Chapter 89: Padmé
Life on Coruscant hadn't changed. Where he emerged, out from an abandoned warehouse, the pathway well concealed by the Dark Side, the Force itself compelling those that walked by to simply look away, the people were poor, dirty, more criminal than not, as often was the case on the lover levels. Bowed heads and furtive glances belied malicious intent, and Lumis could feel eyes upon him as he walked, his hood pulled over his head, his golden eyes downcast. He was being sized up, assessed as a mark by thieves, as a client by the dealers, as a quick romp in a dark ally by those willing to exchange their bodies for credits. He ignored them all, the addicts in their haze, the gangs threateningly holding their weapons, the scantily clad women. Instead, he focused, muttering the Code under his breath to calm his nerves, to quench the flames that burned at the edge of his vision, to stave off the insanity that sought to slip in the moment he allowed his focus to slip.
He used the public transports to get where he needed to be, the quality of the creatures he pressed against in the crowded ships rising as he rose through the levels, and by the time he reached the surface, beings in fine clothing and business attire surrounded him, the latest technology held in their hands and talking in the aristocratic, clipped accent that affected his own voice. They rushed about on their own business, paying no heed to others, and save for the occasional sirens on the ships of the Coruscant Security Force as they sped toward the prison where Cad Bane was launching his attack, there was no indication that anything was wrong at all, no sign that there was a war going on at all. An Empire fell, a planet burned, Satine had died, and Coruscant was no different for it. The galaxy was no different for it. Life simply went on, and it took everything in Lumis not to strike them all down where they stood.
Fires burned at the edge of his vision, and he repressed a faint, manic chuckle as he stepped out of the transport and into the busy streets as near to 500 Republica as he could get. The area had been locked down for security reasons, no doubt because of Bane's attack.. He took a deep breath, willing the Force to calm his mind, focus his intent, and walked through the busy streets, looking for a way into the Senatorial District and past one of the many barricades, and finally found his way past one where no Jedi were standing guard. He walked the rest of the way in a daze, his mind awash in the emptiness of grief and the fires of revenge, and his already strained consciousness was torn between managing it all. He was so close now, so close, to making Anakin Skywalker pay for what had happened, but it would never be if he lost his focus, slipped out of himself and back into the madness that could so easily consume him. He would be a storm, furious and mighty as any force of nature was. Hundreds would die, thousands would fall, all of them burning, burning...
Lumis hissed, his jaw clenched tightly as he renewed chanting the Code, a reminder to himself, a promise, that the Force would set him free, if only he harnessed his passions to gain the power to take it. Free of everything. Free of his pain, his grief, his insanity. The madness was the worst of it. He knew that grief had driven him mad, had caused the Force to catch fire when he touched it, had caused him to open up and lay himself bare, the Dark Side exposed and in control, and to a Force sensitive, to a Jedi, such a thing would make him stand out like a beacon, a supernova in the dead of space. Were he to lose control now, here, he would attract the attention of every Jedi in the city, and he would be found, swarmed, and killed. He needed calm, control, careful meditation and planning, and while he may have been consumed in flames for a time, there was little left within him to burn, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was made of stronger stuff.
Obi-Wan and Lumis were one and the same, and always had been. It was not quite what his Master had said, but it was close enough. The madness that consumed him was the wrath of the Dark Side, the grip of a Force drunk with hatred and wrath and unlimited power drawn from the infinite well of a vergence. The Dark Side moved him, sustained him, ensured he needed no food, no rest, promised him freedom from his grief and his pain if he only surrender, and Lumis willingly did, allowing his body to be used as a physical vessel of the Force, and it had driven him mad. The Dark Side was a wild beast, an apex predator, a dangerous monster that must be broken, must be tamed, lest he be devoured, and Sidious had begun the process for him, beating the Force into submission, chaining it to his will, and then handing the reins over to Lumis. With deep, even breaths, he now rode atop it, could feel its heart beat, its lungs expend, its wild, angry growl, and Lumis felt in control. However, he knew all too well that the Dark Side was feral, and it could never truly be tamed. One slip, just one, and it would be over. The Dark Side would consume him, the flames at the edges of his vision would erupt into an inferno, and he'd be engulfed in madness once again, his insanity driving him to burn everything down with him.
