Third Time's A Charm

Chapter: Three

~~~~~~~~~~

He was early. Obi-Wan chose to wait outside until closer to their appointed meeting time. It wouldn't do to wake her, now would it? Or did old habits die hard? Had she risen with the dawn? He closed his eyes a moment, shaded them with one hand. The sunlight was far too bright this morning and his head ached a tad, but other than that, he was ready for whatever the day might bring. His hangover wasn't too horrible and he'd even managed a light breakfast, though just the thought of the eggs the man at the next table had been eating brought a nauseas twisting to his belly.

Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan occupied himself watching the side of the building. There was a large, hulking figure of a man scaling the outside. Business as usual in the spaceport. Such occurrences were far more common than authorities liked to have bandied about. The man slipped inside through a window and came out after a few minutes with a woman thrown over his shoulder. Obi-Wan watched, wondering who the woman was and who the man worked for.

The descent took less time than the ascent. Obi-Wan frowned, staring at the window. Something about that window teased at his brain. There was something he knew he should be remembering, but what was it?

The man disappeared around the corner just as Obi-Wan made a mental count of where Dormé's room was in the building. This side, second window on the third level....

Wait a minute. Dormé!

He straightened, and was inside the building hurrying towards Dormé's room before he'd given himself time to really think. Reaching out with the force, Obi-Wan disengaged the door lock. The door opened as he reached it. The room was empty, the covers of her bed in disarray and a bag opened on the bed. She had been getting dressed. Hurriedly, Obi-Wan tossed the clothes at the foot of the bed into the bag, closed it and took it with him.

Dormé was being kidnapped and he had to put a stop to it.

~~~~~~~~~~

She woke on a soft bed that was far more luxurious than what she was used to in recent times. It didn't compare to that bed she'd had at Padmé's apartment though. Dormé came back to consciousness in slow degrees. At first, she was aware of her body and the bed. Gradually, light and sound joined that tactile awareness and she listened a long while before venturing to open her eyes.

Above her head and around the bed was a filmy white netting. Dormé sat, peering through the netting. There didn't appear to be anyone with her.

What had happened? The last thing she remembered was a man in her room. How had he gotten in without her noticing? Easy, she thought. She'd been distracted by thoughts of that tea with Obi-Wan. She blinked, tucked her hair behind her ears and decided she should explore the room she was in.

Once the netting was parted, she wished she hadn't done so, for it revealed the most hideous decorating scheme she'd seen in a long while. My word, she thought. What drug was the interior designer on?

The colors were red, gold and purple, with a liberal use of overstuffed cushions, fake gemstones and mirrored panels. She cast a glance at the ceiling, unsurprised to note the mirrors set there in a grid pattern. Where was she?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. The floor was warm against her bare feet. Dormé moved to the window and looked out. There was a fake stone balcony attached to the facade, enough of a balcony to lend a bit of romance to the drab stone the building was made out of. Outside was a courtyard, a wall and an ever stretching field of sand. Left, right and center was sand. Unfortunately, the window was too high to jump from. She'd likely break her neck if she tried it. Also unfortunate was that there wasn't a place to tie the sheets to use them as a rope.

The heat coming through the window was intense and Dormé ducked back inside, fanning herself with one hand in an ineffectual gesture to cool herself off. Spying three doors, she strode to them in turn. One was a closet, with a few garish robes and tiny, cheap looking dresses hanging inside. The second was locked and the third led to a refresher. There was a small stack of various sized towels on a table. Dormé took one, wet it and pressed it to her face and neck.

Much, much better. She was regretting her decision to come to Tatooine for the heat alone. It was far too warm in this place for comfort. She sighed. Her first step was to get out of here. There had to be a way to open that door.

An hour later, she'd worked out the various methods of picking a lock in her mind, remembering all of Val's lessons on the subject. She decided to try the simplest one first, though Val had often mentioned that the simplest didn't usually work anymore. People were too cautious and went for overkill in the lock department, which was downright inconvenient for a hard working thief.

