Chapter Text
“It’s a trick. Don’t send a reply,” Obi-Wan said, pointing at the queen and Captain Panaka to brandish his point before sweeping from the room, presumably to contact his master.
Rabé rolled her eyes. “Well, of course it’s a trick. Does he think we’re idiots?”
“He thinks we’re hiding something, and he’s right.” Eirtaé said with a sigh.
“Do you think we should have told him what the message really says?” Sabé asked.
Even the worry in her tone was in the queen’s voice. Rabé didn’t know how she did it. Not having to mask a provincial accent probably helped.
“No, I don’t think he’d believe us. Plus, they’re not here to actually help, just act as negotiators. His master made that very clear,” Eirtaé said.
“Should we contact Padmé at least?” Panaka asked.
“No. Governor Bibble said ‘toll,’ so we know everyone’s doing their part. We must also do ours,” Sabé said.
“You’re right.” Rabé sighed.
“I don’t like any of this,” Panaka said.
“I imagine not.” Sabé smiled wryly. “At least you’re not in full makeup.”
Now Panaka sighed.
“I’ll take my leave.”
He bowed himself out, despite them being alone. Truthfully, they all should’ve been using formal address for the ruse, though it might be overlooked given this room in the ship technically was the queen’s bedroom.
Eirtaé slunk onto one of the red velvet beds while Sabé rolled out her shoulders.
“Need a massage?” Rabé asked.
Sabé’s tension dissolved some at the offer alone.
“No, it’s fine. Thanks, though.” She frowned. “Actually, can you spy on the Padawan? I want to know what he’s telling Qui-Gon. Plus, maybe we’ll get an actual update on Padmé.”
Rabé bowed and left the room, overhearing Sabé asking Eirtaé’s help undoing her headdress for the evening as she exited.
She padded silently through the ship, keeping to the shadows best she could, until Obi-Wan’s voice filled her ears.
“What if it’s true, Master? What if their people are dying?”
She held her breath. At least he cared.
“Then we’re running out of time. Not much we can do without the part though. Have patience. I have a plan.”
“How can I help?”
“We’ll know more tomorrow. You can help by getting some rest and making sure they don’t send any transmissions.”
“They’re not foolish.”
He sounded earnest. Maybe he was more onto them than he let on.
“I know. This handmaiden Padmé is razor sharp. I’m starting to feel like we never left the Mandalore sector.” Qui-Gon chuckled.
Obi-Wan said nothing, but she saw his posture go rigid.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned her. Get some rest, my padawan.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Perhaps a meditation?” Qui-Gon added over the comm.
Rabé thought she detected some jest in the older Jedi’s tone, and Obi-Wan’s annoyed “Yes, Master” confirmed it.
He cut the link after bidding their farewells, then muttered, “Meditate,” as if the concept were ridiculous.
Rabé swallowed her laugh and didn’t even jump when the comlink chirped again seconds later.
“Yes, Master?” His voice contained fear not annoyance.
Rabé’s stomach clenched, worried something else had gone wrong.
“Master? Is that how you want to play things now, Padawan? I’m only a Knight, you know,” a deep baritone purred through the device.
“Quin! What the hell are you doing?” Obi-Wan asked in a hushed voice. His tone was far less annoyed than his words sounded.
A rich, melodic laugh came in response.
“I’m serious. How’d you get this channel? Where even are you?”
“Closer than you think,” he cooed, causing Obi-Wan to look around, as if the mystery man had snuck on the ship.
His eyes coasted by Rabé, not even noticing her despite that he was intentionally searching the shadows. Invisibility was her job, and she felt a thrill of satisfaction in fooling a Jedi.
“I’m on a mission. You could be compromising our location.”
That wiped Rabé’s smugness right off.
“Relax, man. I’m a Shadow. I wouldn’t compromise you. Not like that anyway.”
“Quin!” Obi-Wan groaned.
The laughter returned.
“Meet me at the cantina by the Mos Espa spaceport.”
“Wait, you’re here?”
“Of course. I saw Qui-Gon earlier in a gaggle of outlanders and a local kid, but no you. Assumed you were guarding the ship. What the hell are you guys doing with a Gungan?”
“Long story.”
“Tell me over drinks. It’ll be like that time on Hetzal Prime.”
“How much like that time?” Obi-Wan’s voice changed to what Rabé could only describe as an attempt at flirting.
“Depends on how much time you have.” Quin’s tone clear he didn’t mind the bad flirting.
She rolled her eyes.
Surely Obi-Wan wouldn't abandon them out here with just the guards. Not that they needed him, but surely he wouldn't disobey his master.
He scrubbed his face and dumb haircut a few times before replying.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll have to wait though. Everyone’s still awake.”
Or, apparently, he would.
This Quin guy must really be something. She’d been sure the Jedi were celibate. Weren’t they monks? His cropped haircut and weird plait certainly made him look like one.
“I haven’t see you in over a year, Obes. I can manage a few more hours.”
“I know, I know. Can’t wait.”
That laugh rang through again followed by a sultry, “Me either.”
Rabé barely contained her giggle this time, and Obi-Wan noticed.
“I need to go.” He shut off the comlink and called out, “Hello?”
Rabé waited, slowing her heart rate through the nose breathing technique Sabé had taught them all the first month on the job.
“Hello?” he called again.
He didn’t wait much longer before shaking his head.
“Just the ship making noises,” he muttered to himself.
He strode past her towards the lift and she hurried back the way she’d come. She needed Sabé’s and Eirtaé’s opinion on if she should follow him into town. If this Quin guy had seen Qui-Gon and the clumsy Gungan, then he’d have an update on Padmé for them. Plus, he might be more upfront about how dangerous this supposed 'cultural event' was that Qui-Gon told Panaka they were attending tomorrow. Maybe Sabé didn't want to judge Tatooine, but she couldn't imagine much of anything cultural here.
Obi-Wan slipped out of the ship easily enough. It’d been several hours since Quin’s comm. Thankfully he’d waited to leave, since Qui-Gon had asked him to run a Midi-chlorian count analysis on the young slave’s blood just after the ship’s diurnal settings had flipped to nighttime. That was an hour ago now, and most of the ship was finally asleep.
He checked his utility belt a third time, hoping the gooey Calamari Flan would be both enough to cover his drinks, but not so much it drew attention. He didn’t expect his remaining Mandalorian credits would be worth anything based on Qui-Gon’s fiscal issues so far.
“Missing something?” A female voice asked.
Obi-Wan startled, much to his embarrassment. Worse, he couldn’t remember which handmaiden she was, even as she emerged from the shadows. She’d changed into something slightly less regal and likely more comfortable. It still stood out in this dust bowl of a planet. He did not have a good feeling about this.
“Sorry, what are you doing out here?” he tried.
“I could ask you the same.” She crossed her arms.
“I’m running a perimeter check.”
“I’ll let Captain Panka know.”
“Ah, well,” he tried not to stammer.
The handmaiden grinned and he knew she’d been putting him on the whole time.
He put his hands on his hips, a stance that usually worked to get people to ‘leave him to it.’ It even had worked on Satine a few times. Of course, that was only after they’d begun sleeping together, so her motives may have varied. Satine never did anything she didn't intend to do.
“All right, fine. What do you want?”
“You don’t even know my name, do you? I could be the queen herself and you’d have no clue.”
“You’re not. The queen’s attempting to fall asleep and the blonde one is snoring.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again, shaking her head.
“You Jedi are strange.”
“Thank you,” he said, bowing ostentatiously.
She laughed, as he’d hoped for, then said, “I’m coming with you.”
He’d not just spent a year protecting her royal highness, the infuriating and intoxicating Duchess Satine Kryze, to be bossed around by another regal retinue. He banished further thoughts of the duchess before they could blossom into feelings again.
“On my perimeter check?” he countered, brow quirked.
“No, to meet Quin at the spaceport cantina.”
He gaped at her.
“You’d better close that before you catch a desert fly.”
She pushed his chin up with a single slender finger and patted his arm. Obi-Wan stupidly could only wonder if desert flies were real.
“Now, come on,” she continued. “From what I hear, it’s been quite some time since you two last were together.”
That was an understatement. Not that he would call Quinlan and himself 'together' anyway. Certainly not after Mandalore. His heart skipped a beat as he realized Quin didn’t even know Satine existed, let alone everything that went with that.
“You’re not coming.” His voice sounded firm. That was good at least.
“Oh, no?”
“No.”
“Hm, well, here’s the thing—either I come and nobody knows you snuck out and disobeyed orders, or I go let Captain Panaka and the queen know right now.”
Obi-Wan crossed his arms, trying to size her up. She was unreadable, more vexing than Satine in many ways. The teenager in her probably. He knew, of course, she’d be easier to read if he was opening himself fully to the Force. He still couldn't, despite Qui-Gon's demands of constant meditation the entire month they'd been back at the Jedi Temple. It simply hurt too much to feel Satine’s absence.
“If something happens to you...” he said.
“I have you. And a blaster. This isn’t my first seedy spaceport, believe it or not.”
“Or not.”
She laughed again, and he didn’t enjoy it this time.
“Well, it’s up to you. Get in trouble and stay here, or see Quin and nobody knows.”
She shrugged as though it were no sweat off her back either way. Obi-Wan decided a different approach was in order.
“You really have a blaster?”
She moved her outer robe aside to show him a shiny blaster sheathed in her holster.
“And you can use it?”
“I’m the best of all of us. Taught almost everyone else.”
“And what’s your name?”
“Rabé.”
“Great. Rabé, you’re not coming.”
She rolled her eyes and marched back to the ship, pulling a comlink from her pocket.
“Captain? I need your help. The Jedi’s trying to abandon us here.”
“Stop!” he cried, running over to snatch the comlink from her hand.
It was off.
