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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.

It's easy for him to follow her presence, even if she'd tried to hide her location. (But he's glad she didn't.) Obi-Wan comes to a stop just in front of and beside her, before crouching elegantly and offering her the cup.

"Unless you wish me to stay, I'm going back in to meditate. Don't worry about interrupting me, it's... more just a way to greet the day, than any real need for it."

Of course, he wishes she would tell him to stay, but he's fairly certain that won't happen. Not now, this time, at any rate.

The way he moves is like water, everything fluid and calm, and ease of motion that she'd only ever managed with exacting concentration and layers of costume. Taking the cup with her free hand, she keeps her gaze on the faintly steaming liquid within as she replies, "I have something to share with you, if you could spare a few minutes."

Better now than putting it off until later, though that's what part of her would much prefer.

Hiding his surprise, there's only the briefest of pauses before Obi-Wan nods. "Of course, my lady." He shifts to cross his ankles and sink onto the edge of the blanket beside her, turning to be 90 degrees to her. So he can look at her, and she him, but avoid the other's gaze with ease if they feel like it. Non-confrontational attention, Qui-Gon had called it, and it was a technique Obi-Wan used often.

"My time is yours. Take all you need."

My lady. He keeps calling her that and she's going to have to say something about it, but now isn't the time. If she doesn't do what she'd intended right away, then she might back out and put it off again, and that simply wouldn't do.

"I don't need much," she clarifies, turning on the datapad with a press of her thumb to the security panel. The screen illuminates with a collection of files and she holds it out to him. "These are all the reports on the most recent attempt on my life. I don't wish to discuss it, but I'm sure that Captain Typho will be eager to strategize security measures with you when we return to Coruscant."

Her tone is matter-of-fact, the picture of political poise to ensure that none of her emotion leaks into the words. The reports detail the attack that took place in the middle of the night while she'd been traveling on a planet with close diplomatic relations with Naboo. The attacker had gained access to the rooms she'd been assigned and set off a sleeping gas in the apartment. She'd woken to him standing over the bed, a bloody knife in his hand and her handmaiden-- Security had arrived then and the attacked had escaped by breaking the wide windows, only to be caught a few hours later and brought into custody.

Her handmaiden hadn't survived.

Accepting the device, Obi-Wan keeps his head up to show he's listening, even as he scans through the files, his Jedi training taking over.

Stars above... He'd known she'd had multiple attempts made on her life, and the last was too close, prompting this arrangement in the first place. What he hadn't known until just know were the details, and what she must have had to witness. He looks at the image of her handmaiden - so similar in looks as Padmé, lying in a pool of blood - for only the briefest moment before flicking past. He's going to have that image in his head for a long while.

I don't wish to discuss it.
Captain Typho will be eager to strategize security measures.

"Yes, I'm sure he will," Obi-Wan murmurs distractedly, shutting the screen off and lowering the datapad to his lap. He turns his head to look out at the lake, calm and serene in the pre-dawn light. He takes a deep breath, savoring the clean, slightly damp fresh air. "If he's anything like Captain Tanaka, he will not be pleased with the fact that as your husband, I now have not only first but last say in your security. And I intend on keeping it as unobtrusive as possible."

Another breath, this time released in a sigh. "You won't be a prisoner, Padmé. And you're not to blame for this."

She's seen those photos a hundred times herself, of the room, of Sorché, of that man. A hundred times and they all pale in comparison to the memories of that awful night. In the days that had followed, she'd felt lost and helpless, but all of her own grief had been pushed to the side in order to take care of her duties -- there had been reports to be made and she'd tried to stay strong for her other handmaidens. Her friends, the loyal bodyguards who had protected her and stayed by her side even when they'd lost one of their own. And she'd visited Sorché's family...

"Thank you." Distance is in those two words, but she means them all the same. He could very easily insist that her security become an oppressive force under which she'd barely be able to breathe, and given the circumstances she likely wouldn't have argued. No, she would have gone along with things and drowned in her own misery of it.

"The reports weren't made public," she explains, moving past talk of her own emotional state. "The incident was isolated and knowledge of it will be kept as such." There's no room left for discussion of it.

He accepts her glossing over of his last words, as well as her distance. He'd expected nothing else, really, even if he'd hoped... But he knew these things took time. He remembered their laughing and teasing of each other yesterday - had it really been less than a full day ago? It felt like a lifetime - and knew that holding back her grief wasn't unduly harming her, so he left it alone for now. Some wounds needed to be punctured, the infection released before they could heal. Others needed to be left to heal on their own, and only time would tell if they would scar. For now, he would let the issue drop. With time and distance, perhaps she would come to see herself that she wasn't to blame. Or perhaps eventually she would come to trust him enough to listen when he told her it wasn't her fault.

