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"—Senator Chuchi and I have been collaborating on this bill for months. Hopefully it'll provide a silver lining to all this mess."
"I don't get it," Ahsoka says, fidgeting in front of the gala doors. "It doesn't sound controversial at all. Why the assassination attempts? And why now?"
"Ah." Padmé's eyes flash. "It isn't in the best interests of the Trade Federation and Banking Clans, of course."
"You think they're behind the assassination attempts?"
Padmé sighs. "There's not enough evidence to formally trace it to them." Beneath her breath, "There never is." She tilts her head slightly. "Don't worry, Ahsoka. They'd hardly be bold enough to attack in a ballroom full of their allies. And besides, with you by my side, I'll be perfectly protected."
Suddenly, her gaze fixes somewhere behind Ahsoka. She turns and sees—
"Senator Chuchi," Padmé greets warmly. Riyo gives Ahsoka a friendly wave before turning to her, but Ahsoka's only got eyes for the Jedi bodyguard beside her. Because, by some wild stroke of luck, the Jedi protecting Senator Chuchi tonight is—
"Barriss?"
Barriss's eyes crinkle and her lips twitch upward. From her, that's practically a wide grin and a crushing hug. "Fancy seeing you here, Ahsoka."
She looks beautiful. Both of them are in "formal" versions of their typical Jedi robes, assigned to them by the Temple before they left—Ahsoka's got on a swishy maroon imitation with a shining silver belt and slightly more presentable boots than the usual fare, and she hasn't stopped feeling awkward in the ensemble since the moment she put it on. Barriss, on the other hand, radiates elegance—her robes are a deep, flowing blue that match the irises of her eyes.
Lost for words, Ahsoka offers up a half-smile instead. Then they each turn back to their respective Senators.
"Ready for your first gala, Ahsoka?" Padmé says, tone light and teasing.
The doors open, and they enter.
The ballroom—and Ahsoka hadn't even known they had a ballroom in the Senate building until today—is decked out in shining silver decorations. Tables line the sides with drinks and desserts, and an orchestra is already assembled on the stage. The dance floor itself is empty, but not for long—it only takes a few minutes for the whole room to fill up.
"You don't have to stay by me while I make my rounds," Padmé says. "I know it'll get quite a bit boring."
Ahsoka waves a hand. "What sort of bodyguard would I be if I immediately left you for the food? Of course I'll cover you, Senator Amidala."
"Well," Padmé says, "Alright then."
And so the games begin.
*
It takes a good few hours for Padmé to finish conversing with all the people she has to meet. Truthfully, Ahsoka tuned out after the first three. Good thing Anakin is halfway across the galaxy right now and can't feel her boredom, she thinks. Then she immediately feels guilty because the only reason she isn't by Anakin's side right now is because the campaign is projected to be so dangerous that even in desparate wartime the Council can't justify sending a padawan along.
Her hands go a little bit clammy and she decides to stop thinking about that.
Rounds finished, Padmé turns to the dance floor with a swish of her gowns. The orchestra has begun a series of Core-world dances, popular ones Ahsoka's heard often enough. But is Padmé really just going to up and expose herself like that?
Surprising herself, Ahsoka grabs Padmé's arm as she turns to leave.
"You're going to dance?" she says incredulously. Showing up at the gala, risk and all, she can understand—Padmé and Senator Chuchi need to make an appearance if they're to get the support they need on their newest wartime diplomacy bill. But the dance floor? Out in the open, distracted, where a sniper from anyone one of the windows would have a clear shot?
Padmé only laughs. "I refuse to live my life shut away in fear, Ahsoka. Besides, when has a little dancing ever killed anyone?"
It's meant to be a joke. Ahsoka, thinking of the last time Padmé found herself at the barrel end of an assassin's blaster, doesn't find it very funny.
"You're too tense," Padmé adds with a shake of her head. "Anakin was the same. It does you both good to lighten up, you know. Jedi." Her gaze softens. Then she's swept away into the crowd, taking Senator Organa's outstretched hand and spinning into an elegant Alderaanian waltz.
