The sky cracked open, rumbling angrily in protest as it poured rain over the eerily quiet village. A lone warrior stood defiant on the slick cobblestones below, readying himself for battle. With practiced efficiency, the Jedi cut a deadly swath through the storm – through the squad of droids waiting to ambush him. Bright blue, flashing like lightning, seared through metal, as the saber struck them down with ease. The Force, his constant guide, helping to influence his attacks even through the punishing wind and pelting rain. He used its whispers to mark his foes, his vision all but obscured by the hair now plastered – wet and dripping – to his forehead. He felt the subtle whisperings, coaxing him to duck, telling him to strike left or dip right, to deflect the blaster bolt aimed at his head. ‘Just like training with remotes,’ he thought with the quickest, most imperceptible hint of a smile.

Molten-edged metallic remnants clanged upon the stones as they dropped – a frantic verbiage of “Uh-oh’s” and “Rodger-rodger’s” left in their wake. Obi-Wan Kenobi stood alone amidst the pieces, droplets of crisp rain sizzling as they landed upon his saber’s outstretched blade. The deserted alleyway in which he stood at last fell silent, all sound now trapped by the increasing downpour. Thankfully there seemed to be no other enemies in range. He just hoped that his quickly conceived distraction had been enough to secure her escape.

And yet . . .

Closing his eyes, his lungs breathed deep the smell of the storm. Calming his thoughts, he could feel the Force nudging him again, insistently pushing him onward. There was something wrong.

Moving like a shadow, quiet and quick, Obi-Wan traversed the narrow streets beyond; his sixth sense guiding him round unknown corners and down nameless lanes. It warned him of unseen obstacles, obscured to the untrained eye by the unrelenting rain. With each step the light grew closer, a small speck of warmth surrounded by the cooling temperature of approaching twilight. The nearer he came to reaching it, his pace began to quicken. The light shouldn’t be here. He’d ordered it gone, ordered it out of the village and safely away from the pending danger.

‘Then what in the blazes is she still doing here?’ he thought, the concern growing.

The Jedi took a tight right turn around a small corner bakery. The quaint establishment looked like it had stood in that very spot for several generations – its worn paint peeling back from the wood of its framed windows and door. He liked the simple, rustic feel of the old town here. Were he not in danger of being caught, tortured and then ransomed by the Separatists, Obi-Wan thought it would be a very nice spot for a holiday. Not that the members of his order were afforded holidays anymore. Their presence within the ranks of the Republic’s army was far too vital now.

So preoccupied was he by his thoughts – and the Force-driven, instinctual traversal of the antiquated labyrinth around him – that he almost didn’t see the small arm that shot out at him from a dark alcove to his right.

Almost.

He spun the would-be attacker, handily disarming them of the blaster pistol they carried and slamming the smaller, lighter being hard into the brick wall. Shaking the water quickly from his face and focusing his eyes, he registered a figure that he recognized well.

She struggled against his strong grip, not yet realizing who he was. The outer robe he always wore was still hiding his face from her, and was so soaked through that it looked almost black. “Senator,” he greeted, quickly (and gratefully) sidestepping what would have been a resounding knee to the groin. “Senator,” he persisted, “it’s only—”

Pity he couldn’t manage to sidestep the fist to his ribs.

He groaned in pain but held firm, reaching up to at last pull back the hood of his heavy cloak. Her large brown eyes hit first upon the beard, then the hair – stringy and dripping with rain water. Finally she saw his eyes, flashing blue-green in the dimming light. They were eyes she knew well, all pieces creating a complete form she was well acquainted with.

“Obi-Wan!” she gasped, hugging the surprised Jedi around the middle. “I’m so sorry. I thought someone was following me.”

“Someone was,” he croaked, patting her gently on the back and politely pulling from her embrace.

He coughed lightly, clearing his throat and instantly silencing the apology she was about to make. “Senator,” he said, his voice dropping into a deadly serious register, “What are you still doing here? My telling you to leave was not a suggestion.”

She bit her lip nervously, surprised to be so chided by him – and surprised at how very small it made her feel. “I’m sorry,” she offered meekly, hoping he couldn’t see the embarrassed flush caused by his reproachful gaze. She suddenly understood what it must have been like for her husband, apprentice to Obi-Wan for those many years. In one look from the Jedi Master, Padmé Amidala had gone from senior senator of the Galactic Republic to teenage padawan – without even the Force to console her. It was no wonder that Anakin often complained about his Master’s seemingly unrealistic expectations, or that he was so hard on himself about his perceived shortcomings. He simply didn’t wish to disappoint the man he so admired.

