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Anakin Skywalker was used to waking up to a great variety of sights and sounds. The pale light peeking from between the blinds in his temple quarters, Ahsoka tapping on the door, whispering with an awkward chuckle, ”Masterrr… theyre waiting...” Flashes of faraway explosions, Rex's faraway voice, calling, ”You alright there, General?” Five different brands of needles, pointed directly at him, a droid with glowing red eyes spouting tired threats and demands into his ear. He'd seen it all, a million times, rinse and repeat. And in the end, they all meant the same thing: it was time to get up and fight. Some more.
”Ani… wake up.”
Indeed, it was a rare luxury to instead wake up to the otherwordly vision that was Padmé Amidala: his wife, his heart. Far away from the battlefield… home. She always meant home. Home was the sight of her angelically beautiful face, the sound of her soft, soothing voice. Home was the sight of her large, mesmeric eyes like amber kyber crystals, the ring of her bell-like laught…
Wait, that wasn't right. What was she looking so sad about? Ever the worrier… Anakin grinned dreamily to himself. He knew just the thing to put a smile on those stress-tightened lips, still the most exquisite in the galaxy. Oh boy, did he ever know the thing.
He gently lifted up a hand (which felt oddly heavy), which she just as gently tried to take in hers – sweet, but he had other plans. Softly yet firmly he planted the hand on the nape of her neck, pulling her into a passionate, if very dizzy kiss. Deep and full and perfect.
For maybe half a second.
”A-Anakin!” he half-heard, half-felt her mumble into his mouth. And that was not the only thing he heard: the other sounded suspiciously like about half a dozen senators, gasping in unison before starting to exchange sharp whispers. But that didn't feel right either.
Anakin jolted to sit up, still barely registering the background chatter. The world was spinning, and Padmé seemed oddly out of sorts, now fidgeting and covering her mouth with her sleeve. Anakin instinctively offered a comforting hand, before looking down on his strangely leaden wrists, and finding them to be cuffed together.
”Wait, did we…” Anakin still struggled to make sense of the situation or indeed or the room altogether, but quickly found he had strong opinions about it. He held out his bound wrists accusingly. ”Why is it always me, Padmé?”
His wife's perfect features were starting to gain more definition, and her expression was a whole lot more on the side of ”mortified” instead of ”playful”. Had it not been good for her? Of course it wasn't, they were on the floor. When had she ever liked it on the floor, he reprimanded himself, not completely sure if he was saying this out loud or not.
”They zapped you again, didn't they?” she guessed, sounding testy with a trace of worry. ”Look around, An-- General Skywalker. Do you remember what happened?”
Suddenly, as though struck by lightning – again – he did.
And around did Anakin look, now finally in possession of his full Force-heightened vision and hearing. What had sounded like half a dozen murmuring senators a minute ago indeed turned out to be half a dozen murmuring senators, each observing the pair with varying reactions, and each in varying stages of reacting. Senator Robb had her mouth open, looking curious and embarrassed about it, like she couldn't decide whether she was looking at something scandalous or romantic. Senator Roohd was pretty firmly settled on "scandalous", Senator Chuchi (whose lap he had apparently mistaken for one of those sand-filled pillows Padmé for some reason favored) was clapping her hands together, clearly decided on "romantic". Senator Organa seemed to have gotten past the initial surprise and was now carefully arranging his face into a half neutral, half appropriately uncomfortable expression. A slight twitch in his eyebrow also seemed to indicate a readiness to forcibly separate the two at the slightest signal from Padmé, an inclination no doubt shared by Senator Farr.
”The… the hostages!” Anakin cried. ”Cad Bane!” He gestured to Padmé to help him stand, which she did, if a little half-heartedly, and apparently far more interested in the floor.
”That is correct, Master Jedi,” Senator Paulness said. ”But by all means...” He waved a hand at the two of them, apparently encouraging them to finish any unfinished conversation. ”We'll wait.”
”Well, waiting really isn't the best idea,” Anakin stated simply, before his wife could start protesting. He shot an apologetic look at Padmé, who returned a forgiving one. They'd have to sort this out later. ”My lightsaber…” he quickly added, reaching with his bound hands to an empty belt.
Padmé sighed, beet red in the face as she delved into her sleeve and produced a long, heavy… suddenly very suggestively shaped instrument.
”You… you dropped it, Master Jedi,” she spluttered, holding out the weapon, waiting for Anakin to take it.
”Oh, he dropped his lightsaber on you alright,” murmured an unfamiliar senator in the back, who to Padmé, judging by the look on her face, was not quite so unfamiliar. Stifled chuckles were heard.
Anakin wiggled his still-restrained wrists at Padmé, indicating that he needed someone else to hold and, uh, ignite his lightsaber. Yeah…
”Padm… Senator Amidala, um… please.”
More chuckles were heard, less effort made to stifle them, more amicable work relationships compromised.
