Chapter Text
”I don't trust him,” Mace Windu declared bluntly. Obi-Wan met his stern gaze from the other side the Council Chamber, where the eponymous Council had gathered in both flesh and hologram form. ”I only ever barely trusted him, and in light of these recent… developments…”
The other Councilors sat silent as Windu's eyes bored into the youthful chief of the Order. Failing to elicit a reaction, the Korun Master let out a hollow huff of laughter. ”Come now, Obi-Wan. Skywalker knew the code to her apartment. It is evident that the two of them are more than just casual acquaintances. Until we come up with a plan to determine Amidala's whereabouts, we need to contain him, and question him –”
”First of all, that's Master Kenobi to you,” Obi-Wan corrected, with such an icy edge to his voice as to make Windu snap back an inch or two. ”And this is the Grand Master's Padawan you're talking about. My Padawan, whom I've trained – whom I've known – since he was nine years old. I beg your pardon – 'contain' him? Anakin sided with us. He –”
”He sided with her first,” Windu pointed out. ”He has known of her identity and kept it from us for Force knows how long. You know what she's done. Skywalker is an accomplice.”
At that, Obi-Wan shot up from his chair. ”That is enough, Master Windu. I have already chosen Anakin as my companion for the coming search mission. Which – naturally – takes top priority over any time-consuming interrogation sessions. There will be time for particulars later.” Displeasure out of his system, the Jedi Master's gaze glazed over in thought. In a lower voice, he continued, ”Anakin may have been blinded by his… well, his attachment," his voice faltered ever so slightly at the forbidden word, ”for a time, but he did his duty as a Jedi and I shall reward that loyalty. There will not be any 'containing' today – apart from any further terrible ideas. This meeting is dismissed.”
Obi-Wan watched coolly as the Councilors streamed out of the chamber in a beige line, Windu lagging a few steps behind. All the while, his eyes stayed fixed on Obi-Wan, burning with disapproval. Obi-Wan refused to get into a staring contest, lowering his gaze and waiting until the door had closed behind the Korun Master, and then longer still. Then he let out a weary sigh and stretched his neck, aching from all the accumulated as well as freshly emerged stress.
Deep down he knew, even as he inevitably would pile on the years, that he would never command the same respect as Master Yoda had. And deeper down still he knew he would never deserve it, either. Was he also not letting attachment cloud his judgment, in his fierce protection of Anakin?
And it wasn't just today, either. As much as the Jedi Master wanted to pretend he'd taken off to Mandalore in order to fix relations with the planet (or heck, even its leader), some part of him knew he'd really been worried about Anakin. Afraid of him being lost to the invincible enemy from Master Yoda's prophecy. The prophecy he still couldn't pretend to understand, and had as much reason to believe as to dismiss as a dying old gaffer's ramblings.
”I understand. In order to defeat this enemy… he needs help.”
”No. Not help.”
”Not… help?”
”Close, keep your friends. Closer… keep your enemies.”
But what if Windu was right and Anakin was… compromised? Then, did Master Yoda's words actually mean – that he should not –
”Master Kenobi?” came a call from behind the door, along with a light knock.
”Uh, come in,” Obi-Wan urged, straightening out his back. He'd vaguely recognized Ahsoka Tano's voice and Force presence before her montraled head peeked into the room, the rest of the Padawan following close behind.
”Is my Master in trouble?” she asked without ceremony as she came up to him. Her eyes were swimming with concern. ”Please, I did not mean to get him in trouble.”
She was, of course, referring to the mission report she'd provided from Concordia. It wasn't as though there was any way to make their misadventure sound less strange, but Obi-Wan could tell she had held back at first – and then she had just spilled everything out. Everything from Anakin deliriously uttering the Senator's first name to her having noted before the obviously very close relationship between the Jedi and the politician.
And indeed, to the rest of the Council, it was her testimony that had tipped the scale in favor of sticking Anakin with a bug, rather than asking him to spy on their newly emerged suspect. And just for a while, the Grand Master had been swayed, as well.
”I just thought… he might in a pickle… and might need… help, or something.”
”No. Not help.”
Ignoring Master Yoda's intrusive voice, Obi-Wan gave Ahsoka a rueful smile. ”I will not lie, young one. We are in the middle of a most distressing affair, and…” He hesitated for a moment, scratching at his bearded jaw. But then, she had done her duty and he had already promised her the truth. ”Senator Amidala is currently being suspected of some very serious crimes, indeed.”