And neither did she.

Padmé bent down to retrieve her blaster, not wanting to see the look of stern disappointment in his normally warm eyes any longer. “I made it as far as the outskirts and turned back.”

He sighed, the warm breath hitting her chilled cheek in a small gust. “It is I who should be sorry, Senator. It’s not my place to scold you. I’m sure you did what you felt was right.”

She stood back up. “They were already setting up a checkpoint on the road leading out of the village to the capital,” Padmé stated, in what she knew was only a partial explanation.

There was an excruciating pause. “I see,” the Jedi replied, his tone clearly already suspicious that there was more to the story – though he seemed content to wait for her to continue if she wished.

‘Damned Jedi! Always sensing everything. How annoying!’ Could her thoughts ever be her own? She sighed in frustration and leveled her gaze back in his direction. “You win, Master Kenobi. I . . . couldn’t leave you behind, alright? I got as far as the outskirts and saw what looked like an entire platoon of droids at the checkpoint. They were being divided into search squads and . . .”

Padmé’s words faltered. She looked at Obi-Wan, her friend, and the truth was, “I couldn’t leave you to deal with that alone. Better to face it together.”

His face betrayed nothing, of course, not even a hint that he’d comprehended her words at all. But were the light not so scarce now, she could have sworn that she caught the smallest hint of a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. Hard to be sure with his beard though. “Have you so little faith in my abilities, Padmé,” he said at last, his smooth, clear voice barely audible above the storm.

But there was no mistaking the tone. “Better safe than sorry, right? Even for a Jedi so skilled as yourself,” she answered, the invisible smile hopefully evident in her voice as well.

He chuckled lightly, “Just so, my friend . . . though I hope that your kindness hasn’t gotten you captured. I know you meant well.”

“Why? Have you so little faith in my abilities, Jedi?”

“Hardly, My Lady. But I believe there’s a patrol headed this way.”

Padmé closed her eyes, straining to hear above the millions of raindrops tapping their unremitting rhythm upon the street beyond. And, of course, the Jedi was most likely right. There, beneath the steady percussion, was another sound, so similar as to be almost indistinguishable. But now that she knew what to listen for, she could hear it – metal feet on the march. It was almost perfect unison – the only thing separating them from the falling rain.

“Quickly,” Obi-Wan said, taking her hand in a strong, sure grip. He moved to the mouth of the alcove, intent on escape. But she stood rooted to the spot. “No. Wait. We can’t,” she said.

Her Jedi protector raised both eyebrows, surprised at what he must have thought to be classic stubbornness on her part. “Senator we must go. They will surely catch us if we do nothing.”

The thoughts were tumbling over inside her head quickly – almost too fast to process. And certainly too fast to vocalize to her companion, who must now think her completely crazy for wanting to just give up. Can’t run. Too many for us both to evade. We’re not splitting up again! He’s not going to get captured because of me again! Concealment. Camouflage. Hiding in plain sight. Unexpected. CIS droids aren’t good with unexpected.

The grip on her hand tightened, “Padmé. Please.”

But there was something he saw in her eyes that told him neither of them were going anywhere. There was a determination flickering to life in her that he recognized all too well – and knew he was powerless to stop. “No,” she replied flatly, “No . . . Uh. Give me your robe.”

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked. But she wasn’t listening, already going to work removing the wine-colored tactical vest she often wore over her traveling clothes.

The sharp “clang” of metal, hitting the street in measured, even strikes – a familiar military march – reached his ears. Their search party was drawing nearer. He could hear it now, could discern its intent as it stopped as a unit periodically to riffle through a rubbish bin or pound on a door to question the innocent occupants within. But always it began again, pressing toward them like an ominous wave.

And so he followed suit, sliding the heavy cloak from his arms. What was he doing, going along with this? They should have run while there was still time. And since she’d refused, he should have simply picked her up and carried her from the village. Though the kicking and screaming that would undoubtedly have followed would surely have alerted all the battledroids within a five mile radius to their location anyway.

Obi-Wan handed the garment to Padmé who, in turn, handed him her vest. “Put this on,” she said.

