Her actions with the knife would have depended entirely on who stood on the other side of the door. Were it a thief in the night or a soldier come to take her away, perhaps she would have fought to protect herself. If it had been Anakin... Perhaps instinct would have led her down a very different path. But it had been Obi-Wan there, Obi-Wan who now enters the small house the size of her bedroom on Coruscant, and so she steps back into the kitchen and returns the knife to its place, her free hand clutching at the knit shawl around her shoulders, her shortened hair tucked beneath it.
"I'll make you something warm to drink," she tells him in a quiet voice sounding as tired as she feels. "It's nearly winter here." The air is crisp outside and there is frost on the windows of the kitchen, the warmth of the fire not quite reaching the glass -- she hadn't been able to build it as much tonight, her stock of firewood getting low.
Her basket of sewing is sat beside one of the two chairs by the fire, the bedroll still tied and propped against the wall. She intends a few hours more of work before giving in to exhaustion.
He's circumspect in watching her, not wanting her to realize how intently he does so. He wishes he knew how to heal her, how to fix this. It seems everything he's done only makes things worse.
Patience.
If it takes years, if it takes a lifetime, he determines that he will help Padmé heal and become strong again.
"Please, don't trouble yourself," he says quietly. "I came uninvited, and unannounced." He won't tell her that the cold affects him more than even he had expected, after so many months in the desert of Tatooine. He will survive it.
He looks around the home, noticing the traces hinting at Padmé's current life. Work set out still, despite the lateness of the hour, the sparseness of her surroundings.
"It's no trouble," she counters weakly, already filling a kettle with water to heat on the stove. She wants to tell him that he would always be welcome in her home, but it hurts to think of this house as such, and those words seem to take more energy than she has left in her. So instead she focuses on taking out two cups from the cupboard, along with a small tin with a slightly bent lid.
It's not until she's nothing left to do but wait that she speaks again, the seconds that have passed feeling like hours. "I didn't know if I would see you again."
Watching, that's all he trusts himself with now. So he stays silent, letting her carry out her motions, wondering if there will ever be anything he can do for her to make this all easier to handle.
Her words spark something in him, and he knows what he can do. "I will always come back. I... I should have given you a way to contact me. I admit, things were rushed, but it shouldn't have slipped my mind."
He will be here for her, whenever she needs him. "I will find secure comms, so you can reach me. I will always come when you call."
She frowns slightly at those words, wondering how things would be different now if he had left her with such a way. In those dark days after his departure, would she have reached out to him? When she'd cried herself sick, would she have begged for him to reunite her with her children, consequences be damned?
No, it was good that he hadn't left her a way to reach out to him. Even his great resolve might have been tested by her inevitable pleas.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Obi-Wan," she cautions, keeping her gaze on the cups instead of anywhere near him.
He takes a slow, deep breath. "Padmé. I will always come back. I wish..." he trails off, glancing toward the low fire flickering in the small hearth. "I will do all that I can, to protect those I care for. If I did not fear for your safety, and theirs, I would bring your children to you. I will do all that is in my power to set things right. But I cannot cut the future short, to make today brighter."
His own Master, Qui-Gon, had cautioned him on numerous occasions to focus on the moment, not what lies ahead. Now, he finds himself having to go back on all those teachings, and think of what will happen many, many years from now, depending on what course of action he takes.
The kettle burbles and she picks it up off the stove before it can shriek, flipping the control to turn off the heating element. She speaks as she pours the water over the leaves in the strainer, trying to keep her hands steady and managing to suppress all but the slightest tremor.
"I know that, all of it," she stresses quietly. "Their safety is all that matters to me now. But I'm not-- I would still ask it of you. Because it hurts and I'm not--" She isn't strong anymore. The woman who had fought to save the galaxy was gone, she'd died with the Republic and everything else she held dear.
Setting the kettle and strainer aside, she picks up the two cups and steps closer to him, holding out one cup with a deceptively steady hand. "You cannot give in when I ask you. You have to keep them safe, promise me that and nothing else."
