The Moons of Iego: The Padmé Amidala & Anakin Skywalker Website

FAN FICTION : ATTACK OF THE CLONES ERA

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Sleep Well, Milady

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Padmé Amidala again found herself questioning the wisdom of inviting Anakin Skywalker to her personal chambers, and again stopped herself, wondering why what should only be a conference with one of her assigned protectors should be cause for her to wonder.

As she moved her hand to the side of the vanity to pick up another hairbrush, her fingers brushed the deep red scarf that covered the camera there and she halted, chewing once at her lip. No assigned protector in her career had ever apparently harbored feelings for her for a decade, either.

To be sure, finding out that this more grown version of Anakin still held the crush on her that his younger self had held ten years ago had thrown her. Crushes were meant to pass with age, to be grown out of. Apparently, that rule did not apply to Anakin. Or it means something else entirely.

She shook her head. This is Anakin. Ani. I should be glad about seeing him again.

I am.

Padmé stopped brushing and appraised herself in the mirror, more frustrated with her hair's typical evening dishevelment than usual. Had it always been this curly?

The camera coverings had helped little, her belatedly realizing they had likely only served exactly what they'd meant to discourage: fueling any hopeful speculation on Anakin's part. Even now she could see and feel his stare upon her as if he looked back from her mirror, the blue eyes that had belonged to that little slave boy in the junk shop on Tatooine that now focused on not her form or office or hairstyle, but her eyes... no, even past those. As if he were seeing... in any case, it was a way a Jedi, of all people, certainly shouldn't have been looking. She felt it, even though it had been over an hour since she had seen him.

Since he'd uttered the words that - while reminding her so much of that long-ago boy -

I can help. I can fix anything!

- could actually give her the chance to do something about this tightening but still-ineffective security net around her. If anyone would help her out of this situation, she knew he would.

We will find out who's going to kill you, Padmé... I promise you.

As she ran the brush through her hair again, unease prickled in her gut about secretly pitting apprentice against master, even though she (and Anakin) was certain that Master was wrong. Padmé Amidala would not center all of her hopes on her protectors sensing trouble in time when she herself was perfectly capable of doing something. When Obi-Wan was the one being targeted, then he could sit and wait. The need for proactive behavior had become almost like a charge in her arms that begged release, and she thought perhaps she understood Anakin's impatience a little better now.

At the core Obi-Wan Kenobi really hadn't much changed since the days she'd known him as Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan. Powerful, intelligent, and dedicated to be sure, but in many ways still very much by-the-book. (Which was desirable in some cases, she admitted, but not when a life was at stake.) Anakin, on the other hand...

She sighed. There had long been a part of her that had quietly presupposed that she and Anakin would meet again, that had always taken for granted that when that meeting happened, with their first conversation they could jump right back into their friendship where they had left off. Not having that conversation come about because he would be of use to her.

(Or that you would actually be avoiding him beforehand.)

(I am not avoiding him.)

No. If nothing else, Anakin had been right (even if his assertion of it could have been more maturely expressed), and he deserved to know that. As yet he had done absolutely nothing to her, and the memories of their time together were still fond. And even as a boy, he had never tried to disguise his interest in her. Why should it bother her now?

(It's easier to ignore a man's eyes when they're still in the body of a boy.)

When she entered the bedroom she saw Dormé off to one side of the main door near Anakin, hands clasped at her waist and looking at Padmé expectantly. She nodded once and the handmaiden, with a momentary hesitation and the briefest of glances at Anakin and then her mistress again, padded out.

Anakin was facing the windows that looked out over the ever-present Coruscant traffic, framed in the multi-shaded purple of early evening sky. He was no longer wearing his robes - simply the dark but otherwise standard tunic-and-pants Jedi attire. He looked even taller without the robes, a poise and slenderness that was nothing like the stocky boy she'd known; with a twinge of guilt she jerked her eyes upward to meet his.

