pronker

Part One Hundred Five

"Hi."

"Soup's on."

"All right." Obi-Wan and Anakin sat stiffly through a light supper of runyip stew and scrimpi. Anakin couldn't muster up the appetite to add his favorite glockaw sauce to the dish. Afterwards, they watched an ongoing HoloNet series called The Gloom Walkers At A Gallop, portraying the New Sith War as a historical drama with two especially involving leads, soldiers in a Dark Lord's army whose careers and private lives enthralled them. Or at least they used to, before this.

"Going to bed. I'm tired."

"You must be. How ... how was it?"

"Like having no air to breathe, right before you drown. Like how I felt on Sugnid, when you breathed for me and I couldn't help myself. Having Plo inside me was ... was ... "

Uh-oh. When the Negotiator runs out of words, it's bad. Anakin clapped both arms around him and pulled him down sideways until Obi-Wan's head lay in Anakin's lap. They stared at the emoting soldiers portraying long ago events with up-to-the-latest political attitudes and slang. It seemed disconcerting now. Obi-Wan pulled his knees up to fit on their sofa. It's almost a fetal position. Anakin rubbed his Master's head, the temples, the jawbone whose bristles chafed him delightfully, the tense sagittals like cables of durasteel. He said, "HoloNet off!" in a loud voice because Obi-Wan had chided him yesterday morning about using the Force frivolously too many times. It was a fine line to walk and Anakin usually allowed Obi-Wan to walk it for him. Yesterday. Things were different yesterday. They rested quietly for nearly an hour.

"I'm sorry."

"Master, no."

"Yes, I'm sorry. You didn't need this in your life. You're a Senior Padawan, you, you, ought to be taking your Trials right now. I changed my mind. You're ready."

"I'm not ready, you know I'm not, I know I'm not."

Obi-Wan's voice squeaked. "Yes, you are. What other trial do you need, anyway? Trial of the Flesh --- your arm. Check. Trial of Training With A Broken-down Master. Check." There were tears in Master's voice, but none soaking the front of Anakin's watching-HoloNet-outfit of almost worn-through sleep pants and the shirt with the holes in it. It's all right, Master. Or it will be all right. Master Lu said so.

"I know."

Huh?

"I said, 'I know.'"

// Master, we're, we're ... //

// We seem to have reached an unknown level of imprinting, Padawan. //

// H-How?//

// Don't know. Don't care. Just enjoy it. //

// How long will it last?//

// whirrrrr ... WHIRRRRRR... clonk. Perhaps until I start to recuperate. //

// What's that sound?//

// I was thinking. //

// I can hear it! I can hear you ... negotiate. //

// Ha. Thanks for the laugh. I needed it. //

// Master, you look clean and blue inside. //

// Blue?//

// No, wait, now you're Tatooine-summer sky blue. //

// When isn't it summer there?//

// 'Ha' back at you. This is ... wonderful. Our new bond. //

// Better than ever. //

// Yes. prrrrrrrrrr ...

// Anakin! I can hear how contented you are! More data for Plo's protocols. Won't he be surprised?//

// He's a telepath and he devised the imprinting. Would this development surprise him?//

// Food for thought. Literally. Ha. Hahaha. //

// snicker, snort //

// Bwahahahahahha//

// Pppppbbbbllllheeheehee // "Ow."

"Yes, it's ... intense. Maybe too intense to sustain for long. My head hurts now."

Time to be a Padawan. "Let's go to bed." Slipping between their luxurious sheets beside Anakin, Obi-Wan added a slight hand tremor to his dull headache. It didn't bother him as much as it did. They cuddled dreamily. "Things are looking up. Even if we won't exactly be like we were. This, this new bond is good, Master." And Master Lu said that if we aren't close like we were anymore, Master's recovery will be complete.

"I agree. Please stop humping my leg, Anakin."

"Oh. Sorry, sweetheart."

'Sweetheart.' My. "Maybe we should separate our sleeping quarters for awhile until you and I get used to the idea. Perhaps you could visit your friend Senator Amidala for a night or two." It had to be said.

Silence. "Why do you say that?"

"She is your friend. She has her own spacious" --- bed --- "apartment. You're lovers." When you return to me, as I know you will now, our new bed will have arrived from Phlog-Train. Surprise, baby.

"Not anymore, we're not."

Good. "Have you told her? Allowed her to move on?"

Anakin's scowl could be felt in the darkness. "No. Haven't commed her in weeks. She has not commed me, either."

Double good. "It's quite early. You and I could rest a bit now, and you could go out to see her later." Obi-Wan regulated his heartrate and breathing. "I wouldn't mind."