“That’s your only warning,” she said, now dead serious, sounding almost like the queen herself.
Suddenly, he wasn’t sure she wasn’t the queen. His comlink chirped, but he left it on his belt.
“Answer it,” she commanded in the queen’s voice.
He exhaled with a huff, the desert air dry but cooling rapidly as the sun melted into the horizon. Only when the comlink chirped again did he realize it might be Qui-Gon.
“Yes, Master?”
“You still coming?” Quinlan asked.
Rabé stared at him.
Why did she even want to come? Clearly she’d ascertained his interest in Quinlan. Why would she want to intrude on that but not stop him entirely? Why hadn’t he asked her that to start?! Idiot.
“There’s been a complication,” he replied.
“Just bring them with you. I miss you too much.”
Rabé grinned gleefully and Obi-Wan groaned.
“You really owe me, Quin.”
“Happy to oblige, Obes,” Quinlan said and cut the connection.
The baritone promise ignited his loins in a manner all too familiar after the last year—the most recent months especially. The velvet touch of Satine’s thighs ghosted his fingers and her sparkling eyes fluttered as his tongue found the spot that always made her beg him for the stars.
“Hey, you still there?” Rabé was snapping her fingers in front of his face.
“Yeah, sorry, yeah.”
He clipped his comlink on his belt and smoothed his robes to cover the fact he was also smoothing out his sudden erection. The last thing he needed was Rabé thinking he was interested in her.
“So, are the Jedi not like celibate or whatever?” she asked as she started towards the city lights.
His stomach leapt to his chest. “What? Why are you asking me that?”
“Quin seems flirty.”
“Oh! Yeah, he’s like that. But, no, we’re not celibate—not exactly. We can’t have, uh, we can’t have attachments.”
The words caught in his throat, striking him like a blow to the stomach. He’d never see Satine again. They’d only said goodbye five weeks ago.
“So, hookups only?”
Obi-Wan wanted to strangle this girl.
“How old are you, exactly?”
“Sixteen. I’m the oldest of the group.”
“Right, well, I'm twenty-five, so I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation for us to have.”
“We’re going to meet your boyfriend. It seems highly appropriate.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
He felt like he’d just explained this to Satine only yesterday when their past sexual partners came up. In truth, that was six months ago.
“No attachments, got it. Like I said, you Jedi are strange.”
“We really are, aren’t we?” Obi-Wan smiled with a subdued wryness. “But at least I’m not eavesdropping on private conversations of someone who already saved my life multiple times.”
“We had a plan, you know. We had no reason to think you were coming at all.”
“Right, you were being led to prison camps. Some plan.”
“Don’t underestimate us.”
“I’m letting you come along, aren’t I?”
“True. So, what’s this Quin like? How’d you meet? Or do all Jedi know each other?”
“We met on a mission on Coruscant as Padawans. I think we were eleven or twelve, it’s hard to remember. Quinlan is…hard to explain. Most people find him annoying.”
“But not you?”
He chuckled. “He’s my best friend. I probably am the person who finds him the most annoying.”
“I get that. We’re all close, the handmaidens, but sometimes I want to throw them out the palace window.”
“I did that once to Quinlan.” He grinned at the memory. “Different for Jedi though. We can land in one piece.”
“Yeah, though, I’m pretty good scaling and rappelling walls.”
“Another handmaiden skill? What, are you all secretly warriors?”
Rabé just smiled sweetly.
“Well, before we get to Mos Espa, you should know that Quinlan’s a different kind of Jedi than me and Master Qui-Gon. He’s someone who works undercover. Usually it’s shutting down black market dealers, but sometimes it’s taking down pirates or cartel rings. And sometimes, he’s freeing slaves. I have no clue what his mission here entails nor who he is pretending to be.”
“So, don’t blow his cover?”
“Exactly. Don’t use his name and absolutely do not mention the Jedi or the Republic. Let him lead.”
“Easy enough. This is actually exciting. I didn’t realize the Jedi did so much and made such a real difference for everyday people.”
Obi-Wan mimicked her saccharine smile from before and said simply, “Don’t underestimate us.”
Chapter Text
Quinlan waved them over from his outside table. His outer robe wrapped around the chair, and he wore a sleeveless black tunic over brown leather pants. A leather vest, clearly intended as armor not fashion, hugged his chest. It had the effect of making his chiseled physique look even broader and harder.
“Stars, he’s…” Rabé gushed under her breath.
“Oh, I know,” Obi-Wan replied. “But close your mouth, lest you catch a desert fly.”
“Ha ha.”
Quin nodded a greeting as they approached, then frowned.
“How old are you, kid?” he asked Rabé.
“As old as I need to be.”
“She’s sixteen,” Obi-Wan supplied.
Quin shook his head.
“All right, back to my place. Not worth it to fool the bouncer. I need him to like me. Besides, it’s a Boonta Eve crowd—not pleasant.”
“Do you have alcohol?” Rabé asked.
Quin eyed Obi-Wan for approval, but he shrugged.
“I always have two things, kid,” he started, slinging an arm around each of them. “Caf—”
“And whiskey!” Obi-Wan finished for him, and Quinlan laughed loudly.
Rabé laughed as well, even though she didn’t know the joke. It was one that went back nearly a decade, from when they trudged through countless missions to backwater planets as Padawans, and their masters always each brought caf and whiskey. Usually Qui-Gon supplied the caf, while Tholme brought the whiskey.
Quinlan chugged the rest of his glass of green liquid with a grimace, then handed his robe to Rabé.
“Put this on. You’re going to attract unwanted attention with those fabrics.”
She didn’t protest, and Obi-Wan thought he noticed her breathe in the scent of the fabric as Quinlan clapped the stout Weequay bouncer on the shoulder with a jovial good night.
He guided them through the streets of Mos Espa until the spaceport was too far away to hear. He pointed out personalized landmarks as they went, all bathed in a romantic, warm dusk light. There was the market square he shopped at, the nicest, most reputable cantina operated by a businesswoman appointed by the Hutts and currently booming with well-heeled Boonta Eve business, the spice den that acted as a front for the Pyke Syndicate’s small presence here, the bounty hunter guild’s cantina, a stall—closed already—that served the best bantha rolls in Mos Espa, and the water station where he worked part-time processing the moisture farms’ deliveries for citywide distribution.
“How long have you been here?” Rabé asked.
Obi-Wan winced that she’d not followed instruction to let him lead.
“Nine months. It’s a tight-knit community,” Quinlan replied easily.
“Are we nearly there?” Obi-Wan asked brightly to move the topic along.
Rabé’s reaction in the Force indicated she realized her blunder.
“Impatient, are we?” Quinlan grinned, prodding him playfully in the Force.
“Perhaps.” Obi-Wan grinned right back.
“Well, we’re here.”
Quinlan punch in a code to the wall panel on a plain looking dwelling and the brown door slid open with a whoosh. He motioned them ahead, locking the door once everyone was inside.
He turned on the lone lamp in the main room, revealing a chair and table and work bench littered with junk parts Obi-Wan couldn’t make sense of. A tiny kitchenette was tucked in the corner next to an open door showing the closet-sized refresher with no shower. Across from them was a closed door that Obi-Wan assumed was the bedroom.
“Welcome!”
“It’s cozy!” Rabé said, seeming genuine.
“Bigger than my room at the temple,” Quinlan said.
“Way bigger than my room at the temple.” Obi-Wan laughed.
Though it wasn’t much bigger than the living quarters of most of the ships he’d lived on with Qui-Gon and Satine.
“I’ll grab some pillows. Make yourselves at home.”
He disappeared behind the closed door, returning with three square pillows and placing them on the floor. Obi-Wan’s concern Rabé would take offense quickly evaporated when she bursted into pleased laughter and plopped onto one of them.
“I feel like I’m back at university.”
Obi-Wan settled beside her, legs folded as if he planned to meditate, and let Quinlan busy himself with the whiskey. He knew Quin loved to host within the limitations of their temple rooms, having a whole “house warming” when he moved into his Knight room. So, he assumed, rightly so it appeared, he’d want to host here in a true house, despite its quaint size. The Jedi didn’t much care about grandeur.
“Now, I’m Quinlan, and you must be part of the queen’s retinue?” he asked, handing Rabé a light pour of whiskey and sitting on the final pillow.
“Yes, I’m Rabé, the wardrobe mistress.”
“Ah, you must find Obes here an insult to fashion.”
“Excuse me, I’m right here,” Obi-Wan protested with mock offense.
“No, he dresses his part. Neutral colors to be unremarkable, lightweight fabrics to move more easily, and an abundance of layers to make sex more difficult,” she finished with a smug grin, sipping her whiskey with a practiced ease.
Quinlan laughed melodically as Obi-Wan burned red.
“What about my outfit?” Quinlan asked eagerly.
“Simple but durable fabrics, good for the climate and wealth level of this town. Assuming your tunic is the same material as this robe, it has natural cooling, sweat wicking, and antimicrobial properties built in, which is clever for a water-starved planet. The light armor for show since you don’t really need it as a Jedi, but, then again, according to Obi-Wan, you’re not exactly a Jedi here. It would look weird not to have at least some blaster protection in this town. The bantha leather pants though, I’m not sure their function, besides, well, looking good.”
She shrugged.
Quinlan grinned. “An important function. Especially critical for keeping Obes intrigued while he removes all his abundance of layers.”
He winked at her and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but roll his eyes and drink more whiskey. Removing their many layers of Jedi garb historically had only furthered the intrigue, but that wasn’t something they needed to share with Rabé. Besides, he only had two layers on at the moment.
“So, what brings you to Tatooine?” Quinlan asked them.
“Our ship needs repair and we’re on the run from the Trade Federation. We’re headed to Coruscant,” Obi-Wan explained.
“Sounds like a holo novel!” Quin teased.
“You know me.”