In that moment something in the twinkle in those eyes as he looked at her was little Ani. They were the same wide blues that had first asked if she was an angel, carried his smile across to her at the Naboo parade, so much so she felt the impulse to run and throw her arms around him, recapture what had made their time together stand out from all her girlhood memories. But again she halted, the thought springing forth that it was inappropriate to relax her guard so informally, that the person who stood before her was not that little boy.

But he is Ani, she thought again, for the first time with an echo of confusion.

"Sit down," she invited, gesturing to the tall wooden chair by the window and opposite her bed, which she sat on the edge of. Something like surprise flickered in Anakin's eyes at this and he hesitated before moving to comply.

"Unless you'd rather stand?" she asked lightly.

"No - thank you. It's fine," he hurried to assure her, sitting finally, but still looking surprised - not unpleasantly so - at the request.

"Did Obi-Wan wonder why I asked you in here?" she asked. It occurred to her then how it would likely appear to Obi-Wan that the object of his apprentice's continued crush was personally summoning said apprentice to her private chambers, after hours... and decided she didn't much care what Obi-Wan Kenobi thought. What would he need to be concerned over? He knew she and Anakin were childhood friends; who was to say they weren't catching up on old times?

Perhaps it wasn't Obi-Wan whose perceptions she needed to be concerned about. Anakin was already in here, though, so it was a tad late for those concerns. And honestly, what's the worry? It's not as if I'm here in my underthings trying to seduce him, she quipped to herself with a bravado she found she didn't quite feel.

"He's still checking the building security with Captain Typho," Anakin answered, seeming to relax a little more that the silence had been broken. "He's not aware I'm even in here," he added in a near-whisper and with a small grin that caused her to tighten the front of her robes. "They hardly needed me for that. I thought... and he agreed... I would be of better use up here."

Padmé smiled to herself, certain his pauses were only a small indicator of what had passed between Anakin and Obi-Wan before they'd agreed on this course of action. And despite her annoyance at the security presence, the instinctual protectiveness of her was again enough like the Ani of her memory that she could still hold to that comfortable image, even as her eyes flitted over the not-a-boy figure again. "Do you always display such independent behavior?" she quipped (knowing full well the answer), moving her hand toward a chilled pitcher of water on her bedside table and two glasses near it, filling one of them. "Would you like some?"

"Yes - thank you." The tips of his fingers brushed hers as he took the glass from her proffered hand; her breath caught for an instant at their warmth and the sensation of skin on skin. If Anakin noticed, he gave no sign. "And yes, I do. A little more often than Obi-Wan would rather."

"How much is a little?"

Anakin simply raised an eyebrow and lifted the drink to his lips, the edges of a smile peeking out from behind the glass as he sipped.

"I hope you haven't been too much trouble," Padmé remarked, pointedly raising both her own eyebrows back at him as she filled the other glass and raised it to her mouth.

He snorted. "I save him from at least as much as I cause him. There was this time when he fell into a nest of gundarks -"

"And I'm sure he has for you."

"Caused trouble?" he grinned. "Definitely."

"You know what I mean," she admonished, a grin spreading on her own face. "And I'm sure you appreciate it as much as he does."

He made a face. "I suppose," he conceded grudgingly, then lowered his voice. He leaned close in enough for Padmé to feel his breath tickle warmly on her cheek, the sensation flighting in a tiny wave all the way back to her ears. "Don't ever tell him that, though."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Padmé managed, suddenly acutely aware of how many millimeters separated Anakin's nose and her own. A silence fell between them that Padmé felt afraid to touch. Anakin must have sensed it too, for he leaned back to his old position. His next comment, however, did nothing to alleviate it.

"I missed you," he murmured, averting his gaze to the window, then back on her again. She smiled uncertainly. What could she possibly say that wouldn't crush him?

She was surprised how strong that desire to avert his pain, which had always been there in some form, was.

He wanted her to say that she'd thought about him too, that she'd looked forward to seeing him again. She had thought of him, of course. Particularly in the hard days of recovery after the Trade Federation's bloody occupation of Naboo, recalling his face and her time with him had been a reassurance. As time had gone by and the need for that reassurance had faded she had thought of him less - still of course always recalling their time together with a smile, but obviously not to the frequency he had.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you in here," she began again, deciding to sidestep his words completely and to get to the real issue at hand.