He reaches out, cupping both hands and holding not just the mug, but her hand around it as well. He finally catches her gaze, the first time he's looked fully at her since he arrived.
"You ask me to break your heart," he all but whispers. "But what can I do to help mend it?"
Gently, Obi-Wan removes the cup from her hands, setting it down beside her own, before reaching forward and pulling her against him. He says nothing, because how can he respond to that? She's right, of course. But, he refuses to believe that this, that she, cannot be helped.
"No," he finally replies. "None of this can be put back to rights. It will never be as it should, and it will never be as good as it once was. But things that are broken can be mended. I will do everything I can to help, Padmé. I love you, and it hurts to know you're in such pain."
She's been trying so hard to hold it together, flimsy bits of paper and string straining against a tidal wave of emotion. It's harder when he pulls her close; she hasn't been held by anyone since her death. And then he says those words.
She wants to tell him she loves him too. He's family, a dear friend who has been through so much with her, but the words can't make it past the tightness in her throat. The last time she'd said them to anyone it hadn't ended well, and she can't bear to lose him too. He's all she has left in the entire galaxy--
That thought is what crumples the flimsy dam, and in seconds she's falling apart, her hands clutching at him as sobs tears from her with such strength that she can barely stay upright. Her world is ending again and he is witness to it. Again.
Obi-Wan will bear witness to whatever she needs; he will stand vigil for her, without judgment no matter what happens.
He hates seeing her like this, knowing that at least a part of her immense sorrow is his doing. He cannot take her to see Luke, though - even she has admitted it, despite knowing that she will break at some point and beg him to do so. A clean break is necessary, no matter how painful; it would only cause her more heartache to see him, to know he was so close by, and not be allowed to have him with her.
Obi-Wan pulls her closer, tucking her head against his neck and shoulder, one hand cradling her head while the other wraps tightly around her shoulders.
"I'm so sorry," he finds himself whispering, over and over, his chest aching at her grief, which mirrors his own, but is so much deeper. He wishes he could cry her tears for her, to help ease some of her pain.
Nothing can truly ease her pain, but having him there does help in a way. Instead of floating alone in her heartache, she clings to him like he's a raft in the middle of an ocean. Everything in her hurts, but she knows that at least for now she is not alone.
The storm passes almost as quickly as it came on, her tears drying as her breathing steadies, and exhaustion presses down on her, heavier than before. After a short while, she quietly rasps, her throat aching and raw, "Thank you."
"Of course," he responds instantly, without thought, for there is absolutely no need for her to thank him for this small gesture of kindness, after all that has happened. "Anything, Padmé. I am here for you."
Feeling her exhaustion, Obi-Wan guides her over to the chair in front of the fire, before moving to pick up her bed-roll and lay it out. "You should rest, now."
She watches him tiredly, knowing he's right and not caring that she won't finish embroidering the shirt she'd been working on. One more day won't matter.
"I dream about them," she says seemingly out of nowhere, though it's meant as explanation for why she was still awake when he arrived. "I dream about him finding them. He won't though, will he? They'll be safe wherever they are?"
He pauses in his motions, glancing toward her, but his gaze staying lowered. "They are as safe as two Jedi Masters could make them," he finally says, finishing laying out her mat. He straightens and moves toward her, kneeling down in front of her. "They are with families who love and care for them. We thought... We thought it best to separate them. But they will grow up happy, I promise. I am keeping watch over them."
This was true, in different ways. Bail Organa would send a short, secured transmission to Obi-Wan roughly once a year - they had agreed it should be at a random time to avoid detection of a pattern, but 10 to 14 months apart - informing him of Leia's growth and well-being. Luke, of course, Obi-Wan was keeping a much more literal watch on.
"Come, now," he murmurs, standing again to help her to bed. "Let me watch vigil for you, so you can rest easy tonight."
Two Jedi Masters. She tries not to think of how little assurance that actually seems, considering how much got past those two Jedi Masters, how much of what changed happened right under their noses -- those thoughts aren't fair to anyone, especially when she was just as much at fault as any of them. They'd all been blind to the truth and now the galaxy was paying for it.
