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There had been rain.
Rain on a desolate planet with a poisonous atmosphere, each drop like acid upon what little nature remained in the aftermath of a civil war. It streaked and raced down the glass dome around him in merging lines…uncharted paths meeting then separating…meeting then separating…
He did not know why he had come.
(A lie. He knew exactly why he had come.)
His ship sat unmoving at the docking bay, the rest of the water slowly dripping off the sides from where he had entered the domed capital and landed unannounced. His engine had long since whirred to a soft stop, yet his hands remained firmly on the steering mechanism, not yet finding the willpower to let go. His shoulders were heavy, his arms like weights he hadn’t the strength to lift.
When was the last time he’d blinked?
The water droplets were easy to focus on— numbing, really. They glided so effortlessly, blissfully unaware they were no longer joined by the rest of the storm that raged outside the city. Blissfully unaware that they were alone…slowly slipping away…
He let his hands slide from their grasp on the handles and looked just beyond the nose of his ship. The rainy glass blurred in his eyes as his gaze was drawn immediately to an unexpected figure.
(Were he not already so still, he imagined he might have frozen at the sight.)
The docking bay was abandoned. He’d made sure of that before he had landed, truly wishing to be left alone and be as far away from Coruscant as he could manage. No one knew he had left, and no one knew where he had gone. He hadn’t known where he would end up when he left, he just knew he needed to leave. Needed to leave the stares, the whispers, the condolences…he had gotten on a ship and just kept flying…his subconsciousness was to blame for where he had landed, his instincts taking him somewhere he had no intention of ever returning.
He hadn’t even realized where he was going until he got there.
So why did his eyes land on a cloaked figure standing just at the end of the landing ramp, as if they’d been expecting his arrival?
Even in the dim light, he could make out a deep blue velvet fabric with a draped hood. The only clue that it was a person was two pale, delicate hands folded neatly at the base of the watcher’s torso.
He knew who it was. He felt too strongly not to know.
Vwoom.
The airlock on his ship’s dome released and made a small click as it opened and lifted. His legs carried him before he’d made the conscious decision to stand; one moment inside the ship and the next standing mere feet away from the figure without a single inkling of how he had gotten there.
“You came back,” a timid voice whispered into the still air.
He took a breath, shoulders tensing. “You’re not supposed to know I’m here.”
The figure did not move…maybe it was a ghost after all, a figment of his overly exhausted mind. But then the figure moved. Hands reached up to push back the hood to reveal a woman with tired eyes, and a soft tuft of blonde hair swept back into a loose bun.
“Well, I am the sovereign of this planet…I know everything.”
“I turned my tracker off,” he admitted like a young boy who was pathetically trying to excuse his way out of trouble.
“Yes, and then manually triggered the dome entrance, which is something only a select few know how to do, might I add,” the woman stepped closer, crossing her arms, “which in turn triggered an alarm to my security team…”
He was too exhausted to offer up another excuse.
“You’re welcome for not sending them out here by the way…they may not have been as…kind as I.”
His solemn expression cracked at that, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Oh alright, you got me…I insisted on coming by myself,” she admitted, cocking her head to the left, offering up a soft smile of her own. They stood in silence for a moment longer, their facades slowly fading away as they waited for the other to say something.
Willing the other to speak first.
A streak of light strobed above them; lightning from the storm outside the dome. Neither flinched as the flash illuminated the dark circles under both of their eyes, held hostage in the other’s gaze.
He moved first, his limbs like lead as he collapsed – melted – into the arms in front of him, burying his head in the soft billows of velvet at her neck. His arms instinctively wrapped around her as they had become accustomed to doing while they were on the run, and silently begged her to support his weight. She staggered back a moment, but her arms raised to hold him, one on his back and the other buried in his hair at the nape of his neck. She shushed him gently, as if he were a child.
(Was he not? Was she not?)
They stayed there in that moment, safe in the other’s embrace for the first time in months.
How could mere months feel like eons?
So much had happened in such a short amount of time. So many changes…so many losses…
Time was a cruel thief.
He didn’t wish to dwell on that when the universe had brought him such a gift.
She spoke first.
“Your braid…” she whispered as she pulled back, her hand tracing the phantom length of a braid that should’ve been there.
Obi-Wan’s lips parted and then closed, then opened again. He did not even wish to speak the reason aloud, lest it set in stone a truth he wanted to avoid.
