There's something in Obi-Wan's expression that tells her he's seen something, or knows it, however it was the Force worked with Jedi at times. She'd experienced it with Anakin's dreams and she knew that sometimes others would learn things while awake... Whatever it is, she holds on to it, grasping the certainty he felt because it's all she has. And she tries her hardest not to think about the fact that he hadn't offered the same certainty in answer to her question.
"Thank you," she says after a few seconds of silence, a sadness in those two words that she wasn't sure she would ever lose. She would still hold to the hope of seeing her children again, but at least she knows that they will live, and considering all things, that's truly the best outcome possible.
A deep breath and then she lets that sadness fall back into place around the edges of her mind instead of at the forefront, instead offering him a small, teasing smile as she points out, "Have you always been this terrible at meditating?"
Obi-Wan wishes he could tell her for certain that they would still be around for her grandchildren to know her; as it is, technically he's not even sure he was alive in the vision. Despite the man - despite Luke looking directly at him, it felt tangential enough that he thinks the young man might have been seeing his spirit in the Force, much as Yoda had taught him to do with Qui-Gon.
Her questioning of his terrible meditation startles a laugh from him - rusty from disuse, but no less genuine. "I assure you, I'm quite good at meditating." He makes a face, playing it up a bit for her benefit. "Unfortunately, I've had little else to do for the last six years, and even I can get tired of it, after a while. I find I much rather share the company, now that I've found it."
It's so good to hear that laugh again, she can't remember the last time she'd had the pleasure. A year may well have passed since the last time, if not longer, the war having given them little time for lighter interactions between the missions he'd been sent out on. Missions with Anakin...
"Well, I'm afraid my life here is quite boring most days," she admits with a small smile, still threading the needle through the cloth with careful precision. "The most adventure I get is when I try reading some of the books I've borrowed from a woman in town. They're a bit on the ridiculous side, but they help pass the time when I don't have work to do." When she's run out of work, more accurately, which isn't often if she can help it.
"So far, the only adventure I get is when the locals try to raid my home. It's going to take a while before I've sufficiently deterred them from it." The Sandpeople aren't a problem while he's actually on his farm, although the edges of it butt up against their territory in the Jundland Wastes, so he has to be careful while tending the edges. It's the Jawas that worry him, greedy little mechanical scavengers that they are. Twice he's had to scare them off from dismantling his water vaporizors. He'd set several cunning traps around them before leaving, but he has no doubt they'll have gotten around them by the time he returns home.
Home. It's not, really; it's just a place for him to sleep, and while away the years.
It's those words that finally make her pause in her work, hands lowering to her lap as she looks up at him in concern and just a hint of fear. He's living in such a place that his home might not even be safe? The idea of anything happening to him and the fact that she would never even know -- it terrifies her.
"Obi-Wan, I know you can take care of yourself, but please, please be careful." Her voice is tense, emotions pulled tight. "If anything were to happen to you, I couldn't bear it."
His eyes soften as he hears the emotion in her words, and he sends her a calm smile. "I've fought a war before, if you'll recall; a few locals won't get the best of me."
Obi-Wan shakes his head in silent apology; he should be thankful that she's worried about him, that he has anyone left to worry about him, even as he wonders how much of her concern is for him, and how much is for her only link to the past, and her children. He can't help but feel responsible for the predicament they're in now. If he'd only known how to better handle Anakin, maybe...
"It's not me you should worry about," he says, gently rebuking, "but my wares. The scavengers wouldn't harm me - I'm an occasional customer, and if I die, they wouldn't have any more items to try and steal."
If she knew that's where his thoughts had drifted, she would be furious with him. Yes, there is a small part of her worry that is for those connections to her past and her children, but more than that, he's her friend. They'd been through horrible and wonderful things together, and she would miss him far more than any mere reminder of the life she'd left behind.
"I'll always worry about you," she counters softly, her gaze falling back to the material in her hands. "I care about you, I can't not worry. During the war, I was terrified every time you and Ani left on a mission."
He's not the only one at fault for what happened to Anakin, she'd been married to him and done nothing to stop his fall. She should have seen the signs for what they were instead of just brushing them aside.