No, she has to trust that he is right. Her children will grow up safe and loved, hidden from Anakin's reach, and she will hope that one day she might see them again. One day...
Reaching out a hand for assistance, she forces her heavy stiff body out of the chair, blessedly managing not to stumble, then pauses a moment to remove the shawl from her shoulders and drape it over the arm of the chair, revealing her now much shorter hair. Once down the entire length of her back, the dark locks only reach just below her shoulders.
They have all had to make sacrifices, in order to survive now, Obi-Wan knows this. But at the sight of Padmé's much shorter hair, he feels grief and sorrow anew, at how much she has lost. Her very identity seems to have been taken from her, and he wonders if that doesn't contribute to the hollowness he feels inside her. Children, identity; what does she have left to get her through?
She has him, at the moment. For as long as is needed, and perhaps even afterward as well. They are bound together now, due to the course events have taken.
He reaches out a hand, placing it on her back and shoulder, and can't help but brush his fingers up against the ends of her hair. Despite all it means that she had to cut it, it makes her look even more refined and stately, in his eyes. Whereas Padawans kept their hair short, and most Knights and Masters grew it long, in his mind long hair on a woman denoted childhood. It struck him then, that after everything that had happened, even having been witness to the birth of her children, only now was Obi-Wan seeing that Padmé was a grown woman.
It was a practical measure, the cutting of her hair. With the length it had been, the time to care for it had been greater than she could manage in her current state, and it had been too telling of her former self. Elaborate hairstyles had no place in this world of hard work, and she no longer held a position of any significance to anyone. It was better this way. Easier. Even if it is another constant reminder of what she has lost.
She welcomes that touch on her back, a physical reminder that she isn't alone, at least not in this moment. He isn't a phantom come to haunt her the way Anakin does. Obi-Wan is flesh and blood and he came back to--
Lowering herself down onto the thin bed, she looks up at him with apologetic sorrow written across her expression. "Obi-Wan, I'm sorry," she says, her heartbreak bleeding into every syllable. "I've been so focused on my own pain, I've forgotten about yours." She isn't the only one who lost everything.
It startles him, when she apologizes, and even after she explains, it takes him a moment to register what she's talking about. Slowly, he sinks to his knees on the floor by her side. The smile he gives her is small, and bittersweet. "There is nothing for you to apologize for, Padmé. I..."
He doesn't know how to say how he feels, without sounding callous toward himself. He doesn't want to seem like he's dismissing her concerns, but he truly feels that they are unnecessary. "I am used to bearing pain," he finally settles on. Losing Anakin is nothing like witnessing the death of his Master, Qui-Gon. He had different relationships with each of them; and yet, how he feels now is not unfamiliar to him.
Only seconds pass after his explanation before she's reaching out to take one of his hands in her own, holding it firmly like an anchor to this moment between them. "Being used to it doesn't make it hurt less."
She's been slowly getting used to that aching in her chest, the pangs of longing and that emptiness that fills her up, but none of that diminishes the strength of those emotions. She's drowning in it and she knows he has to be as well, even if it he bear it better than she.
"No," he says softly, his voice finally betraying the brokenness inside him. "It doesn't. But," he takes a steadying breath, "there is work still left to be done. And I will be of no help to anyone if I succumb to grief."
He doesn't mean it as a censure or beratement to her own emotions or actions. He learned very early in his life how to channel all of his emotions into positive work, and now is no different, even if the feelings have changed. A part of him may be drowning, but he has learned to at least tread water, until the worst is past. Which is ironic, considering the world he currently is calling home.
"That thought is all that keeps me going," she offers quietly, squeezing his hand as her own trembles slightly. The thought that her children might need her, one day in the future... Without that, she couldn't get out of bed. He would have returned to a shell of a woman hidden away on this tiny planet, living only because her body refused to die.
He's quiet for a time, before reaching up to brush a hand gently over her forehead. "Rest, Padmé. We will get through this. And a time will come when we will look back on our struggles, and see that they were worth it." He uses just a small push from the Force to help the suggestion take root in her mind.
