Hello, and thank you all for the lovely feedback I got for the last chapter, it's great to know you're enjoying the story so far! I hope I can keep it up.

The little bit of Mando'a in this chapter came from the dictionary on Wookieepedia.

CHAPTER TWO – A VISIT

This was always going to be the hardest part.

I knew from the start that this plan, this deception, would be the hardest on the people from whom the truth was kept. Perhaps, looking back, it was a mistake to keep it from Anakin. Remembering his anger makes a cold sliver of shame and anxiety settle in my heart. But there was never another choice when it came to the other people who knew me.

It had to be done, and I am glad I volunteered for this task. But all the same… it was a hard decision. I did my duty, as I always have, but that fact that I'll always do it doesn't mean I'll always like it. It did pain me, knowing what I would be doing to the people who cared about me. The only comfort was that I knew that once my mission was over, I would be able to tell them the truth. As I plan to do now.

It took a little time for me to be able to do this; we were asked to make a full report to the Jedi Council at the earliest opportunity. I must say that I felt more than a little self-conscious walking through the Jedi Temple and standing before the Council wearing Rako Hardeen's face. But as soon as that was done, I was able to go to the medical bay to reverse the nanosurgery. My face aches as if a gundark were sitting on it, but at least it's my face again. The droids were even able to regrow my hair. I didn't even realise I missed having a beard until I'd got it back. I keep finding myself compulsively stroking it to make sure it's still there.

So now I am myself again, and the Council has given me permission to tell everyone that my death was faked. And that, of course, means that everyone who was at my supposed funeral needs to be told that the man they mourned still lives. Yoda promised that he himself would ensure this. But there are somethings you have to do yourself, and this is one of them.

By which I mean, this call, to this attendee of my funeral.

Why? Why do I feel that it's so necessary for me to personally inform Satine that I am alive? Why is it that with everyone else – Padmé, Bail Organa, my friends among the Jedi who were kept in the dark – I don't feel there are any problems with allowing the news to be delivered to them by others? I've asked myself that question a thousand times and the only answer I can find is that I don't like the idea of her being told by Yoda or Mace or someone else that I am alive, and then being left to wonder why I didn't tell her myself. She'd feel as if I thought she didn't matter enough to me. Most likely, she'll already be upset when she learns I didn't tell her I was alive all the time. Not telling her face-to-face would make matters worse.

Is that really the only reason, Obi-Wan? Because you don't want her to be angry with you?

I don't want her to be any more distressed than she has to be.

Nothing to do with the fact that she might have any sort of special significance to you.

Why is it that even a Jedi skilled at blocking out their own emotions can't do the same for those irritating little inner voices?

I made myself dial in the number for her apartment's holofrequency quickly, so that I couldn't change my mind. And now I am waiting for her to answer. I wonder if Yoda or Mace has already given her the news – if so, this might be easier, and at least I have the excuse of the fact that I've only just regained my own face to explain why I'm late to speak to her.

Perhaps not, though. She might be unhappy that I grew back the beard.

At last, the holoprojector beam is filled by an image. And I see her, standing very still, looking back at me.

I'm struck instantly by her face. She looks haunted. And distraught. I'm so used to seeing her as her usual collected self that I am shaken. She is recognisably the Duchess of Mandalore, but she looks more human like this than she normally is.

Still as beautiful as ever.

Oh, stop that.

Her expression slowly changes from bemusement to pure shock. And I feel a rather strong twinge of guilt. How confused she must be.

'Hello, Satine,' I try.

She continues to stare at me, her mouth open a little. She seems incapable of speech. I see her shake her head slightly, blink, and move her lips as if about to speak, but at the last second, she bites back the words, whatever they would have been.

I decide to give her a few moments to gather her thoughts. I know I'd appreciate that in her situation.

'Obi-Wan?' she chokes out at last.

I can't help but give a quick, rueful laugh. 'I am now, yes.'

I realise instantly that my words have only increased her bewilderment tenfold, and mentally kick myself. This isn't the time for humour, Obi-Wan.

'I'm sorry if I've alarmed you,' is all I can say. 'As you see, I am, well…'

Before I can say not dead, Satine cuts across me. 'Alarmed?' she echoes. She hesitates, then blurts out the thing that I know must be foremost in her mind. 'You died!'

'Well, not exactly.' I realise I am rubbing the back of my neck and quickly drop my arm – I only ever do that when anxious, and I really don't want to make myself appear too nervous. It's probably best if I just come straight out and tell her what happened, it'll be simpler for us both. 'My death was faked. The Jedi Council needed to send me undercover. I can't go into details right now, but… it was the only way to complete the mission.'

