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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.

The kitchen certainly seems ready for cooking, but Padmé has abandoned the beginnings of food, and is invested in staring at her datapad. It doesn't take a Force-sensitive to sense the tension in her, either.

Instead of chiding her about no communications during their stay here, Obi-Wan moves to stand beside her and ask, "What is it?"

Lowering the datapad, that hand moves to press at her forehead, a headache forming at the very thought of all that would await her back on Coruscant. Things in the Senate were going to be a snarled mess by the time she returned, and at this rate there was hardly a hope of untangling them.

"A dozen more systems announced their secession from the Republic," she explains, tone weary as she begins to feel how little sleep she'd gotten. "I won't be surprised if that number triples before the week is out."

Leaning beside her, Obi-Wan presses against her side, a solid line of warmth to help ground and comfort her. "While I don't intend at all to make light of the situation - it is drastic and will need to be dealt with - is there anything you can do at this moment?" he questions gently. "Is there anything that cannot wait at least until after you've eaten? It sounds silly, but making decisions on an empty stomach is a poor choice, and often leads to mistakes."

He nods to the counter full of ingredients. "Tell me what to do, and I'll help cook. And then, tell me what to do and I will help you with anything else." There's a pause. "Just remember, I'm not overly fond of politics, so my suggestions might be complete bantha shite."

Of all the things that could have come out of Obi-Wan's mouth, bantha shite is the very last thing she could have expected. It catches her by surprise and the laugh that bubbles up is brief but effective; that weariness loosens its grip and things seem just a little brighter.

Straightening up, she turns slightly and leans further into him, slipping her arms around his middle and pulling him into a solid embrace. For just a moment, she's quiet, and then, softly, "Thank you, Obi-Wan. For reminding me to stay in this moment, and for agreeing to all of this in the first place. I can't imagine going through my life with anyone else by my side." And she means every word of it.

The smile he gives her is pleased, and if she were to look, his feelings would be quite obvious in that moment; he loves her, and wants nothing more than to see her happy.

Her hug takes him by surprise, but he's quick to reciprocate, resting his cheek atop her head, allowing himself this brief moment of closeness. "I assure you," he says just as softly and sincerely, "it is my pleasure, Padmé. Anything I can do to help, you have only to ask it."

She tightens her arms around him, giving him a firm squeeze before loosening her grip in order to step back. Her hands rest on his arms as she looks up at him with a warm affectionate smile. "I think breakfast is an excellent place to start," she pronounces, not wanting to let go of him and taking every second she can to prolong this moment between them. "I was going to make something with the eggs."

It takes a supreme effort not to get lost staring into Padmé's eyes, and Obi-Wan is nodding a second before he realizes it. "My typical breakfast is tea and toast, so you'll have to show me what to do, my lady."

He makes no move to end their contact, and again wonders if Padmé might return his feelings, or if she's just grateful to him.

The way he calls her that... She'd intended to say something about it, but this time it feels different. It feels right in a way she can't quite explain. "If you can wield a lightsaber, you can make an omelet," she assures him, reluctantly letting her hands fall away from him in order to turn back to the ingredients laid out before them.

Explaining the steps is easy enough. Ingredients are chopped, eggs are whisked, and she coaches him on how to cook the eggs in the pan, at one point even reaching out to set her hands on his and physically show him a step. It's nice, working with him like this. Being close.

Obi-Wan is no stranger to taking instruction and learning things quickly. He's fairly confident by the end that he could make an omelet unsupervised; it may not be the prettiest of fare, but it would be edible. He allows Padmé to maneuver him through a certain step, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprised amusement.

The whole thing is easy, comfortable, and he could very quickly get used to these moments. He hopes even when their lives return to the typical daily frustrations and rushing to get things accomplished, they will have time to do small things like this together.

When it's done, he plates it and hands her the finished product. "Does this meet with your approval, m'lady?" he teases.

It will be a very sad thing indeed if they no longer have interactions like this when they return to normal life. She would miss it dearly, and their lives would be much poorer without these moments.

Taking the plate, she examines the meal with scrutiny before pronouncing with a bit of mischief in her gaze, "You are an excellent student, my dear Jedi. It looks delicious."

"Wonderful," he replies with a quirk of his brow, before nodding to the table they used last evening to eat. "You take this one, and we shall see if I can recreate it for myself, without your expert tutelage to guide me."

He can't resist a playful wink in her direction. "I do enjoy a challenge."

"Just don't burn down the kitchen, please," she teasingly requests before turning to take her seat at the table, wasting no time in spearing a bite with her fork. It tastes exactly as it should, the texture near to perfect, and she beams proudly over at Obi-Wan.

She hopes they can have more moments like these in their life ahead, just spending time together and managing everyday tasks. Wild adventures saving planets were all well and good, but she rather enjoyed the simple things as well.

Turning back to the counter and preparing the next omelet-in-the-making, Obi-Wan gives a self-deprecating smile; she'll be able to hear it, even if she doesn't see it. "That happened one time, and I was still a young Padawan. I assure you, if nothing else, my skill at fire-suppression has become much better."

"Oh, well, that's very good to know," she manages before letting out a vibrant laugh. This is exactly what she'd needed after the rocky start to the morning, and somehow she she has the feeling he'd known that. Whether it was the Force or his own perceptive ways, he's been quite good thus far at picking up on the little things and knowing how to move forward with this. She's grateful for that.

"It's a very useful skill," he assures her with faux-seriousness, moving to the skillet. "Should a fire ever break out - well, I can't stop it entirely, but I can contain it." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Mostly, at any rate. There may be a few scorch marks when everything is said and done, but no lasting damage."

Padmé gives him too much credit; Obi-Wan is only thinking how much he enjoys making her laugh, seeing her happy and cheerful. If that means helping to take her mind off more serious things, he's more than willing to do so, even if it comes at the expense of some of his dignity.


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

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