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CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

"I'm worried about Anakin," said Padme as they resumed plotting data at the holodesk while they waited for Mal Shin to complete the final click to the Rebel base. "I mean, if there's really a bounty out for the Jedi, then he isn't safe at all, is he?"

Obi-Wan considered that for a moment.

"I think he's skirted the issue," he said opaquely.

"What does that mean?" she asked him. "How could he do that? What do you know that you're not telling me?"

Obi-Wan glanced reluctantly at her, then pursed his lips.

"It's just a feeling; it's not anything you would care to put stock in, to be sure," he replied, rifling through a file for more information.

"But that's under normal circumstances, Obi-Wan," she said, deflating a little in her chair. "These are not normal circumstances!"

She pouted for a moment and then said, "I wish he would contact us and let us know he's okay."

"I would know if he wasn't," said Obi-Wan, still frustratingly opaque.

"How?" she insisted, turning towards him.

He glanced at her again.

"A master and his padawan have a bond," he said, giving her, apparently, the absolute minimum information possible.

"Yes, and?" she prompted.

His brow furrowed and he said, "Well, I would know."

"But how do you know he's not in danger?" she asked. "He might not be dead, but he might be in danger, mightn't he?"

"I don't believe so," he replied.

"Good grief, Obi-Wan!" she exclaimed, and his hands paused on the console. He sighed and leaned back to face her in his chair, seeming to decide he had no choice but to patiently give her all his attention.

"What is it, Padme?" he inquired calmly.

"Why are you a closed book?" she demanded to know.

"As opposed to an open book, I presume," he said, bemused.

"Of course!"

"Well," he said, scratching his beard thoughtfully, "I can't answer that because I'm not presently sure what it is you want from my book."

"I want you to explain," she said. "I want assurance that Anakin is okay now, and that he's going to be all right later, and I want to know how you know that, and how sure you are that your feelings are right."

"Very well," he said, hiding his hands in his robes and considering. "I am quite sure that Anakin is okay right now. I can sense strong feelings through our bond, and I can say he hasn't suffered much distress aside from our separation since yesterday… was that already yesterday?"

"Yes, we slept a long time, I think," she said.

It was strange to think that this emotionally distant Obi-Wan was the same one who slept upon her with abandon in the bunkroom earlier. He was so very adept at pretending nothing at all unusual had ever happened between them.

"I did expect him to find the destruction of the Jedi temple more distressing than he did, because surely he knows by now," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. "He would have seen it when he took the shuttle up."

"Oh," said Padme.

"But we both know he isn't your average Jedi," reasoned Obi-Wan. "He doesn't think like other people. Or act. Or…"

"Has it been hard?" she asked him, and he glanced curiously at her. "Being his master, I mean?"

"Yes," he replied. "But very rewarding. I certainly wouldn't change anything."

"I can't imagine that anyone could have done a better job than you," she said.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat slightly, seeming uncomfortable with the compliment.

"So, I cannot tell you if he will be all right in the future because that's impossible to surmise," he said. "I can sense the vitality of his life essence, and he can sense mine, and though I cannot know details I can sense powerful emotions."

"And can he sense yours?" she asked, thinking of Obi-Wan's unusually powerful emotions yesterday.

"I would not be surprised if he could," he said, and she noticed a faint flush in his face. "We both are aware of the extent of his talent with the force."

"What do you think he's doing if he's not in danger?" she asked.

Obi-Wan considered that for a long moment.

"Yesterday, when I let him go, I…," he said.

"Yes, you were so frustratingly quick to let him go," she said, frowning.

"Well, when one knows something is true, one has two choices: Fight against it and eventually be forced to let go, or simply let go. One of those choices is easier than the other," he said.

She heaved an impatient sigh because she hadn't wanted Anakin to go.

"I knew as soon as he said it… that he did have to go," he said. "The Force wills it, and… and I feel as though Anakin has an unusual path to walk, a difficult path, that it is nonetheless a vitally important one."

"But what is it?" she asked.

He considered.

"I don't know exactly because it is so… unusual. It's as if I have been given the colors of something but not what that something is, and it's not easily recognizable by those metrics," said Obi-Wan. "So I can only hope for the best for him."

"And hope to see him again," she added.

