padme would know about such a place.
"Sounds promising," he smirked.
"You'll love it, it's one of the few places on Coruscant I go outside of work that's—oh, for kriff's sake!" Padme snapped, and looked down at her comm, which beeped, and then beeped two more times in quick succession. She sighed.
"Anakin, I'm so sorry, I just need to check—"
"No no, I understand."
"I'm so sorry," she muttered again as she pulled out her comm and switched on the screen, browsing her messages with an irritated expression. Anakin picked at the remains of his meal, munching on the leftover crunchy bits, taking a sip of his drink. As if out of nowhere, something in the Force dropped like an asteroid hitting the ground. His eyes darted back over to Padme, who was staring wide-eyed and pale-faced at her comm.
"Padme?" Anakin asked, not sure what had happened but knowing it must've been something horrible. His mind raced. Had something happened on Naboo? Here on Coruscant? Padme lifted a hand to cover her mouth in shock, holding her comm closer to her face as she scrolled, slowly, then faster, frantically. Anakin's worries grew. "Padme?" He prompted again. Receiving no response, he hesitantly reached out and brushed his fingertips over her arm. She looked up as if shocked.
"Hey," he said, face taught with worry, "is everything alright? What happened?" Padme's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, looking down at the screen and shaking her head.
"I don't. I'm not sure," she said. "They've… The Chancellor's ejected senator Chancius of Serenno from Coruscant," she said, still scrolling for more information. "And Count Dooku as well."
"What?" Anakin suddenly understood her shock. "Why?" He'd just spoken with the Chancellor yesterday, and the man had been in excellent spirits, betraying nothing to suggest the turmoil it would take to have a senator banned from the actual Senate.
"I don't know," Padme said helplessly, scrolling frantically. "It's not been announced formally, but a memo was sent around by the security detail—it says he's been put under investigation for high crimes and misdemeanors."
"What?" Anakin didn't know what else to say. He knew Senator Chancius, and he knew the Count, as well—hell, Adan was Master Dooku's nephew. They were both familiar faces and he'd never known them to be anything but trustworthy.
"I don't know," Padme said again, more helplessly than before. "I'm sorry, Anakin," she looked from her comm to the Jedi, back to her comm. "I have to—I should—"
"Let's go," he said for her, grabbing her coat and standing to leave. They paid in a rush and gave Dex a hasty farewell. He bid them to come back soon, and then they were back out into the street, a bit quieter now past the lunch rush. Padme immediately waved down a taxi.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Anakin asked.
"No," Padme said, way too quickly to escape the Jedi's notice. He looked surprised, but not hurt. He only folded her coat over his arm and smoothed it, savoring the feel of the rich fabric.
"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Don't forget this."
"Thank you," she said, taking it and gripping hard enough it would surely leave wrinkles. It made Anakin worry more.
"Hey," he put a hand at her elbow, trying to look into her face. "It'll be alright, yeah?" Padme couldn't tell if he'd meant it as an encouragement or a question. She swallowed.
"Yeah," it was probably a lie. "Yeah, of course." That was definitely a lie.
"It will be alright," Anakin tried again, probably because he could feel the depth of her anxiety in the Force. Padme had heard Jedi could do that. "We'll figure it out." He promised. He only sounded confident, Padme thought privately, because he didn't fully understand.
"Mmm," she hummed nervously. The taxi pulled up to the curb, and Anakin helped her into the cab, her hand in his. When she sat and went to pull away, he held on until she looked up at him.
"I'll call you if I hear anything on my end."
"Yes," Padme said, "thank you." She found herself gripping his hand hard, too, as a bad feeling gripped her stomach. She suddenly wished Anakin was not as in the dark as he was, but there was no time to sit him down and explain, and there was certainly not enough time for another kiss, though she was now awash with regret for not taking the opportunity earlier.
"May the Force be with you, Anakin," she said. He forced a smile, gave her hand a squeeze, and let go.
"You too," he said. The door slid shut, and her day off was replaced by overwhelming dread. She looked back down at her comm. The last transmission she'd received was an encrypted message from a nameless sender, but she knew on instinct who'd sent it.
I'm being censured and asked to take indefinite leave starting immediately. Received order from Mas Amedda. I am compromised. This will be my last communication through this channel.
First Adan Dooku, now Bail Organa? Who next?
Incinerate any device you've used. Distance from Serenno and Alderaan immediately. Distance from Jedi immediately. I do not know if they know about you. Yet.
Padme ripped her eyes up from her comm and stared straight out the window. She studied her own phantom reflection in the glass, policing her features until she was expressionless. In muddy shoes and a smudged tunic, stained with grease and city smog with her braids frizzed beyond repair, Padme became the statue of resolve she'd first learned to embody as Amidala. She was unmovable, unflappable, unyielding, even as Bail's parting words echoed in her head.
The council found out, and he is taking their side.