“Yes, and this is out of character.”
“Not exactly. Not anymore,” Obi-Wan said.
Quinlan quirked his brows but made no other reply to that comment. There was a story for sure, but not one for Rabé’s ears.
Instead he sipped his whiskey and said, “So, Qui-Gon’s trying to get the parts?”
“Trying being the operative word. No one will accept Republic credits.”
“Did you see Padmé? How is she?” Rabé blurted out.
“I’ll assume that’s the girl about your age who was with Qui-Gon?”
She nodded, eyes wide with anticipation. Obi-Wan wished she’d just asked him to get a report for her rather than force a babysitting session on him. The longer he was in Quin’s presence, the more desperate he became to talk to him about his prior mission.
“I did. She seemed hot, uncomfortable, and annoyed. Can’t really blame her. Your Gungan friend pissed off a pretty dangerous Dug, and I worried Qui-Gon was about to have to reveal himself to stop a mid-afternoon murder.”
“What?” Rabé gasped.
Quinlan shrugged.
“It’s not an especially safe city, as I am sure Obes already pointed out to you.”
Now it was Rabé’s turn to blush and duck her head. Obi-Wan mouthed a thank you his way while she wasn’t looking.
“I think we need some music,” Quinlan said. “What do you like, Rabé?”
“Oh, well, I play some, mostly classical Naboo pieces. But, do you mean pop music?”
“I’m open. Just no Huttese trap. That’s all they play around here.”
He shuddered and Rabé made a disgusted face at the idea alone.
“Well, Neurotransmitter Affection just played at Theed Odeon a week ago. I didn’t get to see much of the show.” She shook her head, as if in disbelief the event was a mere week ago given how much had changed in the days since.
He stood, taking Obi-Wan’s empty glass, and returned with an older model datapad and a refill. He scrolled through the entertainment streams, frowning as nothing good seemed to show up.
“Let me try?” Rabé held out her hands.
“Be my guest.”
She flipped it over and pulled a hairpin out her her braided updo. Seconds later, the device was open and her fingers nimbly reworked the wiring.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“Simple splice,” her voice became accented as she held the hairpin between her teeth.
She started whistling a minute later, and Quinlan shot Obi-Wan an amused smile.
“This thing’s older than me. But, luckily,” she screwed the paneling back in place as she spoke and flipped it screen up again. “That makes it easier to hack. And voila.”
She hit a button and all the modern channels Obi-Wan recognized from his datapad at the temple glowed to life.
She scrolled until landing on a channel playing Neurotransmitter Affection and similar synth-pop. Their main hit, “Get Down,” filled the small room and Rabé smiled widely. It was the first time she’d smiled genuinely since Obi-Wan had met her, and he was glad to see it. Any reprieve was a good one for someone whose planet was under invasion and whose people were suffering.
“This is dance music. Let’s dance,” Quinlan said, standing back up and offering a hand to Rabé.
She took it after repinning her hair and shedding his outer robe in a black pool on the floor. Obi-Wan pulled it out of the way, folding it neatly as he watched politely from the floor. They broke into the iconic song's official dance, and Rabé squealed with delight that Quinlan knew the moves. Obi-Wan wondered when he'd learned it, but soon became hypnotized by the sway of his hips. The anthem's verse revved up the beat, and the two began to jump around like idiots. Rabé’s velvet hood fell over her eyes, and Quinlan pulled it back for her as they both laughed. Then his face went blank and Obi-Wan leapt to his feet to support his friend in case he fell.
“What’s happening?” Rabé asked, stepping back in terror.
“Psychometry. He’s having an episode.”
“This is normal?”
“Not exactly. He’d worked past this type of reaction. It must be strong. If you can fetch some water, that will be helpful.”
She busied herself in the kitchenette, sounding like she was washing a glass before filling it with water. Obi-Wan had guided Quinlan to the floor when she returned, and he ushered for her to sit as well.
Quinlan came to a few moments later, blinking rapidly and gasping for air. He trembled and Obi-Wan shrugged off his robe to wrap it around him, forgetting entirely he’d just folded Quin’s moments before.
“You’re safe. You’re in your apartment on Tatooine. It’s Obi-Wan, and Rabé is here too.”
“Thanks,” Quinlan said, holding his head and tugging the robe tighter around his shoulders.
“Water?” Rabé held out the glass.
Quinlan took it, swallowing it all in one gulp.
She took it back from him and he jerked up his head.
“Does Qui-Gon know?” he asked, voice harsh.
Rabé stilled. “Know what?”
“Who the queen actually is.”
“W-what?” She looked to Obi-Wan for help, but he’d been wondering what they’d been keeping from him and Qui-Gon all along.
“Who is the queen?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Padmé,” Quinlan said, pressing his fingers into his eye sockets to help diffuse the migraine.
“What?” Obi-Wan exclaimed.
“We thought you already knew. Jedi mind reading and all.”
“That’s not how it works, and even if it was, we wouldn't violate your trust. Why would you lie? How are we supposed to protect the queen when we don't know who she is?”
She huffed. “You sound like Captain Panaka.”
“Yes, a very reasonable man tasked with keeping you all safe!”
“You’re Jedi! Don’t you keep everyone safe?!” she yelled.
“Leave it, Kenobi,” Quinlan said sharply.
Obi-Wan shut his mouth before the angry response could emerge.
There was an uncomfortable silence where Quinlan massaged his head, Rabé looked like she might cry, and Obi-Wan fumed silently, flooded with fresh memories of similarly heated arguments with Satine. The upbeat tempo and peppy lyrics of “Get Down” mocked the abysmal shift in mood.
Finally Quinlan let out a long sigh and squeezed Obi-Wan’s knee.
“What is wrong with you, man? You’re like a tormented sea.”
“It’s…a long story.” He eyed Rabé pointedly.
“Right.”
“I can go in the other room with headphones if you want to talk.”
“Better idea, Splicer, you can help me with this little project while we go talk in the other room.”
Quinlan led her to the work bench and pointed at the contraption in question.
“What’s the intended function?” she asked.
“To locate slaver chips in a body. They don’t standardize the location to make it harder to remove,” he said.
Obi-Wan stood to get a better look, but the whole thing looked like a mess of random parts. Something a child might put together when learning to tinker.
“Why’s it so crude?” Rabé asked.
“So anyone can replicate it. It’s the inside that needs help. I can’t figure out how to get an accurate depth reading. Here’s the frequency specs of the chips.” He pointed at a dirty rag with markings on it.
“Handwritten?” Rabé whistled.
“Analog is safer.”
She nodded with clear understanding, and Obi-Wan wondered what exactly she did for the queen—Padmé.
“Okay, I’ll take a look. If I break it, is that a problem?”
“It’s not even working, so you can’t break it.”
They both laughed lightly and then he handed her the datapad.
“You got headphones in your hairdo?”
Now she really laughed. “No, but I do in my robes.”
He squeezed her shoulder in thanks, then grabbed the whiskey bottle and indicated Obi-Wan follow him into the bedroom.
“Don’t leave, please,” Obi-Wan said to Rabé.
“I can’t hear you,” she called back, headphones in her ears.
He let the door close behind him before allowing himself a loud groan.
“Remind me to never, ever get a Padawan,” he said.
Quin smiled indulgently, but patted the bed, which took up 90% of the room.
“Sit. Spill. You’re such a mess in the Force. I brought us back to the house because of you, not Rabé’s age. Nobody gives a flying criff about that out here.”
Obi-Wan sat, feeling foolish at Quin’s admission. He pulled off his boots so he didn’t dirty the sheets as he tucked his legs beneath him.
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“Last we saw each other, you’d been assigned to oversee a clean transition of power in Mandalore. You checked in once after arriving, then went dark. I left for this mission shortly thereafter, so, I don’t even know when you got back to the Temple.”
“Yeah, we had to go on the run.” Obi-Wan let out a long breath. “It’s been a month since we returned to the Temple, but it feels like a lifetime.”
“What happened?” Quinlan asked, gentle and earnest.
“Satine,” Obi-Wan whispered, staring at the sand and duraplaster wall.
“What’s a Satine?”
Obi-Wan knew this was meant to elicit a smile from him, but he couldn’t perform anymore.
“Quin,” he said shakily, finally looking at his friend as tears formed.
Quinlan took his hands into his lap. “I’m here.”
“I don’t think I can be a Jedi anymore.”
Quinlan blinked a few times, but his feelings remain unreadable. Obi-Wan didn’t reach for the Force to aid him, and he wasn’t sure he could. His connection to the Force since leaving Satine felt tenuous at best.
“Impossible.” Quinlan’s mouth curved into a half smile. “I’m supposed to be the off kilter one. You’re the steady guiding light.”
Obi-Wan shook his head.
“I can’t even connect to the Force right.”
“I’m sure that’s untrue. You just need to relax.” He squeezed his hands. “We can meditate?”
“No. I can’t meditate without seeing her. I can’t sleep. I can barely eat. I can’t access the Force without feeling her. The absence of her swallows me whole. It’s consuming me. I can’t exist without her. I don’t know how.”
He trembled uncontrollably as sobs he'd pushed down all month reared up as dry heaves. Quinlan tore off Obi-Wan’s robe, clearly intending to wrap it around him when Satine’s lily hair pin fell from the pocket onto the floor.
He bent to retrieve the trinket, all the while Obi-Wan protesting with a jagged, “No, don’t touch that!”
But, it was too late.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Apologies for the long delay in posting! I needed to write the middle section of this chapter (and definitely thought it would be longer and end up being the end of this chapter instead) and then life got very in the way of writing time. Nearly all of the rest of the fic is done, so we shouldn't have another gap :) Enjoy!
Chapter Text
The psychometric vision enveloped Quinlan, Obi-Wan’s post-coital scent overpowering and familiar inside it. That was a new one.
