Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

***1***

Padmé Amidala stood at the window in her Coruscant apartment, her gaze fixed on the Jedi Temple’s distant spires, sunlight glinting off their polished stone. She absently traced her fingers along the windowsill.The Jedi Council had informed her that two Jedi would be assigned to protect her and investigate the attempt on her life.

She had survived.

Cordé hadn’t.

Padme swallowed hard, the memory sharp and painful.

Padmé was no stranger to death—or the bitter stillness that followed it. The cold reality of violence had long since lost its shock value. Being targeted for opposing the Military Creation Act was unsurprising. It was a cost she’d expected. 

Ten years ago, she had watched Naboo suffer under the Trade Federation’s six-month occupation. The nightmares never truly ended. What twisted her stomach now was how that suffering was used—twisted by opportunists to justify militarization.

“Talk first, fight later.” That had always been her belief. The Confederacy of Independent Systems didn’t need a war. They needed dialogue. These Outer Rim systems had been overlooked and left behind. They deserved a fair shot, not more blasters.

She trusted Count Dooku, the leader of CIS. 

His image surfaced in her mind. Dignified. Calm. Convincing. After the Occupation, he had come to Naboo to express condolences. He had knelt beside her and said with quiet resolve, "This will not happen again under my watch." He was once a Jedi Master, a man of ideals.

She believed him. Still did.

Neither the Republic nor the CIS wanted war. A standing army would only accelerate disaster. Cordé’s death would be meaningless if that act passed.

Her fists curled tight at her sides, knuckles white against her skin. A tremor ran through her body, rage flickering beneath her usually controlled exterior.

She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders, grounding herself. She had work to do.

Messages flooded her office—concerned constituents, calls for justice. She turned to answer them when the hiss of the door pulled her attention.

Captain Gregar Typho stepped in, followed by two figures.

Two Jedi.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, composed as ever, and a younger woman with striking red hair—his former Padawan, Palis "Red" Athia. The Padawan braid was gone now. She was a Knight now.

"Senator Amidala, it's good to see you safe." Both the Jedi bowed repectfully.

Padmé offered a tired smile as they bowed. “It’s been too long, Master Kenobi. Master Athia—it’s good to see you again.”

"I’m just a Knight. But still Red," Palis said with a quick grin, gesturing at her hair. "Thank the Force. We’re here to keep you in one piece... seems to be our specialty."

Padmé led them to the conference room with a sweep of her hand.

"Sloppy work," Obi-Wan murmured, fingers stroking his beard. "They didn’t know about the decoy. Didn’t even bother with proper intel."

"Explosives in heavy traffic?" Red’s fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the table. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. "That wasn’t just an assassination attempt. That was a statement. Who do you think sent it?"

"The warmongers," Padmé snapped. Her voice cracked like a whip. "Ever since I spoke against the Military Creation Act, bounties have been placed on me. But I won’t be silenced. I’ll rally more Senators to oppose this madness."

"Peace is our goal too," Obi-Wan said gently, "but your safety is why we’re here."

Before anyone could reply, the door flew open with a bang. A young man in a dark blue uniform stormed in.

"Padmé!" His voice trembled with urgency. He reached her in three strides and gripped her shoulders. "I was so worried."

"Anakin," she said, surprised and touched. "Aren’t you supposed to be at the Judiciary building?" She gently pushed him back, her fingers lingering on his sleeves before falling away.

His hands lingered a beat too long on her arms. "Your safety comes first. The rest can wait."

"Well, well," Red drawled, arching an eyebrow. "Trying to compete for my client? Sit down."

Anakin smirked and dragged a chair beside Padmé. He flashed Palis a cheeky grin, then suddenly turned toward the window.

Everything slowed.

The Jedi stood in unison—blades igniting with a hum just as the glass shattered. An explosion rocked the apartment.

Anakin grabbed Padmé and threw her down, his body covering hers as the blast swallowed the room in smoke and fire. Her head hit the floor, and everything went black.

When she awoke, the shrieking alarm grated against her skull. Anakin was still atop her, cloaked in dust and debris. He stirred first, peeling off his ruined jacket. His face was smudged but intact. Relief rushed through her like cool water.

The Jedi were already standing guard—swords of blue and violet slicing through the haze.

"Small missile," Red reported, pointing to the damage. "We Force-pushed it to the wall. You'll need to call maintenance. We got lucky. No casualties."

"Anakin, your reflexes were impressive," Obi-Wan said, helping him up.

"Live through enough explosions, and it becomes second nature," Anakin muttered. He turned and helped Padmé to her feet. She accepted his hand, still dizzy, still shaken.

