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The open-air market was the same crowded noisy place it always was. Beings of all sorts and sizes jostled their way down the makeshift aisles between booths where sellers hawked any kind of food you could think of, and several you never would have dreamed of.
Astri made her way through the mob, struggling to make her rounds to her usual vendors. Mid-morning and it was promising to be a hot day. Astri's feet were already swollen, and to make matters worse, her lower back had been aching steadily ever since the discomfort had woken her in time to see the dawn. Not a stellar beginning to the day. She silently blamed the child nestled all snug and cozy in her abdomen. At least one of them was comfortable. Come to think of it, the babe hadn't kicked her all morning. Just several times through the night.
Astri sighed and wedged between two Grans to reach her favorite herb seller. While she was making her selections the sensation grew that she was being watched. It was the second time she'd felt like a gaze was boring into the back of her head. As the friendly Rodian behind the counter filled the little jars she'd brought with her choices, she tried to look around surreptitiously, but couldn't spot anything or anyone that seemed unusually interested in her.
With a shake of her head, Astri paid for her herbs and waddled back into the flow of beings, suddenly wanting nothing more than to go home and rest her throbbing feet. This pregnancy was playing havoc with her body, her emotions, and now, her imagination.
Leaving her remaining stops for another day, Astri gladly left the market behind.
The foot traffic was moderately busy in this sector. Padmé let the stream of beings carry her along while she got her bearings. There were several levels above this one, but the streets were open and filled with light. After her foray into the lower, or rather, middle reaches, of Coruscant, this was a welcome change.
The warehouse where Obi-Wan waited was situated in the middle of a kilometer-long block of warehouses. The intersection ahead was guarded by four restaurants, and a large flashing sign announced that the one on this corner was named "Rigg_e's". Not wanting to cross a footbridge if she didn't have to, Padmé figured she might as well drop in on the transport workers' choice of eateries. That decision made, Padmé strode forward purposefully, trying to recall her old dramatics teacher's words of advice.
The restaurant was dim after the glaring brightness outside, and made dimmer by the maroon colored walls. Padmé glanced at the smattering of patrons as she approached the counter to the left, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to her. As she stood willing the waiter scurrying around behind the counter to notice her, the smell of fried food assaulted her senses and made her insides clench uncomfortably. The waiter finally headed her way, just in time to be greeted with a growl from her stomach.
His lipless mouth curled in a cruel approximation of a smile. Grey skin stretched over prominent cheekbones as the smile widened while the being eyed Padmé up and down. She brushed at her wrinkled clothing and met his gaze with what she hoped was a brassy look.
"I need to know where I am," Padmé said.
Hairless brows arched. Light glinted off his bald scalp as the being leaned forward, elbows on the counter. In nasal tones, he asked, "Why wouldn't you know where you are?"
Padmé rolled her eyes as if having to explain something for the tenth time. "We were partying last night. You know how it goes. Hop from one place to the other to the other. I lost track. Woke up in a warehouse. Can you imagine that? I don't even know how I got there." Padmé sighed and primped her hair. "It must have been a great party."
The being snorted. "Or a great hit of glitterstim." He lisped the 's'. "Where are your party pals?"
"They just left me there. Can you imagine that? I got some really weird looks when I stumbled out of that office. And now I don't even know where I am, and I'm late for work. The director is going to go meteoric."
"Director?"
"Oh, you know, holovids. The afternoon vid-operas, actually. Do you watch 'As the Planets Collide'?"
The being shook his head.
"You should. A lot more males watch than will admit it, you know." Padmé wiggled her eyebrows subtly. "Our show is a lot more ... revealing than most." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Tell me your name and I'll tell security to let you in to a recording session."
"Jove Wikwiksee."
"So, Jove," Padmé whispered, "Be a friend. What are our co-ordinates?"
Jove rattled them off and Padmé beamed. "You are such a lifesaver, Jove. I'll find a way to repay you." She paused. "You wouldn't have any fresh fruit I could buy, do you? I have piles of allergies, you know. Can't eat hardly anything that's been cooked." She slid her credit chip across the counter and exaggerated a grimace. "I hope there's enough left on this chip to pay for it."
Jove took the credit from her and nodded. A minute later he returned with a bag containing a variety of fruits. "To eat on your way." He handed her the chip. "No charge."
Padmé batted her eyelashes. "Aren't you just the sweetest? I hope I see you at the studio. Real soon." She blew him a kiss, spun and headed for the exit.