She still seems staggered. I swallow hard and try to work out whether I have told her too little for her to be able to understand, or given her too much information to try to process at one time.

'You're… all right?' she finally whispers.

I nod, and give her what I hope is a soothing smile. 'I'm fine. I've had a rough few days, but now everything's sorted out. And what about you – are you all right?'

She looks away and closes her eyes. I have a feeling she's desperately trying to work out what to say.

'I'm not entirely sure.' Satine clasps her hands together so tightly that if she weren't a hologram, I am sure I would have seen her knuckles turn white. 'I'm... confused.' She pauses. 'And surprised. Relieved. Possibly a little angry.'

'Well, yes, that's understandable.' Now I'm the one to look away and then turn back. Good grief, this is awkward. 'I expect you have plenty of questions, so I'm willing to answer –'

'I have no questions, only a request.' Her gaze drills into mine. 'Come here and speak to me in person.'

Oh dear.

This is also understandable, utterly understandable. A hologram can be faked. I've got into a few tricky situations because I've forgotten that fact. I myself would want to see a friend face-to-face in this situation. The trouble is that there really is no reason for a Jedi Knight to visit the Duchess of Mandalore's quarters this late in the evening. No good reason, anyway.

Apart from making sure she knows for certain you're alive.

But it's not that simple. People will find it strange for me to leave the Temple now – after such a long mission, they'd expect me to want to stay here and rest. Which I do quite want to do. And yes, Satine is an old friend, but the Jedi are naturally, and rightly, suspicious of anything that could be, well, interpreted the wrong way. Attachment is forbidden, and with good reason. If I were discovered visiting her, it wouldn't take much for people to start leaping to the wrong conclusions. And then my place on the Jedi Council, my place in the entire Order, would be in jeopardy. I can't let that happen – the Jedi are my life, and the Galaxy needs me.

'I'm not sure I can safely get away…' I begin.

'If I was able to escape dinner with Pre Vizla to rescue you from being crushed by a grinding machine in an abandoned mining facility, you can take a speeder across a few districts to talk to me for a little while so that I know I'm not... I don't know, hallucinating.'

Her old fire is back, but I catch her voice trembling a little on the last few words.

I sigh deeply and try to work out whether it can be done. If I take a cloak and wear the hood I could avoid being recognised… and maybe, anyway, it isn't so suspicious at all. It makes sense for someone who faked their death to want to tell their friends they're alive. No one will question it too deeply, surely.

'All right. I'll be there as soon as I can,' I tell her.

'Good.' Her lips purse. 'Because I don't want to be mistaken about this.'

'I understand. And I'll explain everything, I promise.'

'See that you do,' she retorts, with a trace of curtness.

An ache runs through me. It's not that I'm hurt by her reaction, not at all. It's that I realise, looking at her, how much she has been through. I know that she still loves me. I would know even if she had not told me on board the Coronet. And as I know from having lost Qui-Gon, and later many other friends to this war, to lose one you care for is like taking a lightsabre through the chest. Agonising, and irreparable.

Oh, Satine. You've had more than your fair share of pain dealt out to you already. Your family and planet shattered by war, your allies turned against you, your vision of a peaceful future so hard to achieve. I wish I hadn't been forced to add to your troubles.

She's very determinedly not looking at me now.

'Satine?' I venture, and when her slight nod tells me that she is listening, I carry on. 'I'm sorry. For deceiving you, and for… any pain you have suffered.'

'Yes, well.' To my relief, she meets my eyes again. 'Aside from anything else, I don't think this is really a conversation that can be had over the holocommunicator.'

She's probably right.

'I'll leave now,' I tell her. 'I'll… I'll see you soon.'

I'll see you soon? That makes it sound as if I hadn't faked my death at all, but had just popped out to buy milk. Oh, what a master I am at managing this kind of situation.

'Goodbye for now, Satine,' I say, and when she nods again, I end my transmission.

Well, that's that. I can't back out of it now. Best to leave quickly and get back quickly before anyone can have any… suspicions. I hurriedly find myself a cloak, throw it around my shoulders, and leave my room.

The Jedi Temple is always quiet, but as night falls, there is almost a deathly hush. By this time, most of my fellow Knights have retreated to their own quarters, to reflect on the days' events, to meditate, to sleep. Or, if you're Anakin, to tinker with mangled and dissected droids until you fall asleep with your head resting on the chestpiece of a tactical unit.

That's if he spends the night in the Temple at all. I'm not blind, and I know him too well; I know where he goes, or rather, who he goes to. Somehow, it is never noticed, and he is never questioned. Perhaps I'm being overly paranoid, thinking my disappearance will be seen as suspect, if Anakin can get away with it so often.