"And that," he said, poignant.

"Is it hard to be separated?"

"Extremely," he replied. "It is not so easy to let go of the responsibility I've shouldered all these years with Anakin."

They both spent a long moment in their own minds.

"All of this time spent with you, Obi-Wan," she said, and he glanced up at her. "It's been… it's been like a crash-course in the ways of the Force."

She chuckled a little.

"Oh dear stars, how can you live like this all the time?" she asked rhetorically with a smile.

"Like what?" he asked, seeming to find her smile infectious.

"In constant touch with your feelings," she said.

He chuckled.

"Yet not at all in touch with your feelings," she added, meaning something else.

He gave her another glance, a bit guarded this time, and she smiled at him sidelong.

"Force feelings, oh, you could give a master class on those, couldn't you?" she said, teasing him a bit. "But feelings… normal, human, mortal feelings…"

"What are you implying?" he asked, squinting at her.

"Well, normal feelings aren't really your forte, are they?" she asked and, not waiting for an answer, she pointed at her chest. "Because they're my forte. The politician."

He gave her a sideways look.

"It's alright, Obi-Wan," she said, rubbing his arm condescendingly. "It's not supposed to be your talent. It's supposed to be mine. That's why you need me."

"I need you, do I?" he asked, amused.

"Don't you?" she asked, as if the answer should be simple. "How could you possibly manage to navigate emotionally complex situations on your own?"

"I… suppose… the way… I always have?" he ventured.

"We both know that doesn't work," she said, as if tossing that possibility out immediately, and he laughed, despite himself.

"No?" he replied. "I'm just a shipwreck, am I?"

"You said it, not me," she said, giving him a coy glance. She held up a finger and went on: "But there is solace!"

"What solace is there?" asked Obi-Wan, entertained.

"Not being in touch with your feelings means you're an exceptional Jedi, isn't that right?" she asked, and then gave him a dead-level look and said, "Because you're not supposed to have any."

"Well, that's not true at all!" objected Obi-Wan.

"Oh, then please enlighten me, if you would," she requested, waving a hand. "Where do they go? Do you suppress them? Shove them into a box? Burn them at the stake?"

"I only burn the most irritating ones at the stake," he said dryly.

"Ah, that would explain the excess of smoke I've been noticing around you, lately," she said, giving him a sideways glance. "And so, the ones you don't burn at the stake, where do they go?"

"Nowhere," he said. "I have them."

"Where?" she asked, glancing around as if he could produce visual proof of feelings.

He took her wrist and placed her hand on his chest. The fabric of his robes, made from natural materials, were soft from persistent care, and through it the warmth of his chest permeated.

"Here," he said simply.

She paused despite herself, taken aback by the sudden contact and distracted by the warmth of his chest.

"But you're not supposed to-," she began, and he cut her off gently.

"We are allowed to have feelings," he said to her. "We just can't grow attached to those feelings, nor to those who evoke those feelings."

Splaying her fingers over his chest to feel through his robes to his heartbeat, she considered that, and then asked, "Then… what's the point of living?"

He blinked at her.

"I beg your pardon?" he said.

"What's the point, Obi-Wan?" she asked, shifting her gaze from her hand on his chest to his eyes. "What's the point of anything if you can't have what really matters?"

"Shall you tell me what it is that really matters?" he inquired, almost condescending.

"I would love to," she said, and then, "Family."

"Interesting," he said, studying her face. Then, he drew a short breath and replied, "I would say that we, as Jedi, consider all beings to be our family, as it were."

"Family is, at its core, something that exists for the purpose of permanent attachment, Obi-Wan," she told him. "That's where its value comes in; it's something you know is always there, whatever happens."

"Well, I guess since I have so much of it I'm in good standing, wouldn't you?" he replied with a grin.

"Ugh," she groaned. "It's like you've missed the whole point."

He squeezed her wrist a little.

"I never knew my family," he said.

She sighed at him.

"I suppose now you'd like to tell me just how terrible that is?" he ventured.

"I wasn't going to say it," she said.

"I can't say it is terrible," he said. "Because it's all I've ever known."

"I can't imagine life without my family," she said.

"What's it like?" he asked curiously.

