For all of you who have waited so long. Thank you for the patience.

XXIV.


You're almost happy
Almost content.
But your head hurts.
(G. & S. Bettens)


***

Golden gleaming, even through closed eyelids. Warmth. Swimming, gliding, drifting. Drifting. But where? And for how long was he drifting?

His lungs craved for the life-giving breath. But it was impossible.

Impossible? Why? Padmé no longer held him under the surface. He could hear her talking, muffled, unable to make out her words here, under water. Why didn't he emerge? What kept him?

Memory crept back sluggishly. He had wanted to drown before. Back then, not much had prevented him from following Qui-Gon. Except for Padmé. Was that what kept him? He felt his body wanting to drift to the surface, following the physical laws which were similar on most planets. But he stayed, held himself under water, ignored the burning in his lungs. He could hold his breath long enough. He was almost sure. And even if ...

The water disconnected him from everything going on up there: from Padmé, her voice, from Naboo, from all beings depending on him, expecting something from him. From everything but himself and his thoughts. From his memory. Almost as if no time had passed at all, he saw Qui-Gon's death, this brutal, much too sudden and cruelly noble death.

He had left Obi-Wan behind in taking on the Sith alone. Had left him with all the obligations, without advice, without help, without the constant and calm presence on which Obi-Wan had been relying since he was thirteen years old. Through his sacrifice, he had taken a part of Obi-Wan's self away, and the emptiness which had opened up was now filled with pain so strong that sometimes it made hard to breathe, and made Obi-Wan doubt everything he had ever learned.

What was the council, what were the Jedi without Qui-Gon Jinn? Without his wisdom, his mildness and his dry humour? What were they without his strength and his belief in the unifying force? Nothing. Suddenly they weren't important anymore. And he, Obi-Wan, was the only one who had soaked up the teachings of Qui-Gin. Granted, he had always thought them inappropriate for a proper Jedi knight, but he had always listened.

Was that what Qui-Gon had expected from him? Was he supposed to go on living with the pain without sharing it, and only share the knowledge he had acquired? Was he supposed to teach Anakin to become like Qui-Gon?

It all boiled down to one thing - he didn't have control over anything in his life. Everything seemed to be predetermined, roads winding in certain ways before he could decide which way he wanted to go. Bandomeer. Melida/Daan. Tattooine. Naboo. And of course, Anakin. Qui-Gon's death was one of these roads. Predetermined by the Force for him to walk on. Outside his influence. Beyond his control. He was nothing but a puppet bound by countless strings of the Force.

Anger welled up inside of him. He lungs burned fiercely. His ears hurt. Not much longer ...

Was this the will of the Force, too? Surely not. But what if he simply didn't surface? What if he simply gave himself to the water, fled from the ways of the Force. What if he simply - died?

Here, now?

For the first time, he would be in control.

The burning in his lungs became painful. Was this really the way he had to go in order to find himself? To find something in his life only he controlled? Even if it was only his own death?

Two hands clamped around his upper arms and pulled him to the surface.

The air that rushed into his lungs was the sweetest he had ever tasted.

But after his breathing had evened again, his gaze drifted to Padmé and realisation dawned: Once again, the decision had been taken away from him. Predetermined. Out of his control.

Padmé had pulled him to the surface, had decided his fate for him. Again.

Anger washed over him anew.

Her face spoke of worry, of anger, of fear. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

His eyes flashed. "I only meant to finish what you started."

***

"I ..." Padmé started, but stopped immediately. The words she had prepared while he was underwater suddenly seemed empty and meaningless, even childish.

But he didn't seem to notice the pause. The strange, dangerous spark she had seen before was back in his eyes. Had she elicited it?

Had something in his posture changed? He seemed taller than before. Darker than before.

His eyes. It was his eyes which showed the change most clearly. Not tender blue-green with a hint of concern. His eyes were dark and dangerous, the realisation sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine.

She averted her eyes, unable to take his glance any longer, not wanting to see what she saw.

What had happened after she had pushed him under water? And what in the name of the three moons of Naboo had she been thinking? She couldn't tell - it had been as quick as it was impulsive.

Then his long stay down there. In the beginning she had thought he was trying to tease her. She had almost expected another little water fight to start. She had almost looked forward to it. Almost. But he hadn't come up again, and with every second he had stayed down there, her heart had beat faster. Breathing had been hard, as though it was her and not him who lay down there. What had he been doing? Had he meant to punish her for her impulsiveness?

Finally she hadn't been able to take it any longer and had pulled him up. It was a task needing all her strength, for he was heavy, much heavier than she had imagined. Irrationally, she wondered if it were his sorrows weighing him down. Was she just as heavy, then? She, too, had sorrows. He wasn't alone in his pain, his problems, his doubts.