"Not at all," he answered promptly, then hesitated, perhaps feeling he'd taken a step too quickly, but still seemingly relieved that the awkward moment had passed. "We are at your disposal, Padmé. Milady," he added quickly. Padmé frowned at the formality that had not been part of their relationship before, even once he'd learned she was Queen - but perhaps, the stern part of her reminded, that formality was necessary now.

Why?

She took another sip of water, unexpectedly needing a moment to compose her reply. "I'm not going to lie here and wait for something to kill me, Ani."

His eyes flashed at the words kill me, sparking a tiny chill in her. "I would never ask you to."

I know you wouldn't, she thought, drawing comfort from his words, knowing he wouldn't like what she was about to suggest. "Understand I need your full help on this," she said. "If need be I'll do this myself. But it'll be much easier with your help."

Indeed, his face darkened, eyes narrowing. "Padmé…?"

"I want to give the assassin exactly what they're looking for."

He stiffened, turning to the window again. His jaw set as he stared out at the evening traffic, the part of his face furthest from her disappearing briefly in the shadow of a passing transport. Padmé shifted a bit, swallowing a rather large sip of water. You expected this, she reminded herself. Our goals are ultimately the same. You must remind him of that. After what seemed an age he exhaled a long breath, but still didn't look at her. "You want to be bait."

She twitched her nose. "That would be one term for it, yes."

"An unacceptable one," he shot back as he quickly turned to fix his eyes on her again; as was becoming usual Padmé felt extremely underdressed under that gaze, even though she was almost completely covered. "It's too dangerous - "

"I'm already in danger," she reminded him softly, and tried not to see him wince. "And you know it's the simplest way to smoke out whoever's doing this." She leaned forward, setting down her glass. "You leave me be as if nothing's different from usual, disable one of the security cameras around my room - and keep an eye out and catch them when they make their move."

He sat rigid a moment, staring at her. It took a surprising amount of effort to meet his stare: for the first time ever in those eyes, as a young man or as a boy, she saw a raw vulnerability that frightened her, one she knew she wasn't meant to see.

Fear. For her.

I caused that.

That longing to prevent him pain, perhaps part of the mothering instinct for him that had taken root so long ago, took over again. She reached and took his free hand, with effort ignoring the thrill through her at the contact and this time focusing on the comfort the contact gave her, like the tiny hand that had guided hers through a long-ago Mos Espa sandstorm, and hoped it provided him that same reassurance. "Ani, please," she went on, "look at me." She couldn't bear having him unable to look at her; it was almost a physical ache, like a knife being withdrawn from a wound. "I need... I need you for this."

His hand tightened around hers - it felt pleasant, rough and warm and gentle all at once - she sat frozen an instant, thinking she perhaps shouldn't have phrased it quite like that, but then he nodded.

"Always," he swore. Padmé again buried the urge to look away and in its absence she found the intensity in his eyes extremely compelling. Few things she'd seen could have matched it, save maybe her own when she was overtaken with fighting for a cause she believed in. It was amazing something so small as those eyes could hold so much... and that in that moment, she realized with a tiny tremble, all of it was focused on her.

"I have faith in my protector's abilities," she smiled reassuringly - but inwardly scolded her slip, knowing that to his ears there was no way he could have discerned her slip into the singular "protector" instead of "protectors," but certain he'd recognized it anyway. "And I can program Artoo to stand sentry in here and warn you if anyone does slip your notice, if you'd like," she added with an amused quirk of her lip.

He glanced over at the now-dormant astromech droid in the far corner, apparently noticing it for the first time, then back at her. Padmé knew what Anakin would like most, the only way he would feel truly assured, would be to keep direct watch over her himself. To her surprise she found the thought oddly comforting - she decided it was because she knew in protecting her, as in anything else he tried, he would do his best, and from him that meant more to her than it would from most people. From the first time she had met him she'd sensed a talent beyond any she'd seen before or since, which he had proved more and more many times after. Even now, stronger than ever she could sense the potential in him, that the last ten years had certainly not been wasted in honing it. It was almost like a charge in the air between them...