A hand snagged Padmé's wrist, stalling her at the table closest to the door. She swallowed the lump of fear and smiled down into a heavily jowled, ruddy-faced human sporting a white handlebar mustache. In a scratchy voice he asked, "You look mighty familiar. Do I know you?"
Padmé stared at him, her mind blank. She gave herself a shake and said, "Why, you must be one of my fans, darling." The grip loosened a little as a flicker of confusion entered the man's gaze. Padmé leaned down and pecked his cheek. "Thank you. Keep watching, okay? Every day, mind you." She pulled her hand free and flounced out of the restaurant.
Head down, Padmé hugged the building fronts as she scurried back toward the warehouse. Sweet Naboo, she'd been positively brazen. Her drama class would have applauded such a performance. She pulled a plump purple sarangi from the bag and bit in, desperately hoping it would calm her roiling stomach.
Padmé collided with a blue chest. Her head jerked up and she stared into the face of a young smooth-faced C-Sec officer. He frowned. "Are you all right, miss?"
"I-I'm fine, officer. Just ... just late for work."
He nodded and stepped aside. "Watch where you're going next time."
Padmé nodded. "Thank you."
Brushing past him, it was all Padmé could do not to break into a run.
The waiting was driving him crazy.
Setting up a loop in the security cam record banks so that all that was recorded was an empty warehouse had taken eight minutes. Waiting patiently by the door had lasted approximately three minutes. For seven minutes, Obi-Wan was occupied by the highly un-Jedi-like activity of pacing, until he schooled himself to stillness. That was ten minutes ago.
With every second that passed, he grew more certain he had made a grave error. How long could it possibly take to do two simple little things? Had she been identified? Captured? Was she, even now, in the hands of C-Sec? Or the terrorists? For the sixth time in two minutes he started to get up, determined to find her, risks be spaced. For the sixth time he urged himself to wait just a little longer and settled back on his heels.
Anakin would never forgive him if he let something happen to Padmé. Force, he wished she would hurry up.
90 seconds later a light 'tap, tap, tap, space, tap' sounded on the door. Obi-Wan remained kneeling, hands resting palms up on thighs, breath leaking out in a slow hiss. Padmé slipped into the warehouse before the door had fully retracted. She hit the auto-lock button, glanced around and approached Obi-Wan.
"Have you been sitting like this the whole time I was gone?"
"Five minutes." Obi-Wan peered at the door. "It should have only taken you five minutes."
"Oh? I didn't think it took me very long."
"28 minutes."
Padmé's voice turned syrupy. "Were you worried? Isn't that sweet?"
Obi-Wan's glance bounced off her scornful expression. A muffled shout penetrated the durasteel door. Obi-Wan shot to his feet and grabbed Padmé's wrist. He dragged her toward the staircase, up the stairs, down the catwalk and into the safe room without slowing or uttering a sound.
The door hissed shut as Obi-Wan wheeled to face Padmé. He regarded her with sudden bemusement, wondering why she appeared to be fuming. Obi-Wan finally found his voice. "Is something wrong? Did something happen out there?"
"You," Padmé spat. "You're what's wrong. What was that, that Trandoshan act all about? I felt like captured prey being dragged back to the hunter's lair."
Obi-Wan stared at her, confusion uppermost in his mind. "I wanted us to get out of sight."
"You didn't think I could do it," Padmé accused.
Obi-Wan's reply was tentative. "Okay, I admit I was a little worried. Is that a crime?"
"Yes." Obi-Wan jerked his head back a centimeter and frowned. Padmé said, "When you treat me like a criminal, almost yanking my arm from its socket and hauling me to my padded cell, then yes, it is a crime. Contrary to your belief, I am neither fragile nor helpless."
"My belief? I think you are highly capable, if a little impulsive. It's Anakin who's always talking like you're this incredibly fragile --"
Padmé slapped his face. "Leave Anakin out of this."
Obi-Wan eyed her ruefully for a moment. He rubbed his cheek. What had that been for? Finally, speaking softly, he said, "How can I leave Anakin out of anything? Concern for him, for his future as a Jedi, fills my moments and days. And he is apparently the only thing we have in common ... Senator."
Uncertainty flickered through her eyes. "That's ... that's ridiculous. You just don't want to admit that you might have the same basic beliefs as a lowly politician. Where exactly do we rate in your scheme of things, Obi-Wan? Somewhere below nerf herders?"
Crossing his arms, Obi-Wan raised one eyebrow. "Nerf herders make an honest living."
