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It's terrible of her, but she can't help but laugh at the picture he paints with those words. Crossing to the wardrobe, she pulls out one of her nightdresses with an amused shake of her head. "Trust me, Obi-Wan, I understand that it's not a life best suited for most," she assures him, her tone becoming more serious as she turns to face him. "Many politicians thrive not on negotiation, but on coercion, on backroom deals and everything that goes against the democracy I believe in. I don't blame you for holding politicians in less than high regard."

He can't help but pause to look at her when she laughs, an answering soft smile flowing over his features; it dims at the change in tone, but his face stays open and fond. This is one of the things he enjoys about Padmé, that she recognizes the inherent problems within her chosen arena, and makes no excuses for it, even acknowledges what others dislike about it, and doesn't hold it against them; against him. "If all politicians were more like you, we would be living in a much better place," he says, his affection coming through clear in his voice.

A little too clear for his liking; he turns toward the bag he'd brought with him that still holds his own clothes. He begins disrobing, until he is down to his under-tunic and leggings.

That affection in his voice makes her chest tighten and her heart beat a little faster, an effect that only increases as he disrobes. Transfixed and frozen in place, she watches for a few moments before quickly turning away to disappear into the large fresher attached to the bedroom. Her dress is hung up in the closet within for cleaning and she pulls on a long deep blue nightgown made of soft folds of fabric, the gown's hem reaching just above the floor and the sleeves above her wrists. Her face is washed of all traces of the bits of makeup from that morning, though since taking the role of Senator she has kept that part of her routine on the simpler side.

With a deep, calming breath, she returns to the bedroom proper, walks barefoot across the room to the vanity set up beside those large windows that lead out onto another balcony, and begins the process of letting down her hair for the night.

Undressing around other people isn't something Obi-Wan usually thinks about, especially when he's not completely disrobing. He is very carefully not thinking about Padmé changing in the fresher. He folds his outer tunic and sash and places them in his bag. He should probably move his clothes to the wardrobe, but it always seems silly to unpack his meager belongings when he's just going to have to put them back, even if it's for a week's time.

When Padmé returns, Obi-Wan watches as she sits at the vanity and begins undoing the intricate hairstyle she wore for the occasion. He hesitates for a moment, but finally takes a step toward her, arms crossed in front of him - it looks less confident than when he has his over-tunic's large sleeves to hide his hands in, and more self-conscious - and asks, "Would you like help with that?"

Taking her hair down may not be an issue for her, although he imagines it required at least one handmaiden to help her put it up.

Once they're more used to each other, Padmé won't think twice about changing around Obi-Wan. She's been under a spotlight for most of her life, constantly needing help dressing thanks to the elaborate costumes she wore as Queen, training with her security in various forms of combat... Her body was just a body and nothing to be self-conscious or insecure about. And yet, there were still a few flutters in her stomach at the thought of being close to Obi-Wan in those moments.

Glancing over her shoulder at the completely unexpected offer, she watches him for a moment, taking in that change in his stance, and then-- "I'd appreciate it very much. Thank you, Obi-Wan." Her smile is bright and sincere, gratitude shining from it as she turns back and instead watches him in the mirror.

There is just the slightest shift in his shoulders as Obi-Wan relaxes at her acceptance, and he easily returns her smile as he strides toward her.

Stopping just behind her seat, he takes a moment to look at the intricate knotting and braids coiled together. He glances at her reflection in the mirror of the vanity and says, "I do hope I'm not required to know how to help put this back together. It would take me longer than one week to learn even one of these styles." He's teasing, sort of; it probably would take him several tries to learn something like this, but he's also aware that this is more reminiscent of her queen's hairstyles, since it was for the wedding, and that typically, while her hair is done elaborately, it's less complicated.

Reaching out, Obi-Wan cautiously begins pulling all-but-hidden pins out from the back, starting at the bottom, so he doesn't accidentally cover any with the newly-released strands.

Having him help let down her hair, becoming a part of her nightly routine, cements how perfectly at ease Padmé is with Obi-Wan. He's assumed a role reserved for those closest to her, and already he fits it well, his fingers deftly uncovering all the pins and ties and sending her hair cascading down her back. Her hair has always had a natural curl to it, and the addition of the braids has only helped the illusion that her hair is much shorter than it really is, hitting shoulder blades instead of waist.

"Would you mind?" she asks him once they've finished undoing all the braids and various layers in the intricate design. She holds up a brush for him, hoping her observation is correct and that having something to do will help him find a sense of peace and belonging here.

The look that involuntarily crosses his face is probably comical in its surprise, but the expression drops quickly, replaced with pleasure as he smiles at her. "Of course, it would be my pleasure."