The words still came.
“Only Padawans wear braids,” he uttered, any ounce of pride devoid from his tone.
She lingered for a moment in his gaze, understanding, before she moved her hand to trace his cheek…skin damp from tears…
(It was a habit she had grown fond of that she fell unthinkingly back into.)
“It’s the only thing I have been working toward for years, but I did not want it to be under…under these circumstances,” he said the last part in a rush under his breath as if he needed to rid his mouth of the statement. His lip trembled, and he feared his knees might buckle beneath him.
She brought both hands on either side of his face to direct his gaze to her, holding him secure between her palms.
Tears he would not shed clung to his lashes, making his eyes appear as if they were as fragile as glass.
“Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi…” she whispered with an encouraging smile. “I think it suits you.”
A sad, lop-sided smile that didn’t reach his eyes was the only reply he could muster.
“Qui-Gon…I think…I mean…” but she couldn’t finish the sentence as her voice became choked as she tried to speak.
Obi-Wan could assume what she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him that Qui-Gon would’ve been proud of him, and would've been beaming with joy. He could only imagine that it pained her as much as it did him to think of…to think of him in the past tense.
“Come inside,” she said instead, tone changing instantly as she forced a smile. Her gaze shot up somewhere above where they stood. “There are many eyes here.”
Again, she moved first, wrapping him under her cloak and threading her arm through his as if they were on a leisurely stroll, no different than lovers in a park.
Jedi are forbidden attachment... Jedi are forbidden attachment… Jedi are forbidden attachment…
It was nothing but a friendly arm…a friend offering support during a difficult time…
(If Jedi were forbidden attachments, then why did he feel as though his world had imploded at the loss of his Master?)
He let himself have this one concession.
He blinked, and they were in a hallway, floor-length windows casting eerie shadows as the ever-increasing lightning was the main source of light.
How had they gotten there?
He swallowed and sank into Satine’s hold as they continued walking. He wanted to talk, he wanted to tell her how he had missed her, how he had thought of her every day, how he had never wanted to leave her…
Yet no words came.
Their heavy footsteps were the only noise as they made their way down the hallway toward a large set of doors. Wood? No, not wood…steel?
He shook his head.
Beskar.
Of course.
“I wanted to…to attend,” Satine whispered, almost afraid to break the silence. “Please know that I did everything in my power to make it-”
“You do not have to explain yourself,” he answered curtly, heart too broken, too overwhelmed to even notice that she hadn’t been there.
(He had noticed, though. He had searched every face of every mourner, hoping to catch even a glimpse.)
He turned his thoughts back to the present.
He had never been in this building.
This building had been a shell the last time he had been there; bombed to a nearly unrecognizable state in the war. He remembered scorched tapestries and crumbling pillars. But now it was entirely different. He lifted his head to gain a better picture of his surroundings despite the darkness. Tall ceilings, pristine floors, actual walls…a stark contrast to the wreckage of war he had seen.
Proof of a recovering planet, he supposed.
Proof of a blossoming planet.
Proof of a strong leader.
They reached the doors sooner than Obi-Wan thought they would, the long, seemingly unending hallway coming to an abrupt stop. Beside him, Satine nodded to the guard who stood dutifully outside the door.
“You’re dismissed for the night,” she whispered as the guard opened the door.
With a nod, the guard shut the door, and they both listened as the guard’s footsteps grew quieter and quieter until they faded entirely.
Satine’s grasp on his arm loosened.
For the first time that evening, Obi-Wan truly looked around.
They were in a throne room. A magnificent throne room, for that matter. Huge stained glass windows stretched from the ceiling to the floor, leading up like an aisle to a grand staircase that hosted a beautifully adorned throne. The throne was the centerpiece of the grand hall, but it sat alone in an otherwise empty space. Despite the grandeur of it all…the room felt…bare.
“Do you like it?” Satine asked, observing his curious stares.
He nodded, his legs carrying him aimlessly around the hollow room.
“I argued that it was unnecessary and that the funds should be distributed elsewhere. However, the people insisted I needed a room in which to mediate issues…I fear it might be a bit much, though,” she continued, stopping in front of the room’s only decoration: a large portrait of herself that hung on the wall.
Obi-Wan came to stand behind her.
“A bit much? My dear, when you are involved, things are always a bit much,” he said, warmth lacing his tone. He felt himself smiling as Satine shot him an annoyed look over her shoulder.