This isn't a suggestion to drastically change her perception or way of thinking for the moment, but something slower, that her mind already seems to be struggling to grasp. She said that's all that keeps her going, and he wants it to continue to keep her going. Because it will be many, many years before they will have a chance to see any results. Until then, she has nothing but that small hope. He believes it firmly, and he wants to ensure that she does, too.
The gesture is a kind one, giving no indication to what he'd just done for her, an act which she would thank him for if she knew of it. She wants to be there for her children when they need her, but there's only so much strength left in her after the past year - if he can do something to fortify that strength, she would thank him for it without question.
Nodding at his assurance, she gives a gentle tug at the hand she still holds. "You need rest as well, Obi-Wan. Lie down for a while with me."
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"I'll make you something warm to drink," she tells him in a quiet voice sounding as tired as she feels. "It's nearly winter here." The air is crisp outside and there is frost on the windows of the kitchen, the warmth of the fire not quite reaching the glass -- she hadn't been able to build it as much tonight, her stock of firewood getting low.
Her basket of sewing is sat beside one of the two chairs by the fire, the bedroll still tied and propped against the wall. She intends a few hours more of work before giving in to exhaustion.
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Patience.
If it takes years, if it takes a lifetime, he determines that he will help Padmé heal and become strong again.
"Please, don't trouble yourself," he says quietly. "I came uninvited, and unannounced." He won't tell her that the cold affects him more than even he had expected, after so many months in the desert of Tatooine. He will survive it.
He looks around the home, noticing the traces hinting at Padmé's current life. Work set out still, despite the lateness of the hour, the sparseness of her surroundings.
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It's not until she's nothing left to do but wait that she speaks again, the seconds that have passed feeling like hours. "I didn't know if I would see you again."
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Her words spark something in him, and he knows what he can do. "I will always come back. I... I should have given you a way to contact me. I admit, things were rushed, but it shouldn't have slipped my mind."
He will be here for her, whenever she needs him. "I will find secure comms, so you can reach me. I will always come when you call."
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No, it was good that he hadn't left her a way to reach out to him. Even his great resolve might have been tested by her inevitable pleas.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Obi-Wan," she cautions, keeping her gaze on the cups instead of anywhere near him.
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His own Master, Qui-Gon, had cautioned him on numerous occasions to focus on the moment, not what lies ahead. Now, he finds himself having to go back on all those teachings, and think of what will happen many, many years from now, depending on what course of action he takes.
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"I know that, all of it," she stresses quietly. "Their safety is all that matters to me now. But I'm not-- I would still ask it of you. Because it hurts and I'm not--" She isn't strong anymore. The woman who had fought to save the galaxy was gone, she'd died with the Republic and everything else she held dear.
Setting the kettle and strainer aside, she picks up the two cups and steps closer to him, holding out one cup with a deceptively steady hand. "You cannot give in when I ask you. You have to keep them safe, promise me that and nothing else."
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"You ask me to break your heart," he all but whispers. "But what can I do to help mend it?"
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"It's already broken," she reminds him. "And not everything can be fixed."
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"No," he finally replies. "None of this can be put back to rights. It will never be as it should, and it will never be as good as it once was. But things that are broken can be mended. I will do everything I can to help, Padmé. I love you, and it hurts to know you're in such pain."
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She wants to tell him she loves him too. He's family, a dear friend who has been through so much with her, but the words can't make it past the tightness in her throat. The last time she'd said them to anyone it hadn't ended well, and she can't bear to lose him too. He's all she has left in the entire galaxy--
That thought is what crumples the flimsy dam, and in seconds she's falling apart, her hands clutching at him as sobs tears from her with such strength that she can barely stay upright. Her world is ending again and he is witness to it. Again.
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He hates seeing her like this, knowing that at least a part of her immense sorrow is his doing. He cannot take her to see Luke, though - even she has admitted it, despite knowing that she will break at some point and beg him to do so. A clean break is necessary, no matter how painful; it would only cause her more heartache to see him, to know he was so close by, and not be allowed to have him with her.