It was a test. His Master was always testing him, and were he to lose his focus for just one moment here on Coruscant, the home of the Jedi, he would be found and destroyed. Yes, the Jedi would be occupied with the diversion at the prison, but Lumis was powerful, and his insanity was consuming and without caution or care for himself. The Jedi would notice, and he'd be dead. His Master needed an apprentice that could be trusted, one that wasn't prey to insanity that would make him a liability. But Lumis did not fail. He never failed his Master. He couldn't. He wouldn't, not now when the Sith revenge was nearly at its conclusion, not when Sidious would need him to help him rule the Empire. Not when his Master needed a loyal and faithful apprentice to serve him. He would pass this test. He would pass every test, as was expected of him, and to do that, to succeed here, he needed to be the man he always was.
It was difficult to push away his anger. After all, his grief turned to wrath so quickly, but since his meeting with his Master, since his meeting with Qui-Gon, he had felt...different. More clear, more focused, but also...empty. Obi-Wan let go of his anger, tightening his hold of the Dark Side and refusing it to move within him as he touched upon the dull ache within his chest, and without anger to lend him strength, without that strength to blossom into unchecked power and madness, Kenobi just felt...sad. Terribly so, so much that the ache in his chest felt as though it would pry the Sith wide open, and he embraced the pain. It didn't rush through him like his anger always did, like the flames did. The sorrow seeped, cold and sluggish and torturous, and without anger to motivate him, Obi-Wan found himself stopped outside the doors of 500 Republica, head tilted back to look up toward the top of the building he couldn't see.
Stepping back into Obi-Wan was jarring, and he wasn't prepared for the numbness he felt, the hopeless desperation, and he closed his eyes, saw himself holding Satine's body, and he felt the grief again, strong and oppressive and sitting within him like a fog, a mist that simply wouldn't clear. Rage could clear it, had been clearing it, the thick haze burned away by flames, just like everything else, but now, here, it wasn't an option. Being Obi-Wan was pain, but he was no Jedi that pushed feelings aside, nor another being that drowned in the cold, unfeeling waters. He was Sith, and he met every challenge head on, without fear. He felt deeply, no matter what it was, and he embraced his passions, from the highest highs to the lowest lows. He thought of her, his lovely Satine, back when they were young, when they first fell in love, the elation he had felt when they had first become one, and he felt a stab of pain deep within him. Kenobi took the feeling and grasped it close. He would persevere. This too shall pass.
With a deep breath, Obi-Wan swiped the card and entered 500 Republica.
"I'll be out of range for a few days," Anakin said frantically, cursing under his breath as his attention was briefly diverted, and after a few harshly barked commands, he turned his attention back to Padmé. "We've got them, the entire Mandalorian fleet is here over Oba Diah, and they've already started to burn it. Negotiator and Liberator aren't here, but I know Kenobi is."
"Sounds like Tarkin was right," the Senator said softly as she let her long, curled hair drop down her back as she removed the ties and pins that had held it up. The Senate was in recess, and the Senators were all escorted home under heavy guard. Some threats had been made, and with their highest security prison suffering a security breech, they had all been rushed out of the Senate building to be taken home, or to predesignated safe houses. Padmé had returned home. There wasn't a more secure place than 500 Republica.
"Tarkin is usually right," Anakin said swiftly, the hologram flickering as the Jedi smiled softly, despite his duress.
"You can't openly attack the Mandalorians, can you?" she asked, and the Jedi shook his head.
"Attacking them isn't the plan. The plan is to save the planet and get Kenobi, and things are going to get messy real fast, even with Tarkin planning the hunt, so..." The Jedi smiled as he trailed off. "I love you."
"I love you too. Be careful, Anakin." With a smile, the Jedi cut the com, and the Senator sighed and flopped back onto the bed. Anakin would be alright. He always was. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, arching her back as she stretched and she laid a hand over her mouth as she yawned. She missed her Jedi Knight, but their meetings had been few and far between since the war began. A few short, secret rendezvous were hardly the foundation for a strong relationship, but she knew Anakin, had gotten to know him in the days before the war began. That they couldn't be seen together, that they couldn't behave like a normal couple, that they couldn't settle into a partnership was...incidental. The war would be over soon, and when it was, they would be together all the time.
She was worried, though. She knew how dangerous Obi-Wan was, knew how dangerous the Mandalorians were, and they had already burned one system. Anakin had already failed to spring a trap on the Sith Lord once, and Obi-Wan had been the one to cut off Skywalker's right arm. Twice. He was smart and capable, and he spent a great deal of his time in study of the Force so he could learn how to defeat this Sith menace, but through it all, Padmé just wanted her Jedi home safe, and Kenobi taken into custody, though she knew it would not happen. Obi-Wan would die in Anakin's trap if he fell into it. She had known him before, and he had always been a bit stubborn. Certainly, like many of the other Separatist leaders, Kenobi would simply refuse to be taken alive. Which was too bad. She wanted to see him again, if only to offer what comfort she could to her old friend.
