The only thing he could feel was the force. His short stay on Mandalore, despite its outward visage of peace, had done nothing for him. The consistently looming threats of Deathwatch, despite the planet's ability to maintain their neutrality through the Senate, had put a serious strain on the planet's public atmosphere.
The people were wary, when he walked through the streets, they watched him with unease and trepidation. He could not blame them, he had refused to sacrifice his lightsaber to the Mandalorian guard after what had happened on the moon during his last visit here; to the Mandalorians, anyone with a weapon and no peacekeeper army was a potential threat.
Many of his few days here had been spent in Satine's company, in her court as she oversaw the transition to a new prime ministers while Ulmec stayed in prison. They had not spoken much except for broken words and stunted conversations at formal dinners. They had been unable to discuss what had happened between them except for in the brief moments after the Senate vote. He had taken to spending all of his spare time he could manage meditating, He willed his feelings of mild betrayal, and loss into the force.
But still, even now, as he sat in the beautiful snapdragon garden that surrounded Satine's palace, he found his body burning with the urge to go and speak to her. It was almost lunchtime, he could feel the passage of time in the background as he felt the force roll over him in waves. He was entranced by their shared memories from his days as a Padawan.
He thought of the long nights, spent in the company of Satine and his master, his and the duchesses long, exhausting arguments that Qui-Gon had stayed largely out of. He released the remembered frustrations with her into the fore, but as each memory of their early time came to his mind, as did latter memories. Memories of the time after he had rescued her and tended to their wounds on the open fields of lesser Mandalore. Memories of her gentle words as she saw his graver injuries, her gentle hands as she helped him clean them, her gentle lips when they had finally been overwhelmed by the feelings that were shared between them.
He tried, with every ounce of his body, to release that memory to into the force, but his body was resistive. As he longed to speak with her, he also longed to feel her lips against his own again, to feel her body pressed against his as they had done some days later when Qui-Gon had again left them alone for what Obi-wan realized now had been too long.
It was that memory that most haunted him now, so many years later. It had stirred up feelings he had long repressed, and even here, in the Mandalorian gardens, he thought he could smell the scent that she always wore...
"Obi-wan." Her voice cut through the back of his mind, and his eyes flew open, briefly disoriented as instead of seeing her, only a large, carnivorous plant that glowed bright orange in the midday sun. "Are you alright?"
"I assumed you would be at lunch, Duchess." He rose from his sitting position, and turned to face her. Her headdress, a simple blue metal headband, gleamed brightly. His eyes met hers, and he couldn't help but smile at her.
"I grow tired of speaking with people only interested in themselves, Master Jedi." She returned the smile, and reached out a hand to his arm. "How have you been?"
He let out a long sigh, and did not answer. "I wish you would have dinner alone with me tonight, Obi. I want to be able to at least speak with you before you leave."
"Of course, Duchess." He nodded his head at her offer. "For now, I believe I will get some rest." He stepped around her, walking back to the palace. The Jedi part of him curled in protest, but his heart soared as his mind filled with memories.
He laid on the bed she had provided him in the guest chambers, running his hand through his beard, and then up through his hair slowly, trying to sleep. Eventually, memories of the past, both distant, and more recent, rolled him into a haze.
When he awoke, the Mandalorian sun was falling. In all of his nights spent here, he had not had, nor taken, the time to watch it set fully beyond the horizon of the planet. Much was the same tonight, as he hurriedly pulled on his boots and belt, running fingers through his hair. He glanced in the mirror, but knew that if he stared to long, he would become too fixated on how he looked to her.
But still, he changed his tunic, pulling on another light brown tunic that was at least, fresh. He looked down at his body, at the new array of scars and small burn marks that cut their way up his body. Their years spent apart had changed him, he was more damaged, he thought, and, as he pulled the tunic over him, he realized that damage might be more than just physical.
He walked through the palace, thick orange light pressing through the windows that were cut with stained glass images of the peace and prosperity of Mandalore that had thrived since Obi-wan had been here as a Padawan. Satine's private chambers were far from the throne room, where he was sure her advisors were still milling about, but they were close to his guest chambers. He turned through two hallways, nodding at one guard who did not acknowledge him.
He came to her living space at last, the table set with all sorts of small foods and drinks. No alcohol, he noticed, not even wine, only a thick sort of flavored water. She wasn't in there, and he decided to stand by the window rather than sit down. He saw half a dozen speeders, carrying needed supplies to the people still reeling from the Deathwatch threats. For once, Obi-wan saw the benefit of a neutral system, as its suns fell down, he could almost feel as though the Clone War was a far off memory that he had only bad memories of.