She put on a facade of annoyance, but he could tell she was too busy feeling joy at his surprise visit for her to feel any true anger if the smile that tugged at the sides of her lips meant anything.
“That’s Duchess, to you,” she quipped back playfully at his use of ‘my dear’.
“My apologies, Duchess…you will never be too much for me,” he played along, letting his emotions have a moment of false joy.
She was a nice distraction.
He needed a distraction.
She huffed at that and turned to walk up the stairs that led to the ornate throne, hesitating at the top.
“Would you like to sit on it?”
He turned at that, staring up at her from the bottom of the stairs. Another streak of lightning flashed at that moment, sending a stream of colors from the stained glass across her face as she stood awaiting his answer.
“On…the throne?”
“Yes?” she answered, a hint of awkwardness in her tone.
She was stalling just as much as he was, desperate to avoid the subject that had led him here.
“My presence would disgrace it, I fear,” he countered, yet his feet began to climb the stairs.
She smiled.
“Nonsense, my dear.”
She brushed the seat of it with the palm of her hand and stepped to the side as if to present it to him. She was playing host, he supposed, and Force knew he was in no mood to argue with her antics. He would accept her hospitality as a welcome distraction for as long as he could manage.
He perched himself on the edge, arms folded tightly in his lap.
The room seemed even emptier from where he sat, elevated above the rest of the large hall.
Lonely.
Perhaps it was not enough of a distraction from his inner thoughts that he hoped it would be.
A gentle hand curled around his shoulder.
He glanced back to look at her, only to find her staring out the window to her right, eyes focused on something he could not see…perhaps something that could not be.
Should not be.
His hand moved across his body without his permission to take hold of her hand that lay on his shoulder, holding it tightly…allowing himself a moment of peace.
He closed his eyes.
Was it really that damaging for him to imagine what she might be thinking about? Perhaps another life…another version of themselves…
“It’s softer than I thought it would be,” he finally broke the tense silence, relaxing a bit into the velvet lining.
She turned her head quickly, as if she had almost forgotten he was there, before giving a sad smile.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Mmhm,” he nodded, letting his hand slip out of her grasp and fall to his lap.
“I think it suits you.”
There was a beat of silence as he hesitated answering. This was contentious conversation territory for the two of them. There was no lightheartedness behind her tone, no snarky intention…just honesty. It was only now that he noticed her eyes shone like glass behind unshed tears. His vision blurred as he felt his own tears threaten to fall.
They had made their choices.
Choices that couldn’t be changed.
It would only hurt worse to dwell on what if.
(Though he had to admit the temptation was incredibly hard to resist.)
“Not the same as it suits you, I am sure,” he offered quickly, attempting to restore the playfulness that had been between them just a few minutes before.
She only nodded, her eyes not quite meeting his.
“Why did you come here?"
In a single phrase, she had managed to crack the shell that Obi-Wan had painstakingly been trying to hold together.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” but the voice that came from his mouth was hardly his. It belonged to a boy whose voice cracked with grief and desperation, ashamed to admit he was weak.
Their eyes finally met.
His lips tasted salt as the first hot tear rolled down his face, and again as the next one followed.
And the next…
And the next.
Her arms were around him in an instant, wrapping him in the warmth of her cloak, in the warmth of her touch. He clung tighter as he pulled her down into his lap, cradling her against him as he buried his face into the hollow of her throat. Her skin was soft and warm…and familiar. An entire galaxy of friends and places to turn to, and he had run straight into her arms. He had never felt safer.
“I just…I need him, Satine,” he admitted, voice muffled by her hair, yet he knew she heard him. “I am not ready to face my challenges alone.”
He felt her nod against him as she hugged him tighter, clutching the fabric of his robe as she pressed herself closer to him.
“How can he be gone?” she whispered, grief finally seeping into her tone.
They remained there for an eternity, crying into the arms of the other, holding each other as they had not so long ago. It had felt like a lifetime ago that he had cradled her as she cried over the loss of her father in the dark corner of a weeping cave…Qui-Gon had stood guard, looking the other way to allow them a moment of privacy. He had turned away long enough that he hadn’t noticed the gentle kisses Obi-Wan had pressed to Satine’s forehead as he had rocked her that night. She had clung to him…and she remained there the rest of the night until Qui-Gon took mercy upon her, offering her a bit of help from the Force to fall asleep.