Obi-Wan nods his agreement to her last words - more a decree, and part of him thinks wryly that eventually, the Queen and the Jedi are going to butt heads, and no one in the vicinity will escape unscathed. But since they are in agreement, thankfully this will not be that day. "No, there's no point publicizing it, and it could do your cause more harm than good, which is the last thing we want."

"Is there anything else you wish from me, my lady?" He reaches out to brush fingertips over her hand, making his words less formal and more heartfelt.

Time was something she'd had too much of lately. Time to think about what had happened, to debate all the things she could have (should have) done differently. Time to replay in her mind the hours after the attack, when all she'd wanted to do was fall apart but all she could do was stay strong for the others and carry on. It was all too much time, and she'd done her best to keep herself occupied as much as possible in the weeks since. Now, though...

Well, perhaps a week of nothing but time with someone who could likely already read her like a book wasn't the best idea.

She turns her hand to capture his fingers with her own, giving a gentle squeeze of gratitude for so many things. He hadn't argued with her, or insisted she speak further on the matter. He's exactly the person she'd always known him to be. "There's nothing else, thank you." She releases his hand before adding, "I'll make us some breakfast when you've finished meditating."

There is so much he'd like to say to her still, to do. He thinks about lifting her hand to kiss; thinks of simply hugging her, offering his silent support. He does neither, merely smiling pleasantly. "That sounds lovely. Thank you for telling me you enjoy cooking; I would feel much more guilty for not pulling my weight. As it is, I only feel somewhat guilty about it, instead."

On impulse, he does pick up her hand and brush a chaste kiss across her knuckles. He remains casual, acting as if he'd done nothing out of the ordinary, even while his heart starts beating faster in his chest at the display of affection. This is not something he's used to.

"I won't be more than a half-hour's time."

His talk of feeling guilty makes her smile, and though it's just a small thing, it helps. Something in her feels lighter afterward, and she has that hope again for their future. For all the small problems they may encounter and face together, there's a good balance between them, a measure of support and respect that she wouldn't trade for anything.

"I'll see you soon then," she replies with a slightly bigger smile, that fluttering back in her chest at that sweet kiss. Affectionate respect, that's all it was. That's all she could think it was, since they... are what they are. She will not push him for anything more.

Obi-Wan gifts her with another smile, quite unable to help himself, before standing, offering a brief, playful bow to her, and heading back inside.

He decides on meditating in the bedroom, in front of the row of windows and providing soothing natural light. As he told Padmé earlier, this morning's meditation is more just a way to greet the day, rather than trying to work anything out. He had been awoken a little earlier than usual, and the emotional turmoil they'd danced around has left him feeling a little off-kilter, so re-centering himself is soothing and welcome, but not strictly needed. He listens, both with his ears as well as his Force sense, as the local wildlife begins waking up for the day, while the nocturnal creatures settle into their nests and dens for their own sleep cycle. He's going to miss this, when they return to Coruscant; even the Temple meditation gardens don't feel like this, artificial and isolated as they are.

He thinks he's going to miss a lot of things about this week, once it's over, not least of which is the ease of his and Padmé's friendship. He knows it will continue, but here and now, it's freeing knowing they have no responsibilities for this short time. Perhaps that's why he continues to find himself unconsciously flirting with her - for that is what he's doing, even if he's only now recognizing what the touches, the smiles, and the 'my lady's really are.

His internal clock tells him when it's been a half-hour, and while he's enjoying himself, he's also quite hungry, and discovers he's also craving spending more time in Padmé's company.

Oh dear. He hopes that doesn't become a problem in the future. No matter how he feels for her, he can't allow himself to become distracted by thoughts of her at inopportune moments.

Rising from his kneeling position, he heads into the kitchen, thinking he's definitely going to have to visit with Master Yoda once they return to the capitol.

A few minutes pass before Padmé finally leaves her spot by the lake, folding up the blanket and carrying it and the datapad inside. The kitchen feels strangely empty as she enters it, the usually warm space lacking the comforting scents of freshly baked bread that would normally be filling the air by this point after a difficult night. she hadn't given in to the urge before and now it seems strange, everything ill-timed and no longer fitting as it should. But with a deep sigh, she does her best to shake off those feelings and searches out something to make them for breakfast.

Only she doesn't get very far. With all the ingredients for omelets laid out on the counter, a small ping alerts her to a new message having just arrived on the datapad -- she hadn't logged out of her account as she'd intended to do for the duration of their time here. Work tends to distract her from other things, and it does so now. When Obi-Wan arrives in the kitchen, she is wholly absorbed in reading the text on the screen, one hand pressed to her lips as frustration and distress color her thoughts.


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

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