Security poured in, boots thundering through the apartment as they swept the rooms.

"Temple medical bay. Now," Obi-Wan ordered. "No arguments. We’re going to the Hall of Healing. Both of you need full scans—for internal injuries, if nothing else."

***2***

The visit to the Hall of Healing was short. At first, Anakin crossed his arms stubbornly and argued that he didn’t need a medical scan, saying that if Obi-Wan and Palis didn’t need it, then neither did he.

"We have the Force. You don't," Red said flatly, cutting him off with finality.

Obi-Wan appreciated Red’s no-nonsense efficiency—a trait he’d come to value over the years. Reasoning with headstrong youth was never easy. He had heard that the youngsters of high society shared this common trait. Anakin was the son of Chancellor Palpatine—adopted, to be more accurate—but just as indulged as the rest.

They had met a handful of times since the end of the Occupation of Naboo. None of those encounters had lasted more than a few hours. Obi-Wan didn’t remember the boy being quite this combative before.

He and Palis headed off to brief the Council on the new development, leaving Padmé and Anakin in the library area.

"Those two are definitely involved," Red whispered with a knowing smile as she glanced back at them.

"Since when did you become such a gossip?" Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

"Oh, about ten years ago?" she replied with a grin. "Anakin and I have been friends since he came to Coruscant. He told me he liked Padmé, right in front of the Jedi Temple." She waved at the Temple entrance. "It’s been ten years. The boy’s nothing if not persistent."

"I didn’t know you two were friends," he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Plenty you don’t know about me, Master Jedi," Red teased, her grin mischievous.

Later, the Council ordered Palis to escort the Senator to her homeworld Naboo, where she could find a secure place to hide. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, would track down the assassin. It would be a tough sell—Padmé wanted to stay on Coruscant to sway votes. Palis suggested she speak with Senator Bail Organa to help persuade her to prioritize her safety. Obi-Wan didn’t envy that conversation. Studying bomb fragments would be easier.

"Hiding on Naboo?" Anakin scoffed when they told him and Padmé the Council’s plan. "Why do they think that’s safe? One Jedi and an unarmed civilian halfway across the galaxy? That’s asking for trouble. The moment you leave, you’ll be tracked. High-profile hits always involve coordinated tracking."

"Got a better idea?" Obi-Wan asked. He had to admit, the boy made sense. He vaguely remembered Anakin had attended an elite military school.

"Keep her right here on Coruscant. Put her in the most heavily guarded place in the galaxy." He paused, then added, "The Jedi Temple. What assassin would try anything with that many Force-users around?"

“Not to mention a building full of lightsabers,” Red said, clapping once with mock cheer. "I agree—if the Council does."

"Has anyone asked what I think?" Padmé cut in, drawing all eyes. "I don’t like hiding. I have to speak to my colleagues. Every minute counts."

"What about using your handmaidens as stand-ins?" Obi-Wan suggested.

Padme pressed her lips together, considering. After a few seconds, she relented.

"Time to get back to your real job, Judicial Skywalker?" Obi-Wan gestured toward the Temple entrance.

"I’m staying with Padmé," Anakin said firmly. "I’ll spend some time in the Temple library. It’s open to scholars, researchers, and—"

“But not to love-sick puppies,” Red drawled, tossing him a grin.

Obi-Wan gave her a look.

"We’re not dating," Padmé said quickly, looking away.

"Not yet," Anakin added with a hopeful smile.

Padmé cleared her throat. "Anakin, you need to get back to work. We’ll have lunch. Then you’re going back."

"We’ll present Anakin’s idea to the Council," Red said with a wink. "Have fun on your lunch date. May the Force be with you."

***3***

The Jedi dining hall was a few levels below the library. Padmé asked a youngling for directions. Anakin suggested they walk instead of taking the lift.

Both strolled leisurely, taking in the grandeur of the massive hallways, towering pillars, and solemn statues.

"It's absolutely breathtaking," Padmé murmured, her head tilted back to take in the soaring ceiling.

"Indeed," Anakin said, his voice quiet with appreciation. "I've always found it strange how a reclusive religious Order became the heart of galactic politics. They've been here for four thousand years and somehow became the Republic’s symbol. Makes you think, doesn't it?"

“Since when do you care about history?” she asked, half-amused, half-intrigued.

"Jedi history. The Judicial Forces report to the Order. I’m just a lowly new recruit in the Judiciary Department," he said, adding mock despair to his tone. "I need to understand my overlords better. Last thing I need is another Jedi lecture. I’ve had my fill."