He would never forget the sound of her grief-stricken cries after she had lost her father.
(Had he not lost his father?)
“Did you hear…” a swallow. “...do you…know how it happened?”
“Obi-Wan, don’t,” Satine raised to place her hands on either side of his face, her eyes unwavering despite the mistiness of them. “Please do not relive it for my sake.”
He shook his head and matched her stare. “But do you know?”
“I…” She cast her eyes downward. “No.”
“There was a sith, a real sith…I…I thought that Qui-Gon would best him easily, yet…yet…” Obi-Wan could not even form his full explanation as emotion took hold of him, his words coming out in a jumbled mess.
“Please, you do not have to say anymore,” she insisted, sitting taller.
Tears streaked down her cheeks, and one side of her face was red from where Obi-Wan had pressed her close against his shoulder. Her hands remained on his face, though, holding him secure as he threatened to fall apart in front of her.
“I killed him, Satine. The Sith.”
Had there been anyone else in the room, they may have mistaken the room as empty, for how silent it had become. The storm outside had quieted, yet the storm behind Obi-Wan’s eyes raged silently in its place.
It was…unnerving.
Satine could only stare, wide-eyed.
What must she be thinking, he wondered. Of how he had betrayed his oath to protect life? Of how he had killed in cold blood for his Master? Of how he sat here before her with the boldness to sob without feeling an ounce of regret for his actions?
Instead, she swiped at one of his tears with her thumb.
“How?”
He shook his head, wetting his lip with his tongue. “I…something came over me…I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t think of my training, I could only feel…anger, and I was so shocked…”
“Obi-Wan, you do not have to continue-”
“I…I sliced him in half…and I don’t feel…any remorse.”
“Please, stop-”
“All I feel is this…hollowness, Satine. I can’t think about that fight without sensing the rage, and then seeing his lifeless eyes-”
“The Sith is gone, though. You’ll never have to face another one again…right?”
He paused, mind far away from the room.
He blinked, trying so hard to escape the numbness that wanted to overtake him.
When he finally managed to rip himself away from the constant replay of that night, his mind focused on her.
How lucky she was to no longer involve herself in his whirlwind of a life.
“It should be something you should never have to be bothered with worrying about.”
She was silent at that, her eyes searching his as he stared just past her…lost again in a memory she could not bear to imagine.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi the Sith Killer…” she whispered, a smirk hinting at her lips in an attempt to lighten the situation, to pull him back to her. "You'll be a legend."
His demeanor remained unchanged, her attempt at humor unsuccessful.
“I took an oath to protect and promote peace in the galaxy…to protect life,” he responded, disgusted with his own self. “I let my attachment to Qui-Gon rule my decision…I should have brought him in and allowed justice to be wrought-”
“You just told me you didn’t feel any remorse,” Satine cut him off, voice quiet but steady. “I think you’re too far into your own self-righteousness.”
His breath hitched in the back of his throat.
“You did what you had to do to defend yourself. The headlines could have just as easily informed me of your… your… ”
But she couldn’t finish it.
She couldn’t speak the words, dare she speak the situation into existence.
She let out a shaky laugh instead, attempting to distract herself from the intrusiveness of the other outcome of the battle. “I would have done the same.”
He did react to that.
His left eyebrow raised, and life had returned to his eyes. “Oh really?”
“Yes.”
She paused.
“No. No, you are right to doubt me. I do not think I have it in me to defend myself at the cost of another’s life…but you were in a unique set of circumstances.”
She held his gaze firmly. “This was Qui-Gon.”
He tore his glare away, eyes catching on the fine beading of her nightgown, suddenly too ashamed to meet hers.
“I seem to have mistaken you…I thought I was confiding in Satine Kryze…pacifist ruler of Mandalore?”
She laughed at that, attempting to appear as put together as she could through her tears.
“There is much you underestimate about me, Jedi Knight Kenobi.”
There was that word again.
Knight.
He shivered.
He wasn’t capable of being a Jedi Knight yet…he hadn’t even finished his trials.
(Defeating a Sith had apparently been trial enough, but grieving his Master seemed to be the real trial.)
No one had prepared him for the uncharted territory that lay ahead of him.
She let her hands drop from his face, but not before allowing herself to smooth back the hair that had fallen in his eyes and trace the shadow of where his braid would have been.