Left alone, Ahsoka folds her arms and tries to track Senator Amidala's movements through the crowd. It's fairly easy, luckily; the dance has a set pattern that doesn't leave much room for improvisation. Different couples are twirling around the room, switching partners here and there—Senators, Representatives, aides, even some of the waitstaff.
It looks more enjoyable than the stuffy state dinners she's sat in on before, that's for sure.
It's a few dances later that Barriss finds her, shuffling up awkwardly by her side. "Your Senator escaped you too, I take it?" she says.
"Got it in one." From a nearby tray, Ahsoka pulls over a cider with the force—ignoring the chiding Master-Kenobi-voice in her head—and passes it to Barriss. Barriss accepts it with a darkening in her cheeks and duck of her head. Suddenly Ahsoka feels a little embarrassed; it hadn't been a conscious action. All she'd thought was that Barriss deserved to have a little bit of the gala's beauty in her arms.
"So," she says, trying to cover up the sudden squirming, twisting feelings fluttering in her chest. "Where did Riyo run off too?"
Barriss's expression lightens and she leans a hand against Ahsoka's shoulder, the other pointing into the crowd. "Rodia, naturally. You see their huddle, by the chandelier?"
"Mm-hm." Distracted by the feel of Barriss's light touch against her skin, Ahsoka doesn't actually manage to spot Senator Chuchi in the crowd at all. Oops. Oh, well, as long as she smiles and nods, it's not like Barriss will know, right? She fixes her gaze on Barriss instead—she'd never noticed how beautiful her eyes were before. Deep blue with flecks of green and gold, colorful and intricate like those stained glass windows dotting the Temple atrium. Barriss is saying something now, gaze glimmering with the reflection of the sparkling lights hung across the ceiling, face animated and lively in a way it hasn't been in a long time. They always seem to meet on battlefields, the two of them. Not a lot of room for bright joy there.
It's nice to meet at a dance instead, for once. Ahsoka hopes it happens more often.
"—Ahsoka?"
"Huh?" Ahsoka shakes herself out of her trance. "Uh, I tuned out. Sorry. What?"
Barriss ducks her head. "I was just asking how you were liking the gala. Not very well, I take it? You seem bored."
" Oh ," Ahsoka says, then, fervently, "No, I'm enjoying it, actually. It's beautiful. Just—just a little worried about the Senators, that's all."
"You and I both," Barriss says with a commiserating sigh. Then the orchestra changes pace—a slow, elegant melody takes the place of the previous frenetic, lively tune—and Barriss's face lights up. "Oh! Oh, this one is Mirilian!"
Possessed by some reckless, wild entity, Ahsoka feels her mouth fall open without her permission. "Want to dance?"
Silence.
More silence.
(Not really silence, actually, because the orchestra is still going and the room is still bustling, but Barriss is silent. Who cares about the rest of the room?)
"It was just—a suggestion!" Ahsoka stammers. "Because you liked the music! We don't have to. I just thought—I just thought… it might be fun?"
Barriss inhales.
Great. Ahsoka thinks sarcastically. Just great.
"Ahsoka…"
Just kill me now. To hell with the Separatists.
"Ahsoka, I'd love to."
What?
"You would?"
Barriss grabs her hand. "Come on," she says, pulling her forward and putting the other hand—Ahsoka's brain short-circuits—putting the other hand on her waist. "We can't miss the good parts!"
And with a flurry of motion, they're on the dance floor.
They fall into step easily, swaying left and right as the dance requires. It's easy to dance with Barriss, Ahsoka reflects; it's like they fit together. Like puzzle pieces. Barriss moves forward, Ahsoka moves back. Barriss moves to the left, Ahsoka follows her. Barriss twirls, Ahsoka catches her. Barriss smiles—Ahsoka smiles too.
And then back up all over again.
Ahsoka's just beginning to get used to the feeling of Barriss's hands on her waist when she notices her looking strangely at her.
"What is it?"
Barriss's eyes flick quickly away. "Just—you look lovely tonight. Red suits you," she stammers.
Barriss never stammers.
Interesting.
"Red? Like the Sith?" Ahsoka says slyly. "You think the dark side suits me, Barriss?"
