this addition has been edited as of january 11, 2020

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"HE SAID WHAT?" THE DELIGHT IN PADMÉ'S VOICE was unmistakable and for some reason grated Artie. She didn't want her conjuring up fatuous fantasies about . . . well, about what, exactly?

"I don't know what you're so excited for," Artie said as she crossed the floor of her sanctioned room and dropped her bag in the closet. "All Anakin said was that he'd recognize me in a disguise. But he's a Jedi, that's not—"

Padmé brushed her off. "It's not what he said, it's how he said it," she insisted from her seat on Artie's bed. She leaned forward on both hands, eyelids drooping, brows arching. "How did he sound? Was there longing? Yearning? Could you hear his heart thrumming with the rush of undeniable attraction—"

Artie clamped her hands over her ears, so embarrassed she could scream. "You're mad, do you hear me? This is what happens when you read too many romance datapads—"

"Or that means I'm an expert!" Padmé cried, seeming to grow more thrilled the redder Artie went. "Really, Artie, just indulge me for a second—my job can be so tedious."

"Then go use your expertise for yourself," Artie said, scowling. Padmé only laughed.

"Oh, yes, like I have the time for that. No, this is much more interesting. Now please, tell me how he looked. How were his eyes?"

"Normal," Artie huffed. "Normal eyes." Normal. Imploring. Piercing. She gave herself a shake.

Padmé groaned in frustration and collapsed on her back. "Don't you see? Don't you see what he was trying to say?"

Artie waved her arms wide. "No!"

Padmé groaned again. "Yes, he was saying he'd recognize you in a disguise, but not from being a Jedi! He'd recognize you because of all the time he spends looking at you. He was two steps away from outright calling you beautiful."

Artie hid her face in her arms. "Then why not say all of it outright?"

"Because he's a silly boy, Artie."

"He's a Jedi—"

"A boy," Padmé said clearly.

Artie let her arms fall. She stood in the middle of the room, ignoring Padmé's pointed looks, her chest hammering. But why? Wasn't Padmé out of line? Her claims preposterous? Anakin was a dedicated Jedi on the brink of knighthood and rigid Masters watching him from all sides. Why would he ever tempt fate by toying with some apprentice?

But Artie's pounding chest remembered his words on the freighter docks: I'll do all my devoting when we get back. Remembered how he had so proudly called her sweetheart, something Artie had quickly written off as a product of misplaced arrogance but now cautiously reconsidered to be an attempt at . . . flirting? And it had gone over her head? She tried to reason with herself. She was exhausted and caught up in a ridiculous, made-up scenario. There was a Code and despite any jokes, Anakin would never break it, and especially not for her. Artie was practically a stranger to him—diverting from the Order because of her would be a testimony to insanity, not affection.

And yet . . . she could not quiet herself fully. Not while she knew where his eyes had gone, ever so delicately watching her lips, a flitting movement too obvious to be a mistake. He'd wanted her to see.

And she had.

Padmé rose and passed by Artie, her pretty face smug. "Thinking hard?"

Artie swatted at her. "So what if you're right? You think a Jedi would abandon a thousand-year-old code of morals for someone they barely know?" Although, is he really abandoning it? Is he really so attached?

Padmé wagged her eyebrows. "You underestimate your charm, my darling, clueless friend."

"But I'm not trying to be charming."

"Oh, even better."

At this, Artie's curiosity flickered and reality reaffirmed itself. She couldn't afford to start thinking so foolishly. She wasn't charming. Lysander had even gone as far as to call her boyish—too crass, too rough, and not at all alluring. There was nothing so special about her that Anakin would see her as anything more than a new friend—she would just have to come out and say it. "I'm not worth it."

Padmé looked up. "What?"

"Whatever you're suggesting might be possible," she went on, a frustrated edge to her voice, "but not because of me. I'm just . . . I'm just me."

And wasn't it true? She wasn't a person who filled others up. There never seemed to be enough of her. Hadn't she been inadequate her entire life? Something her parents couldn't love, something Lysander didn't want . . . . Why would anything be different now?

Artie did not realize she was crying until Padmé rushed forward and wiped away her tears. "Oh, no. No, Artie, that's not true. You know that's not true. You're worth so much." Padmé held her tightly against her, stroking her wet cheek. "Please, tell me you know that."

Artie sniffed, abhorred by her tears, but let them fall. "I don't always think so."

"Oh, Artie," Padmé's voice shook. "Listen to me. Perhaps you're right, and I'm wrong, and Anakin thinks of you solely as a friend. That doesn't mean someone would never feel such a way about you. Nor does it mean you are not so loved anyway, romantic or not. I love you like a sister—more than a sister, my darling, and I will be with you always." She pulled away slightly and made Artie look at her. "You don't have to bear these feelings alone. I'm so sorry if I upset you, I shouldn't have said anything at all."