She'd tried not to learn too much about Val's past except to know that he came from a long line of men working in the nebulous gray area of what could be considered stealing by some people and legitimate dealing by others. He alternately called himself a pirate, smuggler, thief and businessman. Who knew what he really was. Dormé didn't care to know. He'd kept her fairly safe for nearly a year and taught her whatever he could think of regarding 'the business'.

Dormé now possessed a set of skills in that line of work along with her previous skills in the area of being a handmaiden. Of course, she'd never really had a chance to try out those new skills by herself....

The door opened on the first try. She could have kicked herself for wasting an hour thinking about it and planning eight different contingency plans in case the others didn't work. Maybe the Val method hadn't been the right one this time.

There was no one in her way. The house was ludicrously empty of presences. A couple times she'd heard voices, but saw no one. It was almost insulting. To kidnap her and not put a guard on her? She was a trained bodyguard. She was dangerous, darn it! No guard at all was insulting.

An annoyed frown tugging her brow, Dormé went through a door and found herself in the garage. Though the light was off and the room in darkness, she smelled all the sorts of smells associated with such a place and felt a pang of homesickness. During their marriage, Tepin had dragged her to so many garages she'd lost count. She remembered standing by, bored out of her skull, as he'd 'oohed' and 'ahhed' over the latest in speeders or some obscure part that was used to fix up an older model.

The search for the light switch didn't improve her temper. She managed to stub her toes painfully -- twice. Muttering words many people would be shocked to hear she knew, Dormé moved to the newest looking speeder. New, old, they were all the same. They were speeders. What more could be said? One was blue, another green and there was one with yellow stripes across the room. Her inability to connect types of speeders with year and model numbers had been a source of great amusement to Tepin, who'd made jokes about it to his buddies. Many a time, she'd gritted her teeth and smiled sweetly as they'd all laughed.

She'd had many laughs herself though, for he'd been hopeless in the kitchen.

Dormé settled herself in one speeder, familiarizing herself with the controls as she kept an ear out for any pursuit. It was an standard model, she thought, much like the ones she'd handled before. Piece of cake. Now where was the control for the bay door?

Before she could touch anything, the door raised, revealing a man who was large enough and ugly enough to be the man who'd taken her from her room. "Oh, not good," she murmured, flipping switches. The speeder didn't do anything. There was not even a whirring or belching of smoke. Nothing. This speeder was dead.

The man came towards her. "Leaving so soon? Paly won't like that."

She scrambled across the seat as he reached for her, hiking her skirt high. Maybe she could make a run for it. However, the thought of the sand and the heat didn't particularly appeal. Not to mention she had no idea exactly where she was. Running off into the desert could get her killed far quicker than staying here and seeing what her abductor's plans were. "Release me," she gasped, keeping the speeder between them.

He chuckled. "Paly says you stay, so you stay. Can't have you running off."

Who was Paly? Dormé had a pretty good idea why she'd been stolen. After all, flesh seemed to be the one thing that was worth something on this planet. "I can't stay here. I'll be missed."

"By that man you were with?" The bay door closed. "Think again. He took your things, girlie. Took your bag and left. He's long gone."

Dormé shook her head. "He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't leave me." He was probably trying to find her now. Right? Obi-Wan wasn't a thief. He'd look for her and chances were he'd find her.

"He already did, now how about we go back inside and you refresh yourself for a light repast with my Master? You must be hungry by now."

Thinking over her options with the door closed, Dormé realized she had no option except the immediate one. The speeder was out of the question and so was running into the desert. She'd just have to see what she could do. Drawing herself up and pasting a regal mien about herself, she inclined her head. "Very well. I'm interested to know just why I was abducted in such a crude manner."