"Oh!" Padmé flung her arms wide. "So we're lumped in with the criminals and other lowlifes, is that it? You obnoxious, elitist ... Jedi! You think we spend our days in endless committee meetings, coming up with new ways to fleece the public and grow fat on the proceeds while the noble Jedi are toiling ceaselessly, sacrificing their lives, for peace and justice. You think that no mere politician could possibly desire such lofty goals, scum that we are. Have you ever, ever met a politician you liked, Jedi Kenobi?"
Obi-Wan blinked. Obnoxious? Elitist? He ignored the unsettling feeling such charges awoke. "Of course I've met individuals who seemed pleasant enough. I've had a few dealings with Bail Organa and he strikes me as very earnest. Finis Valorum is a good man -- Qui-Gon considered him a friend. But look where being a good man got him in politics."
"It placed him in the highest position in the Senate." Padme paused and her eyes narrowed. "That comment was aimed at me, wasn't it? The person who called for a vote of non confidence against Chancellor Valorum." She peered toward the window. Her voice dropped. "I don't think I'll ever forget his face -- the look of despair -- in the seconds after I made the call. I regretted my rashness, but ... I had to do something. My people were dying." She sighed. "Valorum was a good man. I deserve your scorn."
Obi-Wan stole to her side and laid a hand on her shoulder, relieved that her anger had drained away. "You were young. Sometimes I get the feeling that everything that happened around that blockade was carefully planned. That all of our reactions were anticipated and even manipulated. Except your decision to seek out the Gungans. Qui-Gon and I were both amazed by that one, and the way it turned out, whoever was behind everything was likely equally surprised."
"You called me impulsive."
"Yes. Anakin told me it was your decision to wing to Geonosis to rescue me, without a clue about what you were walking into. You and Anakin are alike in that -- and are both involved in careers where impulsiveness is anathema. One of the reasons you like each other, I suspect."
She jerked away. "I told you to leave him out of this. I tire of listening to you decry him. I wonder why you even bother continuing to train him if you think so little of him."
"I happen to like Anakin. But I'm not blind to his faults."
"Meaning I am." She crossed her arms, her body stiff
and unyielding. "What about your faults, Obi-Wan? Your arrogance
is apparently limitless. First you treat me like an errant child
--"
"I'm sorry."
Padmé turned and stared. "You're sorry?"
"Yes. I behaved in an unseemly manner. I couldn't stop from worrying about Anakin's reaction if anything should happen to you. He values your friendship above ... almost anything, I think." He halted and held up his hand. "I have no desire to be slapped again. I will cease speaking rather than offend you further." He sank into a cross-legged position and rested his hands on his knees.
Padmé glared down at him. "That's it? You're just going to stop talking? You're just going to shut down like some droid? You are ... insufferable. You don't give me the satisfaction of reacting to my anger. You don't even flinch when I slap you. I think Anakin's right -- you are incapable of emotion. An automaton." She stomped her foot, an exclamation point to her tirade. A moment later, her voice flat, she said, "While you're not talking, I hope you take the time to decide what our next move will be."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, seeking his center of calm. He heard the annoyance in Padmé's huff, heard her move to the other side of the room. Her verbal attacks were hurtful, but understandable, perhaps. She was under a lot of stress and he was the only target she had. But her touchiness over Anakin baffled Obi-Wan. Had the two of them argued? Anakin hadn't seemed out of sorts the last time Obi-Wan had seen him, but perhaps they had been in touch since then.
Maybe he needed to reconsider Padmé's offer of friendship, if only to learn what was bothering her. She really was reasonably likable, apart from her profession. He, on the other hand, was insufferable and obnoxious. It was unlikely the offer still stood.
Yet another sigh escaped her lips. Padmé stretched out on the cushioned floor and determined to try and sleep. It was better than enduring more taut and uncomfortable silence. What made it worse was the knowledge that Obi-Wan didn't share her tension. He sat unmoving, serene in appearance. It was most irritating.
The only verbal exchanges they'd had since he had retreated into himself were a whispered foray to the refresher and Obi-Wan asking, and her telling, the location coordinates. Hearing them, Obi-Wan had immediately sunk back into thoughtfulness.
She still couldn't believe she had slapped him.
But he was so infuriating sometimes she wanted to scream. At least she was in the right room for it; no one would hear a thing. How could Anakin put up with this kind of lengthening silence? As a politician, words were her stock in trade. Obi-Wan had taken control of the situation by refusing to speak -- she was supposed to be the one making those choices, deciding when to talk, or not talk.