Accepting the brush, he gathers her hair until only the ends extend from his fist, and he slowly starts brushing, careful to make sure it doesn't tug or tangle. It's a soothing practice, and he enjoys the repetition and concentration it takes as he slowly works the brush higher toward her head.

Having her hair brushed for her has been Padmé's refuge from the stresses of the day, those few minutes lifting the weight from her shoulders and letting her truly relax both physically and mentally. These moments with Obi-Wan are no different, and by the time he's moving the brush over the back of her head, she feels a bit like warm clay.

She sighs deeply and looks at him in the mirror with tiredness hugging her features. "Is your life very structured in the Temple?" she asks quietly, the question perhaps seeming to come out of nowhere. It's concern that has her asking; she wants him to be as happy as he can be in this new life.

His motions with the brush stay fluid and easy, but Obi-Wan inhales deeply, a contemplative look crossing his face as he raises his eyes to some point over her head, considering the question.

"Only by choice," he finally answers. "It was more-so during my days as a Padawan between missions, so I find some comfort in having a routine, but I'm not out-of-sorts when I have to do something else. But typically I rise early, eat and meditate - and then go to kick Anakin out of bed," he says with a chuckle. "Then it becomes somewhat more structured, due to his training. Practicing and discussing different fighting forms and techniques, lunch, and then my time is my own again as he studies. Typically I try to get him to meditate before supper, though that's..." his lips press together in exasperation. "Well, easier said than done, most days."

Like wrangling a small child. Anakin never had to go through the training younglings do, so he's not familiar with calming and centering himself - or at least faking it for the requisite time meditation lasts, as so many of them do. Obi-Wan remembers faking it, but at some point it turned into real meditation, without him noticing. He thinks that's true for a lot of the younglings. There are so many things Anakin has missed out on in his training. And now his teacher will be split between his training, and guarding the Senator.

They'll work something out; Obi-Wan just hopes his student's learning doesn't suffer too much before everything settles again.

Finding himself brushing the same spots with ease, Obi-Wan reluctantly lets Padmé's hair fall from his hand, offering her the brush back. "I imagine you braid it for sleep," he comments, before offering her another smile. "Simple braids are one thing I'm quite familiar with doing. Especially tiny ones." He reaches up to touch behind his ear; his hair has grown much longer and covers the spot, but he still remembers exactly where his Padawan braid had originated.

As he's describing the day he usually spends in the Temple, Padmé feels a pang of regret for all that this arrangement is costing him. His life has changed, perhaps not entirely but more than enough to cause him difficulty. Disrupt his routine, force him to develop a new one... She wanted this change to be smooth and painless for him, but it appears that was a ridiculous and utterly naive hope.

Accepting the brush, she sets it on the vanity and turns to the side in her chair, looking up at the spot he indicates where she fondly remembers the braid that had hung there when they'd first met. Anakin is the one who wears it now, and those first days seem so long ago.

"That tiny braid was adorable, but I like your hair now much better. You look quite distinguished when you're not causing trouble," she informs him with a smile belying her own mischievous tendencies.

The days he spends in the Temple are, for better or worse, few and far between, as even now he and Anakin are getting sent on more missions. The death of his own Master left a void in the Jedi roster: instead of gaining a new Knight along with his former teacher, they broke out even, with another Jedi and his Padawan - a Knight who was familiar with the sort of missions Qui-Gon would be sent on. And so Obi-Wan found himself continuing the same work he'd done as an apprentice, scrambling to remember that now he is the teacher, meant to impart wisdom to his student. He isn't sure what that wisdom is supposed to be, but he's trying.

"That 'tiny braid,'" he intones with a smile, "was a sign of great accomplishment. The severing of it, an even greater one."

Reaching up to stroke his beard pretentiously, he ducks down until his head is level with Padmé's, their cheeks almost touching as he looks at himself in the mirror. "I think we make quite the pair." He shifts his gaze to look at her reflection. "Neither of us looks nearly as headstrong and feisty as we are."

Having Obi-Wan that close, she doesn't feel the least bit uncomfortable or nervous, the returning flutters in her chest feeling warm and right. Her Jedi protector, her friend, her companion for the days to come. There is no possible way she would have been anywhere near as at ease with anyone else, and so despite her guilt at the difficulties he'll face, she's so very grateful for having him in her life in this way.

"I have no doubt that will work to our benefit," she pronounces with knowing amusement before smoothly turning her head to press a brief kiss to that whispered cheek. The contact lasts only a second, then she's rising from the chair and pulling her long hair over her shoulder. With practiced motions, she plaits the dark strands loosely, tying off the end and leaving the length curled over that shoulder.