The man chuckled. "Oh, he'll like you. Better practice saying 'I do', girlie."

~~~~~~~~~~

Three languages didn't give enough satisfying curses and Val Kallin started on the fourth, pacing up and down the crew lounge. He hadn't been quick enough lifting off. He should have known his Uncle had spies everywhere. It was a way of life on Tatooine. He finished the last round of curses and decided that perhaps a sixth round wasn't needed. He'd vented his frustrations neatly and would only be repeating himself if he continued. Val hated repeating himself.

He also hated having familial obligations. He especially hated anything to do with his great-uncles. They were lecherous, querulous and thoroughly dishonest men to such a degree that they gave lecherous, querulous, dishonest men a bad name. He hadn't gotten off that rock quick enough.

Glancing over his shoulder, he found the youngest member of his crew watching him with an amused expression. "What," he said sourly, pausing his pacing with his hands resting on his hips.

Glem shook his head. "Nothing, boss. You want us to turn around and start back?"

"I suppose." He snorted. "I'd rather ignore the old lech's summons, but that'd make family reunions hell. Can't have that. Mom'd be pissed at me. Turn us around, we'll do the obligatory bowing and scraping." Catching Glem's raised brow, he amended, "I'll do the obligatory bit. The rest of you can stay with the ship, maybe see if Dormé's still in the port."

That was a good idea. Chances were that after a week of that place she was ready to leave. He would be. He'd been ready to leave the second he'd been old enough to take over from Uncle Perstemon. Val had sacked the crew and taken on a new, younger crew, periodically replacing members over the years. Like Dormé. He hated having to replace her. She'd been good at her duties and right fine to look at. Strange that he was having a difficult time finding a woman to take her place. Maybe there'd be one on Tatooine.

He doubted it, but there was always the possibility that one of his female acquaintances would decide to take to this life. Not a good possibility, but he supposed he had to believe it could happen. There had to be hope.

Val began a slow search of the ship for anything that could be used as a present for old Palamon. Nothing too expensive if possible and the tackier the better.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tracking was harder than Obi-Wan remembered it being. He'd had several false starts after losing the man in the maze of streets, but at last, he thought he'd found the right trail. He followed it, pausing occasionally to press a hand to his steadily and increasingly aching head. Each time, he made a promise never to drink again.

Well, he hoped Dormé was okay. He knew she could take care of herself and half expected her to be in the process of escaping when he caught up with them. That would be fine. He'd have the speeder ready and all she'd have to do would be to jump in.

Obi-Wan continued his task under the merciless sunlight.

~~~~~~~~~~

The mirror didn't lie. Unfortunately.

Palamon stared at his reflection. Perhaps his manservant was right and it was a little too late to start using anti-wrinkle cream. After all, he already had wrinkles. Putting two fingers on his forehead, he pushed the skin gently up towards his hairline -- which in his opinion had grown a bit too high in the past couple decades. Should he consider a hairpiece?

He let go of his forehead. The wrinkles drooped back down.

Would his new beauty like his hair as it was? And the wrinkles.... Would she see them as distinguished?

Palamon knew she would. How could she not? He was a prime catch and at the right age to provide splendidly for a young wife. He was rich, good looking. He thought he was good looking. His slaves had all agreed on that just that morning. The women assured him he was handsome and the men agreed as well. Palamon Perrin was a handsome man. Why, he resembled the Emperor himself! Well, before Palpatine had been attacked by the Jedi.

Handsome indeed! He smiled. I can't wait to marry her, he thought. She'll be Mrs. Perrin.

He frowned, blinking. Now what was the wench's name again? It began with an 'n'. No, a 'p'. No, that wasn't it. 'S'? "Jarvis," he called out to his manservant. "What was her name again?"

"Dormé, sir."

That was right. Dormé. Delicious Dormé.

Palamon gave himself a good dousing with cologne, then added more when he liked the scent. Jarvis gave a choking cough. He ignored him. Such a drama queen. It smelled good. The baby.

Dormé Perrin. It had a nice ring to it. Dormé, he thought. Today is your lucky day. You get to marry...me.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dormé had refused to change clothes or wash up any, though she did take advantage of the brush provided to smooth the snarled mess her hair had become. When she was done, she was led into a dining room. It was a large room, with a rectangular table in the center that was set splendidly for two. Candles, expensive dishes and a fruit bowl. Her host wasn't there. She snatched a piece of fruit and ate it while continuing her study of the room. At least the designer hadn't continued the mirror theme here. Dormé rather liked the decorations. Simple and elegant. Maybe the house was in the process of being redecorated and the room she'd been put in was not finished yet?

