Disclaimer: I own nothing…except maybe the idea of a female Obi-Wan. Who knows. I've certainly never seen it done before. Anakin, yes, but Obi-Wan? Well, there's first time for everything I suppose.


"Hello, you."

He tilted his head back against but otherwise kept his pose leaning against the porch support. The hut was positively ancient but it held up well enough under his weight.

Slowly, Anakin moved his arms from across his chest to accommodate the lean arms that hesitantly touched his sides. He swallowed dryly, the sharp ache of suppressed longing gnawing in his stomach as Obi-Wan carefully embraced him. She was flushed, her heart thrumming against his back, her ribs pressed to his own.

It was intoxicating.

Careful, the voice that sounded like Padmé said, echoing in his mind. Anakin flinched and Obi-Wan tensed behind him, drawing back. The air was heavy around them.

Impulsively, Anakin snatched her wrists, holding her still. Her pulse threaded under his fingers, her skin damp with perspiration.

Anakin took a deep breath. Once, twice… and made himself loosen his grip.

Obi-Wan relaxed back against him, her forehead resting against his neck, creating a buzz of pleasure that made him want to shiver.

They stood there, and the silence built around them.

Then Obi-Wan pulled away, languid this time, and Anakin let her go.

She stepped up beside him, nudging him with her elbow purposefully. He resolutely refused to look at her.

She let him, but he could feel her resigned amusementsaadnessremorse in the humming of the Force. He pursed his lips and ignored it, stubbornly unwilling to speak on the matter. He closed his eyes, picturing how she would look standing next to him.

Tight, stretch breeches that had once been a part of her everyday mission wear, cut off above her knees and hugging her toned thighs. A binding vest of the same material barely covering her breasts and completely barring her stomach and throat.

She was barefoot, he imagined, white calluses covering her heels and the sides of her feet. If he looked up he would spot the matching sets on her knees, elbows, and, to a small extent, her palms.

Her short auburn hair was clipped back, no- down, he pictured it down- hanging limply around her face, her damp bangs framing her eyes. Big, blue, they stared at him with calm patience as her hands wrapped around her elbows and her arms crossed her stomach. She would blink slowly, uncaringly, at his searching gaze.

And as he pictured it he calmed, his agitation sinking back under his skin and his pain retreating. It left behind a dull pain in his chest that he was fast becoming familiar with.

Padmé, he thought remorsefully, Obi-Wan joining him in his sigh.

He opened his eyes and glanced at her.

Her face was painted a warm yellow in the dying light, her cheeks ruddy. Sun burnt, he thought amusedly.

She caught his eye and gave him a slow smile, reaching out for his hand.

"Credit for your thoughts?" she queried as she twinned her fingers with his, their palms kissing hotly.

"Well," he drawled, watching as her eyes narrowed, "seeing as how we are more than three days away from the nearest civilization that uses currency…"

Obi-Wan rolled her eyes.

And the night settled around them like a warm, familiar cloak.