Obi-Wan pulls her closer, tucking her head against his neck and shoulder, one hand cradling her head while the other wraps tightly around her shoulders.
"I'm so sorry," he finds himself whispering, over and over, his chest aching at her grief, which mirrors his own, but is so much deeper. He wishes he could cry her tears for her, to help ease some of her pain.
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The storm passes almost as quickly as it came on, her tears drying as her breathing steadies, and exhaustion presses down on her, heavier than before. After a short while, she quietly rasps, her throat aching and raw, "Thank you."
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Feeling her exhaustion, Obi-Wan guides her over to the chair in front of the fire, before moving to pick up her bed-roll and lay it out. "You should rest, now."
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"I dream about them," she says seemingly out of nowhere, though it's meant as explanation for why she was still awake when he arrived. "I dream about him finding them. He won't though, will he? They'll be safe wherever they are?"
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This was true, in different ways. Bail Organa would send a short, secured transmission to Obi-Wan roughly once a year - they had agreed it should be at a random time to avoid detection of a pattern, but 10 to 14 months apart - informing him of Leia's growth and well-being. Luke, of course, Obi-Wan was keeping a much more literal watch on.
"Come, now," he murmurs, standing again to help her to bed. "Let me watch vigil for you, so you can rest easy tonight."
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No, she has to trust that he is right. Her children will grow up safe and loved, hidden from Anakin's reach, and she will hope that one day she might see them again. One day...
Reaching out a hand for assistance, she forces her heavy stiff body out of the chair, blessedly managing not to stumble, then pauses a moment to remove the shawl from her shoulders and drape it over the arm of the chair, revealing her now much shorter hair. Once down the entire length of her back, the dark locks only reach just below her shoulders.
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She has him, at the moment. For as long as is needed, and perhaps even afterward as well. They are bound together now, due to the course events have taken.
He reaches out a hand, placing it on her back and shoulder, and can't help but brush his fingers up against the ends of her hair. Despite all it means that she had to cut it, it makes her look even more refined and stately, in his eyes. Whereas Padawans kept their hair short, and most Knights and Masters grew it long, in his mind long hair on a woman denoted childhood. It struck him then, that after everything that had happened, even having been witness to the birth of her children, only now was Obi-Wan seeing that Padmé was a grown woman.
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She welcomes that touch on her back, a physical reminder that she isn't alone, at least not in this moment. He isn't a phantom come to haunt her the way Anakin does. Obi-Wan is flesh and blood and he came back to--
Lowering herself down onto the thin bed, she looks up at him with apologetic sorrow written across her expression. "Obi-Wan, I'm sorry," she says, her heartbreak bleeding into every syllable. "I've been so focused on my own pain, I've forgotten about yours." She isn't the only one who lost everything.
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He doesn't know how to say how he feels, without sounding callous toward himself. He doesn't want to seem like he's dismissing her concerns, but he truly feels that they are unnecessary. "I am used to bearing pain," he finally settles on. Losing Anakin is nothing like witnessing the death of his Master, Qui-Gon. He had different relationships with each of them; and yet, how he feels now is not unfamiliar to him.
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She's been slowly getting used to that aching in her chest, the pangs of longing and that emptiness that fills her up, but none of that diminishes the strength of those emotions. She's drowning in it and she knows he has to be as well, even if it he bear it better than she.
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He doesn't mean it as a censure or beratement to her own emotions or actions. He learned very early in his life how to channel all of his emotions into positive work, and now is no different, even if the feelings have changed. A part of him may be drowning, but he has learned to at least tread water, until the worst is past. Which is ironic, considering the world he currently is calling home.
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This isn't a suggestion to drastically change her perception or way of thinking for the moment, but something slower, that her mind already seems to be struggling to grasp. She said that's all that keeps her going, and he wants it to continue to keep her going. Because it will be many, many years before they will have a chance to see any results. Until then, she has nothing but that small hope. He believes it firmly, and he wants to ensure that she does, too.
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Nodding at his assurance, she gives a gentle tug at the hand she still holds. "You need rest as well, Obi-Wan. Lie down for a while with me."
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