Ahsoka's hand flew up to her mouth, muffling her gasp.
”I am telling you this in confidence,” Obi-Wan informed her with a strict tone. He did force a small smile when he proceeded to add, ”However, as far as your Master is concerned, rest assured that he himself is not under any suspicion and his contribution has in fact been of key importance in the ongoing investigation.”
At that, her face cleared. ”Ah… phew,” she sighed in relief, pressing her palms together in a thankful gesture. ”I just – I didn't know –”
”Would you be so kind as to summon him? I must stress the urgency of the situation, and I'm afraid this Council session stretched on rather longer than I expected.”
”Yes… yes! Right away, Master Kenobi.”
-
”Well, it does seem that… you are our only hope now, Anakin.” Obi-Wan turned to his former Padawan, surveying him from under his brow. Together, they had been scouring Padmé's apartment for clues of her whereabouts for almost an hour and a half, to no avail. But then, she was something of an expert of covering her tracks.
”I need you to think, now,” Obi-Wan urged, his own gaze also thoughtful as he gently tossed an old holoprojector onto a nearby sofa. ”If you have the faintest inkling where she might have gone…”
Without such an inkling, Anakin shook his head. ”Her family is out of the question. It's too obvious, and they don't even know about her.”
”You're absolutely sure?”
Anakin nodded vigorously. ”They have no idea. She –” He trailed off when a strange ache gripped at him – a pang of longing, nostalgia. ”And I think, she,” he murmured in a quieter voice. ”She loves them all too much to risk getting them caught up in this.”
”I see,” said Obi-Wan tonelessly. ”Well, in that case, I think –”
”There is something,” Anakin then blurted out. When Obi-Wan gave him an inquisitive look, he hesitated. He'd spoken without having really brought his own thoughts to conclusion. Silence reigned for a while as he attempted to do just that, staring at a specific fold on the curtains. ”We have – she and I – we have some kind of… connection. I don't know how – I can't really explain it, but it's like… I can feel her. E-even now. I was able to track her on Mandalore a year ago, after I escaped from that bounty hunter she handed me to. And yes, that was her. And not only that…” He bit his lip. ”I – I saw her set that island on fire. I saw her. I was there.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Obi-Wan seemed to absorb this information with his usual, analytical tranquility. ”Do you think – if you concentrated, you could –”
”Maybe,” Anakin mumbled. ”I don't know. Mandalore was instinct and the island… involuntary. I don't know if I can… control it. But I could try.”
”Yes, please do.”
-
”Well my dear friend, if you've been dying to tell me 'I told you so', I give you permission.”
Dormé turned her head in the passenger seat, watching as her mistress slumped down on her own, sighing. The gentle engine of her Nubian star skiff rumbled underneath as hyperspace wrapped them in its flashing blues.
”Do we… know so?” Dormé asked cautiously. The Senator had been all business and urgency when she had summoned the handmaiden for an unexpected extra shift that morning and proceeded to pack her along for an impromptu space voyage, but most of the blanks, Dormé had been able to fill in for herself.
Still, she had half-expected to find a tied-up Skywalker in the cargo hold this time around too, and only when she had been disappointed in this regard, had she really understood.
”We do know so,” the Senator answered, staring glassily at the ceiling. Her smile turned wistful. ”Anakin and I… we share some kind of connection. I can't really explain it, but… this morning, when he was leaving… I knew. I knew he what he was going to do.” She bit at her lip, damming behind whatever she was feeling.
”Milady, I'm so sorry.”
The Senator turned her head. ”Are you?” she questioned wryly. ”I thought you two didn't get along.”
Dormé chuckled. ”But the two of you did.”
Her mistress turned away again, dipping her head in hesitant acknowledgment. Then, she remained quiet for a while, hugging her sides with her arms while continuing to study the pearly texture of the ceiling. After a while, she sighed, ”He didn't even know me.”
”He is going to come after you, though."
A a small smirk touched the Senator's lips. Dropping her gaze from above, she glanced at the data screen on the dashboard. ”Then… I hope I'll have made him proud by then.”
No sooner had Amidala made this wish than her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted away.