“Most knights I have encountered wear armor,” she teased, determined to continue to distract him from his grief.
She knew how all-consuming it could be.
“I thought you despised armor, Duchess? Or does my memory fail me?”
He was playing along.
Good.
She tsked her tongue and traced his jawline with her thumb.
“Hmm…caught me again…”
He shifted beneath her as she continued outlining his face under her touch.
“I admit, my attempts at improving your mood have been futile; I continue to contradict myself for your sake.”
He caught her hand on its path around his face and held it close to his chest.
“Being in your presence is improvement enough…you need not try any harder than that,” the words came out as a whisper before he brought her hand to his lips, hesitating.
She could feel his breath on her knuckles, and her own breathing seemed to stop in anticipation of his next move. A kiss on the hand was ceremonial, at best. It did not mean anything; it did not hold any true emotional weight.
(So why did her chest only sink in relief once his lips brushed softly against her skin, hands still cradled in his grasp?)
She let herself linger a moment longer before reaching her other hand to turn his chin toward her, pulling his gaze away from her fingertips.
It was instinct more than anything.
Yes, it was instinct that drew their mouths together like a magnet that had been helpless against the pull of its other half. It was instinct that guided her to close the distance between them, lips still damp from the tears that hadn’t quite dried. It was instinct then that Obi-Wan dropped his hold on her hand to wrap his arms around her midsection, drawing her closer to him. So, of course, it must have also been instinct that led Satine to push against his lips with her tongue until she found herself entwined with his, deepening their kisses.
How had he forgotten how her lips felt against his, how addicting the sensation was? How long had it been since they had last seen each other? How was one able to truly measure time across a galaxy? His lips told him they had not seen each other for a lifetime.
How had he lived without her?
It could only be chalked up to instinct, then, when he found himself adjusting his hips as she began bunching up the sides of her dress to better situate her legs on either side of him.
Yes, instinct.
Obi-Wan’s hands were quick, finding the exposed skin of her thigh where she had hiked up the fabric of her nightgown. His touch was gentle and thoughtful, nothing at all like the desperation that reared its impatient head within her. He shuddered as he felt her teeth graze over his bottom lip.
Obi-Wan was always like that, though. Patient, thoughtful, careful.
And it was the latter characteristic that echoed through his mind as he pulled away from her, his fingers still roaming her thighs, drawing patterns with his fingertips. His chest rose more rapidly than it had before, and his eyes were unfocused, as if searching for answers in her eyes.
“Satine…I…” he began, hands coming to clutch the sides of her hips.
But she didn’t let him finish his thoughts.
She leaned in, capturing his lips again, obsessing over the rush she felt as his grip on her sides tightened. She moved to grab his shoulders, hands sliding between the thick fabric of his robes and the rougher fabric of his tunic.
“We shouldn’t,” Obi-Wan hurried to say as Satine’s lips ventured from his lips to his neck, fingers tugging at the collar of his tunic, pulling it down to give her more area to work with.
Satine paused, her kisses slowing to a stop.
She raised to look at him through her eyelashes.
(He was desperately ignoring the knowledge that he twitched beneath her.)
“Why ?” Her voice, usually so strong and sure, cracked.
Cracked.
“I took an oath…I made a promise…Satine, I’m not even supposed to be here.”
She ran her hand down his cheek, her nails raising goosebumps under the sleeves of his shirt. Her expression was morphing from one of grief to one of betrayal…
“Yet you are here, are you not? You chose to come to me,” she whispered intensely as tears began to well in her eyes again. Except this time they were not tears of sadness, no, these were tears of frustration…of confusion…of hurt.
Oh.
Oh.
“Satine...’
How could he look her in the eyes?
“Satine, I did not mean to lead you astray…But I did not come to stay…I must eventually return.”
She was silent in response, eyes trained on her hands that rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. She breathed in and then slowly out before looking at him, her eyes giving away everything she couldn’t admit.
I know.
He cradled the hand that held his cheek, leaning into the softness of her skin.
“If all we have is tonight, why deny ourselves?”
He sighed.
If Satine was anything, she was persistent.
“Satine-”
“You could have died, Ben.”
His head snapped up at that, locking stares with the woman still straddling his lap.
Ben…
Now that was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time.
“Ben?” he spoke, quite unsure if the words had actually escaped his lips.
