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Obi-Wan will never admit to it, but today, he is impatient.
With only a few more (long) days to his trials, observing a Senate markets meeting is tedious, even for him. He stares out the window; Master Qui-Gon ignores that his padawan is not presently at the proceedings.
(After, Master Qui-Gon will remind him that Jedi must remember their duties, no matter how they wish they were elsewhere and Obi-Wan will feel ashamed for being so close to proper knighthood and still as flighty as a padawan on their first mission.)
He was supposed to memorize who would be present; he read the histories of the Council instead. He knows it strikes too closely to ambition, but he will not face their questioning unprepared.
He is less concerned for the combat trials. Footwork is footwork.
Obi-Wan shakes himself to the present. The future does him no good if he does not know today.
A neimoidian drones on about the new contract the Trade Federation wishes to present at the next session: extending contracts, collecting exclusive rights into deep space. Some of the senators appear to be as bored as he is, and one has completely nodded off. Others feign polite looks and nod at all the right moments.
However, there is one who cannot hide her distaste. She frowns and at a comment about established routes in the Outer Rim; shooting an eyebrow up, she looks pointedly at the senator to her left, who shrugs almost imperceptibly.
Obi-Wan realizes a moment after it happens that she must have taken her fellow senator’s slight indication as a cue, for she raises her hand, speaking simultaneously.
“Minister Gunray? Naboo would like to pose a question.”
“May I finish the end of this clause?”
She does not allow him.
“Is the Trade Federation at all concerned that the suggested altered route for crodium imports intersects with known slave routes?”
“I am not sure what you implying, Senator Amidala, and I do not like what I think you are implying.”
A burly senator, further down the table, leans in, attempting to smooth ruffled egos, “What Senator Amidala means –”
“Please do not presume to know what I mean, Senator Clovis,” Senator Amidala interrupts, somewhat coolly before setting her sights back on the Trade Federation minister.
Almost involuntarily, Obi-Wan thinks of Satine; the fearlessness in going toe-to-toe with those she knew were wrong (although he knows she would never be quite so blunt). Memories of her prickle painfully and he is sure if anyone looked at him, they would see his hurt plain on his face.
Lost in his thoughts, Obi-Wan misses some of the exchange between the minister and the senator. The others present cannot look away, eyes rapidly moving from the neimoidian and the girl and back again. Even Master Qui-Gon shifts in his seat.
Obi-Wan refocuses as Minister Gunray’s voice continues to escalate. Senator Amidala keeps a level tone.
Gunray finally explodes in frustration, jerking the last dozing senator awake.
“The Karazak Cooperative never agreed to outposts outside of the Sujimis sector!”
Most of the eyes at the table go wide. The senator to the left of Senator Amidala struggles to suppress a smile. She drew out the confession she was looking for: the Trade Federation courted the newest slavery magnate, if unsuccessfully. Gunray never saw it coming.
Before he can stop himself, Obi-Wan snorts loudly in amusement.
All heads whip around to find the source of the disturbance; Obi-Wan feels all the blood drain from his face.
Master Qui-Gon pinches the bridge of his nose.
Senator Amidala is among those who glares at him, but collects herself quickly.
“Thank you, Minister; that will be all. Naboo yields the floor.”
As the meeting adjourns, Obi-Wan attempts to make himself as small as possible. If he melts into the wall and disappears he won’t embarrass the Order, embarrass Master Qui-Gon any further.
Some Jedi he’ll make.
Unfortunately, Senator Amidala manages to single him out.
“Do the Jedi think the Republic’s shameful entanglements with the slave trade are a joke?”
She does not raise her voice, but asks so pointedly, for the first time since Satine, he stumbles for words (although it is not in fear of a blurted declaration of love).
“No, not at all – I really shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry Senator. The slave trade is not a joke; I was just impressed how you cornered the Minister. Of course, my behavior is not a reflection of the Order. Jedi do not have politics, we serve the Republic…”
“Regardless of who’s running it and whatever unspeakable acts they approve?”