The door behind her opened and she turned, starting at her first glimpse of the man.

It was Palpatine. And he looked like his old self.

No, she shook her head, banishing the thought with a blink. It wasn't him. It was a man that looked a lot like him. The features were so close that it was disturbing. He even had that...oily smile.

"You look marvelous, my beauty. So luscious, so beautiful. My Dormé."

His? Oh gag. She swallowed hard, ignoring the hand he motioned towards a chair. She'd rather stand. "I don't recall us ever meeting. You are who exactly?"

His smile widened into a grin, exposing yellowed teeth. "My name is Palamon. Remember it, because you'll be screaming it later." His brows did a lascivious wiggle, gaze like groping hands upon her body.

Dormé's lips parted and she crossed her arms in an attempt to cover up. Perhaps she should have changed clothes, though she hadn't seen anything in that closet that would cover her up any better. "I decline the rather crude invitation. Release me now and I won't press charges."

"It's not an invitation," he informed her haughtily, stepping closer with a swagger that she thought was supposed to be sexy. All it did was make her wonder if he was about to keel over. "It's a promise." He thrust his hips forward with the last word and Dormé clenched her jaw to hold back the laughter building in her chest. The laugh came out sounding like she was choking.

He thought he was going to seduce her? Her? She'd admit to liking older men, but not quite this old. A few years older than herself was just the ticket. Like Obi-Wan's age. "I still decline. Please release me."

Palamon stared at her, that confident smile fading. His lips pursed as he thought. Slowly, he raised a finger and shook it at her, the smile returning. "You're playing hard to get. Dormé, Dormé. Very naughty earlier, picking the lock on your room and getting to the garage. Naught, naughty. I should spank you for that."

"Touch me and you lose a hand," she informed him, moving so the table was between them. "Seriously. I'm not kidding. This is not an idle threat. I will do it."

"Such a minx. Let's do it, beauty. Rowr!" He chuckled, a sound that reminded her of all things like crunching glass. "Right here, right now."

"I'm not kidding. I am a trained bodyguard --"

"I see that, beauty. Guard my body." He lunged for her, knocking over the candlesticks and the water carafe. "Guard me, Dormé!" He ended up splayed on the tabletop, hands stretching for and legs wiggling as he tried to work his way across the table to her. The table creaked ominously under his weight. "Come to me, let's not refuse our passion any longer!"

"Oh, heavens!" Dormé threw herself back, tripping over the hem of her skirt and landing with a thud on the floor. Was it bizarre that if a certain other man in her life behaved like this she'd be giggling and thinking it was silly playfulness? From Palamon however, it was creepy.

Plates slid off the table and splintered into pieces with a crash. "Ignore the dishes, my love, they're not important! What's important is that we follow our hearts!"

"You are a seriously disturbed man," she informed him, pushing herself back to standing and rubbing her bruised posterior. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Let your passion overwhelm you." He finally reached the edge of the table and swung his legs over it. "You don't have to be afraid, my love. I'll be gentle."

"You'll be dead if you touch me." Bending, Dormé snatched up one tall candlestick and brandished it at him. "Again, I'm not kidding. I will hurt you."

"Oh, hurt me, beauty. Hurt me good."

"Oh, eeuw."

Suddenly, he stopped moving, watching her with a furrowed brow. "I'm getting the vibe that perhaps you're not in the mood right now."

"That's observant. Release me!"

"You need time to think about our love, don't you?"

"Our love? Are you insane? I've never seen you before in my life."

He sighed. "Very well. I can wait for tonight. I shall dream all afternoon of your breasts, your thighs, your...." he trailed off, wiggling his brows again. "Tonight, my love, all of your fantasies will come true."

Just how was he going to accomplish that? Her fantasies certainly didn't include this man. Nor did they include garish rooms and forced captivity. What they did include was a man who was apparently taking his own sweet time about finding her. "You need help. Seriously. I'm sure there are doctors in town who could--"

"I suppose I do need help." He sobered, then called out, "Oh Samson! Please escort my guest to the gallery and see she's made comfortable."

The large, ugly man returned and Dormé left with him rather than spend another moment with Palamon.