-
Padmé Amidala had witnessed many an unsettling sight in her yet short life – and even so, the image of herself, flopped unconscious against the back of her seat while a panicked Dormé shook her shoulders, had to rank very high on that list. It wasn't the scene itself that was causing the unease – it was that she appeared to be observing it from outside of her own body.
”What…” she gasped, bringing a seemingly corporeal hand to cover a mouth she also still appeared to have. She looked down below, and saw her white combat boots. And then she looked up, and saw Anakin.
There he stood, flesh and blood – every bit as much as she was, anyway. Catching her eye, the flesh-ghost seemed to react with almost as much shock and surprise as she did.
”A-a…” Padmé stuttered, taking an instinctive pace back. While the scene transpiring in the front of the cockpit was mute to her ears, her own voice came out as a strange, reverberating echo. But it was only when Anakin took an uncertain step toward her that she felt it – the ripples and tremors traveling across the Force.
Because, at that moment, he was moving across the Force. He only existed in the Force. And so did she.
”Padmé…” Anakin finally seemed to find his own, wavering voice, which then dissipated as his gaze drifted to the scene unfolding to their left. Dormé had pulled out a first-aid kit and was frantically rummaging through its contents, while the other Padmé remained comatose in her seat.
Confusion giving way to resentment, Padmé scowled at the surprise visitor, and before she knew it, resentment had turned into anger and anger into action. Next thing she knew, she had launched at her husband in one flying movement and slapped him hard across the cheek. The apparition turned out to be indeed made of flesh, or at least the Force's idea of flesh, when Anakin's head snapped back, and her own palm was left with a dull sting in the wake of the impact.
”Backstabber!” she screamed as he cradled his cheek, eyes wide. They stayed like that for a while, Padmé's chest falling up and down in fervent breaths. Staring up into those blue pools of innocence, she could feel her heart melting in her chest. Melting in the way that an overheated furnace would eventually turn on its own inner workings.
And then she was kissing him roughly and pushing him up against the hatch and pinning his wrists on either side of his head, as he either seemed to put up a struggle or respond with great enthusiasm, or possibly both at the same time. For a heated moment, and for what seemed like much longer, they were a mess of lips and tongues and gasps, as real and solid as the fingers on her hands that had brutally ended so many a worthless life, and were now trapping her traitorous husband's hands against the hard durasteel structure.
When she did inch away, what she saw on her husband's visage was most definitely struggle. ”Why…” he panted out, face screwed with strain. ”Why can't I free myself? I'm stronger… than you!”
”Yes, but this is the Force, where the dark side reigns supreme.”
”That's not true,” he snarled. Smirking, she tightened her clasp on his wrists, feeling their mismatched shapes tug against her palms. True, it was far more likely that all his Force energies were already being drained by conjuring and maintaining… whatever this was, but her point still stood.
”Oh, Anakin…” She flashed a spiteful smile, shaking her head, which remained inches away from his own. ”I really did trust you.”
”You mocked me for not being strong enough…” he panted as he continued twist against her hold, oblivious to the irony. ”… to resist your allure.”
”So you threw away our marriage just to prove me wrong!”
”Let me go!” he roared, writhing and wriggling.
”But you came to me,” she hissed, breath coasting over his lips. ”So live with that decision.”
His struggle ceased at that moment, in ostensible compliance. With a frustrated noise, he ripped his gaze away from hers. It was only when Padmé's own attention was drawn to the front of the cockpit, to the concerned Dormé still hovering over her own unconscious form, that she realized just what he had turned to look at. The data screen on the dashboard.
”Raxus?” Anakin rasped as he spun back to her, brow creasing. ”You're going to Raxus? The Separatist headquarters?”
Thrown off for just long enough, Padmé stepped back, releasing her captive. Anakin rubbed his wrists, gathering his footing. His frown hardened. ”What, are you going to kill them, too?” He gave an incredulous chuckle. ”Level the playing field?”
Padmé squared her shoulders. ”I suppose you're just going to have to come and see for yourself.” And yet again, before Anakin could react, she had reached across their shared plane of existence and grabbed him by the collar. ”And do come in person,” she hissed at his face. ”You know – to level the playing field.”
The taste of his lips was the last thing that registered before the world around them grew warped and bent out of shape, as though being sucked into a black hole. And then that very blackness swallowed them both up and Padmé woke up gasping to the hum of hyperdrive and a very relieved Dormé.