She heard the whirring mechanics and the heavy footfalls of C-3P0 shuffle into the room, but she didn't move. If she was lucky, the droid would think her asleep and let her be. "Senator Amidala," the droid said, and Padmé groaned. "You have a visitor."
Padmé didn't move for a long while, and then she slowly sat up, the strap of her silk dress falling off her shoulder. "A what?" she asked, dumbfounded. "The entire Senatorial district is in lock down, how did anyone get here?" She bit her lip, and when the droid began to respond, she swiftly slid off the bed and smoothed the wrinkles out of her gown. "Never mind that, who is it?" she asked. Several of her friends within the Senate lived here, after all. It would be odd to have one visit with the threat of dangerous criminals hanging over their heads, but it wasn't too out of the ordinary. After all, they had been under threat many times before.
"I don't know," 3P0 said, his metallic voice sounding almost as confused as she was. "He didn't say. His face was hidden." That was unusual. The fastidious droid knew everyone she was acquainted with. Before she could ask anymore questions, the droid said, "He is waiting for you in your livingroom, Senator."
"You let him in?!" She almost shouted it, her shoulders tense, and she stormed to a large cabinet on the wall, pulled open the drawers, and snatched a blaster from within.
"No," the droid said, voice fraught with worry as he shuffled after the angry and nervous woman. "He had a key." Padmé barely heard him as she stormed out of her room, priming the blaster in her hand as she strode down the curved hall and out into the large, spacious livingroom. He stood in the middle of the room, draped in a long, black cloak, and she pointed the blaster at him for a moment before her heart stopped and her breath caught in her chest. She didn't lower the blaster, but her arm began shaking as she stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, fallen Jedi and Separatist commander. The man slowly raised his hands.
"Don't shoot," he said softly, his voice rough and raw and tense, and Padmé dropped the weapon, her hands flying to cover her ears. She remembered all too well what this man could do, had spoken to Anakin at length about the Sith's ability to influence the minds of others, had felt his calm, commanding voice within her in the past, and she had no desire to repeat the experience.
"Senator," 3P0 said as he shuffled into the room after her, but he stopped, emitting a startled yelp when he saw her guest's face. "Obi-Wan Kenobi!" he said in a voice high with panic, which wasn't unusual for the droid, but now, it seemed even more elevated than before. "I'll contact the authorities right away, Senator, I-" The voice trailed off, the high pitch lowering to a low whine as the lights of the droid's eyes flickered off as it powered down, and Padmé quickly looked back at the Sith Lord, the golden eyes fixed on the droid, one of his raised hands splayed in the chrome gold machine's direction.
Anger and panic gripped the Senator, her brown eyes narrowed, and she too late realized that her hands had dropped from her ears, balled into fists by her side, and she quickly moved to cover them again, but found her body didn't obey. She tried again, but the effort was futile. She watched helplessly as the blaster at her feet flew to Kenobi's hand.
"I don't need you to hear me for me to influence your thoughts, Padmé," Obi-Wan said softly, sadly, his hands lowering and a long finger tracing the barrel of the blaster. "But you have nothing to fear from me. I won't do it." Padmé watched in fear as the man drew carefully closer, and slowly, fear melted into pity when she saw how pale he was, how sunken his cheeks were, the deep, black rings under his eyes that drew attention to the eerie, alluring glow of his golden gaze. He looked...haunted, as if he hadn't slept for months, thin like he hadn't been eating, pale like he hadn't been out, and Padmé's heart tugged with sympathy, the man before her violently clashing with the vibrant, healthy young Jedi she remembered him to be.
"Why are you here?" she demanded, and the corner of the man's mouth twitched.
"...to talk. Are you going to run if I let you go?"
"...no." Immediately, she felt her body relax, and she stumbled forward as the grip on her was released. She drew up to her full height as she looked at him, carefully observing and appraising, but he wasn't doing the same to her. He held the blaster in his hands, and he seemed to look through the weapon at the floor, his focus distant. His face expressionless. "You need to turn yourself in, Obi-Wan," she said as firmly as she could. "The Jedi are hunting you, and they're going to kill you. You're the most wanted man in the Republic!"