If the two of them could just harness their guilt as a productive energy, they could probably topple the newly-instated Galactic Empire all by themselves. And Obi-Wan, at this point in time, hears not what she's trying to convey, but a recrimination, however unintentional (and he's aware if Padmé wanted to rebuke him, she would not couch it so nicely): I didn't trust you to keep Anakin safe during the war. His own guilt puts meaning to her words she didn't intend, and only feeds itself. He was self-centered, arrogant, and didn't pay attention to his apprentice-turned-comrade, his brother-in-arms.
The questioning of previous actions and inaction is nothing new to him now, and Obi-Wan tries to push it back; he will return to these thoughts, he knows, but now is not the time. He gives Padmé a bittersweet smile. "I assure you, m'lady, I will be all right. I appreciate your concern, but don't worry about me overmuch. If this whole ordeal has proved anything, it's that I am, above all else, a survivor."
It's not a trait he's particularly proud of, since it inherently means there were others who didn't survive, whom he couldn't save.
That interpretation of her words would have gotten him absolutely throttled, so it's quite a good thing that it wasn't conveyed to her. They had been fighting in a war, constantly running off to one battle zone or another, and she'd feared for all of them simply for that fact alone.
"Just because one survives doesn't mean they're alive." She was proof of that. This thing she's doing on this small backwater planet isn't living, it's merely existing. Surviving with no drive or purpose, no reason to get up each day other than necessity. This isn't life, and she's little more than a ghost of who she once was now.
Obi-Wan nods at the wisdom of her words. "No," he agrees, "but it does mean that someday, if one continues to survive, one might live again, to serve a purpose." He's quiet for a moment, before adding, "I think perhaps we're chrysalises. Trapped inside a tiny shell, transitioning between one phase of life and the next. Perhaps the next will be more beautiful, or at least more meaningful."
She listens to him speak, the idea he presents a kindness that she can't quite grasp, not for herself. For him, she hopes it is true. "I thought my life had meaning before. I tried so hard to--" She pulls in a shuddering breath and shakes her head. "But none of it mattered in the end. None of it."
Obi-Wan can't stand to hear her so defeated. He leans forward from his spot by the fire and clasps one of her hands, stilling her needlework and catching her eyes. "There is a rebellion, even now, being created and led by your friends and supporters. They are carrying on the works you started. Don't dismiss that." He can't tell her what might happen in the future, or how she might be a part of it, but he wants her to understand that all she has already done is even now having an impact on the entire galaxy.
A rebellion, being led by her friends? Bail and Mon Mothma, surely, and perhaps the other members of the Loyalist Committee. But how could they possibly make any traction when things had gone so astray? How long would it take to rally enough support to do anything of real impact?
"They're leading a rebellion and I'm hiding on a backwater planet wasting my days away," she surmises with more frustration than defeat in her voice. Frustration that makes tears sting at her eyes.
"Yes, and I'm doing so much better," he replies, with a bit more snap in his voice than he means, "sitting in a hut, taking pot shots at scavengers before they ruin my only livelihood, my lightsaber buried at the bottom of a trunk, forgotten and dusty." He understands her frustration, but he won't - can't - allow himself to dwell on it. He's always been better at seeing the big picture, and what he sees is that they will both be needed, but years in the future.
Taking a calming breath, Obi-Wan pulls back, settling himself again by the fire.
It's his physical retreat that gets to her more than anything, like icy water being poured over flames. All of that frustration drains out of her, leaving behind only sorrow and that pervasive defeat.
"I'm sorry," she tells him after a few moments of sadness, hunching over and pressing a hand to her eyes, work forgotten in her lap. "I've never not had a purpose in my life I'm not-- I don't know how to do this, but I shouldn't take it out on you."
Regret suffuses him as Obi-Wan watches her. "Padmé..." he murmurs, before moving forward again, this time crouching in front of her, taking her hand again.
"Please, don't. I'm sorry. It is frustrating, for both of us. I can only tell you to try and see the bigger picture, which-- I am aware, is much harder than it sounds. But things will get better. I don't know when, but I have absolute faith. The war isn't over. We-- we've merely made a strategic retreat, and are gathering our forces." There's a pause. "...even if we ourselves are biding our time, feeling useless. We won't be, in the future."
