Over the next few weeks, Padme and Anakin spent more and more time together, drinking in the familiarity of their friendship, yet the completely new experiences that were associated with it as well. It was an easy state to be in, and the two of them relaxed into it with openness. It was baby steps, but it was enough. Slowly, very slowly, she was breaking down the walls that surrounded Anakin, the arrogance that he hid behind. It was a difficult process, and one he wasn't making easy for her, but she was determined all the same.
Her sister left to go back home the following week and the goodbye was teary. Padme felt guilty for fighting with Sola, but their squabble was completely forgotten as they embraced fiercely, sobbing and whispering constant miss you's and clinging to each other desperately. It had only been a week and she was already leaving. It felt like they had been apart for ages and just when they were reunited, her sister was stripped away, along with her gorgeous nieces whom she had only just become acquainted with.
With Sola gone, and her mother at work, Padme was often alone in the house. And being alone often lead to spending time with Anakin. She had spent the past few days reading through her course material for the upcoming year, or watching Netflix with Anakin in his bedroom, or hers. He was a sucker for Game of Thrones, and they had watched three seasons in the space of two weeks. While Padme was mortified that she had wasted so much of her time, Anakin was thrilled, because he was in love with Danaerys Targaryen and was very much Team Dany. Padme was very interested in the political issues in the show and the constant fight for power, though she didn't tell Anakin that. She didn't want him to know that she actually enjoyed watching a show that was filled with so much violence and sex and incest. But now she needed to get out of the house. Enough was enough.
It was a Saturday morning. Padme woke up,showered and changed into a fresh pair of denim shorts and a white tank, converses on her feet, then went next door, apple in hand as a pitiful excuse for breakfast. Having been around to Anakin's often enough, she went in through the back door, firstly checking the garage to find it empty. It wasn't until she was inside that Shmi Skywalker informed her of Anakin's whereabouts.
"He's at the workshop today, Padme. I can take you if you want?"
Padme shook her head, declining politely. If she remembered correctly, Anakin's workplace was only a few blocks away. She could do with a walk. It was a lovely day, besides. She felt silly that she'd forgotten he had a job. Lately, he'd been spending so much time with her, that it was almost a routine to wake up and see him outside her door, waiting for her, and taking her somewhere new. She had eventually allowed him to take her out on his motorbike, something she never wanted to do again. He was such a reckless driver, as though he enjoyed the prospect of almost killing her as he rounded sharp corners, forcing her to clutch his hips and press herself against him so tightly, whilst scrunching up her face, bracing for the impact that never came. But, of course, it was Anakin, and he always had a motive for acting the way he did.
Forty minutes later, she arrived at the workshop. At first glance, it looked fairly unimpressive; a run-down garage, with a spare parts shop off to the side. An old '66 Mustang was the current patient, raised up on two blocks. Underneath the chasee, a man on a rolling board was operating, screwdrivers and spanners and various other tools that Padme didn't recognise strew across the concrete underneath. It wasn't Anakin.
The man pushed himself out from underneath the car at the sound of her footsteps on the concrete, glancing at her strangely.
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked in a British accent as he stood up from his position on the floor. He was an attractive man, in his thirties Padme guessed, with a russet brown beard framing his square jaw – it was neatly trimmed and moulded impressively to his face. Blue-green eyes blinked at her from beneath a thick set of eyebrows, but he was impeccably clean; cleaner than Padme would have expected from someone who had just been underneath a car. There was an air to the man, a sense of formality and propriety that made her smile. If this man was a mechanic, he was possibly the most un-mechanic mechanic Padme had ever seen.