Even though they were merely touching physically, Obi-Wan knew it when Anakin's thoughts turned bleak once more. Obi-Wan snaked his twitching hand over to Anakin's flesh fist and held it as best he could under the blanket. "If Master Lu's mistaken about your prognosis" --- again --- "what'll we do, Master? I can't lose you, I can't." I lost Mom. I don't have any friends outside the Order; Cliegg and Owen and Beru and all the rest of the Tatooine crowd are far away. Well, Dex is in a category by himself. Padmé isn't who I thought she was; she doesn't call me 'Ani' anymore. Suddenly Anakin thought it appropriate that he wasn't 'Ani' to anyone. Mom and Qui-Gon most likely would have stopped calling him that by now had they lived. His relationship with Padmé was a link to their memories. Obi-Wan and the droids remained as reminders, too, but they never had called him 'Ani.' Another step towards maturity. Does it feel like this for everyone?

"Anakin, I won't lose you, I won't lose me, I won't lose us. We'll return to what we were before Trow." It will kill my heart to see you every day --- and night --- and not touch your lips with mine. How did I live without them? "I'll share your bed for companionship and you'll share mine, Padawan. But not all the time, and not in the way that we love."

Was it enough? Did the dream on Trow that seemed so true remain true? The Force's timetable should be clearer, Anakin grumbled. Were these months of togetherness long enough to prevent the bad event hidden by the fog? Together in every possible way in nearly every moment, planning their life together without interruption from anyone, even after Knighthood cut his braid. He remembered thinking in the hotel room in Nepsa that love nourishes, it doesn't consume either the lover or the loved one. 'One.' He admitted that he hadn't thought through the details about Padmé's role; in one wild flight of fancy, he'd imagined the three of them all living together in her --- their --- apartment in grand style with epic nights of mutual love between the three of them involving cleverly-clued scavenger hunts and fully-polarized privacy curtains on the balcony. The classic balcony with its trickling water features, fountains whose wide, smooth edges were absolutely the right height for ... "It'll be difficult, Master."

"Anakin, we are Jedi. We knew it was a hard life going in. When Master Yoda cut my braid, I knew it. When I cut yours, you'll know it. Whoever you know so intimately as to call" --- 'wife'; it slipped through your shields this time, my own --- "friend will know it." Obi-Wan with all his might shielded Anakin's essence from his, allowing only the training bond's shining thread to remain, as it was before these last long months, before Trow, before their new bond that might be ephemeral. Their new life would not be too much of a burden to carry if they shared it. The Force would help, since they were Jedi. Kriffing visions!

By following both their deepest wishes and Anakin's vision set in a fearsomely foggy Room Of A Thousand Fountains, they succeeded in becoming closer. Obi-Wan had looked into a star up close without shading his eyes. He could not face being blinded, never, because even a quick glance at the star that was Anakin and then away was enough to leave spots soiling his vision. Full on viewing for a long time would blind him irreversibly. For his own sake and for Anakin's, for the Order's and in honor of Qui-Gon's dying wish, he wouldn't sacrifice himself to such a horrifying fate. It wasn't an option at all, though part of him would shrivel if he couldn't go beyond the fraternal pat on the shoulder or comradely hug with Anakin. He would suck it up and soldier on. He would grieve sometimes, though. Trow's legacy deserved that much. Starting with tonight.

"But what if you need me in the night?"

"I'm not that much under the weather. We've imprinted, we won't lose each other. I need some space tonight."

The river absconded.

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Part One Hundred Six

"Late tonight, Anakin? I can only get away for dinner. Can't you make it for dinner?" This was disappointing to have their first meeting after many weeks on her busy night and Padmé thought she knew why Anakin couldn't spend more time with her. He's fussing over Obi-Wan. If I were another sort of wife, I'd fume and pout. "Dinner will be glum without you, Anakin. I've missed you. We need to talk about our work the way that we used to, and of course, other things as well." But life is less and less glum as time goes by and I become more accustomed to takeout, and concerts, and handmaidens taking up my evenings. You were right; things did work out.

"Padmé, what are you doing after dinner that you can't see me then?" I'm not beating around the bush with you ever again.

"I've been home just a little while, but I had plans for later on."

Not good enough. "What plans?"

"I was going out. You seemed concerned that I enjoy myself."

"I was." The more fool, I. "Please postpone your plans, Padmé. I need to talk to you."

He can't put it any plainer than that. "All right, Anakin. Let's meet in the Maze, then."

"I'd rather not. Let's meet in our home."

Play it cool, Padmé. "If you insist. About midnight?"

"A bit before, if it's convenient, sure. See you then. Skywalker out." Anakin placed the dedicated audio-only-comm that had replaced the one put to Sidious' nefarious use in the nightstand drawer in his own room. There was no need to hide it in his sock drawer anymore, or under the bed. That felt remarkably good. He adjusted his privacy earbud so as not to awaken Obi-Wan and went into the common room to watch a vid until it was time to leave.

xxxxx

"Ommané, Anakin's coming over. Tonight."