Obi-Wan begins to think how what he will say next will lower her opinion of him more, but the senator who had been seated next to her steps in.
“Please pardon the senator. Once she’s begun an interrogation, she doesn’t like to stop.”
His teasing tone causes the senator to flush, put a hand to her brow, and then extends the other to Obi-Wan.
“I’m so sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself. Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo.”
He takes her offered hand and shakes.
“Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
She is not (never ever) Satine, but in a few (short) days’ time, he will put Mandalore behind him for good. Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo may just be a friend.
----------
Padmé stands on her tip-toes, reaching for the last stack of datapads.
Some of them are out-of-date, but they will serve their purpose. If Obi-Wan is going to support even the more ludicrous practices of the Republic, he might as well know what he’s defending.
She drops the collection down in front of the Senate librarian.
“A bit of light reading for yourself?”
“For a friend.”
“It takes a certain kind of friend to lend another fifty years of Trade Federation policy.”
She laughs, “You could call it a graduation gift of sorts.”
----------
It isn’t proper; inviting a Jedi over for a strictly social visit, but Padmé doesn’t care.
Tea does not bring back the dead, but she will be there for Obi-Wan. He stares listlessly into his cup; she thinks of all the mollifying, useless words she was given two years ago. Worse, he places all the blame on himself.
She doesn’t approve of the Jedi insistence on bottling up one’s feelings, but if Obi-Wan does not want to talk, she will respect that. Getting away from the Temple, even for an hour, might help.
Something else to distract him, she speaks of her work.
“The Separatist movement is certainly building up clout. I cannot believe so many systems have elected to withdraw from the Republic.”
His grim look breaks; traces of amusement flicker through.
“You’ve made a valiant effort, but you’ve yet to turn me into a proper republican, Padmé.”
“Yet – I’ll get there someday; I am not discouraged. Of course, we will talk with them first. You appreciate a lively debate, don’t you?”
He genuinely smiles for the first time; she responds in kind.
She continues, serious. “But if that fails, unfortunately we’ll have to begin considering armed soldiers. I have no idea where we’ll find the credits for that, and I suppose we’ll need to speak to your Council.”
“You know the Senate is not the sole guardian of the Republic’s interests.”
“Just the Republic – not the galaxy? I’m getting there faster than I thought.”
She teases, but he is somber again. He speaks of something that has been weighing heavily on him since he arrived.
“I’m going to take on Master Qui-Gon’s padawan. The Council doesn’t really want to keep him, I suspect partially because he’s a handful, but I can’t let Master Qui-Gon’s work go unfinished. I can’t let this boy miss a chance to train – he’s unusually natural at it all.”
He pauses, voice shaking with emotion and uncertainty. Padmé reaches across the table to grab his hand. He does not shrug away.
He continues; voicing the fears he did not want to confront himself.
“Am I doing the right thing? Am I taking him on because I think it’s the right course of action or because I feel I owe it to Master Qui-Gon? I don’t know why the Council approved this – I’m too young to be anyone’s master –”
He chokes and she interrupts gently.
“Obi-Wan, the Council wouldn’t have allowed you to take this boy on if they didn’t believe you were capable of teaching him. And Master Jinn is proud of you, wherever he is, I am at least sure of that.”
She does not know what the Jedi believe in after death – she supposes they take consolation in their Force, but it eludes her.
That evening, she offers up her usual silent prayers to the gods for her parents, including Master Jinn.
To the protectors of the living, she prays for Obi-Wan and his new apprentice.
----------
The possibility of war grinds ever forward. Both Padmé and Obi-Wan find they have little time for their talks. She takes her appointment to the War Committee with gusto. She does not relish in going to war, but someone must be there to nullify the hawks.
The faster the conflict is resolved, the faster the Senate may return to the ills of the galaxy.