His body buzzed with a recent orgasm that wasn’t his own, which wasn’t exactly an uncommon sensation for him since many strong memories included sexual activities. He tried to take in the room in order to focus himself within the memory. It was luxurious in size, but sparsely appointed other than the large bed that the memory holder lay on entirely naked.
“Ben.”
She breathed the name like it was a prayer of exaltation.
He could feel the unsaid words inside her. She wanted to scream them like some feral decree, but clamped them tight against her breaking heart.
I love you.
Obi-Wan crawled up her body, apparently the Ben in question. He trailed wet and lingering kisses as he went, a giddy smile on his face.
Quinlan knew that smile.
But, no, there was something more to it. The sheen in his eyes made them glisten bluer than he’d had ever seen them before. And the freeness of it—he was glowing.
“Satine,” he said, voice rich and warm. His true accent, his real voice. The one he only used in the bedroom. Quinlan was the only person who knew it.
No. He had been the only the person.
He couldn’t stay in the memory any longer. He couldn’t taste Satine on Obi-Wan’s lips when they inevitably kissed in the coming seconds.
He forced his mind to close, finding it more difficult than with memories of even the ugliest sessions of torture. When he came back to, Obi-Wan had pulled his knees to his chest and was watching him intently, pain all over his face.
Quinlan quickly realized pain emanated from all of him. Fear and pain and something deeper, stronger. Like an undercurrent.
Remorse. That was it. But it wasn’t for him having learned about her this way, not entirely. It was for having left Satine.
“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered.
“It’s okay,” Quinlan managed, even though it wasn’t.
Tears began to flow out of Obi-Wan, the self-made dam of the Jedi Code finally broken. Quinlan set the silver flower on his bedside table in order to fully embrace his friend. He pulled him into his lap as if they were adolescents again, cradling him as the sobs came, and attempted to find balance as jealousy clawed its way through his heart.
There is no emotion, there is only peace.
There is no emotion, there is only peace.
There is no emotion, there is only peace.
He must have been saying the mantra aloud because Obi-Wan began to whisper it as well, and eventually the repetition of the words and Quinlan’s rocking relaxed him enough that he fell asleep in his arms.
Quinlan waited ten minutes before laying Obi-Wan on the bed and covering him with the blanket.
He scrubbed his face to revitalize himself and reached out with the Force to check on Rabé. Beyond the subtle trace of pain and fear she’d had all night, she felt smug and content at once, so he decided she must have made progress. After giving Obi-Wan’s sleeping form a gentle pat, along with a whispered, “I’ll be back,” he went to the main room.
Rabé was swaying to the music in her headphones, fully engrossed in her work. He stood beside her, trapped in the delicate dance of hovering close enough she could sense him but not so close she would shriek and wake Obi-Wan.
She peered up at him after a few moments.
“Is he all right?”
Quinlan nodded. “Asleep. I should get you back to the ship before it gets late.”
She frowned. “I thought Obi-Wan would have to do that.”
“I think he needs sleep more. Sounds like he’s not been sleeping well the last month. And I’m actually more of a Jedi than he is since I’m a Knight, so you’d be safer with me anyway. Not to mention, I know the town.”
“No, I get it. I just…” She sighed, looking down at the chip disabler.
“You solved it?”
“Not quite. But, I definitely made progress.”
“Show me.”
“I thought we had to go?”
“There’s always time for progress,” Quinlan reassured her. In truth, he didn’t mind a distraction from his churning emotions or staying nearby Obi-Wan for longer, even if he was asleep.
She lit up, presenting the device to him anew. She’d swapped the compressor for a splitter. He shook his head in amazement.
“What?” she asked, worry creeping back into her voice. It didn’t suit her.
Quinlan shrugged. “I never even tried that. I thought that would ruin the wires.”
“No, not at all. It allows them to function simultaneously without interference. So, you can detect both location and depth. I can’t be certain it works on a person, of course, but…”
He took the device from her, inspecting it closer for show.
“It’s amazing.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. Your work’s going to help a lot of people.”
She beamed.
“Now, let’s get you back to the safety of the ship.”
She nodded.
“You have everything?”
“Yeah, well, except Obi-Wan.” She glanced at the bedroom’s closed door.
Quinlan chuckled. “He’ll be fine. If he does somehow manage to wake up and also decide to leave the apartment in the short time I’m away, he’ll be just fine. I know he comes off like a charming, clever little vulptex, but he can be a real rawl if pressed.”
“Yikes. Note to self, don’t piss off Obi-Wan.”
“A wise approach.” Quinlan winked at her. “Ready?”
“Almost. I…Well, I’m sorry about the, uh, about your episode. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Quinlan waved it off. He’d forgotten about that episode entirely since having the more recent one.
“You’re all really smart. Just don’t forget that everyone needs help at some point.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me. How do you think I learned how to manage my psychometry?” He jerked a thumb towards his bedroom. “That one helped me every day.”
“Ah,” she said.
“Come on, kid. Life’s too precious to waste it worrying about emotions. Take it from a Jedi.”
He flashed her a grin and sauntered towards the door.
She followed after him with a laugh, which he echoed, but inside he wished he could take his own advice.
Upon returning from escorting Rabé directly to the door of the royal starship, Quinlan slipped off his cloak and boots, depositing them in their spots at his entryway alcove. Obi-Wan’s steady breathing sounded gently from his bedroom and he relaxed.
The tiny living space felt cluttered with their abandoned whiskey glasses and he set about tidying up.
When he came to the chip disabler, a smile claimed his face. The Whitesuns would be happy with the progress.
Obi-Wan’s whimper brought him sharply into the present.
“Obes?” he whispered, hurrying into the bedroom.
Obi-Wan thrashed across the bed’s surface, twisting the blanket around himself.
“I can’t! I can’t!” he wailed against the pillow.
Quinlan sat on the edge of the mattress, placing a hand on his shoulder and pressing calming emotions into his friend. The thrashing stilled and Obi-Wan murmured, “I love you,” to his dreamscape.
“I love you, too,” Quinlan whispered into the air for only his own ears to hear. It wasn’t the first time he’d professed his love for Obi-Wan to no one.
He undressed and used his handheld cleaner to pull the dirt and sweat from his body. The bedroom felt uncannily lonely with Obi-Wan asleep and whispering promises to a woman he didn’t know and probably never would.
He wanted to scream and cry and bury himself inside his friend all at once. None of it was very Jedi. But, then, maybe neither of them were very Jedi. Had they really ever been? When Jocasta Nu caught them in their first kiss, she’d lectured them as the Padawans they were, explaining how such relations couldn’t continue as Knights.
But they'd never stopped.
Not after their training became more intense. Not after it became apparent their masters were also rather close, leaving the Padawans to share a tent on their many joint missions. And certainly not after Quinlan had been made Knight while Obi-Wan remained a Padawan. He should have ceased relations then, as was proper, but it never felt right. The Force willed otherwise—didn’t it? Hadn’t it all along?
But now, now there was the duchess.
He straightened the sheets out, gently moving Obi-Wan closer to one side of the bed before lying beside him. He moaned in his sleep, wiggling his body until he curled against Quinlan and emitting a satisfied sigh before gentle snores formed.
Quinlan closed his eyes, willing sleep. It felt far away. His mind raced with his new reality. Obi-Wan loved someone else. This thing they’d always shared had never been more than that. He was second. And worst of all, it had to be okay. They were Jedi, so all of this couldn’t mean anything. He couldn’t feel anything without risking falling to the dark side.
But he felt. He felt so much.
“Quin?”
His stomach leapt at the coarse whisper.
“Obes?”
“Mm, I’m cold. I’m sorry.”
“Obes, are you awake?”
“Hm,”
“Are you awake?”
Silence followed, but Obi-Wan wrapped himself around Quinlan. He adjusted himself to better accommodate their positions, and resigned himself to the fact he was second now for Obi-Wan. At least he was still around at all.
Sleep came soon after, only to be interrupted by a disturbing dream of a red-skinned Zabrak covered in black tattoos killing an older and disarrayed Satine in front of Obi-Wan with a strange lightsaber that was made of darkness instead of light.
It made no sense as he blinked awake. Obi-Wan looked older in the dream as well, bearded and with longer hair. A Knight or Master. But he’d worn Mandalorian armor, not Jedi robes. Did that mean he was going to leave the Jedi Order to be with Satine? His stomach clenched at the thought.
The real Obi-Wan brushed his cheekbone gently with his knuckle.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“Bad dream,” Quinlan said, voice gruff with sleep and fear.
“Just a dream,” Obi-Wan assured him.
“Yeah, just a dream.”
He knew he should tell him, but he didn’t want to cause him more pain. Besides, he never got visions, only echoes of the past. So, really, there was nothing to tell. Just his own insecurities manifested as a dream.
“Thank you for tonight,” Obi-Wan said.
Quinlan turned to face him, finding Obi-Wan already turned towards him with an earnest expression.
“You don’t need to thank me. You needed help and I gave you it. We’re friends and we’re Jedi.”
“We are.” Obi-Wan nodded, but his eyes were distant.
Quinlan blinked, trying to stay alert.
“You should sleep, darling,” Obi-Wan cooed.
“Don’t…You shouldn’t call me that.”
“Why not?” He sounded wounded.
“Because you’re in love with someone else.”
There was a long silence.
“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered.
“Don’t be sorry.”
“But I am. I…I still care for you, and I feel awful.”
Quinlan couldn’t form a response. Tears filled his eyes instead, trickling out as if to prove his emotions couldn’t be controlled, even with all his training to the contrary.
“You’re angry,” Obi-Wan concluded in his silence.
“Yes,” Quinlan whispered, realizing that, in fact, was his emotion. A dangerous emotion, but safer to acknowledge it.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. Not really. And it’s fine. This is my problem, not yours. We’re not…we never were.”