“Already forgotten have you?” Her question was soft, but there was a bite buried beneath her tone; it was a defense tactic to shield her feelings, he was sure.
It was unnecessary.
Ben…Ben was a hope…Ben was a prayer that he whispered into the night, asking quietly to switch lives with. Ben was free, Ben was happy, and Ben only held responsibility for the woman in front of him. Ben was hers.
“Why would I forget?”
(How could he forget?)
She leaned closer until their foreheads rested together, the temptation of losing himself to her lips once more dangerously close.
“Let me have Ben for one more night… please.”
Everything in his willing mind screamed no.
No.
No.
No…
He closed his eyes, his chest heaving as his heart pounded. His mind was made up.
How could he ever say no to her?
He melted slowly, cautiously, as he hovered over her lips. Her breath was warm as she waited. Waited for him to move, waited for him to give permission, waited for him to choose her for once in his life.
When he did move, it was slow, but sure.
She sighed into his kisses, matching his tempo. He was forbidden attachment, but he was allowed happiness, no? He had suffered so deeply this week…was he not owed a morsel of relief? The Force had led him here…here to Mandalore…here to her arms…
Qui-Gon knew better than anyone else that a Jedi should follow where the Force led…like the wind.
(How better could Obi-Wan honor him than to take his teachings to heart?)
If this was where the Force intended him to land, then he would not fight it.
Just as he did not fight Satine’s wandering hands as they returned under his tunic, caressing his bare skin gently.
The Force could have led him anywhere, but it led him here, and who was he to argue?
He wanted to be loved. He wanted to feel anything that wasn’t the emptiness that threatened to claw its way through him. He had done his best to keep the crushing weight of his grief squarely on his shoulders. He couldn’t share it, and no one understood how to carry it.
Yet…she did.
Satine knew. Satine had loved Qui-Gon as much as he had. She had put her entire life into his hands for a year, and she understood more deeply than any of his peers how much Qui-Gon had meant to him. To them.
He didn’t want to carry this grief alone.
She could shoulder the burden with him.
She could make the weight lighter.
He would be a fool not to accept the help.
It was of his own choosing then that he undid the fastenings that held the belt around his waist, allowing Satine to push the fabric that covered him off his shoulders entirely, pooling on either side of him.
She leaned back then, tracing his chest with her palms.
Looking.
(Admiring?)
He didn’t let himself entertain the thought.
“I have a bed if you would prefer,” she offered, her tone shy, suddenly, as if she were exposed.
He shook his head.
If he stopped now, he feared he wouldn’t go through with it. It would give his brain too much time to stop him, too much time to let his logical reasoning win-
“I don’t prefer,” was all he could manage to say without rambling his entire reason.
She laughed at that, tugging at the fastenings of his pants at his hips…toying.
“I have missed this…I have missed you,” she confided, hair falling over her shoulder, the pins that had held her bun long since fallen out.
Obi-Wan took a steadying breath as he gave his own hands permission to finally roam, sliding up the satin of her nightgown. He slid his hands higher, slowly, reverently, until they met the dip of her waist. Her skin was warm, alive beneath his palms as he drank her in. She was everything.
Everything he could never have.
The Force was full of cruelty.
(What had he done to anger it so? Love? Long to be loved?)
She moved his hands for him.
His hands cupped like second nature around the soft curves of her breasts, thumbs gently circling the hardening points, yet his eyes did not leave her eyes.
They did not have to.
How many times had he mapped her body? In the light, in the dark, in his daydreams, in his nightmares, in his subconsciousness?
There was not an inch that he had not seen, had not touched, had not devoured-
That was a different man, that was a different time.
He was no longer that version of himself.
He stopped, breath hitching as Satine’s hands pressed against his, urging him to try harder. He obeyed and was rewarded with Satine rolling her head to the side with a sigh of relief, revealing the porcelain skin of her neck.
He was helpless, of course, to the instinct to trail his hand to her throat, tracing his thumb over her jawline.
He caught a glimpse of her face as she opened her eyes just enough to look at him.
There were tears in her eyes again.
But she wasn’t crying.
No, not yet.
She was holding something back.
(Just like he was.)
“Why did you stop?”
It was then that he noticed his hands had stilled, simply holding her breast in one hand and her face in the other…a situation Obi-Wan truthfully thought he would never be in again.