"It's like… it's having people who love you, no matter what, and…," she thought a moment, "it's having a lifetime of shared experience with someone else. That shared experience, those shared memories, that second witness to your life is valuable above anything else in the galaxy! Do you know why, Obi-Wan?"

"No, why?" he asked.

"Because it cannot, at any price, be replaced by anything or anyone," she said. "Shared experience is the finest gem in the universe, and you can't buy it nor sell it. You can only make it with someone else."

She considered a moment.

"And family… there's a unique security that comes from it. A warmth. And for me, a completion, I suppose."

He seemed to consider that for a moment.

"So you couldn't feel complete without it?" he asked.

"Definitely not," she replied.

"I suppose you'd make a bad Jedi, then," he said, grinning.

"Of course I'd make a bad Jedi!" she told him, pushing his chest a little. "That's why I'm a senator!"

He smiled at her.

"You make a very good senator, Padme," he told her.

She felt her face flush against her best efforts, despite having received much more flattering compliments in her days.

"And you're probably the best Jedi the order has seen in a long time," she muttered, as if it was an admittance.

"I beg to differ," he replied.

"Don't," she said, holding up a cross finger, "Don't even try to debate me on that. I will crush you. I have seen your skills, your efforts, and your magnificent control."

It was his turn to struggle with a compliment bringing warmth to his neck.

"Then why," he began, lifting his eyes to travel over her face, as if considering every angle of it, "do I so often feel like I'm failing?"

He looked as if he wanted to absorb her countenance with his gaze, to hold it, to keep it. It was, indeed, un-Jedi-like behavior in its presumptive attachment.

"It's my fault," said Padme, touching the heat of his neck with her fingertips, and then again, "It's my fault."

"It is not at all your fault," he replied, his voice soft, and he clasped her hand against his breastbone.

"I can't seem to make myself stay away from you," she admitted, with some difficulty.

"I started it," he confessed.

"Did you?" she asked.

He drew her gaze, and the blueness of his eyes kept her there.

"There could have been any number of senators I could have asked to come with me, and… while it's true that I believe you to be the most qualified senator to join this particular quest," he said, "I must admit that even if there were others who were more qualified than you, I most certainly would have still chosen you."

She smiled a little.

"Even if I didn't need a senator with me, which is possible, I would have still asked you to come," he said.

"That's kind of sweet, Obi-Wan," she said.

"Is it?" he asked, as if disbelieving. "I practically jumped at the chance to pull you into this debacle, and out of… what? Nostalgia? Rising ennui? Pure, maddening curiosity?"

She blinked at him because he appeared distressed, as if the layers of his wall were once again stripping away, as if this confession was revealing what was always there but hidden, as if once a trickle began there was only a matter of time before the dam burst.

"Curiosity, Padme!" he said. "Can you imagine? …I was so curious about you, after so much time had passed since the siege of Naboo, after only seeing you here and there around Coruscant, at delegation meetings, or at the dullest of parties, during all of the the surface talk in passing, or even seeing you from a distance at a performance, the theatre, the passing smiles … oh stars, how you would shine without knowing it, and how I wondered at your continued independence; how you were so unaware of the attention of those all around you, vying for your glance, for another word, to stand closer to you, to dance with you… how could you possibly have not been claimed by anyone? How is it possible? Your beauty, like starlight… was only surpassed by your cleverness, your wit! I watched and wondered, and wondered and watched, and my curiosity grew from a trifle until it began to burn me. I had to know. I had to."

Silence, momentarily.

She was stunned. She hadn't known he'd been this aware of her and this had been occurring right under her nose, all this time! Oh, he'd always been on the peripheries and within the circles that ran parallel to her circles, sometimes overlapping, sometimes crossing; a person who she would have liked to spend more time with, but he was unavailable, busy, duty-bound, and he had always seemed disinterested, even in small talk.

"What did you have to know?" she prompted, her voice unsteady.

"Who you are," he said, "What you are. What drives you; why… why such a beautiful, intelligent, perfect woman made me feel, with scarcely a conversation or a polite smile from month to month, like I was being pulled into your orbit, dragged from my own place, my own perfect, set, calm place! My stars, the sheer power of your innate energy, whether I wanted it or not, threw me off-balance every time I saw you."