He heard the door open behind him, and he could not help but turn to see her come in. She was in simple clothing, not the dresses and head-wraps that he was so used to. She wore a simple shirt and pants, her hair pulled back in simple fashion that allowed for him to see her beautiful gray eyes, and the pale skin of her throat that disappeared into the collar of her jacket. "It is a beautiful world." She said, resting her thin hands on the windowsill, standing next to him.
"You have done an extraordinary job since I was here with Qui-Gon." He meant every word of it. The fragile beauty of Mandalore's peace, even though in his military mindset that there joining the Republic would be best, was amazing. Her work with it, through careful diplomacy and genuine love for her people, had brought it once again to prosperity.
"I am not the only one who has worked hard for its survival." She responded quietly. "I owe many a great deal of thanks." He turned to face her, and she turned into him. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to hold her in his arms in the dying light of the sun, but the ingrained art of him that resisted was to strong.
"Why don't we eat?" He broke the silence between them, gesturing toward the table. She gave him a small, half-smile, and sat in her usual place. He sat cattycornered to her, and examined the food. It really did look quite good, large salads in bowls, with small meats and fruits to be used as toppings. He wasn't sure what the dressing was, some sort of vinegar-base, he assumed. They ate in silence for a moment, the dressing was definitely a vinegar base, but he rather enjoyed it.
"How was your day, Obi-wan?" She said, startlingly him, who had become rather flippantly obsessed with his salad in an effort not to ask about what she had said to him only days before. "I'm sorry we have not been able to talk more."
He bit back a sarcastic remark that in order for them to have talked more since they unboarded the ship at Mandalore, they would have had to have talked at all. But that would not move them forward, and he wanted to get to their discussion. "I regret it also, Satine. I have to return to the temple soon, it was my intention to see you more while I was here." His words carried a heavy weight, and they both knew it. The last of the Mandalorian sun faded, and the small, floating lights that graced the halls of Mandalore ignited, casting them in a brilliant, faint light. They put a small glow on her cheekbones, giving her white blonde hair almost a silvery glow. He could feel his body being pulled closer to her, his knee brushing against her leg which she does not move away.
"I walked through the city, saw the people surviving and thriving, meditated, and slept." The words spilled from him in a quiet, almost whisper. "Can we talk about what we said?" He asked finally, Jedi instincts telling him not to, but somewhere, he thought he felt the force pushing him forward.
"I meant what I said to you, Obi-wan." She out down her fork, all thoughts of their barely touched dinner forgotten. This conversation was long overdue, something both had been dreading and neither had been willing to face.
"I meant what I said too." He said back softly, standing from his chair, not wanting to move away from her, but at the same time, unable to be so close to her. "But things are different now, Satine." She stood to be in front of him, dangerously close, where he could feel the heat radiating from her body. "You are in charge of this planet, these people. I am a general in a war for freedom. I cannot leave the Order as I may have long ago."
"I know, Obi-wan." There was little emotion in her voice, but she reached forward and placed her hand on the side of his face, in his beard that was softer than she thought it could be. He could feel where this was headed, the natural progression of it, but he had no strength or desire to fight it any more. "I'm not asking for that anymore."
"What are you asking for, Satine?" He said, his hands moving forward to rest softly on her hips.
"Only you, Obi-wan." She said, as they moved closer and closer together. "Not for forever, not for always, just for now. That is all I ask."
Their lips hovered maybe an inch apart as he spoke. "And that is all I can give you." And their lips, their bodies, their minds, their feelings all came together, not in a crash, but a gentle wave as Obi-wan felt the force wrap around them both in the dim lights that floated around them.
He woke the next morning with a start. It was bright outside, too bright for his taste. His room in the temple on Coruscant had thick curtains that only opened during select times for him. He enjoyed Mandalorian sunlight, but it seemed blinding in comparison to his sleep. He felt warmth beside him on the bed, and realized his tunic was gone. He looked down at Satine, memories from long ago, coupled with new memories from the previous night swarmed in his head, and he closed his eyes to lay back on the pillows of her bed. She slept with her head on his chest, the thin blonde strands tickling.
He realized quickly that she was wearing his tunic, and not much else, but he didn't want to wake her, so he tried his best not to move. There would be time for rushing and moving and running when he was back at the temple, when he was back in the war. He kissed the top of her head, and watched her slow even breaths, felt her warm skin against his, and for the first time in a long time, he felt himself relax.
His thoughts strayed to her, how she had traced his scars with not disgust, but a reserved, quiet sadness and a gentle touch that he would forever be thankful for. His scars were marks of war, marks of soldiers that the Jedi had become. But she had not questioned them. Their shared night had not been about their ideals as a Jedi Master and as a Pacifist, not their positions as a Duchess and a General, it had been about the two of them, together again as lovers in a galaxy being torn apart by hate.
He felt her waking against him, and sighed gently, planning to revel in the feeling the next few days would bring before he returned to the life he could no longer leave behind.