The thoughts had flown away when he had emerged and had taken his first breath. A deep breath, the breath of a drowning man, saved in the very last second.

New realisation. Had he meant to? Had he meant to stay down there to never again emerge? Had he meant to destroy everything?

The swirling thoughts woke her temper and she raised her gaze to search his face.

What she saw made her freeze.

He was close.

Very close.

Padmé swallowed when she saw that barely two steps separated them.

Too close.

Much too close.

She suppressed a shiver and forced herself to look him straight in the eyes. "What were you playing at, Obi-Wan?"

***

"What were you playing at, Obi-Wan?" Was there irritation in her voice? Worry? Resignation?

Padmé was close. Close enough so Obi-Wan could count every single one of her eyelashes. Close enough to see that she had a little scar above her brow. Close enough to feel how her breath chilled the drops of water on his chest

And suddenly it was crystal clear. He looked into the dark brown eyes in front of him, sparkling in the soft light of the spring. Saw the shapes and curves in all the right places. Saw the rosewood coloured, full lips. Saw and allowed himself to see.

The Force might control a lot of things in his life. It wouldn't control this. He was cut off from the force, ironically it had even been initiated by the Council. They had injected him with a drug which prevented the Midichlorians in his blood from communicating with him. In the beginning it had been painful, another loss. Now, in this very moment, he felt free.

Obi-Wan smiled triumphantly. Not this time. This time the Force would not control him. Not here, not now. The Council had hindered his Force sense - the very thing that made him a Jedi - so what reason was there to hold to Jedi conventions?

His eyes raked over her as he took another step closer. Padmé's eyes widened.

***

Something new was in his gaze, something she had never before seen in him. Hunger. Dark, insatiable hunger. She felt uncomfortable under this intense scrutiny. Everything lay open before her, feelings which had been suppressed until now, questions which suddenly had been answered.

"Padmé."

This mustn't be. He mustn't talk to her like that. Not with a deep, sensuous voice that was far more unsettling than the look in his eyes. Not in the way which threatened her knees to buckle.

The smile playing around his lips was dangerous and attractive at once.

The Obi-Wan standing in front of her was unknown to her, a stranger. An attractive stranger, an unwanted part of her brain reminded her. An attractive stranger who didn't hide what he wanted.

And what was worse, she didn't see any reason why he shouldn't get what he wanted.

Wasn't it what she, too ... ?

Her gaze met his. Flickered. Searched. Discovered.

Suddenly, there was no room between them.

His hands framed her face. His body, though it didn't touch hers, enveloped Padmé with its coolness. So different from anything she had ever felt from Obi-Wan.

She wished the water of the spring wasn't warm but icy-cold. With a enormous effort, she broke eye contact and stared at his chest instead.

This thing happening between them was wrong.

"We ... Obi-Wan, we ..." Padmé stopped, feeling surprisingly un-eloquent.

He had to know it was wrong. Hidden touches at night, meant to be forgotten in the morning were one thing, but this ...

He was cool. All this time in the warm water, and still his skin felt cool to the touch?

His skin. Touch. 'By the moons.' Her hands had stopped listening to her brain and roamed, tentatively, over his shoulders and arms. She could feel muscles flexing under cool skin.

He raised her head gently, firmly, with his index finger. Smoky, dark green-blue met her gaze.

His breath mingled with hers. Quick. Warm. Uneven. Impatient?

Her mouth went dry.

A tingling of an altogether different kind than before prickled over her body when his calloused thumb brushed the tender skin of her lips.

Heat coiled in her stomach. Her eyes fluttered shut.

What was right, what was wrong? Right, wrong. Right. Wrong. Rightwrong, rightwrongrightwrongrightwrong. She repeated the words until they lost their meaning.

The only thing that was real was the feeling of his hands on her face.

Her lips parted on their own accord. A devilish aspect of her mind made her flick her tongue quickly over the pad of his thumb. She tasted the salt of the spring, felt his fingers tremble against her cheek.

Before she could open her eyes to see what kind of effect her little action had had on him, his cool lips found hers. Gently, hesitantly at first. Soft and cool and intoxicating. Would she ever get enough of this?

Then demanding. Hungry. Alarmingly hungry.

His lips opened hers impatiently. His tongue flicked against hers, once, then again and again, until a rhythm built between them neither of them could or wanted to escape.

His hands explored her body, slowly, as though he had to discover every part of her. They stilled at her hips under water where his fingers opened and closed reflexively. The feelings flooding her body were frightening her.

Her knees gave way and she clung to his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his. She could feel his hunger and answered with her own.

Breathless. Hungry. Insatiable.