I heard. I wasn't asleep. "Yes, Milady. Will that be all, Milady?"

"Don't be that way. You'll leave bad ... emanations ... behind and he'll pick up on them." Am I paranoid after being spied upon in my own home? Yes, Padmé, you are.

Ommané rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled the sleeveless orange sheath over her head, this season's handmaiden's uniform, and twisted to eye her employer disbelievingly. "He can do that?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know." When did her respect for the Jedi and their ways become tinged with fear? Since Master Yoda commed me two weeks ago for a midnight meeting at Dex's, that's when. Ommané had scanned the slumming after-theater crowd for papparazzi as she watched the meeting discreetly from the counter seating. She saw Master Yoda lean in confidentially from the height-enhancing seat provided gratuitously by Dex to patrons of shorter stature than Galactic-average. She saw her employer absorb the important secret and lose her studied poise. She saw Padmé's mouth drop open. Ommané allowed WA-7 to run over her toes deliberately to create a diversion and in the confusion afterwards, there were no flashing holocams in action around Padmé. Ommané had done her job well. Padmé slid an arm around Ommané's waist before she could rise to leave and pulled her back into bed. She rubbed Ommané's left middle toes reminiscently.

xxxxx

"Senator Amidala."

"Master Yoda."

"A late meal, you want?" Warm feelings, galaxy-wide, they are. Immune, no being is.

What? "No, thank you for the thought. Your message sounded mysterious, disturbingly so."

Yoda's attempt at casualness eroded. On to business, we should get. A war on, there is. "Yes. For your ears and very few others, this news is. Whisper it, I shall."

Padmé leaned over obligingly. Master Yoda smelled of damp fertile soil and a virile old age. His warm scaled palm was pleasant on her forearm as he steadied her to divulge the secret. "Senator, your colleague Palpatine, the Sith Lord Master, he was. Confidential, this must remain."

The crowd's chatter surged in and out of Padmé's consciousness. Master Yoda isn't lying. She pulled back from his hand and they were head-to-head. His citrine eyes, hooded with great wisdom, held only truth. Was it the Force that told her this? Was it his small form, embodying power that put her upcoming likely Vice-Chancellorship-Pro-Tem appointment to shame? Chancellor-Pro-Tem Bail Organa thought she was ready for a more responsible position; she thought Ommané was; Jar-Jar assuredly was not. Meh. A problem for tomorrow. Now answer me a question, Grand Master. "Why are you telling me this, Master Yoda?"

He still spoke in a low, private voice. Its unusual tones rumbled through Padmé's brain, as close as she was. "A warning, this is, as well as evidence of the trust that I --- that the Jedi --- place in you. Draw near to others" --- he leaned into her shoulder --- "without knowing their true nature, do not. One in your close confidence, beware of. One whom you trust, wants more than she is ready for." "She." "Using your needs to climb into seat of power, she is. Know this, you should." His gaze pierced her. "Power, reined in it must be to be controlled. Age only brings this control. Useful, it is. Desired by many, held by few." As clearly as decades ago, I see in the Force since the Dark Lord with his spying propensities is no more. Yoda withdrew from their huddle and Padmé's arm tingled afterwards. A Force-manifestation, she surmised.

A closer alliance with Master Yoda would cement the Senate-Jedi connection into unheard-of solidarity. She eyed the small Master speculatively; a frisson of fear brought her back to herself. If a Palpatine could turn to the bad, why not a Yoda? Ommané wanted to be Senator someday. She had Padmé's background nearly duplicated, so why shouldn't she be the first handmaiden to be Senator-Pro-Tem, or even a Senior Senator-Pro-Tem? Ommané flew the Torpedo exclusively now; Padmé hadn't flown herself about in some time, and was relieved not to. She didn't need any more docking and reckless flying tickets on her record. Ommané did all the shopping, too, since Threepio remained inoperable for the near future. Little by little, Ommané made herself indispensable to Padmé, demonstrating her breadth of abilities, with the other handmaidens' complicity. In the general shuffle-up, they might gain more influence than they had bargained for when accepting their positions, or they might simply be patriotic Nubians in seeking to subvert the logical promotion of Jar-Jar Binks to Senior Senator. Padmé ended her ruminations and caressed Ommané's instep before allowing her to rise and leave. In a partially successful effort to turn Ommané's frown into a grudging smile, she sucked Ommané's middle toes. Ommané gathered her few scattered things and stuffed them into her carryall. "I see it's back to the Duty Quarters for me."

"I'm afraid so. He is my husband and has ... rights."

Ommané said pertly, "He has much to learn, though, I'm betting."

Padmé stared her down. "Goodnight, Ommané."

You're ambitious. So was I. I can handle her, Master Yoda, but thanks for the tip anyway. I owe you another one, and I need to think of a way to pay you --- I mean, the Jedi --- back.

The river shrank.

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