If she wouldn't feel incredibly guilty for doing so, she would beg him to come back sooner than the summer. Sooner than the six months it had been this time, even. The thought of not seeing him for such a long stretch of time makes her want to cry, the way so many things do these days, but she forces herself to be strong the way she used to be, before all of this.
"So long as there is another time..." That's all that matters, that hope of seeing her friend again in the future. She hadn't had that hope to hold on to when he'd left her here before.
Obi-Wan gathers both her hands in his and raises them to his lips, before drawing her against him in a tight hug. He may not know the extent of how she's feeling, but he understands how isolated she feels. "There will be another time. And another after that. And another after that. Until such time as you become sick of me and refuse me entrance," he murmurs in her ear.
Padmé returns that embrace with every ounce of strength in her, clinging to the last thing in this universe that still holds steady in her heart. The man with his arms wrapped around her is all she has left that makes any sense, and without him-- As much as she tries to tell herself to be strong for her children, she may never see them again. She needs something now to keep her moving forward, and that's what he's giving her now.
"It will be a very long time before that happens," she assures him softly.
Obi-Wan sways, just a little, in comfort for both of them as they cling to each other.
"Good. Because I believe I'm going to come to rely on these visits very, very much." He's not sure if he's recognizing what they both mean to each other now, or if it is his affinity to the Unifying Force allowing him to catch a glimpse of what is to come in their shared future.
Pulling back, he reaches up to frame Padmé's face. "Now," he says seriously. "I say we eat. And try to think of something not so horribly dire to talk about. It is a large undertaking, to be sure, but I believe we can manage it."
It's the best thing he could have said. The very last thing she wants is for these visits to be burdensome to him, for his guilt to obligate him to visit when he might not actually wish to himself. But he does, she can hear it in his voice and feel it in his way he holds her, and suddenly her world isn't unending darkness.
"Of course we can," she agrees easily, and there's even a smile, small but steady. And they do. She tells him about the town while she prepares their simple dinner, giving him small tasks to help with like chopping vegetables while she shares stories of her months on the planet. The people she's met, the kindness they've shown the war widow who had found refuge on their little planet. The life she's begun to live.
It is the first smile he believes he's seen from her that is true, reaching her eyes, and Obi-Wan is glad for it. There will always be shadows hiding in her eyes, he thinks, and the same is true for himself. But together, perhaps they can teach each other how to smile easily again.
He listens attentively as they prepare dinner, and while they eat he shares his own stories. Nothing from the present, because, he tells her, "Take my word for it, nothing of significance happens where I live, and the only time I see anyone, it is very much by my own choice." But he tells her anecdotes from his days as a Padawan; instances that, as snapshots from his life, don't dwell too heavily on Jedi training, the Force, or any other context besides perhaps cultural differences. Most of these stories, of course, have him as the butt of the joke, but he's learned to tell them in such a way as to invite others to laugh with him, instead of at him.
It is a good evening, and while he plans on staying at least a few days longer, Obi-Wan finds himself mentally extending his visit by a day or two, over and over. He doesn't want to leave.
Want, unfortunately, has never been a luxury he's been allowed to indulge.
Padmé wants him to stay forever, and it hurts to know that he can't. She knows it, because he needs to get back to whatever life he's leading that allows him to look after her children, but still she can't help but wish they could have more time together now. Time to remember when things were better and the days weren't so hard to get through.
But he does have to leave eventually, if only so he can come back again soon, and perhaps... Perhaps he would have news of her children that he could share. Some observation of how they're growing, what their first words are-- anything to help her know they're really out there, alive and well.
Obi-Wan insists on cleaning up after supper, before settling on his knees in front of the fire. "If there's work you still need to do," he nods at the basket of sewing by the chair, "I thought I might meditate. I don't wish to interrupt your life." He does find himself wanting to share in it, however.
This is why Jedi are discouraged from making attachments. They are transient, forever moving on, away from people, due to necessity and duty.
But he's not a Jedi anymore. He's a man trying to survive.
"Your interruptions make my life better," she explains with a shake of her head, but she does take a seat in the chair in order to pick up the pieces she'd been working on the night before. She's gotten fairly good at embroidery over the past months, practice perfectly the skills she'd learned as a child, and her thin fingers easily resume their work of forming a design with various colors of thread.