He looked away, but Obi-Wan forced his face around.
“You really think that?”
“Think what?” His voice cracked.
“That we never were anything.” Obi-Wan wiped dry his tear tracks with his thumb.
“What do you want me to say?”
Obi-Wan kissed him, and he tried to pull away.
“You love Satine.”
Obi-Wan kissed him again.
“Stop. Please, don’t do this to me.”
Obi-Wan pulled back, blinking his beautiful long lashes over his perfect ocean eyes like an innocent kybuck.
“We can stop. Of course, we can stop if that’s what you want.”
“Why are you so perfect?” Quinlan cried, feeling fifteen and helplessly infatuated all over again.
Obi-Wan looked horrified. “I’m not. I’m so far from perfect.”
Quinlan kissed him, and Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate to reciprocate. They fell into their usual give and take, tongues meeting and hands wandering. Obi-Wan began to undress and their skin soon pressed together, sticky with sweat in the room’s still air. It lit up Quinlan. He kept them flush—rolling and grinding together, gripping each other’s muscles and exchanging soft, wanton moans between kisses.
“Do you want to?” Obi-Wan asked, breathy and unsteady.
“Yes.” It was out of his mouth before thoughts formed.
He knew they shouldn’t. Knew that Obi-Wan wasn’t ready. Force, he wasn’t ready. But, stars, he wanted it.
Obi-Wan smiled at him, giddy and open. He was still a Padawan. Hadn’t taken his trials. Hadn’t experienced the dark side in order to refute it—the actual purpose of the trials. Hadn’t made any real oaths to the Order. Nothing about this was out of bounds for him. But his smile seemed so pure, so unencumbered, and Quinlan decided it was why the Force had brought them together here—to heal Obi-Wan. So, of course, he would say yes. He always said yes when it came to Obi-Wan.
“How do you want me?” he asked.
“Take me. Don’t be gentle,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Please.”
Quinlan turned him over and did as he asked.
Chapter Text
Obi-Wan felt ragged and raw, like an open wound. He’d hoped this would work, would let him forget her. And it had in the moment. In the gift of Quinlan’s growls and their shared pleasure. But everything was fleeting and he wasn’t sure how to live in the present anymore.
Quinlan collapsed on top of him, sweaty and hairy and hard muscled and just so distinctly male. So much not Satine. He nibbled Obi-Wan’s ear cartilage, an old habit formed when Obi-Wan had made the stupid decision to pierce his own ear and the lobe ballooned with infection leaving the cartilage as the only part lacking heightened sensitivity for nearly a year.
Quin breathed hard as he came down from his orgasm. It felt good to be smothered under his body weight, somehow freeing that he couldn’t move and had no other choice.
“I needed that,” Quin murmured directly into his ear, the sound waves worming in deep and tickling the skin as they traveled.
Obi-Wan’s face was pressed between body and mattress, so he merely grunted in response.
“I’m glad we have each other,” Quinlan said, this time it was soft and controlled.
His pulse quickened at the word, ‘have.’ It still felt so forbidden, despite all their years together doing exactly this. Now, though, he had something to compare it against, and so did Quinlan. And the Masters’ warnings against attachment all made sense finally.
He’d felt Quin’s jealousy in the Force. It’d been ugly and dark, so unlike him.
A true Jedi Knight, he’d moved through it, finding the light and balance soon after, and so, Obi-Wan had said nothing about it. He knew they shouldn’t have had sex. Not after that moment. But he’d been giving into the demands of his desires for so many months straight, it was hard to refuse his body—nearly impossible, really, once their flesh had touched.
But it was in the past now. And didn’t Qui-Gon want him to be mindful of the present—the living Force?
He turned over, and Quin lay his head on his chest, his locs sprawled across his pale skin like tiny black snakes. Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around him, stroking his shoulder blade and pulling on a loc or two. Their familiar texture comforted him, like meditation beads between his fingertips.
“I missed you,” he said.
“Me too,” Quinlan said.
Then they were silent in the comfortable peace they always found. Obi-Wan managed to quiet his mind, playing with Quin’s locs and listening to the rhythm of their breathing.
Just as he felt himself sinking into sleep again, there was a disturbance in the Force.
Quinlan inhaled sharply at the same moment.
“I felt it, too,” Obi-Wan said.
“Something’s here—or someone.”
“I’ve never felt this before—have you?”
They were dressing now, as if the threat might burst in at any moment, despite it being far away, just emerging in the atmosphere.
“No, never. Not like this. It’s so cold,” Quinlan whispered.
“Qui-Gon’s going to comm me, I’m sure. I…”
“You need to get back to the ship. The queen’s with Qui-Gon, but the others won’t be safe.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“Leaving you like this.”
“Obes, we’re Jedi. Leaving to protect people is what we do.”
“But you’re…we’re…”
Quinlan gripped the sides of his face, pulling him close for a powerful kiss.
“We’ll talk about our feelings when we’re back on Coruscant together. Level 1313. Besides, I’m not letting you go out there alone.”
His petulant side thought to protest, but having the offer of protection, especially against whatever that was, warmed him.
“Thanks.”
“You have your lightsaber?”
Obi-Wan patted the hilt hanging from his belt. “You?”
Quinlan shoved aside the tiny bedside table and lifted the corner of the tattered rug beneath it to reveal a hole in the floor. He reached into it, returning with his saber’s straight, silver hilt.
“Don’t use the Force unless you must. They might be able to sense us.”
Obi-Wan nodded. Quinlan’s experience hiding far outweighed his own, even after the last year of doing so. Most of that work had been handled by Qui-Gon.
“It’s cold now,” Quinlan said, pulling on his cloak and boots by the front door.
Obi-Wan shrugged into his robes.
“Hoods up,” Quinlan said as he pulled the black fabric over his thick locs. His face darkened, shrouded in shadow so the yellow tattoos seemed to glow. Obi-Wan stirred at how dangerous he looked, hastily pulling up his own hood as he quelled his desire.
Quinlan smirked.
“I thought we weren’t using the Force?”
“I didn’t need to with your facial expression.” Quin blew him a kiss and opened the door.
They emerged into the night, Quinlan guiding their path expertly through the city until they neared the spaceport section. Lights and sound filled the air, boisterous laughter and yelling erupting from the drunken Boonta Eve crowd.
Without warning, Quinlan shoved Obi-Wan against an alley wall, mouth aggressively meeting his. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw a DRK-1 spy droid hover a moment before moving on. A few moments later, Quinlan pulled back.
“How’d you sense that?”
“I just did. You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Did it see us?”
“I think so, but it moved on. I don’t think it recognized us.”
Quinlan exhaled with relief.
“Intimacy always makes others uncomfortable, even droids. Sorry I couldn’t warn you.”
“Oh, I enjoyed the thrill of your clandestine lifestyle.” Obi-Wan grinned.
“I bet you did.” Quinlan laughed. “Come on, my little Shadow.”
They continued past the outskirts and into the desert. The openness now more terrifying than earlier.
“I’m not letting you go all the way back alone,” Obi-Wan said.
“I’m not letting you go all way to the ship without me,” Quinlan countered.
Obi-Wan sighed.
“What about halfway? Then we both have equal time of danger.”
“I’m a Knight and you’re a Padawan. Three-quarters way, and that’s final.”
“Two-thirds.”
They stared at each other, arms crossed.
“I think we’re already two-thirds of the way,” Quinlan finally said.
Obi-Wan looked into the distance and the ship leapt into view, the cockpit windows emitting the soft red glow of the auxiliary lighting.
“Then this is goodbye,” he said, voice stronger than he felt.
“Obes,” Quin whispered.
He met his gaze, guided only by the yellow of his tattoos under the dark night sky.
“Level 1313,” Obi-Wan said.
Quinlan stepped towards him, and Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around his torso to pull him closer.
“Thanks for coming out tonight.”
“Thanks for inviting me. It was perfect.”
“I…” Quinlan trailed off.
Obi-Wan kissed him gently.
“I’ll see you soon, Quin.”
Quinlan nodded.
They stood frozen in the chilled desert night, unwilling to separate just yet. Obi-Wan wanted to tell him that he still loved him, and, now that he understood what love felt like fully, that he’d always loved him.
But they couldn’t be attached. They couldn’t love each other—not like that.
So, instead, he kissed him again. This time it wasn’t gentle, and Quinlan gave into it entirely. They acted like new lovers parting for the first time, until, finally, Quinlan broke away and forced Obi-Wan to finish his journey to the ship.
He snuck back in without anyone noticing and successfully made it to the makeshift cots serving as his and Qui-Gon’s beds. There was a note on top of the folded blanket, and his stomach jumped as he worried he’d been caught. Only the queen would have a luxury item like real paper.
He opened it with haste, relaxing immediately, a smile tugging on his lips. It read in Mando’a, Vor entye. Which meant thank you. It was signed with a Basic ‘R.’
So, she had been listening from the other room.
He chuckled and slipped the paper into his robe pocket, groping for the familiar sharpness of the lily pin. It wasn’t there, though, forgotten on Quin’s side table. Instead, he found a leather cord formed into a loop with a gold colored bead that served as a clasp. He knew it immediately as the cord Quin used to wrap the locs near his face to keep them out of the way.
He shook his head with a cheeky grin.
After slipping it around his neck, he tightened it just enough that he could hide it under his tunic. He fingered the bead through the beige fabric and felt a sense of calm. Maybe, once he became a Knight, he could wear it openly.
By the time he fell asleep, he’d forgotten entirely that he’d expected Qui-Gon to comm him. A comm that never came. That elusive sense of foreboding he’d had since they’d left for this mission, though, that remained. Combined with the cold presence from earlier, something bad was coming. Obi-Wan was certain.
Chapter Text
The rollercoaster of the past few days was enough to send most people into a spiral, but not the Naboo royal handmaidens, especially not Rabé.