"No," Artie croaked, fighting to take back some of her composure, fighting the feeling that she was withering on the inside. "It's not you. I'm sorry, I'm just so tired. I shouldn't be crying."

Padme held her hands firmly. "Cry all you want. We're on a leave."

Artie laughed weakly. "I just . . . I don't know, I don't think of myself worth such a sacrifice. If I was the reason any Jedi disobeyed the Order . . . I'd still think them out of their mind."

"You wouldn't know their reasons," Padme offered. "You may have compelled them beyond all logic."

Artie sighed and shook her head. "Maybe I may have," she said softly.

"Are you all right for dinner?" Padme asked. "If not, I can bring you something in here."

"I'm fine," Artie assured her, mustering a smile to prove it. "And starving."

Padme looped her arm through Artie's and matched her grin. "Then let us feast."

• • •

NOW THAT SHE WAS NOT ARGUING with Padmé or making tearful personal confessions, Artie was forced to reckon with her exhaustion. The first half-hour had been manageable (Artie had kept herself busy with not looking at Anakin) but as the meal wore on, it was harder and harder for her to even keep her eyes open. The damp, balmy weather didn't help; the dining pavilion was open to the lawns and let in all the flora's sweet smells carried on heavy, warm breezes; the lake lapped gently, soothingly, at the shore. It was as if the planet itself was begging Artie to sleep.

Well, it could beg all it wanted.

As they ate, Padmé and Anakin spoke casually, laughing, reminiscing, catching up on a decade's worth of stories. Artie wished she could offer more to the conversation, but each time one of them turned to her, asked a question, mentioned something, Artie could summon up only a few weak sentences in response. Most of her focus was on keeping her head upright.

"The groundskeeper mentioned something interesting this afternoon," Padmé said lightly after trying and failing to get Artie's opinion on the ethicality of the Commerce Guild. "Apparently when they were expanding the pastures they found an abandoned hangar just full of speeders."

Artie pinched herself in the leg and tried to sit up straighter; that was interesting. "Really?" she asked, forcing her eyes wide. Inadvertently, she exchanged a glance with Anakin.

"Yes," Padmé nodded cheerily. "They're older, but in good condition, or so I was told. They'll be sold soon, but if you wanted to check them out before they go you're both welcome to."

Ah. There it was. Padmé really couldn't help herself, could she?

Artie did not even have the energy to be irritated. She did, however, find some for flying. "And you think you'll be safe on your own?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Padmé smiled. "I have every confidence."

Artie got to her feet, albeit shakily. "I'm up to go see," she said, meeting Anakin's eyes for the first time since the meal began. "Maybe we can race."

Anakin watched her closely, his face almost suspicious. "Only if you're prepared for a nasty loss," he gibed, mouth twisting.

Despite herself, Artie laughed.  "I don't see how your head can fit all that arrogance, Skywalker."

Anakin stood and crossed the floor to the entryway. "The only thing you should worry about seeing is the tail-end of my speeder, Adhara."

They darted out of the pavilion, but not before Artie caught Padmé taking a very satisfied sip from her chalice.

• • •

"ARE YOU SURE FLYING IS WHAT YOU should be doing right now?" Anakin asked as they ventured out into the fields, marching through wild grass that swayed up to their knees. "You haven't slept in days." He matched her pace and came to walk beside her.

"I'm fine," Artie said, though she didn't think she sounded very convincing. "I've done more on less."

Anakin eyed her. "Still, just . . . just don't push yourself too hard. I don't want to have to save your life again."

"And here I thought you never grew tired of being the hero," Artie said, suddenly smiling. No, stop it.

"You're incredibly obvious, by the way," Anakin said, a shade of teasing in his voice.

Artie blinked. She hoped he didn't feel the spike of alarm that went through her. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Anakin went on, "if you're trying to hide the fact that you're not sleeping from Padmé, maybe don't answer 'what's your favorite part of Naboo?' with 'green and flowers.' "

Artie gawked at him. "I said that? She asked that?"

"I'm afraid so." His amusement was not very well hidden.

Artie decided against embarrassment. She shrugged. "It about sums it up," she said. "Better than beige and dirt."

"Or slave markets."

"Krayt dragons."

They laughed. Despite Artie's wishes, it only became easier to talk to Anakin. It seemed she usually knew what to say and if she ever didn't, Anakin was never short on conversation. It was simple. Enjoyable, even. She . . . liked it.

A large durasteel structure came into view as they mounted a sloping hill. It was less of a hangar as it was a vast awning, housing at least fifteen old, but pristine, speeders. Someone must have bought them ages ago and forgotten about them. How anyone had enough money for a fleet of airspeeders to be an absentminded purchase, Artie didn't understand.

"Wow," Anakin said as they approached.

