"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?"
As much as Obi-Wan is swayed by her words, he gives a small shake of his head. "And what of the day after? When both of us are alone, back to the lives we've been living, wanting nothing more than to return to this moment? Because I can't stay, Padmé. I can't." His voice breaks with strain, wishing he could explain it better to her.
This is the closest he's come to telling her where he's living, why he has to return. He wants to be here for her, but he also has to leave for Luke, for her. She is putting him squarely between a rock and a hard place, and he can't even fault her for it.
She knows that he has to leave, and in fact she wants him to. He has to go so he can look after her children, so he can protect them when she cannot. There is nothing that would make her keep him from that, and she would be the first to send him away to continue that task. But he's already promised that this wouldn't be his only visit, and to that is what she holds.
"I don't need you to stay," she assures him gently, leaning just the tiniest bit closer to him. "I just need you to come back to me." If she has the promise of something, someone out there, then she can face this life alone.
Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan sighs, pressing their foreheads together again for a moment. "I don't know how I've forgotten just how persuasive you can be."
He presses a kiss to her lips before pulling back slightly. "We both know where this is heading." He glances over at her bed roll. "I refuse to continue it on the floor." He winces for comedic effect as he stands up, pulling her up as well. "My knees aren't as young as they used to be."
She allows him to help her up, staying close even when she's upright, taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his. Giving him a gentle tug toward the bed, she quietly agrees, "Neither of us are as young as we once were. Losing the war has made an old woman of me."
Obi-Wan cups her face and kisses her, long and sweetly. "But still, always beautiful." It's the closest he's ever come to examining how he feels for her. He's always thought, abstractly, that she's beautiful, kind and good. But she has also, in his head, always been Anakin's. He hadn't realized until he'd learned of her pregnancy just how far the two of them had progressed, but he'd known something was transpiring between them.
But now Anakin is lost, and the two of them have been tossed together, shoring each other up.
She couldn't ask for anyone better to share her grief with. Obi-Wan has always been a dear friend, their shared bond with Anakin helping to bridge their own relationship, and now it's grief and regret that they hold in common, along with a hope for a better future.
"My dear friend," she murmurs, reaching up to set her hands over his. "Always so suave, even when our world has ended." With a small smile, she leans up to close the distance between them again, her lips on his as she tries to drink him in like a woman dying of thirst. She needs him, and she believes he needs her too.
Obi-Wan refuses to rush this; no matter how much either of them wants or needs this now, he wants it to be memorable, to last.
Clothes are pulled off, with caresses and gentle touches between each layer, kisses sprinkled over skin as Obi-Wan insists on wooing Padmé. They may be in a tiny house with minimal comforts, but he insists on treating her like a queen.
Every touch of his hand and brush of his lips on her skin reminds Padmé of what it feels like to be alive - she'd almost forgotten it in the pain of the last months. And for every inch of contact, she pleads for more, in catches of breath and sighs of pleasure, her own caresses to urge him to continue, and whispered utterances of his name. She begs him not to stop, and hopes that he will allow himself to drift away on the passion they share that night.
Later, lying in the warmth of his arms, she realizes this is the first time she's felt a moment of peace since that horrible day.
For the time they are together, Obi-Wan thinks of nothing but her, forgets the pain and guilt he's been living with, the uncertainty he's been fighting these last long months. Even as they lie together afterward, the heartache and pain is slow to return, gradual and, for the moment at least, easy to ignore.
On the edge of sleep, with the fire warm at his back and Padmé pressing warmth to his front, Obi-Wan remembers the premonitory dream he'd had that had sent him to check on her in the first place. Will this allay the vision, or when he leaves will she work herself harder, bereft of his dubious comfort and company?
He pulls Padmé closer to him, resting his cheek against her hair, praying he hasn't just made things worse, for either of them. Because he is not a solitary creature by nature, and these past months have been hard on him even without all the recriminating thoughts he's dealt with; just being so isolated has taken its toll more than he realized.
Their time together is like a balm to her soul, like wrapping a blanket around the raw pain she's carried in her heart. It's easier to breathe, her thoughts are lighter, and she forgets that she's lost more than one person should ever have to bear.
Padmé sleeps well that night, better than she has in months, warm and safe in Obi-Wan's arms. It's only when sunlight begins to filter into the tiny house that she stirs, shifting slightly with a soft murmur.
Surprisingly, Obi-Wan sleeps most of the night peacefully as well. It's Padmé moving beside him that wakes him, and he stretches with a quiet groan. "It's morning?" he questions into the silence, sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face. His beard needs trimmed, he notices faintly, even as he glances down at Padmé beside him.
