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."
He realizes only too late what he's given away, and inwardly curses himself. While Padmé may not realize how close she is to Tatooine, if he mentions that's where he resides now, she is more than smart enough to discern that he's there for a reason, and that that reason is most likely one of her children.
"I will remember in future to only visit during the summer, then," he says mildly, watching for her reaction. He came to the conclusion today that his visit wasn't just for her sake, and it has done wonders to help bolster his own resolve, as well.
Something in her chest tightens at those words, and she knows that he's probably just joking, letting out a ghost of the sense of humor he used to have, but... Still, it unsettles her, the idea of not seeing him again for all those months. The year here is shorter than on Naboo, the rotation around the sun not as long, but already she's dreading when he'll leave to return to whatever warm planet he's living on now.
"That'll make for a lonely winter," she replies in the same tone, trying not to let on how much she hopes he isn't serious.
If anything, he'd been expecting her to tell him it isn't necessary for him to come back. It both pleases and distresses him that she seems to be saying the opposite.
Standing, he moves toward her until he can take her hand in both of his. "Could I stay, I would. I think even just one night has done both of us more good than either of us expected. Unfortunately, I have responsibilities, even in exile. Next time, I will make sure I'm prepared for a much longer leave, so that we may have more time together."
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.
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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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"I will remember in future to only visit during the summer, then," he says mildly, watching for her reaction. He came to the conclusion today that his visit wasn't just for her sake, and it has done wonders to help bolster his own resolve, as well.
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"That'll make for a lonely winter," she replies in the same tone, trying not to let on how much she hopes he isn't serious.
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Standing, he moves toward her until he can take her hand in both of his. "Could I stay, I would. I think even just one night has done both of us more good than either of us expected. Unfortunately, I have responsibilities, even in exile. Next time, I will make sure I'm prepared for a much longer leave, so that we may have more time together."
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"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.
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"It will be a very long time before that happens," she assures him softly.
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"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."
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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