Halting her thoughts, Padmé sighed. Sweet Naboo, she sounded like the sniveling politician Obi-Wan had accused her of being. Maybe this imposed silence was a gift. Better to keep your mouth closed and be thought a sniveling politician, than to open it and remove all doubt.
Why should she care what Obi-Wan Kenobi thought of her? He disdained her career. He rejected her offer of friendship. Maybe he had no need of hers or anyone else's. How could you live like that without becoming an automaton?
But isn't that what Anakin claimed Obi-Wan was at times? Still, how could she have said it to his face? What had he thought of her outburst? She regretted it, but wasn't quite sure how to tell him. She was off to a fine start in trying to win his friendship. The only good thing her anger had accomplished was to drive her physical notice of the Jedi into hiding.
Padmé closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind of any thoughts. Her efforts met with little success. Sleep, she decided, could be a long time coming. She wasn't sure what Obi-Wan was planning for their next move, but she hoped it happened soon.
The waiting was driving her crazy.
Daylight was seeping from the sky. Astri stood at the window of her bedroom and stared unseeing at the streams of traffic flowing by. She massaged her lower back as best she could. Nothing she had done through the course of the day had helped to ease the ache. The pain left her feeling distracted and restless. She hadn't even bothered to check in at the restaurant; she trusted her head cook to keep things running smoothly.
Astri drifted over to stand before her full-length mirror. She stood sideways and ran her hands over her bulging stomach, then rolled her tunic up and splayed her fingers over skin stretched so tight, it was ready to split open. She inhaled as deeply as she could -- which wasn't very deep at all -- and watched her stomach rise. Air hissed from her lungs. This baby couldn't be born soon enough to suit her. How was she going to endure two more weeks?
The waiting was driving her crazy.
Thinking she should have a bite to eat, she headed toward the kitchen. Part way there she stopped, not really wanting to eat after all. Her father would nag her mercilessly if he was here, but Didi was gone for two days visiting friends over in Sector Six. Wandering into the lounge, Astri sank slowly into her favorite chair and hoisted her legs, one at a time, onto a footrest positioned for just that purpose. Her finger was hovering over the power button for the holovid when she heard a noise on the stairs. She frowned and braced her hands on the armrests. That couldn't be Didi, and Gelff wasn't due back for two days either.
Astri was halfway out of her chair when the door burst open.
The muscles in Obi-Wan's arms and shoulders shook with strain. He focused on letting the Force flow through him to help maintain the handstand. But his concentration wavered. He tucked his chin to his chest and let himself fall. He lay spread-eagled on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Padmé glance his way, then resume her silent vigil at the window.
What was he waiting for? Darkness? It was too far to walk back to the Temple. They had to find a way to make contact. One Jedi was all he needed. One Jedi to slip out and pick them up. But how to do that presuming the terrorists were monitoring the Temple? Any move right now could alert them, not only to Padmé's and his location, but to Jedi involvement with him. Their enemies had to keep thinking the Temple had cut him off. So they sat, in a padded room, 3000 kilometers from their best hope for rescue.
No one had identified them or pinpointed their location yet, or they would have already come blasting through the door. Here, they were safe. And that, realized Obi-Wan, was the biggest problem of all.
Here, secure in their little cocoon, they had no immediate fear of discovery, and Obi-Wan had no present concerns for Padmé's safety. The cocoon was paralyzing him, making him unwilling, unable to act. She was safe.
Obi-Wan's awareness of her was building. He noticed the slightest movement, the quietest sigh. Her body's natural perfume teased his senses and confused his thoughts. He was alone with a beautiful woman, in a place unknown to anyone, where they could be neither seen nor heard. Obi-Wan shunted aside the foolish thought before it could finish forming. This was his padawan's friend, a woman he barely liked.
But he did like her. And her bluntness with him had only served to increase that feeling, which was odd, considering how thoroughly she had insulted him.
He would have to think about what she had said. After this mission was over.
Obi-Wan curled his legs up and over his head. Halfway through the backwards somersault, he braced his hands and pushed, vaulting himself to his feet. He paced from the door to the outer corner away from the window, and back, suddenly stopping. He forced himself to calmness, despite his need to expend some energy.
He was a Jedi. He could wait, listen. The Force would tell him when it was time to move. He returned to sitting on the floor and released his tension in a long slow breath. Luminara admired his ability to adapt to almost any situation. Self imprisonment with a person who detested him was simply another of those situations.
His stillness was driving her to move. The restlessness filling her was almost beyond bearing.