No. Don't compare yourself and Satine to Anakin and Padmé. That's just... not a good idea.

It's some time before I spot anyone else, and when I recognise Plo Koon, an idea occurs to me. Instead of walking on past, I approach him, and he dips his head to me as he realises I want to talk.

'Master Plo,' I say, returning his nod. 'I was wondering if I might ask you a favour.'

It's always hard to gauge a Kel Dor's emotions, their breathing masks see to that, but his chuckle helps me. 'It seems to me that after your exploits recently, you in a good position to ask favours. How may I help?'

'I'm just going out into the city for a little while. To inform a few friends that I'm, well, not dead. I know Master Yoda said he'd take care of it, but…'

'This is something you want to do yourself. Of course. You want me to explain, should anyone ask where you are?'

'Precisely.'

He nods again. 'I do not think anyone should be troubled by your absence.'

I hope so.

I feel a little more secure now, as if my leaving has been made more legitimate. I thank him and take my leave.

It always takes some time to get out of the Jedi Temple; there are a rather large amount of steps. Perhaps it's something to do with reinforcing the importance of endurance and patience. But at last, I am able to get outside and find myself a speeder. The air is cool and refreshing, and the journey is long enough for me to have time to gather my thoughts. Which go, vaguely, as follows: Satine is going to be rather shaken up and fairly angry, while also relieved to find me alive. I think that by explaining, as much as I can, what my mission involved, should help reduce her anger. And once she is made fully aware of the situation, the distress should also be eased.

Which means this: I will have to explain everything, and gently. I will have to apologise, and very sincerely (which shouldn't be hard, because it will be genuine.)

I lean back in my seat, letting the wind stir my freshly-regrown hair, and have to smile as I realise how peculiar this is. I can face an entire battalion of Type 1 battle droids alone and unafraid. I have fought sabre-to-sabre with General Grievous and Count Dooku. I can even put up with Anakin Skywalker. But going to explain this situation to Duchess Satine Kryze… well, that's finally something that can daunt me.

The speeder reaches its destination, but almost as soon as I have left it, the way into Satine's quarters is barred by a pair of her guards. A clack echoes through the otherwise quiet evening as they cross their staves in my path. Ah – this was a complication I did not foresee, but really should have, now I consider it. So much for going incognito.

I decide I might as well pull down my hood. 'I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,' I tell them. 'I'm here at the Duchess's invitation.'

They lift up their staves. 'The Duchess informed us you'd be coming, one says. 'You may enter.'

'Thank you.'

Glances are swapped between them. It's hard to see from behind their largely face-concealing masks, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that they're wondering what in the Galaxy I'm doing here. I sigh and move to go past them.

'Forgive me, Master Kenobi, but we'd heard word that you were killed.'

I turned back, my eyebrows raising. I notice that one of the guards is giving the other a nudge. I think if I could see his face, there would be a lot of exasperation on it.

'That news was a trifle premature,' I reply. 'And now I've come to inform the Duchess.'

The guard who spoke eyes me suspiciously, adjusting his grip on his staff. 'If she knew you were coming, surely she doesn't need to be told you're alive.'

His companion gives him a light shove backwards, shaking his head. 'Sorry, Master Jedi. He takes his job too seriously.'

'Much better to be safe than sorry when the Duchess's safety is concerned,' I reassure him. 'I'll leave my lightsabre with you, if you want.'

'That won't be necessary.'

At the sounds of this new voice, both I and the two guards turn in the direction of the speaker and give shallow bows. And when I straighten up, I see her, silhouetted in the doorway, stately and dignified as ever, her eyes fixed upon me.

'Duchess,' I greet her.

Which really means, hello, Satine, I'm pleased to see you, it's been quite a long time, and I'm sorry for what's happened, I hope I can make things right.

'Master Kenobi,' she responds, with a slight inclination of her head. 'Please, come in.'

I can almost see that she is wearing her Duchess mask, except in this case it's not as complete as normal. There's still a trace of something different in her eyes, something unlike herself, a flash of that uncertain, stunned woman who I holocalled earlier. It's like the twitch of an animal's legs that betrays, despite its stillness, its intentions to run for cover.

The guards move aside to let me pass, apparently convinced that if Satine is comfortable for me to carry a weapon in her presence, they have nothing to worry about. So I follow Satine inside her quarters, and the moment the door has closed behind us she stops and turns to me.

Neither of us moves for some time. She stares, and I try a smile.