She could scarcely do anything but gape and try to remember to breathe, and meanwhile Obi-Wan seemed to have become consumed by his own admissions, the tension and distress evident through him like veins of gold in solid rock; the weak spots; the places where, if hit just the right way, he might crack.

"In time I could sense you were there even when I couldn't see you; I began to recognize your energy… sometimes I would hope not to feel it, just for the relief from distraction, and sometimes, if it had been too long, I began to crave it, to wonder where you were, or where you had been, and wonder when I would see you again – when I would feel you again in my periphery. I thought if I could just feel you peripherally, just be able to sense you, it would be enough.

"There's nothing wrong with that, I told myself," he said and his eyes became unfocused, yet it was clear his mind was laser-focused: "I was distant, still, and that was permissible. I told myself that, anyway."

"I was wrong," he went on, his gaze sober, perhaps even despondent.

"I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan," she spilled out, and his laser-focus turned on her.

"How can you take responsibility for my own weakness?" he asked her, almost harsh. "For existing?"

"I haven't made it easy for you," she said with some remorse.

He released a small, mirthless laugh.

"I made it far worse for myself before you were even aware it was happening," he said, then glanced at her. "And, yes, you're right, Padme, having you this close to me during this investigation has been torturous."

"But it is a hell of my own making. I've done it. I made it. I brought this about, while lying to myself the whole way down," he said, resolute in his absolute determination to take full responsibility.

Despite his determination, she knew she wasn't faultless, and she felt a resurgence of guilt at the suffering of Obi-Wan.

"If I were perfect," he mused, "I would remove you from my presence and take to a year of meditation to cleanse my mind and recenter my priorities."

"Perhaps you should," she said, but she didn't want that at all, and her brow creased without her permission.

"I should," said Obi-Wan, without commitment, and he kept her hand and her gaze in his possession. "But I'm not going to."

Padme struggled to find a response and, finally, she managed to say, breathlessly, "Aren't you?"

He pulled her hand up to his cheek and leant upon it in adoration. "Just… not yet," he said, as if pleading for momentary respite. "Not yet."

Brushing her thumb across his cheekbone, she replied, "Fair enough."

She allowed herself to fall into his eyes as if it was the last time she'd be able to; she let herself express, at least through her gaze, how she felt about him, how if she had known what he'd been thinking and going through for these past years, she would have dropped everything to be with him, to be near him, to know him, and how her curiosity for him was endless, too.

He reached out to her with the force. It was subtle at first, the barest lap at the edge of a lake, and then it exploded exponentially with a sudden burst of power and she was surrounded, submerged, drowning without drowning in him, in his energy. She fell against him at once, overwhelmed and overdone, and pressed her cheek to his temple as he tightly roped her waist with his arms, pulling her in.

Her hands slid into his hair and she released what force she possessed into his miasmic creation, like a fist opening, like dandelion seeds released with delicate efficacy into the wind and it all fell scattering; faint, reflective, like starlight on water, and he sighed, allowing his head to fall back in her hands, his eyes closed in relief, in release, in the satiation of the barest piece of curiosity.

She gazed down into his face, caressing his light and shadow with her fingertips until his eyes opened slowly and fixed on her. His lips parted, just barely, and she felt the energy between them build.

"Buckle up, we're about to dock!" yelled Mal from the cockpit.

They froze and started at the moment his voice pierced their combined force. Padme scrambled off Obi-Wan, feeling mortified at the idea that they might have been caught doing… whatever it was they'd been doing.

"We have got to stop doing this in weird places!" she demanded, straightening her jacket.

"You'll have no quarrel from me on that matter," replied Obi-Wan, smiling slightly at her, appearing unusually calm. "Somewhere more appropriate, next time."

Next time? Next time?

Padme flushed deeply at his insinuation as she moved into her chair to strap on her docking belt.

"Yes, exactly," she said, clearing her throat, "Elsewhere, then."

The heat in her cheeks would not subside; she couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened, how it had felt, and Obi-Wan's response to it.

As he finished buckling his docking belt, he said, "Of course, if there is a next time."

"As there shouldn't be," she said, her voice sounding a bit too high-pitched and crazy-sounding for her liking.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"We'll talk later, my dear," he said.

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A/N: Next up - the Rebellion! And more denial!