Having little choice under the circumstances, he squeezed the vest on across his shoulders and over his tan inner robes. It was a tight fit with the other clothes underneath. “Well, Obi-Wan,” she said, drawing his attention, “what do you think?” She held out her arms, showing off her new garment.

The Jedi raised an eyebrow, still unsure of just where the Senator was headed in her thought process. “You look like a prominent galactic senator drowning in a pool of murky water.”

She lowered her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “Well you look like hapless Jedi being stuffed into a burgundy sausage casing.”

“Charming,” he said. “Time grows short, My Lady. What now?”

“Now? Well, uh, now youkissme.”

. . . “I beg your pardon?”

Padmé pulled his hand, bringing him closer, back beneath the awning. “We’d split up,” the Senator said, an explanation as much to herself as to him, “We’d split up and they saw it. The droids. They’re looking for you. And they’re looking for me. They’re not looking for us. And certainly not together. Not like that.”

He nodded slowly, thinking quickly, his mind finally falling in step with hers. Her reasoning was sound, if unconventional. Different attire. Uncharacteristic behavior. Perhaps enough to fool the droids. And yet . . . “Padmé. I don’t . . . I mean it wouldn’t be . . .”

The petite woman rolled her eyes, huffing in exasperation. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Obi-Wan Kenobi! Propriety and decorum now? You said yourself there’s no time. Just do it!”

He made no move, his knitted brow and worried eyes telling her that he was still unsure. “Please,” she said, tightening the grip on his hand, “Trust me.”

The Jedi closed the small gap that yet existed between them, gently lowering his head to hers. She couldn’t call it a “kiss” really. He simply pressed on her mouth with a constant and unmoving pressure. In truth, it felt more like he’d accidentally run into her face . . . face first. Padmé opened her eyes, surprised to find Obi-Wan awkwardly staring back at her. She could hear the patrol clearly now, just up the street. Not even droids would be convinced by such a strained, stiff display of forced affection.

She pushed him from her with a forceful shove. “Dammit, Obi-Wan! Kiss me!”

“I did,” he protested.

“No you didn’t. Kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me like I’m the only thing you’ve ever wanted in the entire galaxy.”

The words had hardly passed her lips before he descended again – in a flash – quicker than lightning. He kissed her fiercely, passionately, but with a brand of control that was not only impressive under the circumstances, but was also so very him. His lips worked on her intently, his soft beard tickling the skin around her mouth. She knew she should respond, play her part as Obi-Wan was so skillfully playing his. But surprise was her first reaction. Simple, debilitating shock at the sudden and insistent fervor he demonstrated – having witnessed the other pole of the spectrum only moments ago. The realization that her limbs now suddenly felt like gelatin and somehow seemed unwilling to respond to simple commands, being the second.

Perhaps a cerebral fuse had blown somewhere in all the excitement.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him – from Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi – when she’d demanded that he kiss her. He was a man whose self-control and measured character were legendary. She certainly didn’t expect to feel his warm hands confidently sliding around her waist, now resting securely on her lower back. Never did she think to feel his tongue slipping past the lips she’d parted under his in surprise.

But, more than those things, she never really expected to like it as much as she was. She was a married woman after all. And Obi-Wan? Well he was her dear friend. When her husband kissed her it was timid and gentle, like she was a thin, delicate piece of glass that might shatter under too much pressure. A sweet thought, if a bit juvenile – though she’d never really considered it such before. Then again, it had been a long time since she’d had another’s kisses to compare Ani’s to.

But now? Now she was coming to rediscover the difference. Man versus boy. Girl versus woman. Which was Anakin? And which was she? The man kissing her now knew she was strong enough to endure some pressure. And seemed to actually relish pushing her just to the edge of shattering. While the woman being kissed felt pretty excited by the challenge he posed.

“Hey you,” a high pitched metallic voice shouted from the storm.

A lazy eye opened, looking slyly over the Jedi’s shoulder. The squad of droids they’d been dreading was stopped on the street, outside of their shaded sanctuary. The droid commander, with its head and chest painted yellow, stood expectantly, staring in their direction. He must have been the one who spoke.

‘Uh-oh. Time to reboot those systems, Padmé,’ she thought to herself, tilting her head to the side and leaning into Obi-Wan’s kiss.