He scoffed under his breath. "More than Dooku? Why? I'm not leading a war effort."
"You've done awful things," she stressed, taking a step closer to him, her hands raised up in front of her, eyes fixed on her blaster that lay in his hands. "So many are dead because of you."
"I've done nothing the Jedi haven't," he said softly, finally looking up at her, and she felt her heart ache as she looked into the eyes of the Sith, rich gold and pale yellow swirling together like storming clouds rimmed in blood red. She couldn't look away. It was haunting, as if she were staring into eternity, a lifeless shell, a window open to a soul that simply wasn't there. But it was also beautiful, and she had never seen anything quite like them. Yes, she had seen them once on Mandalore during the peace talks, but they weren't like this then. The spark of life was still within him, and Padmé thought for a moment that imprisoning him was pointless. Prison had no cause to keep dead men. And besides, he was right. Both sides had committed atrocities. Nobody was innocent in this. Not the Republic, not the Separatists, not the Jedi, and not even herself. Then again...
"You burned a planet," she hissed, firmly holding his gaze, and she thought she saw a shiver run through him, and though his body was concealed through the thick, heavy cloak that surrounded him, she saw the sleeves that hung off his arms shake, saw the hands holding the blaster tighten and quiver with tension. "Billions of people, Obi-Wan, all burned to death! The Jedi have made you their top priority, Anakin's out there hunting you now! He's found your fleet above Oba Diah, did you plan on burning them too?!" Kenobi didn't move. He simply stood and stared, his face blank, a small twitch in the corner of his eye, and a moment later, Padmé's breath caught in her chest. "Wait..." she said softly. "You aren't supposed to be here..."
"Am I being blamed for those attacks as well?" He didn't speak loudly, but his words hit Padmé like a hammer. Anakin was on the trail of Obi-Wan, had found the Mandalorian fleet that had burned Ord Mantell as they were beginning to burn another planet, but...
But Kenobi wasn't there.
Was Anakin mistaken? Were the Jedi incorrect in their assumption that it was Obi-Wan that had sought revenge on the criminals that killed Satine and tore the Mandalorian Empire apart? After all, the new Mand'alor, fiery Bo-Katan Kryze, Satine's very own flesh and blood, had come to Coruscant specifically to state her intentions of war against the Shadow Collective, and said in no uncertain terms that anyone that stood in her path would be met with destruction. The Confederacy, it seemed, had received the same message, and nobody objected to her war against the criminals that ran rampant throughout the galaxy. The Galactic Senate had even endorsed her as the wounded party in the unprovoked attack on Mandalore, and lauded her efforts to clean up the galaxy of the criminal scum that plagued it.
Bo-Katan had the support of a man the Mandalorians were calling the Shadow King, a man Anakin had assumed to be Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the assumption was made in good reason. After all, the closest thing the Mandalorians had to a king was Obi-Wan, the man that stood by the side of their last Mand'alor, shared her bed, fathered her child, and as a Separatist, and therefore a political nightmare for Satine, had to stay hidden, a secret, though perhaps not a tightly guarded one. But Obi-Wan was here, on Coruscant, while the Mandalorians burned Oba Diah, and nobody had seen Ord Mantell burn. Nobody had seen Kenobi's ships around the planet, or present in the Mandalorian fleet that the Jedi were currently pursuing. Was it possible that Obi-Wan was innocent? Could the Sith Lord have turned his grief inward, as his pale, gaunt face seemed to suggest? Had the Jedi blamed crimes on a man that was innocent with little more than a hunch? Had Anakin targeted a man that was drowning in grief over the death of his lover and their child?
Padmé trembled as a wave of nausea hit her. She didn't want to believe it, but Kenobi was here, and Anakin had trained for years to kill him, and it was no secret that Skywalker was somewhat jealous of Obi-Wan. She tried not to think it, but for just a moment, the idea flashed in her mind that Anakin chose now to attack the Sith Lord because grief had brought him low. Because now, without a lover, the Sith Lord was available. And it was no secret between them that she had lusted after him in the past.
"Yes," she choked. "The Jedi say you're the Shadow King that's leading the Mandalorians." Obi-Wan shivered, averted his eyes from her, and she instantly regretted saying anything.
"I haven't been to Mandalore since..." He choked, his already raw voice becoming further strained with tension, and slowly, he gripped the blaster by the barrel and held it out hilt first to the Senator. "I'm not turning myself in," he said softly, and Padmé reached out a shaking hand to take the blaster. When her fingers wrapped around the hilt, Kenobi released the weapon, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumping.