'Hello, Obi-Wan,' she says, a little faintly.

During that year I spent on Mandalore with Qui-Gon and Satine, it was vital that I learn the basics of the native language, Mando'a. It made it much easier to work out what exactly the people attacking us were shouting to each other – I very quickly learned the words for 'kill that Jedi runt!' But one word that particularly struck me when I was taught it was that most simple of greetings – 'Hello.' In Mando'a, this is su cuy'gar, and the literal meaning is, 'So, you're still alive!' It made me realise just how violent and unpredictable the life of a Mandalorian mercenary is, and how much warrior tradition Satine would have to overcome if she reshaped Mandalore according to her pacifist vision.

Why do I think of this now? Because Satine, while she may have rejected those old ways, is still a Mandalorian. And it strikes me that if she had used her people's language, she would have just greeted me now with the words, 'You're still alive.' Very fitting, given the situation.

'It's good to see you,' I tell her, and I mean it.

'Likewise.'

Almost the exact moment the word has left her mouth, her mask breaks. She's trembling in a very un-Satine like way, and as I take a closer look at her, I can see what I couldn't see in the hologram: that she has been crying.

'Satine...'

'You're alive,' she breathes.

My first instinct is to make some kind of dry comment such as, yes obviously, but it wouldn't be a good idea, not with her in this state.

'Yes.' It's the most basic, but most appropriate response.

Her tormented expression doesn't change, and, feeling a sudden and powerful urge to comfort her in any way I can, I carefully put a hand on her arm. She looks at it as if it's a thermal detonator. But she doesn't shrug it off. In fact, she places her hand on top.

And I feel it then, as I felt it innumerable times during that year on Mandalore, as I felt it when I took her hand to take her out into Sundari the day we were reunited, as I felt it when her fingers brushed my face as she told me she wasn't sure about my beard. An odd kind of warmth, almost like an electric current passing between us, as if every fibre of my being is rejoicing in this contact –

Stop it. Stop it now, Obi-Wan. Stop thinking like that.

I don't need to remind myself to remember the Code, because I can never forget the Code. And yet I feel it would be wrong, and hurtful, to remove my hand now. So I stay put.

'I'm sorry,' she says, before I can speak. 'I know I'm putting you at risk, asking you here. But… I had to be sure.'

'I understand,' I tell her, for the second time this evening. 'I'm afraid my death was designed to be as convincing as possible. It would have endangered the mission had anyone been informed of the plan beforehand.' I shudder as I think of Anakin's attempts to track me down, not knowing he had mistaken me for my own murderer. 'Well, so we believed.'

Satine shakes her head. 'I'm not questioning that. I can't say I understand your Jedi business, but if you say it was necessary, I believe you. I don't have any questions about that.'

'You want to know why it was necessary that my death be faked in the first place.'

'I'm not sure what it is I want to know.' She turns suddenly, dropping her hand and moving over to the window. 'I just…'

She trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

I watch her for a few moments. She is standing with her head bowed, hands clasped together, and her back to me.

'This isn't like you, Satine,' I remark.

To my surprise, she laughs. 'Oh, not you too.'

'What?'

She half-turns her head, and to my relief I see that she is smiling, and with amusement. 'If I had a credit for every time in the last few days I've been told I'm not acting like myself, I could…'

'Be royalty?' I suggest.

She rolls her eyes. 'I don't know what I could do. I'm afraid I'm not sure how to finish that statement.'

I move over to stand beside her. 'I don't know how much you've been told about the incident with the Chancellor at the Naboo Festival of Light.'

'I heard that the Jedi put a stop to it.' I see her brow furrow, a sure sign that her mind is racing. 'I take it, then, that you were one of them.'

'Yes. I had to infiltrate the enemy, it was the only way to save the Chancellor. Unfortunately, it required… drastic measures to be taken to ensure that I wasn't suspected.'

She finally meets my eyes again. 'I'm not questioning that, Obi-Wan. As I said, I think I understand why you did it and why you said nothing. In fact, I… I admire your bravery. To do such of thing must have taken no small amount of nerve.'

Well, that's a relief. I was expecting her to at least throw a few of her imaginative insults or sharp-tongued comments at me regarding that. 'Then what is it that has you so…' I hesitate, trying to pick a word that won't offend her. 'Out of sorts?'

The look she gives me is almost pitying. 'I think you know that, don't you?'

Yes. Yes, Satine, I know.

We both glance away from each other. Her gaze travels to the rows of lights visible from the traffic outside the window, and mine follows it. We stay like this for some minutes, watching the patterns change and flow.