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she leans in closer to press her forehead to his, needing to feel some physical closeness to the only person she has left in this entire galaxy. He's the only one she can turn to, the only one who understands, and he's trying so very hard for the both of them.
"I couldn't do this without you," she murmurs, lifting her free hand, she presses fingers to his cheek for just a moment before carding them through his hair. "You're not useless to me."
He closes his eyes at the contact, the closeness she's providing. It's been so long, first running around fighting a war, and then Anakin... now he's completely cut himself off from civilization...
His breath hitches, inhaling shakily at the touch of her hand, opening his eyes for a moment to truly look at her. "Padmé..."
Obi-Wan tilts his head forward, enough to brush a soft, lingering kiss against the edge of her lips.
It's surprising, and yet not. The both of them are hurting, they've been lost and lonely while stumbling along, surviving without living. But in the seconds that pass within that kiss, she feels a flicker of life in her chest, a gentle tug that leaves her shifting ever so slightly closer, moving her lips to press against his. Still soft, hesitant, but seeking. Hoping.
The downside to being connected to the Force is that Obi-Wan is, for better or worse, more empathetic than others. He used to have to guard himself against it unless he needed an edge during negotiations, but fighting droids meant he couldn't feel his enemies emotions, and feeling his troops own emotions could be helpful. Living in an isolated area meant letting his senses stretch out, having an early indication of anyone approaching. In short, Obi-Wan hasn't had to guard his senses in a long time, and he naturally, subconsciously has been picking up Padmé's emotions since he arrived.
Now, he can feel that burgeoning hope, as if a flower is opening inside him as well, and he presses forward, gently deepening the kiss, seeking more. Offering himself, whatever it is she's seeking.
There's nothing in Padmé that feels any hesitation or uncertainty as she slips an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders, her other hand carefully (if slightly absently) discarding the needlework in her lap so she can slip off the chair and kneel as well. It changes the angle of their kiss and presses their bodies against one another, but there's not even one second of pause. She trusts Obi-Wan, she feels safe with him, and she wants to wrap that feeling around her for as long as possible. She wants to help him feel that way as well, to remind each other that they're not alone out here, and to let go of their sorrow for just a little while.
A thread of coherence comes back to him as Padmé moves; this is not what either of them needs in the long-run. He has to leave soon, this won't benefit either of them when all it will leave in the end is heartache for something they can't have, can't maintain.
But it's only for a moment until she settles against him, and for once Obi-Wan wants to take what's being offered to him. He wraps an arm around her waist, drawing her further against him.
That arm on her waist is all the encouragement she needs. Her hands trace lines along his jaw and shoulders, down his chest, and to the tie of his clothing. She tugs at them, intending to loosen them enough to slip her hands beneath that fabric, needing to feel skin beneath her hands. She needs to feel him.
If ice water had been poured over him, Obi-Wan wouldn't have been more surprised. He surfaces through need and lust with a small gasp, reaching down and stilling Padmé's hands.
"We can't," he murmurs to her, keeping his touch light but unmoving. "I must leave soon, and it will be all the harder if we continue now."
He would like nothing more than to find solace, but he can't imagine this ending well, for either of them.
It hurts. That light touch of his hand is like a fresh wound in her heart, every breath back to aching like broken glass in her lungs. In those moments, she nearly drowns in the feelings of loss and rejection, those good intentions crushing and already broken heart.
"Why does it have to be hard?" she replies, not meeting his gaze but not moving away either. "Why can't we simply take comfort in each other while we can? Why should it be more complicated than that?"
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"Thank you," she says after a few seconds of silence, a sadness in those two words that she wasn't sure she would ever lose. She would still hold to the hope of seeing her children again, but at least she knows that they will live, and considering all things, that's truly the best outcome possible.
A deep breath and then she lets that sadness fall back into place around the edges of her mind instead of at the forefront, instead offering him a small, teasing smile as she points out, "Have you always been this terrible at meditating?"
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Her questioning of his terrible meditation startles a laugh from him - rusty from disuse, but no less genuine. "I assure you, I'm quite good at meditating." He makes a face, playing it up a bit for her benefit. "Unfortunately, I've had little else to do for the last six years, and even I can get tired of it, after a while. I find I much rather share the company, now that I've found it."
