He doesn't speak of the grief that weighs him down again after that first night, but actions say what words cannot: the way he reaches for Padme's hand as they sit on the same mountain ridge where she first appeared and look down at Luke, the way he sits next to her while he eats letting his hand carefully brush against her own as he sets out a second mug of tea that she can hold but not consume. The way he looks at her, constantly sneaking peeks while he attempts to fix his vaporator or while meditating. Each look drinking her in as if he wants to bury the memory of her in his mind. As if she might vanish in any moment, never to return.
A very real possibility. One they are careful not to discuss. She'd brought it up once but he quickly cut her off, almost harsh, the knuckles on his hand gone white as he smacks the small mug he'd been holding down on what passes for his kitchen table.
"There's no use thinking of the future. We'll only drive ourselves mad with possibilities." He notices her wide eyes and carefully releases his grip on the cup and searches for a rag to clean the spill. "Live in the moment," as my old Master said.
Padme sees the chance for a distraction and stepping closer to place a hand on his back, takes it. "Tell me more about him."
She'd spent only a few weeks with the Jedi Master before his death, most of it in her guise as handmaiden. She'd been too frustrated and fearful at the time to reach out and connect with her protectors. Now she would learn more. More of this man who shaped Obi Wan.
The rest of the evening is spent reliving happier memories.
She does not know how long this gift of continued awareness will last, but while it does, she will do her best to lighten Obi Wan's burden. He who loved her husband, in his own way, and who now watches over her one child and lives out his life on this strange and dangerous world she'd thought never to return to.