They’d barely escaped Tatooine after being attacked by a lightsaber-wielding Zabrak who both she and Eirtaé heard Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan refer to as a Sith Lord.
Qui-Gon had brought back a boy named Anakin Skywalker who he’d referred to as The Chosen One, both privately to Obi-Wan and on comms to someone named Master Windu at the Jedi Council. For whatever reason, Anakin was forced back to Naboo with them instead of staying on Coruscant to train as a new Jedi.
It ended up miraculously beneficial since he’d managed to save the majority of the Gungans during Padmé’s brilliant strategy to retake Theed. Ani was a sweet kid, Rabé had to admit, and Padmé certainly adored him.
This all was after Padmé essentially deposed the Supreme Chancellor during her Senate hearing on Coruscant. A story Sabé conveyed with such adoration and enthusiasm, none of them minded hearing it again and again, not even Panaka, who’d witnessed it himself.
The occupation had been the worst in Theed proper, where the two youngest handmaidens, Yané and Saché, had been put in camps. The food ran out officially today, but with the blockade lifted, the Chommel sector already was en route with promised agricultural deliveries. Saché appeared to be the only torture victim and was being treated for her wounds, Yané by her side. She’d refused Bacta treatment, saying she didn’t want to erase the evidence of what happened here. No one dared argue.
Even with these traumas, it might have been all happy endings had Qui-Gon not been killed by the Zabrak Sith Lord. As suspected, he’d been working with the Trade Federation all along. Thankfully, somehow Obi-Wan had managed to kill him instead of being killed himself.
Now they congregated in the funeral temple of the river tower, preparing Qui-Gon’s body for the traditional Jedi pyre. Members of the Jedi Council would arrive tomorrow for the ceremony, but Rabé suspected they also wanted to sweep for the Zabrak’s body. Given he’d fallen into the plasma mines, she didn’t think there’d be much to find.
Mostly, she was worried about Obi-Wan. After how upset he’d been in Mos Espa, she couldn’t imagine how he felt now. His façade wasn’t even back in full effect, the way it’d snapped back once Qui-Gon returned to the ship on Tatooine. Instead, his light had been dimmed, and it broke her heart to see it.
After the specifics were handled for the cremation, Obi-Wan wandered to the balcony of the tower. He stared across the landscape, a waterfall plummeting just beneath him, but Rabé could tell he didn’t see the vista and couldn’t hear the raging water.
“I wish there was something we could do for him,” Padmé said.
The others nodded, clearly seeing the grief Rabé saw. They didn’t know the whole story though. She hadn’t told any of them about the Duchess of Mandalore.
“Actually, I think there might be. But we’ll need to act quickly—before the Jedi arrive.” Rabé said and everyone looked intrigued.
“Why before?” Sabé asked.
“Well,” Rabé flashed a conspiratorial grin. “As it happens, our little Jedi hero is in love.”
“In love? Isn't that forbidden for Jedi?” Padmé asked.
“Why do you think he’s so sad?”
“So, you want to have this person come here?” Eirtaé asked.
“I doubt there’s time for that. But, a conversation with someone who understands him, knew Qui-Gon, and also is familiar with horrible loss in war? I think it’ll help.”
“Even just a true friend would be a kindness,” Padmé noted, pensive. “Are we sure it’s not overly intrusive?”
“Well, it’s got another angle. She’s a duchess.”
“What?” All three exclaimed in unison.
“Of where? Is she the sovereign?” Eirtaé asked.
“Mandalore. And, yes, unless something went wrong.”
“Mandalore?” Sabé gasped.
“It would be good to introduce myself to another young sovereign—I’m assuming she’s young?” Padmé raised a brow in Rabé’s direction.
She shrugged.
“Twenty-three,” Eirtaé chirped, fingers busy on her datapad. “I’ll need to research how you should make contact—directly or through Bibble—and any other customs or formalities we should bear in mind. I know very little about Mandalore, admittedly.”
“Me either,” Padmé admitted.
“They just ended a long civil war.” Rabé proceeded to explain all she learned from Obi-Wan and Quinlan’s conversation, plus the comment she’d noted from Qui-Gon, and the little bit of research she’d done to be able to write a message to Obi-Wan in Mando’a.
By dinner time, Eirtaé had completed her research and determined that Padmé call from her royal parlor, not the throne, owing to the fact that the nature of her call wasn’t formal business, but both were sovereigns. The full Amidala look worked well, and a commitment to Naboo tradition would suit the sensibilities of a Mandalorian, given they were a traditional people.
And so they found themselves in the parlor, Amidala in one of her fan headpieces and a green gown. Rabé and Sabé stood behind her just visible in the holofield wearing their simplest version of the black complementary gown. Eirtaé stood in front of them, well out of the projector’s range, ready to guide Padmé away from any potential faux pas.
“Ready?” Eirtaé asked.
Padmé and the two handmaidens nodded, and Eirtaé placed the call.
A middle-aged man answered, looking slightly frazzled.
“Hello? Who am I speaking with? How did you get this channel?”
Eirtaé mouthed, ‘royal line,’ and Padmé didn't react but they all knew she understood. It was a private channel, only for royalty.
“This is Queen Amidala of Naboo. Is this not the royal line of Mandalore?”
“Your Highness! Forgive me. Yes, it is. I will send for her royal highness Duchess Satine now.”
“I would appreciate it, Sir…?”
“Ah, er, Almec. Minister Almec.”
Padmé inclined her head slightly and Almec scurried away out of visual range. Moments later, a twenty-something woman appeared, her aquiline features matching those of Eirtaé’s research well enough. A headpiece with a lapis gem in its center adorned her head and she made no immediate reaction to Amidala’s waiting image.
Rabé held her breath. Maybe this had been a mistake.
“Queen Amidala of Naboo, I am informed of your planet’s blockade, however, I regret Mandalore is unable to aid you. We continue rebuilding from our recent war.”
“Duchess Satine, you misunderstand my intentions. I have reclaimed my throne and negotiated a new treaty with the Trade Federation—one that accounts for their crimes against my people, our sovereignty, and the Republic itself. The blockade is lifted and aid from our neighbors is en route. No, your highness, my call is of personal nature. Forgive me, I know this is unorthodox for an introduction, but I sincerely believe you alone can assist me with this matter, should you be willing.”
The Duchess finally sat, the chair far too simple and at floor level to be a throne. The Royal Line must feed into a parlor there, too. She steepled her hands, leaning back slightly, her lips hinting a faint grin.
“I’m intrigued.”
Rabé saw the reason for Obi-Wan’s attraction in this subtle moment.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Padmé continued without pause, her queen’s voice slipping ever so much to make her more likable. “You see, I did not come ahead in this ordeal without assistance. Assistance from two Jedi I believe you know well—Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Skill was not needed to devise the shift in emotion from the duchess.
“Yes, they served as my protectors during the worst of the civil war here. How—Are they well?”
Now Padmé did pause. She gathered her strength and delivered the news of Qui-Gon’s death.
The duchess’ mouth fell open, covered quickly by a manicured hand.
“You join us in our grieving the loss of such a great man, but none of us can imagine the depths of sorrow his Padawan must feel.”
Duchess Satine nodded, wiping an errant tear away. Her expression hardened as she looked at someone beyond the holo projection and barked, “That will be all, Minister.”
Queen Amidala waited for the duchess to return her gaze to their conversation before speaking again.
“My handmaidens are an extension of myself, trusted with all my secrets as I trust my own heart and mind. You can be assured our conversation remains private on my end.”
“It is now private on mine as well. Only, there is no way for me to attend Qui-Gon’s funeral. I risk my throne if I leave. I’ve sat it only a month.”
“We understand you cannot leave Mandalore, nor would you make it in time for the funeral. This is not what I ask.”
The duchess furrowed her brows in confusion.
“We wish to thank Obi-Wan for all he’s done for us. Only, we are not suited to the task. We’ve known him a mere week, and the majority of it was spent with Master Qui-Gon, not Obi-Wan. My handmaiden Rabé is my best spy. She uncovered that the pair of you were close. Therefore, we believe if you would meet with him via holo, it would bring him a good deal of comfort.”
Duchess Satine swallowed and drew a meditative breath. The kind Rabé recounted Obi-Wan teaching Anakin how to do on the way to Coruscant after the reality he’d left his mother behind sunk in and Qui-Gon had been elsewhere, unable to help.
“He does not wish to see me,” she whispered.
Padmé glanced furtively at Eirtaé, who just shrugged and mouthed, ‘heartbreak?’
“Forgive me, Duchess, but I do not believe that is the case.”
“Did he say so?” She practically spat, eyes ablaze.
Padmé’s fluster grew, and Sabé looked to Rabé silently urging her to cut in.
“Queen Amidala, if I may speak freely?” Rabé asked.
“Yes, please. Duchess Satine, this is Rabé.”
“Your highness, I can attest that Obi-Wan did say this. He…” She wondered how much of his truth to divulge.
“He what?”
“He is broken. He is a shell. Before Qui-Gon’s death. Before he killed the Sith they sent to kill him and Qui-Gon. My job is to understand what a person means, even when their words do not match it. I know he wishes to see you, quite possibly forever.”
She regretted adding that last bit the moment it slipped out. Satine’s reaction was horror.
But the duchess only whispered, “Obi killed someone?”
“Yes, a Zabrak Sith assassin. There was a duel to detract the Jedi from assisting us in infiltrating the palace. It was a trap.”
“Do the Jedi know?”
“I am not certain,” Padmé replied. “I assume he told them when reporting Qui-Gon’s death. They arrive tomorrow along with the new Chancellor. That is why I ask you for this favor now, before the Jedi arrive, when Obi-Wan is still free to receive comfort from someone dear to him. Someone who knows the most recent version of him best. Whom he can speak with openly.”