"I know," Artie agreed. She darted around extra shells, stacks of plating, and tool cribs, headed for a faded blue speeder. The model was at least ten years old, but beneath the dust and pollen, it could have been brand-new. Artie checked the wires for fear that little creatures had chewed them useless, but there was not a nibble to be found. The fuel tanks were full and the engines mint—the only problem came with the steering mechanism. One of the joysticks was jammed in reverse and if not righted, the speeder would fly exclusively in circles. Artie tugged at it, pulled as hard as she could, even climbed on the fore and tried to kick it into place, but to no avail. Disappointed, she almost moved on to a different speeder, before an idea struck her.

"Anakin?" she called. "Could you do me a favor?"

He looked up from an airspeeder a little way down the row. "What's wrong?"

"The steering is jammed—I can't get it to budge." She thought back to all the times on the Holonet she'd seen footage of Jedi moving entire halves of fallen buildings with the Force. Even so, her next words felt extremely foolish. "Could you . . . use the Force and get it to move?"

Anakin seemed to chuckle to himself before making his way to her. "I suppose I could," he said. "But . . . why would I, when you're perfectly capable?"

Artie rolled her eyes, too tired to debate him again. "Not this again. Nevermind." She climbed back up and prepared to start kicking again.

"You don't have to do that," Anakin kept on.

"I don't see you helping me."

Anakin settled into the passenger seat. "Just come sit down."

With a sigh, Artie climbed over the viewport and into the cockpit, taking her place in the pilot's spot. Their legs pressed together and you couldn't fit a hair between their shoulders. Suddenly flushed, Artie stared at the steering. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not going to work."

"Humor me, sweetheart."

Her heartbeat took a swift upswing she was sure he could feel, not just through the Force but by how near they were to each other. He'd said it again. Why had he said it? It wasn't a clever or even characteristic nickname. Was he joking? Calling back to the night they had both almost died? Why did he keep doing these things? Artie's head swam and she couldn't even be irritated. The foolish part of her conceded. Just see what happens. "What do you want me to do?"

Anakin smiled triumphantly. "Place your hand out in front of you."

Artie did, mimicking the relaxed gesture she'd always seen the Jedi make. She didn't feel a thing, and the joystick did not not even quiver. "Surprise, surprise," Artie mumbled.

"You're trying too hard," Anakin said, determination in his voice. "Stop thinking about it. The old Masters will tell you it's not emotional, but it is. They just don't realize. Think of times you've felt at peace. When you've been happy. Let those feelings guide you."

"You sound like an old monk," Artie said, turning to face him. She realized with a jolt that their faces were mere inches apart, so close she could make out green in the blue of his eyes she hadn't known was there.

"An old monk who can use the Force," he replied evenly.

Artie lifted her hand again. "What do you think about?"

Anakin seemed to ponder his answer for a moment. "My mom," he said finally. "And Obi-Wan—all the missions we've completed together. I think of . . . the day I learned I wouldn't be a slave anymore. And Padmé. She was the first real friend I ever had. Flying. The small things that matter a lot."

Artie nodded. Here he was, baring his soul again. She wondered if it was a pastime for him. Or . . . if it was knowledge she alone was rewarded. Her thoughts went to Padmé and the Naberries, to Sola's teasing and Jobal's fussing and Ryoo and Pooja in the meadow. Artie remembered the years before her parents had left her, how things had been actually happy. She thought of her mother's ash-blonde hair and her father's throaty laugh, of the times she and Lysander had built sandcastles and played make-believe, laughed until neither could breathe. Something stirred in her fingers.

The more Artie reminisced, the more her mind strayed to the present, snuck to the boy beside her. Artie pictured his smile, thought how nice of a smile it was. She recalled the first time she'd met him, his willingness to confide in her. She thought of his genuine desire to listen to her, and how surprisingly comfortable she was around him. Maybe he was reading her mind right now—Artie found herself not caring one bit. She liked him. Her stomach dropped, a shroud of certainty lowering over her. The cord in her navel pulled her forward.

And that's when Artie heard a click.

Her eyes shot open. It's not possible. She reached for the stick and gave it a push, and it followed her command. Artie wanted to scream. Or cheer. She couldn't decide. Hands shaking, shoulders shuddering, she looked at Anakin. "I . . . I did it." She expected an "I-told-you-so." She expected a satisfied smile, some smug remark.

But instead, he was scowling. He gazed at her fingers with such intensity it made Artemis want to hide her hand in her lap.

"What?" she asked, suddenly worried. "Is there something wrong?"

Anakin blinked a few times, then assumed a weak half-smile. "No. Nothing. Come on, we came here to race."

Without another word, Anakin hopped down from Artie's speeder and headed for his own, not looking back once.

note.
yikes. my re-readers know what's up, but my dear newcomers . . . get ready.