By some miracle she was able to raise her arms, wrapping them around his neck, threading her fingers through the short, wet strands they found at the nape. She dismissively waved the droids away, pretending to barely notice them at all, or care. Which wasn’t all that difficult at present, actually. Meanwhile, her lips worked of their own accord: pressing on his, pulling, her tongue gleefully teasing his somewhere in the middle. Thus began her third (and most appropriate) reaction, which, after her previous moment of curious inaction, seemed to have completely shocked poor Obi-Wan. She felt his arms stiffen awkwardly around her. ‘A taste of your own medicine, Master Kenobi,’ Padmé thought, smiling against his lips.

“Hold it right there, delinquents,” the voice said again, closer this time.

‘Was there someone speaking,’ Obi-Wan wondered absently. He couldn’t be sure really, which was odd. Normally, he was sure about pretty much everything. One moment he was kissing Padmé – all according to plan. But then she was kissing him back and, well . . . he couldn’t quite recall what happened after that. Except how deliciously wonderful she felt, of course. That remained foremost in his thoughts.

Maybe it was her lips that he found so intensely distracting. They were so full, so soft and tender, glossed with some kind of balm that tasted like Aurilian fruit – and seemed to have the same vitalizing effect. Or maybe it was the delicate touch of her slender fingers tickling the back of his neck, sending an unexpected jolt of hot electricity down his spine.

The way she kissed him, challenging him for ground – for control – it was . . . rather exciting, really. And all too enticing. If nothing else, at least he was feeling more confident about the plan now. There was little doubt this display would fool the droids. Even he was almost convinced . . . and he was in on it. This was assuming, of course, that the programmers in the Geonosian droid foundries coded the troops to even recognize or understand what their sensors would be registering here.

“Hands up!” a robotic voice ordered, from entirely too close to his right side.

Obi-Wan froze, his kiss halted abruptly. ‘Blast!’ he thought, irritated with himself for his irresponsibility. No matter now. He needed to think quickly.

He felt Padmé’s lips leave his. But what she did next did little to foster the kind of tactical planning he required at present. Her light, trembling breath skated along the skin of his left cheek, settling over his ear. The following inhale forced him to suppress an involuntary shiver. “That’s the commander,” she whispered, “And we’d better answer him this time or we could be in trouble.”

He glanced to his side, eyes looking down the barrel of a standard issue CIS battle rifle. He could see the muzzle of the droid who held it in his peripheral vision, the expression characteristically blank, its head painted yellow. Thank the Force for that gun. If he couldn’t see the droid full-on, it was a decent bet that the droid couldn’t see him either – at least not well enough to recognize him. ‘Easy enough to deal with then,’ he thought.

“I said, ‘hands up’!” the droid ordered again, thrusting the gun at Obi-Wan’s face.

The Jedi slid his hand from Padmé’s back, lifting it slightly (hopefully inconspicuously) at waist height. “We’ve done nothing wrong,” he said to the droid, summoning the Force and directing it with a smooth wave of his hand.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” it repeated obediently, lowering its blaster.

“We’ve been distracted with one another. And there’s no possible way we could have seen the fugitives you’re looking for.”

The commander seemed to ponder that notion, its metal cranium swiveling up and down, back and forth, taking in all that its sensors could read. Perhaps looking for evidence to corroborate what the Force was strongly persuading it to believe – their proximity, body temperature, probably even pulse rates. The hesitation took a bit too long for Obi-Wan’s liking, however. And Padmé’s too apparently. He felt her hand slip down out of view, to her waist, resting on the blaster pistol he knew to be holstered there.

“You’ve . . . been distracted,” the commander duplicated, ending an excruciating moment that seemed to last a lifetime. Each other word imparted upon it by the Jedi came back in turn as well. At last apparently satisfied, the droid turned on its heel and walked back to his patrol. Lucky thing really. Obi-Wan could have used a mind trick on any single droid. But only a commander would have the authority to circumvent the droid control ship and move the squad forward, away from them.

Obi-Wan lowered his head to Padmé’s neck, painting a trail of soft kisses to her ear. “What are they doing,” he asked quietly.

The lady sighed, a wonderful warmth rolling through her chest and out over her limbs. There was that wobbly feeling again. “Hmm?”

He chuckled lightly against her skin, his nose gently nuzzling her jaw. “The droids. Are they moving out?”