Jedi or man, it doesn't matter; he is in hiding, and self-imposed exile. Attachments are the last things he needs, and the one thing he thinks he won't be able to resist.
Kneeling in classic pose, hands on his thighs, Obi-Wan doesn't close his eyes; instead, he stays watching her. After several moments, he says, "One of the more everyday skills I learned, was how to sew. Nothing like you're doing," he says with a nod to the intricate embroidery, "but considering how often clothes would get ripped on missions, it was a necessary skill. I could, if required, make my own clothes. Slowly, and possibly with much bleeding from pricked fingers," he teases with a smile, "but it could be done."
He doesn't mention how being able to sew has also helped save his life a time or two. Nobody wants to hear about how sewing flesh together differs from sewing cloth.
She's fairly certain that's not how one meditates, she thinks as he watches her. Not that Anakin had ever given her a proper example of the exercise to judge by, but she is fairly certain that one is supposed to have their eyes closed while meditating. He makes her smile again, though, especially at the image of him trying to make his own clothing.
"My grandmother taught me before she died, when I was very young," she explains, offering her own tale in return for his. "She thought it was a skill both Sola and I should have before we were grown, because so many never bother to learn it now. There was little call for it in my adult life, but sewing and baking are among the very few of my skills that are actually useful here."
It saddens him to think of all her knowledge and wisdom, all her other skills wasted here, being forced into hiding who she truly is, but he knows she wouldn't appreciate him feeling that - Obi-Wan is in the same predicament, and would certainly not appreciate the sentiment from her, or anyone else.
"Your grandmother appears to have been a very wise woman," he says. "It's clear that got passed on, as well."
A few minutes pass before Padmé finally leaves her spot by the lake, folding up the blanket and carrying it and the datapad inside. The kitchen feels strangely empty as she enters it, the usually warm space lacking the comforting scents of freshly baked bread that would normally be filling the air by this point after a difficult night. she hadn't given in to the urge before and now it seems strange, everything ill-timed and no longer fitting as it should. But with a deep sigh, she does her best to shake off those feelings and searches out something to make them for breakfast.
Only she doesn't get very far. With all the ingredients for omelets laid out on the counter, a small ping alerts her to a new message having just arrived on the datapad -- she hadn't logged out of her account as she'd intended to do for the duration of their time here. Work tends to distract her from other things, and it does so now. When Obi-Wan arrives in the kitchen, she is wholly absorbed in reading the text on the screen, one hand pressed to her lips as frustration and distress color her thoughts.
The smile that blooms at his words is small and sad, the memory of her grandmother and all the rest of her family now bittersweet. She misses them dearly, and has to remind herself that there's nothing to be done for it. They would only be in danger if they knew she was alive, let alone if she foolishly tried to contact them.
The kitchen certainly seems ready for cooking, but Padmé has abandoned the beginnings of food, and is invested in staring at her datapad. It doesn't take a Force-sensitive to sense the tension in her, either.
Instead of chiding her about no communications during their stay here, Obi-Wan moves to stand beside her and ask, "What is it?"
Lowering the datapad, that hand moves to press at her forehead, a headache forming at the very thought of all that would await her back on Coruscant. Things in the Senate were going to be a snarled mess by the time she returned, and at this rate there was hardly a hope of untangling them.
"A dozen more systems announced their secession from the Republic," she explains, tone weary as she begins to feel how little sleep she'd gotten. "I won't be surprised if that number triples before the week is out."
Obi-Wan thinks of his own childhood, raised in the Jedi temple, never really knowing his family. He thinks of Luke, raised by his uncle and aunt, who have already begun to make it clear that they don't want Obi-Wan to be too much a part of Luke's life. Owen in particular seems to believe that if they ignore Luke's parentage, he will continue to be a typical, average boy.
"I believe we all wish that, once the time is past to be able to change it. But you have memories of her, and that's something to be thankful for."