Padmé paced the length of the room like a caged animal. She had seen a krayat dragon in captivity once. It had done the same thing. Back and forth along one wall of its cage, until it had worn a path so deep it hindered the dragon's steps. Such tenacity and singleness of purpose had been both a sad and frightening thing. And now, she was that dragon; she could not stop.
She wanted to. She wanted to exhibit the same calmness radiating out from Obi-Wan. Truly, she did. Almost as much as she wanted to strangle him.
Padmé shivered and forced her attention back to the world beyond the window, forced herself to remain unmoving before the dark pane.
The sun was down and darkness was reclaiming the upper levels, seeping up from the planet surface where nothing ever banished it. Soon, they would be able to move unseen, if that's what Obi-Wan was waiting for. A soft sigh escaped. She didn't look forward to another night on the streets of Coruscant. Such a harsh and forbidding planet. All angles and sharp edges. There was no fluidity, no room for the ebb and flow of nature, no room for gentleness. At times like this she missed Naboo with an ache that was almost painful.
Padmé dared a quick glance in Obi-Wan's direction. Still unmoving. She snorted.
Obi-Wan's eyes flew open. His gaze captured and held hers with the power of a tractor beam. His eyes were calm, radiating a strength she wanted to draw upon, rely upon. She wanted this man as her friend.
Padmé crossed the room, never taking her eyes off Obi-Wan. She sat facing him, mirroring his position, her knees brushing his. He watched her, silent, eyes simmering with mild curiosity. Padmé took his hands, relishing the warmth that seeped into her cold fingers. Awareness shivered across her shoulders.
"Tell me how you do it."
"Do what?" Obi-Wan tugged gently as if trying to free himself, but Padmé held fast. She wanted to feel ... connected. She wanted to draw from his power.
"How do you stay so calm, so still?"
"The Force --"
"But Anakin is never like this."
A furrow rippled across Obi-Wan's brow and disappeared. "Anakin is young."
Padmé scrutinized the Jedi for a few seconds. "No. You think it's more than that, don't you?"
"I thought you didn't want to talk about Anakin."
She placed his hands back on his knees and covered them with her own. "If he is our only connective, then talking about him is a starting point." Her brow creased. "I realize I was terribly rude to you before, and I understand if you want nothing to do with me, but ... I need to talk, Obi-Wan. The silence is suffocating me."
"So talk."
"I want a conversation. That requires two people. I want to get to know my ... Anakin's master, not from what he's told me, but from what you tell me. I want you ..." Padmé trailed off as she tried to silence the inner whisper that said, ... kiss me, just once. In truth, sitting here, so close to him that his scent snared her imagination, she realized that while a kiss might lead to momentary pleasure -- and boundless guilt -- she knew that what she really craved was this man's approval.
Obi-Wan tilted his head. "Yes? Continue. You want me to what?"
Padmé shrugged, a casual gesture that hid the uncertainty she felt. "To know me as a person instead of dismissing me as a politician. That is only one part of me, Obi-Wan. And contrary to your opinion, not all politicians are unregenerate core dwellers."
A smile crept across Obi-Wan's lips. Padmé flashed him a shy smile in return. She said, "See? I made you smile. Now how many politicians can claim that victory?"
Obi-Wan chuckled. "Very few indeed, Senator."
Padmé tapped his hand with pretended irritation. "Don't call me that. Why is it that you call me Senator, then turn right around and call me Padmé? Most beings still address me by the more formal Amidala."
Obi-Wan frowned. "Does my informality offend you? With Anakin, it's Padmé this, Padmé that, so for the most part, I have come to think of you as Padmé."
"Keep the informality. Please. Padmé is what my friends call me."
"Is that what you want? To be friends? With an obnoxious, elitist, insufferable ... Jedi?"
Padmé rolled her eyes. "Not to mention one with a voice recorder for a memory. Yes, I still want to be friends. And contrary to what you think, I believe it's what Anakin would want. After all, we are the two most important --" Padmé bit her lip and dropped her gaze to Obi-Wan's hands, loosely cupped over his knees.
Obi-Wan stared at the top of Padmé's head. The two most important people in Anakin's life? Why was she suddenly so self-conscious admitting that? Anakin had no qualms in naming Padmé as his best friend. 'The only one who understands me,' was how he had put it to Obi-Wan. More than once.
"A mistake," he whispered. He froze when he realized he'd spoken aloud.
Padmé's voice was flat and very quiet. "You think our friendship would be a mistake? Do you despise me that much?"
