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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?"

She just stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable as all she feels is emptiness. In her mind, her heart, her soul. Everything is empty.

"It's already broken," she reminds him. "And not everything can be fixed."

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."

He had meant to sit vigil and guard her against nightmares, but finds he cannot refuse her request. The part of him that is grieving craves the comfort of another being who understands what he's going through.

"You're probably not wrong," he informs her as he lays down facing her, their hands still clasped together, "but I'll inform you that I feel as if I've done the bare minimum in six months. Even if I need rest, I'm not sure if my body will listen."

She's glad that he doesn't refuse; she wouldn't have had the energy to argue with him, and just having him there beside her makes things seem lighter. It's just a fraction of the pain eased, and she knows it's only temporary, but already she can breathe a little easier.

"Then just stay with me for a little while?" She's so tired she can feel it in her bones, but her mind won't still, the ocean of her pain in constant waves through her thoughts.

Without conscious thought, he moves his free hand up again, this time brushing her hair away from her forehead. He continues stroking it in a soothing fashion. "Always," he whispers, surprised at the intensity that he feels the answer - no, the promise.

"Sleep. I will be here in the morning."

That reassurance is all she needs to close her eyes, only a bare few minutes passing before she does indeed sleep. Having him beside her is a balm to her tired soul, and she hardly stirs during the next except to edge closer to his body as if seeking out the warmth of his spirit. She's been so alone these past months...

Nighttime is always hardest for Obi-Wan, because it is when things are the quietest, and his mind goes down paths he can distract himself from during the day. He's become something of an insomniac, not because he enjoys it, but because at least he can somewhat marshal his thoughts, whereas in dreams he loses so much of his control.

Laying beside Padmé, he 'listens' through the Force, to ensure her sleep stays pleasant. Now even more than earlier, he can feel just how tired she is, in both mind and body. When she turns toward him, he wraps an arm around her, comforting and taking comfort.

In this way, Obi-Wan passes the night, drifting in and out of sleep just enough to keep his body functional, but never enough that he might dream.

For all these months now, morning has been excruciating. Whatever dreams she'd had in the night were nothing compared to the terrible pain of waking and remembering all over again everything she'd lost. The aching absence of her children, her husband's transformation into someone she no longer recognized, the destruction of the ideals she'd believed in. It would all come crashing down upon her, threatening to break her spirit into another thousand tiny pieces, and she would struggle through the motions of putting herself back together in the daylight.

This morning is different. This morning, she wakes slowly and sees Obi-Wan's face and doesn't have to remember. She knows, before she opens her eyes, and it's heartbreaking progress that she might never have made on her own. Perhaps one day she'll find the words to thank him for his part in it.

"Did you sleep?" Her voice is soft, throat dry from the long hours that had passed, but she pays it no attention. Concern for her friend is all that matters in that moment.

His lips move, but it's a smile in form only. "Define sleep," he quips easily, before assuring her, "I'm fine. How did you sleep?" He'd sensed no nightmares or uncomfortable dreams from her, but she still felt tired, to him, and he couldn't tell if that was from bad sleep, or the weight of all that's happened.


P a d m é	A m i d a l a	N a b e r r i e

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