"Which side do you prefer?" It's asked with a nod to the bed, which is more than large enough for the both of them.

Obi-Wan turns his head to face her at the kiss, but she's already moving away. It's probably for the best, because it hadn't been surprise at the gesture that made him move. He's not sure what he would have done if she hadn't turned away; perhaps just shared a look with her. But being so close, he thinks his much-vaunted Jedi control wouldn't have held up, and he would have given her a real kiss. This is twice now that she's kissed his cheek, and he still can't figure out if she's merely being affectionate with a friend, or if her feelings might mirror his. And worse: he has no idea how to go about finding out.

At her question, Obi-Wan glances not at the bed, but the door and windows. "I don't mind either side, but if it's all right with you, I'll take the right." It's the one closer to the door, and even knowing that they're (theoretically) in no danger here, he knows he will sleep safer if he's between her and potential harm.

There's really no telling what she would have done had she stayed in place long enough to allow herself to do anything. Because got a moment there, it hadn't been his cheek she'd intended on kissing, and she isn't sure what she think did that impulse. She's certain she's glad she didn't act on it -- this marriage is one of convenience only, and she's simply lucky enough that they share friendly affection. To put any sort of pressure on Obi-Wan for something he hadn't agreed to and may not want... She'd never be able to forgive herself for it.

"Of course I don't mind." It makes sense that he would worry about intruders coming from within the house, most people would. She, however... Well, that isn't important. They had captured the assassin that same night and there's nothing more to worry about with it. So she smiles pleasantly and moves to the other side of the bed, pulling back the fresh sheets to slip between them.

Truth be told, the windows do give him a bit of hesitation on her side, but short of moving the entire monstrosity of a bed - which he could do, but it seems frivolous to use the Force just to sate his possible paranoia - there's not much he can do, besides stay vigilant. He is by necessity a light sleeper, and has honed his battle senses to recognize unfamiliar movements in the Force. It's fortunate he's already familiar with Padmé's signature, or this week would also have to be used to get used to having her constant presence beside him as he rested. He fears he's going to get less sleep than usual due to her proximity as it is, but for an entirely different reason.

Following her example, Obi-Wan moves to settle into the bed beside her, with a good foot of space between them. It seems rather ridiculous, since they're 'married,' but he merely lets a smile cross his face before sighing in content as his body settles. "Goodnight, my lady," he intones softly.

That foot feels like a mile at the same time it's not enough distance at all. Strange and familiar at the same time, it's only the exhaustion of the day setting in that lets her relax into the blankets, the pillow under her head the perfect amount of fluff. Lying on her back, she looks over at him for a long moment with a look of fondness before echoing the sentiment. "Sleep well, my knight."

She's asleep in minutes, turning onto her side toward the window to be more comfortable, and for the first few hours she sleeps deeply and doesn't move again. With all the travel she's done since taking her role in the Senate, she's learned to sleep anywhere under various conditions, so it's not surprising that she has no trouble falling asleep under the guard of a Jedi Knight. It's staying asleep that is the problem, and has been for a number of weeks now.

The dreams take hold an hour before sunrise, memories creeping to the forefront of her mind and seeping into whatever pleasant scene her mind had created. The rain of glass upon white sheets and the smears of red that followed. The shouting surrounding her as she tried to stop that red from flowing over her hands. The tears hot on her face--

Tears that are there once again as she wakes with a start, pulling in a quiet gasping breath before remembering who sleeps beside her. Her heart still races as she slowly sits up and carefully climbs out of the bed, intending to slip out of the room without waking Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan is pulled from his sleep by a feeling of unease. He lays perfectly still, searching for what disturbed him. A moment later, the figure beside him gasps and jerks just slightly. If he had still been sleeping, he might not have even noticed it; Padmé is far too good at controlling herself for his peace of mind, sometimes.

As she slowly leaves the bed, he debates how he should act. He could let her go, let her believe she didn't disturb him, that her nightmare went unnoticed. He wasn't going to leave her alone, uncomforted, but he could wait a few moments, before getting up himself. Pretend he only noticed afterward that she'd left, and had gone looking for her in concern.

It feels wrong to be disingenuous with her in such a way, though, even if she wouldn't be happy that he could sense things she might otherwise have kept hidden from him.

She's almost to the door before he sits up and calls out quietly, "Padmé." He says nothing else, but it's clear from his voice that he's awake and alert, and concerned. He will let her decide how she wants to proceed.