Senator Amidala opened her eyes, focusing only with great difficulty. The yellow-topped commander was speaking to the others, gesturing down the street. “Some of them are . . . looking this way.”

Her Jedi protector pulled away to look at her. His cheeks were flushed, a strange, coiled tension in his arms as he held her. And his eyes – dark, unreadable in the looming shadows. Oh how she wished she could know his thoughts! “Then we’ve one final chance then,” he said quietly, “to sell this lie.”

This entire thing had been her idea, her plan. But it strangely felt far riskier now than it had a few moments ago – even as its success seemed all but assured. And when he kissed her again, it was deeper, even more intense somehow than before. He was pulling her to him, pulling her in and pulling something out of her that she never imagined to find. And therein lay the risk – exposing an as yet unknown part of herself. Bringing to life a desire that was not only implausible but completely impossible.

She dare not honor it with a name, lest she be forced to also ascribe it a meaning she was not ready to acknowledge.

A nagging sound reached her ears, easy to overlook while experiencing so much . . . added stimulation. Padmé tried to focus on it, tried to block out the tiny jolts of excitement she felt shooting through her. It sounded like . . . metal? Tapping?? Footsteps. The patrol was leaving, their synchronized march growing fainter by the moment. They’d made it. The plan worked. And that meant she had to stop, right? She would have pouted had her mouth not already been so indisposed. Part of her hated for this to end.

‘Not just yet, I think.’

The Senator pulled on the Jedi’s neck, raising herself to her toes. She kissed him back in all the ways she never knew she wanted to. She sucked at him with her tingling lips. She tasted him with her tongue. She used her teeth to tease his lips with the slightest threat of pain. All this she did without thought to consequence or permanence. And then . . . she stopped. With no small amount of selfish regret, Padmé fell to her heels, effectively breaking from him and severing the connection that had begun to form between them. At least the physical one.

Opening her eyes, she was surprised to find Obi-Wan’s still closed. He was panting lightly, wobbling slightly on his normally steady feet. And his mouth was hanging open, lips stained pink, shiny from her lip gloss. A proud smile spread across her mouth. ‘Liked that, did you,’ she thought, ‘I did too.’ Though she kind of wished she hadn’t.

She coughed lightly to get his attention. “Master Kenobi?”

At last his eyelids fluttered open, as if waking from a dream. “Senator?”

“They’re gone.”

Something seemed to click behind the Jedi’s eyes. He released his hold on her and turned to investigate the street. Even wearing his long outer-robe, she instantly felt cold, chilled to the bone, without him close. “Um, Obi-Wan,” she asked, looking at his back . . . and the tight maroon vest still awkwardly stretched across it.

“We should go, Senator,” he answered, “There seems to have been a small break in the storm.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to swap clothes back first?”

He glanced down at his chest. “Indeed I would.”

Obi-Wan was glad to be back in the rain, away from that tiny alcove, filling his lungs with the clean night air. Though successful, the entire ordeal had left him greatly unsettled. It wasn’t simply kissing someone, he’d done that before – though not for a long while by his recollection. It was her. There was something about kissing her, about being so soundly kissed back by her. Apart from simply feeling wonderful, their mutual enthusiasm for the charade was also quite unexpected.

Perhaps it was unfair to call it a “charade,” then.

Either way, it was probably best that the battle droids had moved on when they did. ‘Not a moment too soon,’ he thought to himself, wondering for a brief moment how far the two of them would have been willing to take their little ruse had the droids decided to question the villagers across the street.

The pair traveled through the empty streets of the village quietly, having not spoken a word to one another in some time. The lady followed in his footsteps closely, keeping to the shadows as requested. If their luck held, they should be able to reach the next town – and hopefully an available transport – by dawn. Obi-Wan glanced back, her small frame barely visible in the darkness. But even in the growing moonlight he could see that she was shivering in the bracing night wind. ‘She’d rather suffer in silence?’

He slowed, waiting for her to reach him. Then he tossed the edge of his cloak around her trembling shoulders, drawing her close to his side. “Thank you,” she stuttered, as quietly as she could manage with her teeth chattering, “I’m sorry. My clothes are still wet.”

They continued forward, the storm finally breaking apart above their heads, stars at last beginning to twinkle with promise through the thinning cloud-cover. “Think nothing of it,” he answered sincerely, gently squeezing her shoulder, “Let’s get you somewhere warm. And then . . . home.”