He gave a nervous laugh and brushed the fabric that concealed her from him under his fingers, dutifully.
His heart thudded unevenly as she rolled her hips forward, testing the waters of his resolve. He faltered. A sharp breath escaped him, and he closed his eyes as he fought the wave that rose in his chest.
She had been the last person who had touched him like this. With purpose. With tenderness. With the unbearable weight of memory behind every movement.
It was with careful choice that the next words escaped the sanctuary of his mind:
“I can be Ben for you.”
She paused and then put on a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She didn’t believe him.
“Satine-”
She kissed him before he could finish. It wasn’t heated or rushed. It was careful, trembling, like she was afraid the moment would vanish if she moved too fast. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, drawing him in again, and he let himself fall into it, into her.
There had been a time when he wanted to picture a life with her. A quiet one. A real one. How many nights had he watched over her as she slept, silently begging her to order him to stay. To ask him to stay with her? One final duty in being her bodyguard…watching over her for the rest of their lives…
But she hadn’t, and she was much too independent to ever want someone to watch over her like a protector, and who was he to stand in her way?
He was too in his head, too deep in his musings to even notice that she had successfully unfastened his pants.
He was not too in his head to notice her hand, warm and familiar, closing around him.
He trembled and clutched the bunched fabric of her velvet cloak tight in his fist.
As she shifted her hand again, coaxing his pants further down his waist, he felt the last threads of resistance fray. His hands, finally acting on the desire he’d kept buried for so long, helped her pull his pants down far enough so that he was no longer confined by the fabric of them. He guided her gently closer, holding her like she might slip away at any second.
She pulled back only for a moment, eyes imploring him to give her an inkling of actual permission.
He slid his hands under her gown and gripped the soft skin of her hips, pulling her down onto him.
It was permission enough.
Her mouth found his jaw, his throat, and he tilted his head back, shuddering with each kiss. Every inch of him burned with the urge to stop time. To do something that would make this real in the way the rest of his life never quite had been.
He guided her down slowly and pushed her hips into a gentle rhythm, sliding further down to allow her more room for her legs on either side of him. He met her movement with careful, practiced hands.
She gasped softly as their bodies found each other again, and he felt her fingers clutch at his shoulders, the motion instinctive.
Desperate.
Real.
(Wasn’t that all he wanted this to be?)
He gasped as she rocked faster, breath trembling in the hollow of his neck.
The throne beneath them creaked, the room quiet save for breath and movement, their bodies rising and falling together like a tide neither of them could resist.
He buried his face against her collarbone, anchoring himself there as the muscles in his legs tensed with spasms, helpless to the hold she had over him.
He could feel the edge of tears pressing at the corners of his eyes, he could feel the pressure building in his chest. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t stop, he could only think of how she smelled of sweet flowers and how he wanted to hold on to this feeling forever. How was he to let her go again? How was he to return to a life where she was not his to love?
His back arched in an attempt to angle himself better, pushing them both to the edge of the throne, to the edge of his restraint.
She could never be his.
But for now, she was.
For this night, she was.
And he let himself have it.
His body shuddered, and he gasped for air as he held her body firm against his, release finally overtaking his body. She clung just as tightly to him as he did to her, forehead resting against the curve of his shoulder as she clenched herself around him, nails digging into his skin.
He lingered for a moment, allowing the quiet of the moment to wash over him.
If he moved, it would be over.
They might be over.
He would stay as long as the moment would allow him.
But, as all moments do, it faded, and the comforting embrace of the silence melded into one of melancholy and inevitability.
He lifted her gently off of him and reached for the corner of his tunic to dab at the aftermath of their actions.
Neither spoke.
But he knew by only the expression on her face what she wanted to say.
And maybe that was enough.
(In all honesty, he was unsure he could have survived hearing her say the words out loud. Not when he knew he would have to leave her again.)
She sniffled as she ran a wandering hand over the muscles of his upper arm, evening out her breathing.
“You could stay until morning,” she suggested, not meeting his eyes.
She already knew the answer.
“I must return…there is…a boy awaiting me on Coruscant,” he admitted quietly, his words contradicting what his heart so longed to do.
“A boy?” She repeated, pulling on the sides of his pants, attempting to help him put himself back together again.
“Yes…it was…it was Qui-Gon’s dying wish that I train him…he is exceptionally strong in the Force,” he continued as he finished fastening his pants.