-
Having walked from the explosion unscatled, the cluster of shaken senators shuffled along the long corridors of the inconveniently massive Semate building (which seemed to have been evacuated of all non-hostage personnel), making their way to safety and fresh air. After his daring rescue of the politicians, Anakin had been summoned outside by his comlink and been obliged to abandon his slower but apparently now safe companions.
”Uh, Padmé,” Bail Organa began awkwardly as he placed a gentle, almost fatherly hand on her shoulder. ”I know we just survived a very dangerous situation, and the obviously lacking safety measures in this building warrant a whole discussion of their own… but we need to talk about what happened back there with General Skywalker.”
”Oh,” Padmé uttered, making a small nod, ”O-oh course.”
”Is he… bothering you?”
”Oh, um, no…”
”Of course, I respect him. And I know he's a Jedi, so I know he'd… ” Bail stopped to think for a moment. ”Actually, I don't know. Would he be expelled from the order or get away with a fine? The Jedi can be very confusing sometimes.”
”Oh, you're telling me...” Padmé began to keenly agree, before catching herself. ”That is to say… yes. So confusing… wait, slow down, a fine? For what offense?”
”Uh, harassment,” Bail stated plainly, looking concerned. ”Technically, what he did would qualify as…”
”No, no no, no,” Padmé protested. ”No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” She let out a sharp laughter.
”Wait, are you two…”
”No!”
”Then…”
Bail raised an eyebrow, evidently not at all happy with the very single-track turn this conversation was taking. Still, he ventured one last guess.
”What are the kids calling it these days… friends with--”
”No!” Padmé stopped in her tracks, intending to let all the other senators walk past them, but they all froze in place instead. It was not until Padmé shot them an icy look that they set off again, disgruntled.
”Padmé, it's me,” Bail reminder her warmly. ”You can tell me.”
Padmé knew she could. But that wasn't just her decision to make. She just wished part of that decision had not already been made by her electro-compromised, groggy and confused secret husband.
”He was confused”, she explained, quickly latching onto one of her mental keywords. ”Those electro-shocks are getting to his brain. He probably thought he was kissing… Artoo. He just loves that droid. Last week, he--”
”Padmé…”
”And I've been confused”, she quickly added, desperately and probably tardily trying to figure out a way to make Anakin sound like less a harasser and more a… she didn't like what the opposite of a harasser was. ”I've… flirted him. Mercilessly. Have you seen some of my dresses? I've given him… signals. Inapproriately long hugs…”
”Oh, we know that,” Bail interrupted her, although he immediately seemed to regret this spontaneous confession. Padmé gaped at him for a moment.
”And so has Artoo, by the way,” she then insisted.
-
By the time Senators Amidala and Organa reached the Senate courtyard, they had successfully established that 1. it was just a kiss, 2. the kiss had not necessarily been disagreeable, out of the left field, or even meant for Padmé in the first place.
”Or some combination of the three,” she added off-handedly as she hurried to join Anakin, Threepio, the suddenly materialized matching set of Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, and a pair of her least favorite senators at the top of the stairs, currently being interviewed by a swarm of HoloNet reporters. Surely they were discussing the hostage situation, the forced liberation of Ziro the Hutt, heck, General Skywalker's rescue of them, even…
”Ah, and here comes the lucky lady… or unlucky? We'll have to wait for comment--”
Great. Ever the media. The blabber turned out to be Threepio, whom she had completely forgotten was even there. Of course the protocol droid would give a completely accurate, detailed, yet rambly and unfocused recount of the attack. Which simply had to include what was effectively a harmless drunken mistake in the middle of an actual emergency.
Yet, even without the Force, she was already sensing a shift in the conversation.
”For the last time, I was barely conscious, brain fried, I thought it was my… uh, droid… whom I needed to clean… in a specific spot… stupid oil leaks… I apologized to Senator Amidala many times over before I was summoned here!”
The reporters were starting to look bored. They were also starting to pick up on the seriousness of the circumstances surrounding the undeniably juicy bit of gossip they had on their hands. The two senators had turned to a serious news outlet, giving teary-eyes statements regarding their terrifying experience and last-minute rescue. The trauma of it all was starting to kick in. They were nearly killed by a bomb, and this stupid war was only getting longer and uglier, what did it even matter if Skywalker had unorthodox methods of cleaning his astromech?
And even without the Force, Padmé could have sworn that Obi-Wan wasn't shooting accusing glances at his former Padawan for hiding something, or for lying about it, but instead… for having been careless. And Ahsoka was just shaking her head, with frustration and fondness. There was not a trace of surprise on her face, or for that matter, a hint of concern for Padmé's personal space or her ability to defend it. And apparently Bail was only surprised that Skywalker was responding so eagerly to Padmé's ”merciless flirting”.
Wait, did everybody already…
”So it really was…” one of the reporters still wanted to confirm.
”Such a kiss!”
”Just a bliss!”