He reaches out to brush his hand over her hair, but stops and lets his hand fall beside her head instead. Taking comfort from physical intimacy is one thing - he's afraid to let the affection he has for her grow. Not because he's a Jedi who shouldn't form attachments - although look how well that worked out with his Padawan, he thinks with a grimace - but if he grows too attached to Padmé... It would be such an easy thing, and disastrous in the long run.
Brushing his hand over her shoulder, he murmurs, "I hate to disturb your well-earned rest, but morning has come."
Drifting between wakefulness and sleep, Padmé feels warm, safe, and content. The memories of the last months are kept at bay by the solid presence of another beside her, but that awareness slips into something else at the touch of a hand to her shoulder and those soft words.
Anakin. The second the name forms in her mind, she remembers everything. Her husband's fall, the loss of her children, the life she now wakes to each day. All of it presses against her chest and when she opens her eyes to look up at Obi-Wan--
"Thank you," she murmurs in return, sitting up slowly and visibly struggling to pull herself together. Hopefully he'll think it's just her trying to fully wake rather than her attempt at combating crushing grief.
It's easy to see some emotion pass over her face when she looks at him, and while he doesn't have a chance to figure out what it is before Padmé is pulling back into herself, he can hazard a few guesses.
Reaching out, he places his hand on her shoulder for just a moment, before standing and pulling on his trousers and under-tunic. Having helped dinner last evening, he's familiar now with the small kitchen space and where things are kept, so he easily starts putting together a simple breakfast, boiling water for tea, naturally.
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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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This is the closest he's come to telling her where he's living, why he has to return. He wants to be here for her, but he also has to leave for Luke, for her. She is putting him squarely between a rock and a hard place, and he can't even fault her for it.
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"I don't need you to stay," she assures him gently, leaning just the tiniest bit closer to him. "I just need you to come back to me." If she has the promise of something, someone out there, then she can face this life alone.
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He presses a kiss to her lips before pulling back slightly. "We both know where this is heading." He glances over at her bed roll. "I refuse to continue it on the floor." He winces for comedic effect as he stands up, pulling her up as well. "My knees aren't as young as they used to be."
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But now Anakin is lost, and the two of them have been tossed together, shoring each other up.
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"My dear friend," she murmurs, reaching up to set her hands over his. "Always so suave, even when our world has ended." With a small smile, she leans up to close the distance between them again, her lips on his as she tries to drink him in like a woman dying of thirst. She needs him, and she believes he needs her too.
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Clothes are pulled off, with caresses and gentle touches between each layer, kisses sprinkled over skin as Obi-Wan insists on wooing Padmé. They may be in a tiny house with minimal comforts, but he insists on treating her like a queen.
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Later, lying in the warmth of his arms, she realizes this is the first time she's felt a moment of peace since that horrible day.
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On the edge of sleep, with the fire warm at his back and Padmé pressing warmth to his front, Obi-Wan remembers the premonitory dream he'd had that had sent him to check on her in the first place. Will this allay the vision, or when he leaves will she work herself harder, bereft of his dubious comfort and company?
He pulls Padmé closer to him, resting his cheek against her hair, praying he hasn't just made things worse, for either of them. Because he is not a solitary creature by nature, and these past months have been hard on him even without all the recriminating thoughts he's dealt with; just being so isolated has taken its toll more than he realized.
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Padmé sleeps well that night, better than she has in months, warm and safe in Obi-Wan's arms. It's only when sunlight begins to filter into the tiny house that she stirs, shifting slightly with a soft murmur.
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He reaches out to brush his hand over her hair, but stops and lets his hand fall beside her head instead. Taking comfort from physical intimacy is one thing - he's afraid to let the affection he has for her grow. Not because he's a Jedi who shouldn't form attachments - although look how well that worked out with his Padawan, he thinks with a grimace - but if he grows too attached to Padmé... It would be such an easy thing, and disastrous in the long run.
Brushing his hand over her shoulder, he murmurs, "I hate to disturb your well-earned rest, but morning has come."
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Anakin. The second the name forms in her mind, she remembers everything. Her husband's fall, the loss of her children, the life she now wakes to each day. All of it presses against her chest and when she opens her eyes to look up at Obi-Wan--
"Thank you," she murmurs in return, sitting up slowly and visibly struggling to pull herself together. Hopefully he'll think it's just her trying to fully wake rather than her attempt at combating crushing grief.
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Reaching out, he places his hand on her shoulder for just a moment, before standing and pulling on his trousers and under-tunic. Having helped dinner last evening, he's familiar now with the small kitchen space and where things are kept, so he easily starts putting together a simple breakfast, boiling water for tea, naturally.
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