“A padawan of your own…”
She looked up then, capturing his gaze.
There was far too much sadness in her eyes.
Too much knowledge.
“You’re growing up without me, Ben… I should like to meet him,” she whispered, dragging a hand down the side of his cheek, pausing under his jaw.
He tipped his chin up in anticipation.
But she never closed the distance.
(Wasn’t that always how it was between them?)
“It is him I must return to,” he continued when she made no further move.
He watched as she shifted her weight and drew the billows of her cloak to cover her fully.
“I know I cannot stop you. I cannot prevent you from leaving, but…” She swallowed, her voice serious.
He knew what was coming.
“Give me the rest of tonight, and I will never ask for more,” she implored.
He closed his eyes.
How desperately he wanted to tell her that all he wanted was for her to ask for more?
Could he ask that of her?
Would that bring him the long-awaited peace that he so desired?
He knew it would not.
He’d always known.
“Satine…there is nothing to ask for anymore.”
He opened his eyes to find her tears had finally pushed past their threshold.
She nodded slowly, like she already knew. Of course, she knew. She’d always known.
And still, she had let herself hope.
Still, he had let himself want.
That was the tragedy, wasn’t it? That they had left pieces of themselves in the other, knowing that parts of themselves would be forever strown across the galaxy. Knowing that neither had enough courage to put words to their feelings. Knowing they both knew. Knowing that it changed nothing at all.
She shifted off his lap and stood in front of him on the throne, her nightgown falling back into place with quiet grace. She didn’t try to fix her hair. He didn’t reach for his robes yet.
They were just…still.
“You could go before sunrise then,” she said eventually, her voice steady. “Before anyone sees.”
He hummed, though he didn’t move.
“I could.”
She looked at him again, really looked at him, and for a moment, he saw the mourning behind her eyes. Mourning for death, yes, but also for what could have been. What almost was.
“Obi-Wan, I…” she started softly, almost like a secret.
He didn’t let her finish. He didn’t need to.
“I know,” he said.
And he did know. Every brush of her fingers, every kiss, every trembling breath had said it louder than any words ever could.
(He couldn’t dare put the correct words into his mind…they were too tempting, too powerful, and he feared he could not resist what they offered).
They sat in silence again until Obi-Wan finally reached for his robes. He dressed slowly, hands stiff, careful with every movement…stalling. Satine watched but said nothing. Her arms were folded across her torso, her posture regal even in the quiet, even in the afterglow of intimacy.
But her eyes were tired.
When he stood, he hesitated. One hand hovered over her shoulder, not quite touching.
“Thank you,” he said finally, unsure what else could be said.
She looked up, one corner of her mouth quirking—not a smile, not really, but something adjacent to it.
“For what?” she asked.
“For letting me grieve.”
Her eyes shimmered. But she didn’t cry.
“You carry him with you,” she whispered. “You always have. You always will.”
He nodded…swallowed the ache that rose in his throat…and set aside his pride.
“Perhaps,” he began, reaching for her hands. “ I will take you up on the offer of that bed, I do fear I am in no state to pilot a ship.”
She smiled, eyes shining bright for the first time all night. She laced her arm through his and guided him down the steps, through the throne room, down a hallway, another hallway, and finally into her quarters.
For the first time since Qui-Gon’s death, he accepted the sweet embrace of slumber, his arms wound tightly around the woman who had led him there. Allowing himself to be Ben for just a while longer, keeping what must come to an end at bay.
Later, there would be no sun when he awoke. Later, he would vow to leave Ben behind, safe in Satine’s memory. Later, there would be no guards stopping him on his way to the ship. Later, there would be another morning of tears as she woke alone and devastated, but not surprised (never surprised). Later, there would be quiet confessions of a secret that should have never been kept. And one day…one day there would be soft cries and a red-haired baby boy with no father to hold him.
She would be forced to choose a path completely uncharted. One she would never have chosen to face alone under different circumstances.
Later, fifteen years would pass before she would feel the warmth of his touch again.
But that was for later.
For now, there was only the quiet of their breathing, the thud of their heartbeats, the drum of the rain that rolled down the dome of Sundari…
And when Obi-Wan rose to leave, pressing a solemn kiss to her forehead, there was only the sound of her door sliding shut.
He didn’t look back.
Couldn’t.
Because if he did, he wasn’t sure he would have the strength to leave again.