Obi-Wan, as far as she knows, is wholly occupied with training Anakin and drilling the new Grand Army of the Republic.
Padmé sits outside the meeting chamber, holding her notes with one hand, caf in the other.
A wry voice speaks over her, startling her and nearly causing her to spill her drink, “I was beginning to think we’d never see each other again.”
“Goodness, Obi-Wan you frightened me!”
“Sorry about that. You were so wrapped up in that datapad, I wasn’t sure I’d even get your attention.”
“Well, you did, and if I had spilled anything on this dress, I would have to go back to the office and change, and potentially missed the opening arguments!”
She shifts over so he may sit next to her.
He chuckles, “You have good reflexes, then.” He rests his chin in his hand and with an odd tone in his voice, “Speaking of attention, I hope Anakin hasn’t been bothering you.”
Padmé is more flustered at the mention of Obi-Wan’s padawan than by his sudden appearance, but she does not let it show.
“Not at all. I suppose you see more of him than I do anyway.”
“One would think. He can be… over-enthusiastic at times.”
“He’s passionate. He cares – he wants to see an end to slavery, more than any politician can claim.”
Archly, “That’s what worries me. He’s not supposed to have his own politics.”
It infuriates Padmé that Obi-Wan and the Council still insist on seeing it as a political issue. Her anger comes out as harsher words than she means, but she does not apologize for it.
“It’s his mother, Obi-Wan.”
Unspoken: it’s him.
Obi-Wan, thankfully, does not argue. He knows too well what plagues their mutual friend.
A moment of silence and then, “As long he’s back in time for his studies with me, an understanding of the Senate couldn’t hurt.”
----------
They manage a now rare tea chat when he returns from the front, just as Anakin and Ahsoka ship out.
“Was it your idea to assign him a padawan?”
“It honestly wasn’t, although now I wish it was. Master Yoda thought he would temper out with one; maybe stop crashing so many ships and wasting Republic credit.”
She grumbles under her breath, “I tell him credits don’t appear out of thin air, but does he ever listen?”
Returning to her original question, she says, “He complains all the time, but he loves it. He won’t admit it, but I think he loves her in his own way too.”
Obi-Wan watches Padmé’s expression move from annoyance at a husband who refuses to see the practical considerations in budget, to pride in a husband who takes his responsibilities to his young charge with the greatest seriousness.
Little Ahsoka Tano does them all good.
She breaks their silence, “He’s had a good model to work from.”
“Master Qui-Gon was a good teacher to him, for the little time he had. I only wish he had been able to –”
“No – you, Obi-Wan. You’ve been a great influence on him. He thinks all the worlds of you. You know I do too.”
Obi-Wan clears his throat, wishing desperately to change the subject.
“All we seem to talk about anymore is Anakin. What have you been occupying your time with?”
He realizes her answer might bring them right back to Anakin, but thankfully, she launches into the latest on her dozen or so senate committees.
“Senator Tarkin continues to be the most despicable man to ever serve the Republic. If Mon Mothma wasn’t on the War Committee, you and the clones would never have rotations or time off the battlefield… how has that been? Missives we receive are always so vague and never get to the truth of how bad things are.”
“Conditions vary; sometimes they’re bad, sometimes they’re terrible. Once my seat on the Council takes effect, I’ll be able to let you know a bit more.”
“You’ve made the Council? Obi-Wan, that’s wonderful!”
It looks as though she is moving to hug him, but catches herself, settling to place a hand on his shoulder, smiling broadly.
He is still in shock that they think he is ready, but Padmé’s confidence makes him believe he might finally be worthy of the title ‘Master’.
----------
He watches Padmé pace her small quarters on the ship. She rests her hands on her ever-growing belly.
Sometimes, he catches her speaking in a low voice; never making out what she is saying.
He asks the medical droid, worrying for her sanity.
“It is perfectly normal to engage with a child before it is born.”
She will talk to them. Why would she ever want to talk to him?