The duchess held her gaze for a long while before looking away. Her stare became distant, a mirror of Obi-Wan’s from that morning. Like two lost stars, systems apart, searching for the other’s light.
“Is he there now?” she finally said.
“Now?” Padmé asked, caught entirely off-guard. “Stars, no. I wasn’t about to tell him you’d meet before you’d agreed to it.”
Eirtaé glared and Padmé hurried to add, “Your highness.”
Duchess Satine laughed, and something about its richness made Rabé believe it genuine.
“I admire your boldness, Queen Amidala. The Republic is better for it. It is mid-morning here, so I have some hours left in my availability. More than it seems Obi-Wan does.”
“So, you will meet with him?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I send for him now?”
“I am free. Though,” She ducked her head a moment. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer a chance to prepare myself before seeing him.”
“Yes, of course. We will need some time to fetch him anyway, so shall we say thirty minutes for a return call?” Padmé said.
“Thank you.”
The two leaders inclined their heads to one another before Duchess Satine severed her connection. Eirtaé disconnected their end.
“Well, that seemed to go well,” Padmé said with a generous exhale.
“I think so,” Eirtaé agreed. “Other than your flippant familiarity towards the end.”
“Only endearing her to me further.”
They laughed at this, and Sabé helped Padmé to stand.
“So, do we tell Obi-Wan who we’re calling, or leave it as a surprise?” Eirtaé asked.
“Surprise,” the other three replied in unison before laughing again, this time at how identical they all sounded.
“What about Anakin? Obi-Wan won’t leave him alone if he doesn’t know why. He barely would leave him when he was directing the cremation preparations this morning,” Sabé said.
“I’ll look after Ani. You can join me, maybe Yané and Saché too. I’m sure he’ll want to see how she’s doing. He’s really such a good kid,” Padmé said, a smile claiming her face.
Rabé liked this look on her. Happiness. Clearly she really liked this kid.
“Obi-Wan will agree to that,” she said.
“You and Eirtaé go fetch them. We’ll be in drawing room,” Padmé commanded.
With that, they all set off for what Rabé hoped would be a good thing for Obi-Wan. From the short interaction with the duchess, she wondered how complicated their relationship actually had been. But she knew it in her marrow that he would wish to see her again, and that was enough to convince her they were still doing the right thing.
Chapter Text
“Sit,” Rabé commanded, pressing Obi-Wan into the plush sitting chair.
After pawning Anakin off on Padmé and the other handmaidens, she and Eirtaé had sequestered him into some fancy parlor the Nemoidians clearly hadn’t discovered based on how intact it remained.
He remained annoyed after Captain Panaka and his wife, another officer in the Royal Naboo Security Forces, refused to let him participate in any of the interrogations, treating him like a glass figurine, ready to shatter at the softest prodding. He wasn’t so breakable. If they only knew how far into hardening himself he’d gone. Well, certainly none of them would be treating him with kid gloves. No, they’d be running in fear.
“We wanted to thank you for helping us,” Rabé explained, nodding to Eirtaé before meeting his eyes.
“It’s nothing, really. It’s just what we do, as Jedi.” The words came automatically.
“We’ll be back once you’re finished,” Rabé said with a gentle smile.
Eirtaé flashed him one as well, and then the pair of them was gone, leaving Obi-Wan dumbfounded in the lavish room until a voice spoke.
“Obi-Wan?” she asked quietly.
All breath left his body and he struggled to reply.
“Sa-Satine?”
He stared at the holo projection that had flickered to life before him. A call made by Eirtaé, if only he’d been paying attention.
“I thought they might be present to explain,” she said easily.
Satine waved her hand, sporting her flippant half-smile, half-laugh that commanded any size audience. It was undoubtedly her. She was really there on the line with him. It was a call he never thought would happen, and now it was happening at the worst possible time. Satine would never forgive him for killing Maul—for killing anyone. It violated her very core and it was the exact reason he loved her.
“Explain?” he stammered, brows furrowed. They’d prepped her for this call? Was this their way to thank him?
“Nevermind. I suppose they wished it a surprise. How—how are you?” Her voice wavered, giving so much away.
“They told you, then?”
“About Qui-Gon? Yes. I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan,” she said.
He relaxed. She only knew about Qui-Gon. That’s all this was, and he knew how to handle conversations about this.
“He’s with the Force now. It’s a good thing.” He smiled at the blue light of her face reassuringly. “But, how are you? How is Mandalore?”
“It’s complicated. I’m doing well so far, I think. I hope, anyway. It’s difficult, but I have allies and the majority of citizens want peace.”
“That’s good. Peace is good.”
“Yes.”
The resulting pause festered into a yawning silence. His pulse thumped thick in his ears reminding him he was still alive.
He was still alive.
And he was terrified of her reaction to the truth of it all, for he knew he’d have to tell her. And, he couldn’t lose her, too. Not again, not like this.
Satine shifted in her chair, inspecting her trousers before smoothing them slightly outside the holo projection field. He tightened his outer robes like a shield, knuckles brushing against the hard bulge of the bead from Quinlan’s necklace, still hidden beneath his tunic.
“I slept with Quinlan,” he blurted out.
“You what?” Satine sounded more confused than upset.
He released his clutch on the robes, allowing them to fall loose to his chest. This truth was easier to say than the others.
“I had sex with Quinlan. A few days ago on Tatooine. I was…It was reckless.”
“That’s who your first time was with, right? You and Qui-Gon used to go on missions with him and his master?”
“Uh, yeah. Master Tholme.” He tugged his Padawan braid, embarrassed and sad all at once.
A moment passed before she said, “I slept with Ursa,”
Her voice held that all-business façade he’d come to know like a second language. He was about to confirm she meant her childhood crush, Ursa of House Wren, when Satine continued.
“That was some weeks ago now. It was foolish. She’s not even a reliable ally, what with her father’s ties to House Vizsla. But, I felt so…”
“Empty?” he whispered the suggestion.
“I was going to say desperate, but, yes, I think that works better.”
They stared at one another, finally seeing the other. Their connection snapped into place, like a tuned instrument, ready to make music again.
“It didn’t help,” she admitted.
“No, mine either.”
He raised a hand to the warbling blue lines forming her image, and she raised hers in mirror. The sizing was woefully off, and he began to laugh. She laughed in turn, which became a long sigh.
“Oh, I wish I could be there,” she said, wistful.
“Truly, it is better you are not.”
“It would certainly complicate things for you with the Council on their way.”
He flashed a cheeky grin.
“You misunderstand me, your highness. I merely was thinking of Queen Amidala’s reaction when she inevitably found you straddled around me in her throne room. We seem to lack restraint, last I checked.”
She bit her lower lip before saying, “It wouldn’t be the first throne room we christened.”
Memories of it flickered through his body, the Sundari Palace floor plan and all its secret passageways tattooed on his heart for life.
“I daresay it wouldn’t be the last, what with the universe being so full of monarchs and their thrones.”
With brows furrowed in playful pensiveness, she tapped pursed lips with her manicured finger. He tried to push down thoughts of that finger tracing his jawline and tugging on his lip to signal she wanted sex in the morning.
“Let’s think… Alderaan comes to mind, naturally.”
“Indeed, a hereditary monarchy would be the most obvious option.”
“Mon Cala?”
“Poses more environmental difficulties, but I do like a challenge.”
“I would say you more than like a challenge. Crave is the better word.”
“Fine, I crave a challenge.” He leaned forward on the word.
She inhaled sharply, lust apparent even in the limitations of the holo projection.
He wondered if a someone stronger in the Force would be able to sense it from this far away. If someone could connect with her. If someday he might be able to reach her all the way from Coruscant.
She shifted in reaction to his quiet, leaning closer.
“Will you tell me what happened? I know it’s unfair to ask, but I think I need to know how he died.”
He nodded with a heave of his chest. “It will be good practice for what I must tell the Council when they arrive.”
“Take your time,” she said gently.
“Well, do you remember how I told you about the Dark Side of the Force?”
Satine nodded.
“What about the Sith? Did I mention the Sith Order at all?”
“No, but, I know who they are—dar’Jetiise. The enemies of the Jedi. The Ancient Mandalorians revered and feared them. Some texts say it was the Sith not the Jedi who turned the tide in the Great War.”
Obi-Wan nodded. He hadn’t known any of this and a wave of guilt washed over him as he heard Qui-Gon’s voice telling him to study the past more. That it was our greatest teacher.
He swallowed. Qui-Gon would never scold him again.
“Yes, well, the Sith had since disappeared. Fought each other to extinction many Jedi think, though no one really knows. Or knew, is probably the more appropriate tense, as they’ve now returned. Or, at least, have made themselves known to us once more.
“We ran into one on Tatooine. Quin and I sensed him, but Qui-Gon was with the queen and, well, that’s a long story, but anyway, he—the Sith—tried to stop us. We thought he was after the queen. In retrospect, he was after us Jedi. But Qui-Gon fought him and I helped us keep the ship in the air close enough for him jump onboard.”
Satine nodded knowingly. The three of them had escaped from many bounty hunters in a similar fashion.
“The Council didn’t seem to believe Qui-Gon. It was messy. I’ve never felt the Council that disconcerted. Even Dooku thought the Council wasn’t taking it seriously enough, not that anyone but Jocasta Nu respects his opinion anymore. I imagine they assumed he acted on emotion, guided by his attachment to Qui-Gon and nothing more. As if Dooku could form attachments with anyone!”
Anger simmered hotter, threatening to boil over, and he took a few meditative breaths.
“Dooku? Isn’t that Qui-Gon’s master?” Satine asked it with a controlled ease that helped to further calm him.
“Yes, but, well, he recently left the Order. He’s heir to House Serreno.”
“He’s the new count? What happened to Ramil Serreno?”