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"Well, I'm afraid my life here is quite boring most days," she admits with a small smile, still threading the needle through the cloth with careful precision. "The most adventure I get is when I try reading some of the books I've borrowed from a woman in town. They're a bit on the ridiculous side, but they help pass the time when I don't have work to do." When she's run out of work, more accurately, which isn't often if she can help it.
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Home. It's not, really; it's just a place for him to sleep, and while away the years.
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"Obi-Wan, I know you can take care of yourself, but please, please be careful." Her voice is tense, emotions pulled tight. "If anything were to happen to you, I couldn't bear it."
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Obi-Wan shakes his head in silent apology; he should be thankful that she's worried about him, that he has anyone left to worry about him, even as he wonders how much of her concern is for him, and how much is for her only link to the past, and her children. He can't help but feel responsible for the predicament they're in now. If he'd only known how to better handle Anakin, maybe...
"It's not me you should worry about," he says, gently rebuking, "but my wares. The scavengers wouldn't harm me - I'm an occasional customer, and if I die, they wouldn't have any more items to try and steal."
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"I'll always worry about you," she counters softly, her gaze falling back to the material in her hands. "I care about you, I can't not worry. During the war, I was terrified every time you and Ani left on a mission."
He's not the only one at fault for what happened to Anakin, she'd been married to him and done nothing to stop his fall. She should have seen the signs for what they were instead of just brushing them aside.
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The questioning of previous actions and inaction is nothing new to him now, and Obi-Wan tries to push it back; he will return to these thoughts, he knows, but now is not the time. He gives Padmé a bittersweet smile. "I assure you, m'lady, I will be all right. I appreciate your concern, but don't worry about me overmuch. If this whole ordeal has proved anything, it's that I am, above all else, a survivor."
It's not a trait he's particularly proud of, since it inherently means there were others who didn't survive, whom he couldn't save.
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"Just because one survives doesn't mean they're alive." She was proof of that. This thing she's doing on this small backwater planet isn't living, it's merely existing. Surviving with no drive or purpose, no reason to get up each day other than necessity. This isn't life, and she's little more than a ghost of who she once was now.
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"They're leading a rebellion and I'm hiding on a backwater planet wasting my days away," she surmises with more frustration than defeat in her voice. Frustration that makes tears sting at her eyes.
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Taking a calming breath, Obi-Wan pulls back, settling himself again by the fire.
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"I'm sorry," she tells him after a few moments of sadness, hunching over and pressing a hand to her eyes, work forgotten in her lap. "I've never not had a purpose in my life I'm not-- I don't know how to do this, but I shouldn't take it out on you."
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"Please, don't. I'm sorry. It is frustrating, for both of us. I can only tell you to try and see the bigger picture, which-- I am aware, is much harder than it sounds. But things will get better. I don't know when, but I have absolute faith. The war isn't over. We-- we've merely made a strategic retreat, and are gathering our forces." There's a pause. "...even if we ourselves are biding our time, feeling useless. We won't be, in the future."
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"I couldn't do this without you," she murmurs, lifting her free hand, she presses fingers to his cheek for just a moment before carding them through his hair. "You're not useless to me."
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His breath hitches, inhaling shakily at the touch of her hand, opening his eyes for a moment to truly look at her. "Padmé..."
Obi-Wan tilts his head forward, enough to brush a soft, lingering kiss against the edge of her lips.
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Now, he can feel that burgeoning hope, as if a flower is opening inside him as well, and he presses forward, gently deepening the kiss, seeking more. Offering himself, whatever it is she's seeking.
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But it's only for a moment until she settles against him, and for once Obi-Wan wants to take what's being offered to him. He wraps an arm around her waist, drawing her further against him.
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"We can't," he murmurs to her, keeping his touch light but unmoving. "I must leave soon, and it will be all the harder if we continue now."
He would like nothing more than to find solace, but he can't imagine this ending well, for either of them.
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"Why does it have to be hard?" she replies, not meeting his gaze but not moving away either. "Why can't we simply take comfort in each other while we can? Why should it be more complicated than that?"
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