It shouldn't be the least bit surprising that he's awake, but the sound of her name still makes her wince. It's a good thing that he woke at the disturbance, either from her dream or her leaving the bed or who knew what; it's good that he can do his job of keeping her safe. But still, she would have rather escaped without notice.

Forcing herself to take a deep breath and smooth her expression into a calm facade, she glances back at him in the darkness, the moonlight illuminating enough of the room for her to see his outline on the bed. "I just need some air," she explains just as quietly, her tone easy and apologetic. "I'm sorry for waking you."

It saddens him that she goes to such trouble to lie to him, not just with her words, but her very tone and expression. But he lets her. He hopes she will someday turn to him first, when she's hurting like this; and she is hurting, he can feel it, tremors in the Force as she battled her emotions. Her soul cries, and it pains him to hear it.

"You didn't wake me, milady," which is the truth...depending on how you view it. He pushes back the sheets and starts to rise from the bed. "But now that I am awake, I think I shall make some tea." He leaves it at that, hoping that she will take up the unspoken invitation for company at some point. If she continues to grieve, he will - gently - confront her about it, but for now he lets her decide how to handle her emotions. If she wants space and solitude, he can give her that.

They're both lying, though she hardly realizes the extent to which her lie runs. Taming her emotions and the image she presents to others is something she's done for decades now -- living your life in the spotlight does not leave room for emotional displays where others might see. It's automatic for her now, and allowing others to witness that side of herself takes time and effort.

"That sounds like a fine idea," she decides, though she had hoped for at least a few minutes of solitude. Later. She can deal with all of this later. "I was intending to go down to the kitchen myself."

There is a pause, before he moves until he's standing within arm's reach of her. "Do you need to bake?" he finds himself asking, his mind catching up after the words are out of his mouth, remembering her mentioning how she would bake when she was upset or stressed. "If not..." he glances out the windows. "It's a pleasant night. I could bring you tea in the garden, or by the lake."

He wants desperately to say 'let me take care of you, now,' but he senses it would be the wrong thing to say, it would push her and he's not sure of the outcome. If she would tell him what was wrong, and feel better for it afterward; if it would push her away from him, locking her feelings down and becoming unreachable to him, trying all the harder in the future to hide these fragile moments. Or if she would simply shatter, with him having no clue how to put the pieces back together, yet.

He reaches out, but simply touches his fingertips to her bicep in a small gesture of comfort. "I will do what you need, if you tell me." His voice the whole time he speaks is soothing, and his last words are as close as he intends to getting to revealing that he's aware of the turmoil she's in.

He knows. His words make everything inside her still, as if her shifting emotions had suddenly been frozen in place. Breathing is an issue for a moment until she pushes past it, more walls raising up in response to her refuge being called out. Do you need to bake. Yes, she needs it desperately, but he knows and he would worry and there would be no solace in it, just the sensation of standing at the edge of a precipice and waiting to tumble over into it.

They are friends but this is too close. Only her handmaidens have held this closeness to her in so many years, and for him to already be edging into this space in her life... She isn't ready for it. But she can't tell him that either.

"Tea by the lake sounds lovely," is what she does tell him, wearing a soft smile because it really does, and other different circumstances she would be completely charmed by the suggestion. "The sun will rise soon."

A soft sigh escapes him, but he smiles and bows his head to her, hiding his disappointment as he feels her withdrawing. "Of course."

Moving past her, Obi-Wan enters the kitchen and locates what he needs, using the time and familiar motions to let his mind drift. There is nothing he can do except be there when she is ready. It's hard for him, because he is used to being proactive, but he understands that negotiations cannot take place unless all parties are willing; while the situation isn't really the same, the dynamics are similar. He can wait. He can do whatever she needs him to, to make her feel comfortable. Either she will turn to him, or she will continue to keep her own counsel, and trying to force the issue will only drive her away.

He had already pushed too hard, thankfully only a little, but he knew it would take time to repair the damage.

Next time, he thought ruefully, I will pretend I'm still asleep.

When the tea is finished steeping, he carries a cup out to her.

Padmé listens to him move about the kitchen for a few moments before opening a cupboard outside the room and removing a large folded blanket. One more stop and then she heads down to the lakefront, settling into a spot not far from where he'd been the day before. A stretch of sand and a trail of footprints for him to follow, and she sets out the blanket on a patch of tall grass, the blades easily bending at the weight. There's enough length to the blanket that she is able to sit on one edge and pull another up over her shoulders with plenty to spare.

When he comes upon her, she is holding a datapad in one hand, her eyes on the expanse of water reflecting the slowly lightening sky. The smile she offers him this time is slightly strained but more tired than anything.


P a d m é	A m i d a l a	N a b e r r i e

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