He's often wondered if some of his own quirks were inherited from his family, or if he'd picked them up from his Temple family instead. Many people over the years had commented that he'd gotten his stubbornness from his Master, but was there more to it than that? It also worries him that perhaps Luke will have inherited some of the darker aspects of Vader (he would not call what was left of him Anakin - that was not Anakin any longer). He worries that in leaving Luke untrained and ignorant, he is setting the galaxy up for an even greater evil.
Which is certainly not something he's going to confide in Padmé about.
Her movements don't cease or even slow at his words, but when she replies is it with a carefully constructed ease that she doesn't truly feel. "Do you think my grandchildren will have memories of me?"
She's asking him to give her hope, even the slightest amount to help her get through this. Her heart has broken beyond repair, her soul is in tatters, and all that holds her together now is that hope for the future that shines like a dimly flickering light in a sea of darkness.
Leaning beside her, Obi-Wan presses against her side, a solid line of warmth to help ground and comfort her. "While I don't intend at all to make light of the situation - it is drastic and will need to be dealt with - is there anything you can do at this moment?" he questions gently. "Is there anything that cannot wait at least until after you've eaten? It sounds silly, but making decisions on an empty stomach is a poor choice, and often leads to mistakes."
He nods to the counter full of ingredients. "Tell me what to do, and I'll help cook. And then, tell me what to do and I will help you with anything else." There's a pause. "Just remember, I'm not overly fond of politics, so my suggestions might be complete bantha shite."
He's not expecting it, and so the vision triggered by her question takes Obi-Wan completely by surprise. He's studied for countless hours with Master Yoda in order to keep his prescience at bay, but so much talk and thinking of the future has clearly weakened his mental barriers: he sees a young man and woman, celebrating, victorious. The woman has dark hair and an infectious smile; the man has light, sandy hair, so reminiscent of another, and is more solemn, even as he smiles happily as well. He glances back as the woman - his sister, Obi-Wan is sure - pulls him back to the celebration, and he's also sure that the man is looking directly at him.
It doesn't give him the answer to Padmé's question, but it certainly gives him hope.
"Your grandchildren will grow up in a Republic, not an Empire," he says with surety giving his words weight. "We will both do what we must to ensure that your children, and their children, know us."
Edited (sure did leave out a bunch of stuff) 2018-08-29 05:13 (UTC)
Of all the things that could have come out of Obi-Wan's mouth, bantha shite is the very last thing she could have expected. It catches her by surprise and the laugh that bubbles up is brief but effective; that weariness loosens its grip and things seem just a little brighter.
Straightening up, she turns slightly and leans further into him, slipping her arms around his middle and pulling him into a solid embrace. For just a moment, she's quiet, and then, softly, "Thank you, Obi-Wan. For reminding me to stay in this moment, and for agreeing to all of this in the first place. I can't imagine going through my life with anyone else by my side." And she means every word of it.
The smile he gives her is pleased, and if she were to look, his feelings would be quite obvious in that moment; he loves her, and wants nothing more than to see her happy.
Her hug takes him by surprise, but he's quick to reciprocate, resting his cheek atop her head, allowing himself this brief moment of closeness. "I assure you," he says just as softly and sincerely, "it is my pleasure, Padmé. Anything I can do to help, you have only to ask it."
She tightens her arms around him, giving him a firm squeeze before loosening her grip in order to step back. Her hands rest on his arms as she looks up at him with a warm affectionate smile. "I think breakfast is an excellent place to start," she pronounces, not wanting to let go of him and taking every second she can to prolong this moment between them. "I was going to make something with the eggs."
It takes a supreme effort not to get lost staring into Padmé's eyes, and Obi-Wan is nodding a second before he realizes it. "My typical breakfast is tea and toast, so you'll have to show me what to do, my lady."
He makes no move to end their contact, and again wonders if Padmé might return his feelings, or if she's just grateful to him.
The way he calls her that... She'd intended to say something about it, but this time it feels different. It feels right in a way she can't quite explain. "If you can wield a lightsaber, you can make an omelet," she assures him, reluctantly letting her hands fall away from him in order to turn back to the ingredients laid out before them.
Explaining the steps is easy enough. Ingredients are chopped, eggs are whisked, and she coaches him on how to cook the eggs in the pan, at one point even reaching out to set her hands on his and physically show him a step. It's nice, working with him like this. Being close.
Page 7 of 17