His eyes met Padmé’s. Something passed between them—warm, familiar, private.

“You’re teasing me!” she laughed, blinking as if caught off guard. Then they both laughed, their voices echoing softly off the stone walls.

They arrived at the dining hall—almost as large as the Senate’s but much quieter. The menu was sparse. Anakin got a bantha steak, Padmé chose a vegetarian burger. When they asked about payment, the attendant informed them the Order didn’t use Republic credits. Meals were free to visitors.

Padmé had changed into a simple grey handmaiden-style dress after the explosion—it suited the Jedi ambiance perfectly. Anakin had left his ruined uniform behind and wore only a plain shirt. The Temple’s cool air made him shiver slightly—not from cold, but from how out of place he felt.

Carrying both trays, he found them a quiet table near a window where sunlight spilled across the floor, away from others.

He wanted a moment—just one—where she wasn’t a senator and he wasn’t pretending to be someone else.

Over the years, they had met at formal events. He’d greet her, she’d comment on how tall he’d grown. He would smile awkwardly, shuffling his feet. Then some dignitary would sweep her away. Always the same.

He could only watch her from afar - interacting with dignitaries, first as Queen and later as Senator. He’d memorized every word of her coronation speech, every trembling syllable in her broadcast during the Occupation.

It had stung to see her date others. It had burned to know he couldn’t compete. To her, he was just a boy. Being away from Coruscant had been torture.

Now, he was back.

A friend of Palpatine’s had thrown him a quiet graduation party after Carida Academy. Padmé had come—but not stayed long. They’d chatted, had a drink. She’d asked his opinion on galactic security. He’d surprised her—with insights on the rising crime syndicates, pirate raids, and the separatist tide. He had seen the respect in her eyes—for the first time.

They’d started messaging regularly. What began professionally had turned personal. She shared stories of planets she’d visited, foods she liked, cultures she found fascinating.

There was so much he wanted to say, so many feelings to share, but these words and memories had to be buried. The galaxy was on the brink. The decay of centuries was ending. Something greater would rise. His Master had seen it, and Anakin believed.

To the world, he was Palpatine’s adopted son. In truth, they were master and apprentice. Anakin had pledged himself to Sidious and learned powers others called unnatural.

The lawless Outer Rim worlds were his training ground. He had battled warlords, assassinated slavers, burned out dens of corruption where the Jedi looked away. He had fought brutal adversaries, sustained grave injuries, and prevailed. 

When Palpatine called him back to Coruscant, he had come running. It surprised many that he had landed himself a job in the Judicial Force, a law enforcement team doing the work under the command of the mighty Jedi Order. Now he worked under the Jedi’s nose—ironically, doing the kind of justice they had forsaken.

And here he was, in the heart of the Jedi Temple—with her. The danger of it made it feel almost... sacred.

"So, your graduation is in a month," Padmé said as she cut her burger. "Tell me more about your time at the Academy. Did you make many friends?"

"Just a few," he shrugged. "I'm not exactly the social type."

Carida Academy had reintroduced him to Core World society. Though once prestigious, dating back to the Republic's formation, the Academy had lost stature after the Republic disbanded its military and the Jedi Order ascended to power.

Most classmates were privileged, chasing career ladders. He kept quiet, unnoticed. No one guessed he was Palpatine’s son. ‘Skywalker’ was a common Outer Rim name, and his Tatooine accent lingered despite his tutors’ efforts. Just another welfare case from some backwater planet. Officials knew, of course—but said nothing.

He passed time sketching fighters, designing weapons. Drawing schematics helped him connect to the Force.

Near the end, as the Military Creation Act gained steam. Some of his classmates openly lobbied for it, hoping the Academy could regain the prestige it once held. The nostalgia was something he felt familar. He considered joining. But Palpatine warned him: stay low.

After they ate, he showed Padmé a starfighter design. She likely didn’t care for ship specs, but she humored him. Her interest—real or not—made his heart stutter.

“How do you like your new job?” she asked.

“Want the honest answer?” he smiled.

“Always.”

“Mind-numbingly boring desk job,” he sighed dramatically. “But I get to spend time with you—so there’s that.”

The Force shifted—sharp and sudden.

“Senator Amidala, the High Council has approved the plan for you to remain in the Jedi Temple during the investigation,” said a firm voice.

Mace Windu stood in the entrance—calm, towering, and unreadable. He was one of the most powerful Jedi on the High Council, the Swordmaster.

Anakin felt chills. 

