Sweat beads on his brow. A lone drop breaks free and makes its way down, over his closed eyelid, getting lost somewhere in his stubble. Not even a small tremor follows it in its wake.
He can do this.
He can keep his darker impulses from controlling him as Master Yoda would wish.
The room is virtually silent, the only thing of note to him is the movement of warmth as the suns move lower in the sky.
Nought but for the grinding of his teeth that echos in his head.
smell of burning flesh
thud of his body
grey eyes hazing over
screaming
screaming
why doesn't the screaming stop
His eyes flick open, each breath a gasp that doesn't seem to quite fill his lungs.
Damn meditation never really works when these moods come.
Obi-Wan drags a hand through his hair and unfolds his legs. His mouth pulls to the side as he shakes his head once. He braces his hands on the floor, pushing himself to stand.
It doesn't matter how many years have passed.
The night air rushes past as he opens the doors to the balcony of his chambers. Lights and bustle of Coruscant below him did little to quell the noise in his head. He clasps his hands behind his back, closing his eyes to the brightness.
He still wants to kill him.
Emotional training has always been the most difficult of the edicts for the young Jedi. Though all of the teaching revolved around concentration and control, his feelings were often molded by anyone around him. Their joy, their love, their hope, their pain, their anger- all of it taken into his body as if it were his own. And his own feelings- there were times he was afraid that their strength would consume him.
It's why he worries that he shouldn't have taken on the Chosen One as his padawan.
Why he fears he has no right to be a Jedi in the first place.
Qui-Gon had never held to the belief about feelings quite the way Yoda did. In fact, there were times he intimated that it was Obi-Wan's strength, not his weakness.
But he was dead.
"It's pretty bad when I can sneak up on you like this, Ben."
Oh, he'll be hearing about this for the next few days. He rolls his eyes before looking down at the Senator, her legs dangling over the ledge, swinging. After checking the straps on his boots, he joins her.
The lights dance across her pale skin, her back bared by the loose tunic she favored when she didn't have anywhere to be. She turns to him to finally speak, and his eyes are quickly on the skyline.
"You know it's okay, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"For you to be angry. Pissed, even."
He bites the inside of his cheek, not looking at her. Of course she knows.
"But they're wrong, you know." She shrugs before looking out to the city.
He knows he has to be gaping like a Gungan, but she just went beyond anything that his former Master- "What?"
Her lips rise into a half-smile, as if she isn't sure she should continue. "About feelings."
"But a Jedi needs to be impartial, able to stay unbiased and calm in the face of any-"
Her eyebrow quirks. "And you think that's totally possible?"
"I-" If only he could close his mouth.
She sighs. "I've worked with the Naboo government; I've gone through training. I've seen a bit more of the world than most Padawan seem to have done. And yet, I've never met anyone that had completely harnessed how they feel about things. Besides, I don't even think it's in the texts-"
"But I should do better." He cuts her off, raking a hand through his hair. "I need- Anakin needs me to be exemplary."
He knows she giving him that look, the one where her eyes narrow when she thinks he's being stubborn.
"It's what makes you different. What makes you better," she says softly.
He scoffs, looking to the sky.
"Ben, look at me." He turns, ready with a retort that promptly dies on his tongue. Her face, that face that keeps him in line, pulls him from his moods, that face that is so many things to him looks more sincere than he's ever seen it. Earnest.
"It's not what feelings you have, it's what you choose to do with those feelings that matters." She grasps his arm near his elbow. "Your feelings give you compassion. You have to care about the people, you have to know them to be able to effectively serve them. Something that those inept fusspots have no clue how to practice. You should be learning how to...stretch out with your feelings, not just stifle them!" She looks down to where she's squeezing his arm, and lets it go with a quick glance to his face.
After a long moment, she hesitantly threads her fingers through his and looks away, letting him process.
It had taken a long time of needling before he let her do this freely- after her pragmatically delivered insistence that empaths need physical conformation of affection to function properly. And if he began to crave it, well-
"I'm so...angry." His whispers are nigh inaudible, as if the Council itself had all crowded onto the balcony behind them to eavesdrop.
Without facing him she replies, "I know."
The sounds of the city are the only noise for a while. After scratching at his stubble with his free hand, he turns to her and continues, "Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to put out a blaze taking out an entire forest. Nothing seems to work, to calm it."
At that she does turn, her gaze brushing over his face without expression. She then nods once, as if deciding something.
"All right then. We need to do something about that."
He cocks his head to the left, curious. "That something being?"
"You need to learn how to swear."
"I need to what?"
"Swear, curse, shout obscenities to the void." The glint in her eye is the only tell that she's enjoying this exchange.
"I know what it is," he splutters. "I swear!"
He's dropped her hand, and she's now leaning back on both palms."'Damn' and 'bloody' don't count."
He looks around, as if searching for someone to explain her nonsense.
"Come on, Ben. It's cathartic- might twist that stick out of your arse a notch." She grins at his indignant face. "Just one word. It can be in whatever language you wish." As he continues to shake his head, she adds, "When have I ever steered you wrong?"
"Well, that incident with the banthas-"
She rolls her eyes. "Aside from that-"
"No."
"Let's hear it."
"Absolutely not." He stands, turning towards the door.
She grabs his arm, putting herself between him and his destination. "You know I'm right."
"Enough." He refuses to glance down, and she steps from side to side, so that she is always directly below his chin.
"What's it going to hurt?"
"You're being ridiculous!" He finally faces her, totally exasperated.
"Perhaps," she murmurs. She bites her bottom lip, and he tries, but fails not to stare.
Before a breath passes, her hands are framing his face and tugging him down, lips moving against his.
And then, quite inadvertently, his arms are lifting her to his level as he deepens the kiss.
When they break apart minutes later, panting, she's sitting on the ledge with her arms wrapped around his neck. His hands are against her back, so soft, fingers tracing down her spine.
"Fuck," he breathes, forehead leaning against hers.
She chuckles, fingers lightly scratching at the hair on the nape of his neck. "My thoughts exactly."