She blinked, withdrawing herself from that place.

"I can do anything you need of me," he said at last. Something in those words caused yet another shiver, this time seeming to resonate in some as-yet-untapped reservoir inside her.

"Thank you," she smiled, and then looked down between them, voice softening when she spoke again. "Ani - "

He loosed her hand like a hot coal, the one neither had remembered was still clasped in his and where his thumb had begun stroking circles on her wrist; Padmé darted the hand back in the folds in her robe. The pinkening of his face was hidden partly by the dim lighting, but still visible. Ten years ago she'd have found that blush amusing, adorable. While she still did, it was also now for some reason extremely distracting. She couldn't take her eyes from it.

"I'll take the blame for Obi-Wan if you'd like," she offered, hoping to defuse his embarrassment some, as well as her own confusion.

There was a sniff and a half-smirk. "I've handled worse from him. Don't worry."

"That'll be a first," she winked.

The conversation had seemingly drifted its full course. But still the two stood facing one another, Anakin starting to twiddle his thumbs behind his back, Padmé for one of the first times in her life at a loss as to what to say next. The mere sight of him waiting there seemed to erase whatever preprogrammed answer she'd have had for this kind of moment. How does he do that?

He began to turn away; inexplicably, panic spiked in her brain.

Just say it.

"Ani?" He turned back around, hope poorly disguised (if he'd bothered to attempt it at all) on his face. She smiled softly, hoping it came off as encouraging (but not too much so). "I missed you too."

Seeing the lift in his mood gave her own an unexpected boost as well, and she missed catching a hop in her stomach as he smiled dazzlingly. "I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances..."

"I'm not," he said, smile softening at the edges.

He bent in a half-bow, eyes flitting downward deferentially. As he came up to turn away and exit, however, he paused, his face hanging there for the barest of instants. Every detail of it sharpened in her eyes: the fading hints of childhood roundness still in the cheeks, the shallow chin cleft, every eyelash around those eyes, the softening of lips that were almost too full for a boy's. Those eyes flicked to her lips and the moment - as well as her feet - seemed suddenly frozen.

She wondered just how soft those lips were.

Then he stood firmly straight again, at the same point Padmé forced her gaze away from his. His face pinkened again, and she thought to reach a hand to his shoulder, alleviate his guilt, but the lead weight in her legs seemed to have spread to her hands. "Good night, Ani."

Another smile, this time not quite meeting his eyes. "Sleep well, milady."

Then he was gone, the doors shutting him out again, the veils covering her cameras suddenly feeling even more transparent than before. She moved to her glass, downing the remaining icy water in a single gulp. Pouring again, then another gulp sliding a chilled boulder down her throat.

It had been just for a moment. Nothing had happened.

She started toward Artoo to reactivate him. Three steps toward the droid, though, she turned and instead went to that bedside drawer, where lay that deep red wood box she'd carried with her since she was twelve. Her hand wavered as she reached to open the drawer, opened the box, and she wasn't sure why.

The pendant looked the same as in the moment Ani's chubby hand had first pressed it into her own, felt the same. Why did it no longer provide that needed reassurance?

Against what?

She lifted it from its place among the other trinkets in the box. Holding it in her hand seemed to amplify the new sensations she'd come to associate with him - the burning of his gaze on her skin even in a darkened room, knowing that even the thickest layers Queen Amidala had shrouded herself in would provide no shield. The feel of his hand brushing hers... knowing that rules be damned, he'd still do anything for her. The sudden lead transplant in her legs when he stood inches from her...

Still grasping the weathered string, she let the pendant itself fall from her hand, and the unease seemed to evaporate from its weighted place on her shoulders.

People grow up all the time, the logical part of her brain soothed, even as something in her spiked wildly at remembering the intent in his eyes and voice in his first words to her that no one had ever directed at her before.

He is no different.

She set the pendant back in its box, closing the drawer before she could dwell further on that thought.

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