"No. I was thinking about my letting Anakin pursue your friendship to the extent he has."
Padmé jerked her head up, a jumble of expressions vying for supremacy on her delicate features. Consternation won out. "What do you mean?"
"He tries my patience to the utmost. I turn my back for an instant and he sneaks off. I've stopped bothering to track him down, because he inevitably shows up, freely admitting he was at your apartment. Why don't you tell him to stop being a pest?"
Color drained from her face. "Anakin is no pest."
"I'm sorry. I really am grateful for the way you've befriended him. He always returns from his visits so much calmer than normal, centered, at peace -- if only for a few moments. He never complains when I name his punishment for his furtive behavior, just nods and does it." Obi-Wan stared over Padmé's shoulder. "Of course, later, when the most recent visit has worn off, he returns to his restlessness, his endless ... seeking. On missions his pent up energy is ... distracting."
"Your stillness agitates him."
"Endlessly."
"Does his energy -- his restlessness -- ever infect you? Cause you to feel the same way?"
"Rarely."
"Does his passion ever ignite your senses? Inspire you to act?"
Obi-Wan heard the hopeful tone in Padmé's question and wondered at it. His reply was quiet. "No. His passion makes me afraid. For him." He silently added, I'm a Jedi. Fear should not be able to touch me.
When Padmé didn't respond, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and slid back into silence.
Padmé chewed her lip and studied Obi-Wan's features. So stoic, yet fringed with care. She couldn't deny that she wished Anakin possessed a healthy measure of this man's self-assurance, his inner strength. In some ways, Ani was so very fragile. But his utter devotion more than made up for it. And his passion for life, for everything, did inspire her to strive, even harder, to work for what was good and right in the Republic.
How could you live without passion? Obi-Wan's eyes flew open and Padmé realized she had asked the question aloud.
"Passion clouds your mind, disrupts your peace and weakens your connection with the Light Side."
"What about your connection with ... with other beings, Obi-Wan?" She took his hands again; he didn't resist. "Who are your friends?"
His eyes narrowed for a moment. "I have friends." Padmé raised her brows expectantly. Obi-Wan scowled and said, "Yoda and Mace are friends, as well as mentors. And though it may surprise you, I do count Anakin as a friend. We usually get along quite well."
"I know you don't tell Anakin your deepest thoughts. Are you telling me that you share your every worry and joy with ... with Master Yoda? With Mace Windu?"
"I meditate."
Padmé watched Obi-Wan's eyes lose their focus and his features soften. For a few seconds he was somewhere else, with someone else. "Who is she?"
His gaze snapped back to her face. "Who's who? What makes you think I was thinking about a she?"
"I'm not blind, Obi-Wan."
He slipped his hands from under hers and started to scuttle backwards. Padmé clasped his knees and shook her head. The Jedi Master of Avoidance was not going to slip from her net this time. She gave him her sternest glare.
He looked more amused than intimidated. "She's a friend, Padmé. A dear friend. Nothing more."
"Another Jedi?"
Obi-Wan nodded.
"I think I knew that. Somehow I think you could only be dear friends with someone who shares your Jedi outlook on life. Her name?" Somehow, it made Obi-Wan seem more human, to know there was someone he cared deeply about.
Obi-Wan gave her a slight glance of annoyance, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Luminara Unduli."
"Does Anakin know her?"
"Yes. We were on a mission together just before we were assigned to protect you from that assassin. Is the interrogation over now?" He rose, a quick fluid motion.
Padmé scrambled to her feet and intercepted his attempt to move away. She rested her hand on his chest and stared into his clouded gaze. She wasn't sure of what she was doing. She only knew she didn't want this tenuous connection between them to be severed.
"Talk to me, Obi-Wan. Pretend I'm your dear friend, Luminara."
Obi-Wan watched Padmé's lips move. Pretend. If Luminara were here now ...
The last time he had seen Luminara, he had held her while she silently soaked his tunic with her grief. Her padawan was dead. She was so stoic in public, as he had been when Qui-Gon had died. But behind closed doors ...
Pretend.
Obi-Wan stared at the lips, quite similar in shape to Luminara's, though not quite so full. It was foolishness, pretending. But he couldn't look away from those lips.
Pretend.
He reached up and ran his finger along the bottom lip, imagining it stained dark. He traced the woven pattern that was tattooed on Luminara's chin. If Luminara were here now ... Would he just hold her, comfort her? His head moved closer; his gaze fixed on her lips.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes. His lips brushed over hers.
