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.
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.
After a few seconds of actually contemplating his question, she decides, "Better than I have been." It wasn't the best sleep she'd ever had, but it had been better than the uneasy slumber that she'd faced since arriving on the planet. She's still tired, yes, but she can't remember what it feels like anymore to not be tired.
Pulling away slowly, she carefully sits up, the small bedroll not allowing for much space between them - not that she minds. "I'll have to leave soon," she explains, pushing her hair back behind her ears and rubbing at her scratchy eyes. "I'm helping with the last of the harvest today."
Obi-Wan sits up as well, affording a little more room, but doesn't try to put any more distance between them. He nods at her explanation. "That's fine. Is there anything I can do around here, to help you?" He doesn't particularly want anyone to know he's here, though that depends entirely on how long he ends up staying. He doesn't think he'll be here long enough to make it worth finding any sort of job, but he refuses to do nothing to help Padmé out.
Is there anything... She frowns slightly, not having expected the question or for him to even stay long enough to consider such a thing. In her heart, she'd been hoping he would stay at least another night, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it might happen.
"I need more firewood," she finally says, voicing the first simple task she can think of. There are a dozen other things she needs to do around the small house, from resealing the windows to filling in cracks around the doors to prepare for winter. Everything could use a good deep cleaning, there's a tear in her extra blanket... Little things that have added up but that she refuses to put on him. No, the firewood will be enough, and there are plenty of old trees in the large forest behind the house.
Firewood is a simple enough task, and Obi-Wan nods easily in agreement.
When she returns, Padmé will discover that while Obi-Wan did indeed replenish a good supply of firewood, he also wandered the house and found many of the 'little things' that needed doing, and... well, did them. Having recently repaired his own new home (that had stood abandoned for quite some time before he'd purchased it, out in the middle of nowhere on Tatooine), he recognizes what needs weather-proofing, and knows how to do it. Cleaning and removing grime and soot aren't even deep cleaning to him, but an every day occurrence on the desert planet, so her home is now, if not spotless, at least much more hospitable. Windows and doors no longer allow drafts. He tried figuring out a way to better insulate the small home, but that was one area in which his own abode was fortunate, being designed and constructed already prepared to hold in the cool air during daytime and stave off the chill at night.
There is a fire burning low in the hearth, ready to be stoked. He hadn't wanted to go through all the wood he'd just finished gathering, but Obi-Wan is sitting as close as he can without fear of embers landing on his tunic. He's already started to acclimate to Tatooine's hot climate, it seems. Despite not having reached his fourth decade yet, the cold seems to sink into his bones much more easily these days.
The day seems longer than all the others have, now that she has someone waiting for her at home. It's harder to focus on the pain wrapped around her heart with something to look forward to, and today she doesn't refuse the offer of a basket of fresh produce, or the leftover bread she helps to bake. When asked about it, she simply explains that she will have company for dinner, and the woman who runs the bakery smiled knowingly. It was easier to not correct the misconceptions.
The walk home seems to go more quickly that night, her steps a little lighter despite the chill that reddens her cheeks, and she reaches the tiny house just as the sun dips below the horizon. Giving Obi-Wan a smile as she moves through the space, setting the basket down on the small table before tugging off her coat.
"You've been busy," she remarks, having immediately noticed at least a few of the changes in the space. "Thank you, Obi-Wan. You didn't have to, but thank you."
Silently, he watches her enter, his thoughts focusing outward once again as Padmé arrives. Obi-Wan quirks his lips in a small smile, nodding at her thanks. "It was nothing. I discovered today that once I started doing, I didn't want to stop at just the firewood." It was true, if not the only truth. He'd wanted to keep busy; he'd wanted to help her; he'd wanted to think about inconsequential things, instead of the thoughts usually swirling around his head when he was alone.
"I'm not very good at sitting on my hands all day," he offers by way of explanation. "Besides, I'll probably run through most of your firewood and have to gather more again before I leave. I feel like I'm in an ice box, and I'm well-aware that it's not even winter here, yet."
He's living somewhere warm now. It doesn't take any effort to conclude, since she knows he'd spent so much of life on Coruscant - even on the city planet, they'd had varying temperatures. For him to be reacting so strongly to just a gentle chill...
"The people in town have been saying this winter will be fairly harsh," she comments, carefully unpacking the basket of produce. "There isn't much trade here, so it's good that the harvest has gone well."
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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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"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."
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"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.
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"Sleep. I will be here in the morning."
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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.
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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.
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Pulling away slowly, she carefully sits up, the small bedroll not allowing for much space between them - not that she minds. "I'll have to leave soon," she explains, pushing her hair back behind her ears and rubbing at her scratchy eyes. "I'm helping with the last of the harvest today."
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"I need more firewood," she finally says, voicing the first simple task she can think of. There are a dozen other things she needs to do around the small house, from resealing the windows to filling in cracks around the doors to prepare for winter. Everything could use a good deep cleaning, there's a tear in her extra blanket... Little things that have added up but that she refuses to put on him. No, the firewood will be enough, and there are plenty of old trees in the large forest behind the house.
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When she returns, Padmé will discover that while Obi-Wan did indeed replenish a good supply of firewood, he also wandered the house and found many of the 'little things' that needed doing, and... well, did them. Having recently repaired his own new home (that had stood abandoned for quite some time before he'd purchased it, out in the middle of nowhere on Tatooine), he recognizes what needs weather-proofing, and knows how to do it. Cleaning and removing grime and soot aren't even deep cleaning to him, but an every day occurrence on the desert planet, so her home is now, if not spotless, at least much more hospitable. Windows and doors no longer allow drafts. He tried figuring out a way to better insulate the small home, but that was one area in which his own abode was fortunate, being designed and constructed already prepared to hold in the cool air during daytime and stave off the chill at night.
There is a fire burning low in the hearth, ready to be stoked. He hadn't wanted to go through all the wood he'd just finished gathering, but Obi-Wan is sitting as close as he can without fear of embers landing on his tunic. He's already started to acclimate to Tatooine's hot climate, it seems. Despite not having reached his fourth decade yet, the cold seems to sink into his bones much more easily these days.
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The walk home seems to go more quickly that night, her steps a little lighter despite the chill that reddens her cheeks, and she reaches the tiny house just as the sun dips below the horizon. Giving Obi-Wan a smile as she moves through the space, setting the basket down on the small table before tugging off her coat.
"You've been busy," she remarks, having immediately noticed at least a few of the changes in the space. "Thank you, Obi-Wan. You didn't have to, but thank you."
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"I'm not very good at sitting on my hands all day," he offers by way of explanation. "Besides, I'll probably run through most of your firewood and have to gather more again before I leave. I feel like I'm in an ice box, and I'm well-aware that it's not even winter here, yet."
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"The people in town have been saying this winter will be fairly harsh," she comments, carefully unpacking the basket of produce. "There isn't much trade here, so it's good that the harvest has gone well."
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