Yet in the back of her mind, worry about the intensity of their actions gnawed at her. It was too much. Was it her own passion she felt or did she simply mirror his?

Was she ready to give what he wanted?

She felt him steering her into more shallow water, pressing her back against the walls of the basin. The marble was cool in comparison to the warm water.

Heat throbbed through her body. His hands were seemingly everywhere, intensive, demanding, possessive.

The strap of her dress slithered from her shoulder, assisted by his cool hand.

Maybe it was the feeling of the wet material. Maybe it was the night air. Maybe her brain had fought its way free of the overpowering feelings for a few precious seconds.

"Obi-Wan ..." The protest sounded weak even to her ears. "Wait." Before another onslaught of his passion could sweep her away, she found her voice again and said, a little more forcefully: "Obi-Wan, please."

He gave an unarticulated, deep rumble of displeasure that reverberated in Padmé's chest. His teeth found the second strap of her dress. Slowly, sensuously, in an arousing way he had no right to know about he slipped it downwards. She would have to act now, before she was incapable of rational thought.

Never before had anything been harder for Padmé. She put both of her hands on the sides of his face and forced him gently to look at her. "Obi-Wan, please. Stop."

***

"Padmé." She shivered in response.

Everything was suddenly so easy. Why hadn't he done this before? He saw the goose-flesh skittering over her arms when he spoke her name.

A smile touched his lips. If she reacted to his voice that way, what would happen, if ...

His gaze met hers. Searching. Flickering.

A light, pleasant shock rippled through him. He found the same dark, unquenchable desire that burned in him.

Too long. In the very moment he pulled her to him so closely that he could feel her warm body pressing against his ... He knew in that moment that they had waited too long.

"We ... Obi-Wan, we ..."

No! No Protest. No conventions. She couldn't really want what reason told her. Couldn't, the way he couldn't.

She became silent when she saw her hands roaming over his chest. He couldn't help the smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

His hands moved to her face, lifted her chin. Her breath mingled with his. Sweet, warm, intoxicating. He didn't want to wait any longer. Time for caution was over. His thumb smoothed over her lips. She trembled. Her eyes closed.

His breath grew faster.

Her lips parted slightly, giving him more room for exploration, stayed passive, until ... He felt the zing go right to his toes when her tongue touched his thumb.

Minx. There was only one answer for this taunt.

His lips found hers. Timid at first, careful. This was new ground, wonderful new ground and it was just as he had imagined it in all those dark hours of nights past.

But it wasn't enough. Desire stirred in him. More. It wasn't enough. It couldn't ever be enough.

He forgot reserve, forgot caution and forgot tenderness. He claimed, took. Opened her lips impatiently, found her tongue, velvety, rich. He had had a heavy, dark wine on one of the outer-rim worlds once - this was more intoxicating, ran deeper. Her warmth, the way she desperately tried to breathe without breaking the kiss, the soft noises she made - it was poison. A poison he would never get enough of.

His hands slid down her body, far from being tender. This wasn't about tenderness. This was possession, finally touching and exploring what had been denied for so long. He felt her knees buckle, her hands clutch his shoulders, her legs twine around his legs to stop her from submerging.

It wasn't enough. Never enough.

He barely noticed that he maneuvered her towards the rim of the basin. His lips followed his hands, along the line of her neck. Hands brushed off one narrow strap of her dress. Lips wandered over soft skin, over her collar-bone where the strap had rested.

She tensed suddenly, murmured a barely comprehensible protest.

No. She couldn't expect him to stop what they had started. It was simply impossible. It couldn't be possible for her. He knew it wasn't.

He found the second strap of her dress. His teeth closed over the wet material and pulled it downwards, slowly, determinedly; he let his breath skitter over her skin. Saw her quiver.

Felt her hands on his face. Felt the emphasis when she forced him to look at her.

Felt fear claw its way into his mind.

"Obi-Wan, please. Stop." The world suddenly stood still and became ice-cold.

***

It seemed as though a bubble had burst in that very moment. He let go of her immediately. His eyes cleared.

Subsequently he stared at her as though the past moments had never taken place. But her dilated pupils and her quick breathing, together with the slipped down straps of her dress which only barely covered her firm breasts, painted an all too clear picture.

Mortification took the place of the earlier passion.

The new Obi-Wan had disappeared and left behind the one she knew. This Obi-Wan touched his lips, stared at Padmé for a few painful seconds, then hoisted himself from the basin and bolted into the night.

She had been able to read his gaze. Crystal clear, stabbing her like a knife.

Padmé raised shaking hands to cover her face and tried to calm her racing thoughts, tried to breathe against the sob that was fighting to surface.

Was this really what she had wanted?

TBC

A/N: Biggest possible thanks to Quiller and Kath for the beta.