"No— Ahsoka! That isn't what I meant."
"Barriss Offee, secret Sith sympathizer," Ahsoka muses. "Who would have guessed?"
Barriss mock-shoves her. Then catches her, because this is still a dance, after all. "You aren't half as funny as you think you are."
"Psh," she says. "You like my jokes."
Surprisingly, Barriss's eyes soften. But she doesn't answer.
They fall back into the rhythm of the dance.
It's easy to move gradually closer together as the music swells. It's easy to move her arm forwards, wrap her hand around the back of Barriss's neck rather than on her shoulder, the other pulling her closer. It's easy to thrill in the feeling of Barriss tapping a rhythm against her back.
Barriss's eyes keep flicking downwards. From Ahsoka's eyes, down. Again and again. But never leaving Ahsoka's face. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, and Ahsoka—
Ahsoka wants to kiss her. Ahsoka really, really wants to kiss her. And Barriss seems to want that too.
Then suddenly there's something magnetic between them, something billowing and furious and alive, pulling them closer and closer together—
She leans in.
Closer—She can feel her heart pounding a frenzied staccato against her chest—Closer—heat is flooding her cheeks—
And then—
Her instincts scream in warning. Danger, danger, danger. She jerks away and finds her limbs pulling her towards—
Senator Amidala. On the other side of the dance floor.
Before Ahsoka knows it, she's got her lightsabers out and blazing, deflecting a volley of blaster shots from the window and shielding Padmé as best as she can. Beside her, she can sense Barriss doing the same, crouching ready at Senator Chuchi's side. The crowd is devolving into chaos.
And then it goes quiet.
Arm raised to fruitlessly try to shield herself from the rising smoke, she drags her gaze up to the window where the sniper had been hidden away. And where the sniper's body now lies cold and unmoving. One of the shots had made its mark—perfectly deflected into the sniper's chest.
Ahsoka's veins fill with ice.
It never gets any easier. This—this part of the job always leaves her hollow. Leaves her cold.
She can feel Barriss's eyes burning a hole into the back of her skull. On this, both of them have always agreed.
Slowly, she gathers herself and pulls the Senator aside. Barriss and Riyo follow. They maneuver themselves behind a pillar, away from the bustling crowd now shouting for security and escorts. "I'll have to come back for the investigation, Senator," she says to Padmé, "but I should get you home first. It'll probably be best if you don't stick around much longer."
Padmé's eyes flash, steel pouring into her spine. A lesser being would have quailed after an assassination attempt. Padmé, on the other hand, seems to have drawn bitter vitality from it. "I need answers too, Ahsoka. More than anyone else here."
Ahsoka sighs. "I know. But you won't be getting them from this crowd." Reaching forward unsteadily, she places a hand on the Senator's shoulder, a mirror of the first time they'd met. So much has changed—and at the same time, nothing has. "I'll keep you updated, Senator. You know I will."
Padmé looks back over the crowd, taking in the rush as Senators and aides make for the exits. The room's half emptied already; one of the tables has been shattered. Her lips twitch down into a slight frown. "Fine," she says. "If we must."
Besides her, Barriss looks up. "Ahsoka—" she says softly, haltingly, breaking off and looking away. There's something unspoken hanging in the air between them, some thin, spooling golden string left over from the entwining melodies and hands on each other's waists.
Ahsoka's not quite sure what to do with it. Clutch at it with both hands, hold tight so it doesn't slip through their fingers? Let it dissipate safely and put it behind them both?
She doesn't do either. Instead, she just flashes a half grin. "See you at the Temple?"
There's a pause. "See you at the Temple," Barriss says carefully. Then, to Senator Chuchi, "I'll escort you back as well, Senator. Come this way."
Ahsoka's idly watching her leave when she catches Padmé's eyes on her and shakes herself out of her stupor. "What?"
"Nothing," Padmé says. Then, with a hint of a smile, "You dance well together."
Ahsoka ducks her head and looks away. "Come on, Senator," she says. "We'd better get back to your place."
But no matter how quickly they leave, Ahsoka knows she'll be carrying the lingering threads of the music with her for a long, long time.