“Qui-Gon said he left to overthrow him since his brother was corrupt, but also it was more than that. He didn’t detail it and I guess I’ll never know. They’d grown apart due to Qui-Gon’s obsession with prophecy, and honestly, I think I agree with Dooku on that matter.”
He looked away, guilt clawing upwards from some pit inside him. Had he dishonored Qui-Gon’s memory by admitting this aloud? And what of Anakin, then? He shook the thought. He’d promised to train him and not because of any prophecy.
“I didn’t realize you could leave the Order so easily.”
“I wouldn’t consider this easy. But, yes, you can simply leave. Very few have though. He’s the nineteenth in recorded history.”
She gaped, and he guessed at her unspoken question.
“No, I’m a Padawan, so it wouldn’t make twenty if I left. Padawans aren’t technically Jedi. There’s another oath to become Knight. That’s when you truly join the Order.”
“I see.”
“After Queen Amidala called for a vote of no confidence, she wanted to be with her people. Actually, she had a plan to overthrow the Nemoidians, but we didn’t know that at the time. She’s very clever. So, the Council sent us with them to finish the mission, but told us to further investigate the possible Sith threat.”
He stopped as tears threatened.
“Take your time,” Satine encouraged.
He nodded in gratitude as the kaleidoscope of yesterday’s events crashed through his mind. Each elicited a fresh feeling of regret and guilt and shame and anger. Eventually, he managed to piece himself together enough to continue.
“The plan was to fight our way to the throne room and get the queen alone with Nute Gunray to force him to sign a new treaty. As soon as we got back to the palace, though, the Sith Lord was waiting for us. It was clearly a trap, but there was little else to do but fight him so the others could retake control. He would’ve slaughtered them all except the queen who they needed to sign the treaty.
“He led us deeper into the power generator station, and I couldn’t keep up with Qui-Gon. It was—I haven’t been accessing the Force fully since…”
He trailed off, tears now flowing unbidden as the realization he was the true reason Qui-Gon died hit him fully. What would Satine think of him?
“Since when?” Satine’s voice was barely audible.
“You know when.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Obi.”
“Oh, but it was.”
“That can’t be true.”
“I was trapped on the other side a power cell field because I couldn’t keep up. Maul had a dual-sided lightsaber. He needed me there. Both of us could’ve defeated him.”
“But, didn’t you kill him?” she whispered.
Obi-Wan covered his face. The shame of it heated his entire body.
“Ben?”
He shook his head. She deserved to know, but he couldn’t tell her. He’d lose her forever.
“I was weak,” he murmured.
“What do you mean?”
He mopped his face and looked at her flickering image.
“I was weak,” he repeated. “I was angry and weak and when I finally reached for the Force, it wasn’t how I remember it. I was so angry.”
“But you’re fine now? You’re better?”
He said nothing.
“You should tell the Council,” she said, back to her business voice.
He laughed harshly.
“I can’t tell the Council. I shouldn’t have even told you.”
She bristled at this.
“Like I said, I was weak.”
“You’re not weak! You shouldn’t have been in this position to begin with. If the Council had listened to Qui-Gon, if they’d taken him seriously…They should’ve sent more people.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. But, what am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know. I hate seeing you hurting.”
“Then why did you call me?” he cried.
She opened her mouth to shout something back but closed it again.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry.”
They sat in an empty silence for several moments.
“He stabbed him through the gut,” Obi-Wan finally said.
“Qui-Gon?”
“Yes, Maul killed him by stabbing him through the gut. That’s how he died.”
“Maul? That’s the Sith Lord?”
“Captain Panaka got his name from Gunray during interrogations today.”
“Was it swift?”
Obi-Wan frowned. “The attack?”
“No, Qui-Gon’s death. Did it happen quickly?”
He shook his head.
“No, he died later. He would’ve been using the Force to slow the damage. That’s how we’re trained. If I’d been faster, if I’d focused more, if I’d been communing with the Force fully these past weeks, I would’ve been able to slow it further. I probably could’ve gotten him to Theed’s hospital in time. But, I was weak.”
His voice trembled, tears flowing freely now.
Memories flashed. Maul’s yellow eyes. Feeling the cold ocean of the Dark Side, not knowing if it was Maul’s presence or his own. The way satisfaction not pain seeped through him as he sliced Maul in half and watched his body slide apart as it fell.
It was part of him now—the Dark Side—but perhaps it always had been. Balance. Qui-Gon’s final words came to him, “He will bring balance to the Force.”
What did that even mean?
The image of Qui-Gon dying in his arms seared on his mind like a brand.
What was the point of it all?
His sobs broke forth, heaving and relentless.
“Oh, Ben, you’re strong. You’re so strong. Let it flow from you.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t,” he choked.
“Ben, it’s all right. You’re all right. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“Don’t—d” he gasped for air, face a streaming mess of tears and snot. “Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true. I have you.”
“You don’t. We can’t have each other. Oh, Satine, I want nothing more than to run to you and live beside you forever. I want nothing more than that. If you said the word, I would have Rabé lend me a ship and I’d be with you in a Hydrian Way heartbeat.”
“Obi-Wan,” she whispered, the switch to his full name sharp as a beskar spear.
Her unspoken words of ‘we discussed this’ and ‘we can’t’ and ‘the universe needs you and Mandalore needs me’ all ripping open his wound that hadn’t yet healed.
He reached for the Force, still finding its new form, and hardened himself, cauterizing his heart.
There is no emotion, there is only peace.
“I’m not finished.” It came out as a soft growl.
“Sorry,” she murmured, blinking back tears without success.
“I was going to say to say that I can’t leave now. I promised Qui-Gon. I can’t leave him.”
“Leave who?”
“Anakin.”
She shook her head in confusion, and he wiped his face dry again.
“Qui-Gon found him on Tatooine. He thinks he’s the Chosen One. The prophecy. The Council refused to train him but Qui-Gon wouldn’t let him go. If I leave now, they’ll just send him back.”
“Back to Tatooine?”
“Yes, to his mother. Qui-Gon freed him, but I know that won’t last. Not when his mother’s still enslaved.”
She shook her head in vehement disgust.
“You can’t let that happen!”
“I know.”
“But…How will you take him on? You’re not a master.”
Obi-Wan released a mirthless laugh.
“I imagine killing a Sith Lord will grant me Knighthood. Qui-Gon told the Council I was ready to pass my trials, and the Trial of the Spirit requires you to face the Dark Side and refute it.”
“You said the Dark Side is the opposite of the Light. Death and life, you said. A balance. How can killing someone be refuting death?”
He shook his head. “That’s not how it works.”
But, he wasn’t actually certain. Nor was he certain he’d refuted the Dark Side when it came to him. No one ever explained what it meant or how it felt to do so.
“Fine,” she said, tone clear she wasn’t pleased with being shut down.
“I don’t think it’s how it works anyway. I guess we’ll find out when the Council arrives.” He laughed. “Who knows, maybe I’m a day away from being expelled from the Order.”
“Well, you’re welcome here if that’s the case. And bring this Anakin with you. If he’s as gifted as Qui-Gon thought, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity for him in Sundari.”
He smirked at this. “You’re such a wholesome temptress.”
“What? That’s not what that was! I, of course, do not want to see you expelled from the Jedi Order. Though, I’d rather it be for murder than for falling in love with me.”
Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said.
“I’m sorry, that’s not…I didn’t…That’s not what I meant.”
“It is what you meant.”
“You know my position.”
“And I appreciate that you remain honest with me. Though, you may want to work on that, politically speaking.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and he chuckled.
“And, I agree with you. But, I didn’t murder Darth Maul. I killed him, yes, but it wasn’t murder. If I’d not acted, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, and Queen Amidala would probably be dead. The Trade Federation would be a legitimate threat to every system on the Hydrian Way, including Mandalore.”
“Semantics,” she said with a dismissive wave. “But, I apologize, I wasn’t saying you’re a murderer. I just hate violence.”
“Me too,” he said hotly.
She scoffed and he bit back a retort to what he assumed she’d left unsaid. They both huffed.
Impasse.
“Here we are again,” she mused.
“Our favorite place.”
“How did we used to handle this?”
“You mean on the run? Usually we had exceptional sex and forgot all about it.”
“Mm, that’s right. But now we’re just friends.”
“Yes, friends.”
“And nothing more.”
“Well, let’s not be hasty. My future with the Jedi still hangs in the balance, remember?”
“How could I forget.” She lit up with her bright, amused smile that he loved more than sunlight itself.
He wanted to tell her, but that would only muddle things more. He knew it would be hard enough to end the conversation, but he had to reset before the Jedi arrived. More to the point, he knew he couldn’t talk to her again once he took on a Padawan. That example would be detrimental, especially to someone who had to leave their mother at age nine.
So, instead, he smiled back at her and said, “Thank you for calling.”
“You really should thank Queen Amidala.”
“I will. But right now, I’m thanking you. You have a million other things to do, and this really helped me. So, thank you. Vor entye.”
“You remembered!”
“Of course,” he said.
“Ba’gedet’ye!” she said, her voice in Mando’a rougher than in Basic.
“I assume that means ‘you’re welcome’ and you didn’t just insult me?”
She laughed. “Yes.”
“Yes to which thing?”
But she just smiled coyly and said, “I’m glad we got to see each other, even if just via holo.”
“Me too.”
“I guess this is goodbye.”
He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Maybe we’ll meet again.”
“I hope so.”
He moved to shut off the projector, but Satine spoke again, voice cracking, expression raw and vulnerable.
“Obi-Wan…”
He felt his heart refill with that sense of wholeness he always found around her.
“I know,” he whispered. “Me too.”
“Darasuum,” she said with the soft certainty of a promise, then cut the connection on her end.
He had no idea what the word meant.
elkebaby on Chapter 2 Mon 26 Aug 2024 02:06AM UTC
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