I know why she's so distressed. But I'm not sure there's anything I can do about it. Maybe all I can do is be here. Prove to her that I am alive, that she doesn't need to… mourn me?

Why is that such a strange thought? Her, mourning me?

Perhaps it's because it's such a strong emotion, grief. And blocking out emotions is such an important part of the way I live that even though I have felt grief, it's hard to picture another feeling it. Especially someone like Satine, who is unflappable, composed, and strong.

We're more alike than it might appear at first. Our ways of life both involve us aiming for peace, and resisting letting out our true emotions, for different reasons.

She turns abruptly. 'Might I make another request?'

I remember what Plo said, about how my recent exploits give me a right to ask favours. It seems like this is a similar case – I have hurt her, however indirectly, and so she has a right to make requests of me. Within reason.

'Feel free,' I reply.

She is silent for some time, but I can see from her frown that she is, again, thinking hard, most likely trying to work out what to say.

'I'm aware that you can't stay long,' she says at last. 'But while you're here, can we agree to speak to each other as people?'

She accompanies this with one of her serene, knowing smiles. I know these well; there's always a touch of pity in them, and what they really mean is, 'Any second now, you're going to ask me what I was talking about.'

I decide I might as well humour her, because I do require an explanation on this occasion. 'What exactly do you mean?'

'I mean that we both spend a little too much time being a Jedi Master and the Duchess of Mandalore.'

I blink. 'We are a Jedi Master and the Duchess of Mandalore.'

'Those are titles,' she counters. 'How many times are you given the chance to be Obi-Wan? About as often as I am given the chance to be Satine.'

I consider this a moment, then give a small shake of my head. 'I am a Jedi. It isn't a mask I put on, it's not a part of me. It's what I am - who I am.'

I realise too late, when her eyes narrow, that this could be taken the wrong way, interpreted as me telling her I think that's what the case is with her.

'And you think that my duty to Mandalore isn't who I am?' she snaps.

Ah, yes. Taken the wrong way.

'I didn't mean – that wasn't intended to be – I wasn't suggesting…' I shake my head again, this time rather more desperately. 'I simply meant that I've been a Jedi for so long that I wouldn't be myself if I were not a Jedi.'

Her expression softens. 'Yes, I know. I feel the same way about my own position. I have devoted so much of myself to it. It's shaped so much of my life. But what I meant was… we spend most of our conversations speaking to each other as a Duchess and a General. Perhaps it would be easier for us both if we abandoned titles, and the pretences that go with them, and spoke as people.'

And, belatedly, I realise what she means. That we're both so used to having to say the right things to the right people to ensure that we pursue our own goals in this war, so used to never saying exactly what we think, that we cannot do so now, when it matters most. I suppose that's the story of our lives – we argue until the situation's seriousness calls for us to abandon hostility, and only then can we say what we would like to.

'You mean,' I say slowly, 'that we're never going to resolve this matter if we keep –'

She cuts across me. 'What is there to be resolved?'

'Well, the fact that you're still… distressed.'

When she doesn't respond to this, I risk taking a step closer to her. 'Satine, tell me what I can do to help you.'

She gives a soft chuckle. 'Well, if you and I can talk for any length of time without arguing, or making sarcastic comments –'

'Oh, I think you're already straying into the grounds of the impossible,' I remark, smiling.

'Maybe, but I've seen the impossible accomplished before. Most often by you.' She closes her eyes. 'That is my request. Talk to me. Say what you think, not what you think you should say. Not as a General or a Jedi Master, but as yourself, and I will do the same.'

'And discuss what?'

'I don't know yet. But I think it will help.'

I breathe in deeply. Can I do this? Probably. Should I? Maybe not.

And yet… I am a Jedi. I have a duty to help people. I would have this duty even if I were not a Jedi. And she needs my help now, even if I don't know how to give it to her. I must do what I can to make her herself again.

And maybe it will help me, too. I've spent too long in another man's body, trying to think in the way another man's mind. Sometimes, when I used the words of Rako Hardeen, spoke in his voice, I wondered if I could actually become him. I will not deny that the idea worried me. Perhaps I will be more certain of who I am if I do this.

So I look into her eyes, and nod.

'All right, Satine. I'll try.'

At least, he will in the next chapter. Which, again, is already written, and will be up once it's been edited.

This was very enjoyable to write, if (again) pretty hard - dialogue isn't my strong suit. But it's great fun to write any interaction between these two. I tried to get in a little of the snarkiness they usually have towards each other, especially with Obi-Wan since he's the master of sarcasm, but I didn't want to include too much because this is such a serious situation and I think they'd be taking it very seriously. Well, see you next chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)