Sleep appeared to be the only known antidote to Jedi Padawan Obi Wan Kenobi's generally insufferable personality. Whilst asleep, he could neither smirk nor sneer at her, nor could he flaunt his glaring disrespect for her and her whole planet and people. He made no etiquette infringements and did not swagger. On the whole, his general presence was vastly less offensive. There was something peaceful about him as he slept. Probably his damned Force. Satine had never known anyone to sleep so well.
Conversely, she'd never known anyone to sleep so badly as she had of late. Hence her poor social conduct in her exchanges with Obi Wan. She groaned aloud as she recalled, for perhaps the hundredth time since sundown, their interaction by the pool in the cave. To have been glimpsed in a moment of such profound vulnerability. To have been so reckless and immodest! Stars. Aunty Kella would have disowned her for such conduct. But at least she, Satine reasoned irritably, had an excuse. Obi Wan was well slept, had not recently witnessed the massacre of his family, and behaved appallingly nonetheless.
But she could hardly hate him now. After her nightmarish refuge in the crypts, it was good to sleep – to try to sleep, at least – with a living human body beside her. Obi Wan's breathing was steady and quiet, and she would close her eyes at times and imagine the water of the lakes on Kalevala lapping against the stony shore. Not that it was ever quite soothing enough to send her to sleep, but she could hardly reprimand him for that particular failing.
On perhaps their third or fourth night spent together – stars, how could she be losing track of the days already? – Obi Wan was roused from what Satine had considered his impenetrable slumber. He woke with a sudden gasp and rolled onto his side towards her, eyes snapping open. Satine cringed with the embarrassment of having been caught watching him. He seemed embarrassed too.
"Satine-"
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"My Lady," he corrected himself. "Have you been awake this whole time?"
The thought of it seemed to distress him.
"No," she lied.
"Perhaps something happened outside, I'm not sure why I woke…" he murmured distractedly, propping himself upright and gathering his discarded cloak into his lap. "I'll speak with Master Qui Gon. It is almost time to for me to take watch, anyhow…"
He hurried from the tent without looking at her. A few minutes later, Master Jinn entered the tent and took his place.
"Is everything all right, Master Jinn?" Satine asked.
He seemed surprised to be asked.
"Your Padawan awoke rather agitated," she prompted.
The Jedi Master gave a wry smile and a chuckle.
"All is well, Duchess."
There seemed to be some deliberate omission. But Satine could not think of what it might be.
"Right."
"Try to sleep, Duchess."
Satine decided against pretending that she had been.
Obi Wan had always dreamed. As a youngling, and then even as an Initiate, he'd had vivid and distressing nightmares, but had grown over many years under Master Jinn's patient tutelage to dream instead with the clarity of the living Force, to see glimpses of truths that had eluded him in the daylight. Qui Gon had always reminded him that it was a gift, when Obi Wan had woken grumbling that he'd as good as spent the whole night awake. His Master was, of course, almost always right. Perhaps not tonight.
The Force had seemed to evade Obi Wan since arriving on Mandalore. He dreamed fitfully and aimlessly, and tonight, he saw Satine in the pool deep in the caves, just as he had seen her that morning. Her wet slip clinging to her body. Her hair loose down her back. Her eyes on him, shocked. And then Obi Wan saw what he had not seen that morning; she did not cry out or turn off her light. She watched him silently, before reaching out a hand. Her skin on his. Bringing her close.
What sort of deranged, traitorous blasphemy was this? Obi Wan wrestled himself from the dream in the way that he had been taught to do. Stars. A breath of air. He woke and rolled to his side, only to find the Duchess Satine Kryze awake and watching him.
Sith spit. It was as though he'd rolled from one nightmare into another. There was the same expectant gaze in her blue eyes. Her hand was half-extended along the floor of the tent towards him; that hand had touched his chest, behind closed lids. The mouth that he had seen himself kiss, only a metre away from him. Shit. He'd take a rabid gundark in his tent over the Duchess Kryze right now.
"Satine-"
No. Not right.
"-My Lady. Have you been awake this whole time?"
Why was he asking her this? Why was he talking to her? Why was she looking at him?
"No," she answered.
An obvious lie. Kriffing hell.
"Perhaps something happened outside," Obi Wan muttered haplessly, lying himself. "I'm not sure why I woke."
He pulled his cloak protectively over his lap. Stars. He had to get out of the damned tent.
"I'll speak with Master Qui Gon. It is almost time for me to take watch, anyhow…"
Close enough, surely. He couldn't look at her, couldn't be near her for a moment longer. He clambered from the tent as quickly as he could. Now to face a new challenge.
"Is it time, Obi Wan?"
Master Jinn had an unfortunate habit of asking him questions to which they both knew the answer.
"I woke, Master," Obi Wan explained lamely, fumbling his arms into his sleeves and pulling his cloak protectively around him. "From a dream. I felt that we might as well swap over now."
"And what has the Force communicated to you tonight, my gifted Padawan?" Qui Gon asked serenely.
Obi Wan fought the urge to laugh aloud.
"It was unclear tonight, Master. I thought that perhaps I could meditate upon it now."
Qui Gon nodded and rose to his feet to return to the tent.
"We will give you more sleep tomorrow night, Obi Wan, should you need it."
More time in the tent with the Duchess. Sublime.
"I'm quite alright, Master."
"Youth," his Master muttered ruefully, and reached for the tent flap.
"The Duchess Kryze is awake, Master," Obi Wan added hurriedly. "I don't think that she's been sleeping at all."
Qui Gon appraised this with raised brows.
"It seems a poor night for sleeping."
"I slept well, Master," Obi Wan protested.
Unpersuasive. Stupid. Time to bite his tongue.
"I wish you clarity in your meditation, Padawan."
"Thank you, Master."
And Obi Wan was left to ponder the idiocy of the human hormonal axes, the male design in particular, and whether other Jedi – other than useless Garen, who had insisted on sharing his own trials with Obi Wan in unforgivable detail – were ever betrayed by their bodies in this way. And what to do now? Painstaking meditation was the correct but unenviable answer. Obi Wan sighed. Blast testosterone. Blast his dreams. Blast it all. There is no passion, there is serenity. Somewhere, somehow. Maybe with the sunrise.
A silly one, but a bit fun. I hope you enjoyed :)
To my readers of The Last of the Clan Kryze - I must apologise for the slight delay in getting out my next chapter! I'm doing more rigorous editing/re-writing than usual, because I'm trying to cut down on story length a tad. Next chapter should be a few days away.
Much love, S.