“A private quarter is being prepared. Your assigned assistant will meet you shortly.” Windu turned to Anakin. “Judicial Skywalker, return to your duty.”

Arguing would be foolish. “Yes, sir.” Anakin rose slowly, clearly reluctant.

He offered Padmé a sad smile, surprised when she stood and wrapped her arms around him.

Anakin walked out of the hall with Windu striding purposefully beside him.

“You seem ill at ease,” Windu said, his voice like stone.

“Well, Master Windu,” Anakin muttered before he could stop himself, “you’re not exactly relaxing company.”

The last time he had dealt closely with the Jedi was a decade ago—before everything had changed.

Now, he walked among them—a stranger with secrets.

***4***

After a long walk through the lower levels of Coruscant, Rackeli Loo finally arrived home. The air conditioning in her room had stopped working, and she didn’t have the credits to fix it. She wiped the sticky sweat from her forehead, grateful the hot, humid season would soon be over.

Rackeli was a Twi'lek from a small world called Tethla, perched on the boundary between the Mid and Outer Rim. Her world had joined the Republic twenty years ago—the same year she was born. She liked to think of it as fate.

Today, she had an important task: find a way into the Jedi Temple.

A week ago, she’d made a promise to her old neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Sha. They had surrendered their Force-sensitive youngling to the Jedi. After hearing rumors that the Jedi “emotionally abused” their trainees, they were in a panic. They wanted to check in with their daughter, make sure she was safe.

Rackeli had a reputation for being helpful. As one of the handful of Tethlans living on Coruscant, the Shas had turned to her without hesitation. They agreed a Holonet call with their child would be enough to set their minds at ease.

She remembered Ludi well—a sweet little girl. When the Jedi came to take her, the entire town had thrown a celebration. Rackeli still had pictures from that day, posing with Ludi, smiling.

“‘There is no emotion,’” Mr. Sha had quoted nervously. “That’s what the Jedi say! How is that not abusive?”

Rackeli hadn’t found it alarming. The idea of the Jedi being abusive seemed absurd. Still, she understood why they were concerned. Parents wanted to protect their kids. Even a whisper of danger was enough to send them spiraling.

She’d toured the Temple district before, but never entered the Jedi Temple. Visitors weren’t allowed in without an appointment. Still, checking in on a youngling seemed like a reasonable reason to visit.

With confidence, she approached the gates.

The Temple guard had been polite but firm. “There is no emotion” was a core Jedi philosophy, he explained. The Order had raised younglings this way for millennia. No, they weren’t open to visitors.

Rackeli didn’t give up easily. The next day, she went back, hoping to catch a different guard. Maybe she’d get lucky—maybe a Jedi who knew Ludi would happen to be there.

No such luck. Same response.

Back home, she opened the Sha family’s latest message. She typed a quick reply:

“I visited the Temple again today. No luck yet. I understand your worry—my parents are always anxious about me too. I’ll keep trying and let you know if anything changes.”

She finished her message with a smiley face emoji. Then she closed her messenger and returned to her research.

For an organization tasked with galactic peacekeeping, the Jedi left surprisingly few digital footprints. The Senate’s site had a brief mention about them answering to the Republic. The Judicial Department said they oversaw judicial business. Most other info was public chatter—fawning admiration from admirers. It was oddly comforting.

She glanced down and realized she still wore her business suit. It was tight, plain gray, perhaps overly formal for an entry-level lawyer, but she'd learned early on that appearances mattered at a prestigious law firm.

She had always dreamed of visiting Coruscant to see the amazing things she'd seen on the Holonet. Her working-class family hadn’t had the means to visit Coruscant, but they gave her a good education. She'd carved her own way to Coruscant.

Now she was the first Twi’lek employee in her firm’s hundred-year history. Her parents and little brother were proud. Sometimes, that was enough to keep her going.

She changed out of her suit and hung it carefully in her narrow closet, next to identical outfits.

When she first started, some coworkers mistook her for a janitor. Since then, she always wore full business formal and pinned her name badge front and center. Finding professional clothes that matched her green skin wasn’t easy—and they were expensive. But it worked. No more mistakes.

To save credits, she shared the apartment with two roommates so she could send money home. Someday, she'd move aboveground. She had a plan. She wanted to be a judge on the Republic High Court—people laughed, but she believed.

She closed her closet, sat back at her desk, and began idly browsing.

Then her screen pinged. A news alert flashed: Senator Amidala to reside in Jedi Temple following assassination attempt—deemed safest location on Coruscant.

Rackeli leaned back in her chair and exhaled. Safe, indeed. And now, she had to find a way in.