"Maybe," Padmé said, stepping away from him, clutching the blaster to her chest, "that would be best."
"Why?" Kenobi whispered, looking back up at her again. "Is prison too good for me?"
"No," she chuckled. "I don't think it could hold you."
There was a soft smile on his lips, a look of near frantic desperation as his eyes dropped to stare at the blaster in her hands. "So what now, Padmé? I'm too dangerous to hold, am I not? Are you going to kill me?"
"No!" the Senator gasped quickly, flicking the safety back on and the weapon powered down with a low whine. She swiftly set it down on the nearest table. The Jedi hunted Obi-Wan, and it was beginning to look more and more like it was unjust. After all, Kenobi certainly knew he was being hunted. He wasn't an idiot, and of all the places he could have gone, he came here. To the home of his enemy, despite the danger. To her. "No," she said again, drawing closer once again, close enough to see the red in his golden eyes. "You said you wanted to talk. Let's talk." She smiled at him gently when he looked at her once again, and she extended her hand. "Can I take your cloak?"
She watched as suspicion and uncertainly ran over him, the man slowly looking back at the door through which he entered, and when it looked as if he may leave, Padmé laid her hand on his arm, and he flinched, his whole body tense and tight as if simple contact were painful to him. He looked back at her as if he were assessing her intentions, and slowly, Kenobi laid his hand over hers, and Padmé felt her heart begin to pound. With a shaky hand, he removed his cloak, draping it over his arm, his fine black robes underneath so like Anakin's, yet so different. Anakin's had the modesty of a Jedi. Obi-Wan's were silken and tailored and bespoke of wealth and elegance, both things that appealed greatly to the young Senator. Slowly, she led him across the large room to the couch that sat in front of a large window, the city lights appearing hazy and shaded through the tint of the security shield that had been lowered over all the windows as a precaution against assassinations. Kenobi draped his cloak over the back of it, watched as Padmé sat, but would not sit himself. She wouldn't force him to.
"You know a great deal about the Jedi's campaign against me," Obi-Wan said softly, his eyes fixed out the window. "Does Skywalker tell you everything?"
"Most everything..." she muttered, suddenly feeling embarrassed and ashamed, but she didn't know why.
"One of the perks of having him as a lover, I assume?" A flash of anger ran through the girl, her body tensing as she became defensive, and Obi-Wan took a step back, eyes cast at the ground and hands held up before him. "I apologize, I meant no offense..." He took in a deep, shuddering breath when he felt her still tense, still angry, still uncertain. "I didn't read your mind, if that's what you're worried about. His relationship to you is no secret, and I can't use the Force here anyway, or the Jedi will find me."
"...we're engaged now," she said softly, and her heart nearly broke when she saw the man shiver, his eyes shut tight as tension wracked him, a soft, pained groan coming from deep within him as he struggled with...something. She couldn't tell what it was. It could have been anything. Perhaps it was remembrance of his own lost love, and she wondered if they had been engaged as well. Or, perhaps it was something else, and the thought of what it may be made Padmé bite her lip and look away from him. Maybe, in his grief, he had sought out a woman that once, long ago, he had been close to, had an obvious attraction to. To talk. For comfort. In his need. She wasn't sure why, but she suddenly found herself thinking of Naboo, how close they had become, of Coruscant, how the lingering touches of the Jedi Knight burned on her skin hours after they had parted, of the countless sleepless nights she had spent moaning under her own touch while thoughts of him drifted through her hazy, lust-filled brain. And again, on Mandalore, when he had said he wanted her, reawakened her old wants and desires, and she found herself maddened by thoughts of him once again.
The same thing, she felt, was happening now. She bit her lip and thought of Anakin.
Another wave hit him, a wave of passion and confusion and conflict and lust, all things that rushed off the woman before him, and with the satisfaction, with the promise of his quickly approaching triumph becoming so, so much sweeter by the second, the flames returned, and Obi-Wan could feel the insanity creeping back upon him. He shut his eyes tight, his body tight as he fought for control, and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep a manic laugh from tearing out of him. It was better than he ever could have imagined. Engaged! It was almost too much. To tear Anakin Skywalker not just from his lover, but from his wife was a far sweeter victory than he could have imagined, but it was painful as well, and a searing pulse of grief ripped through him, just as it had when he went with Cody to defile Shaak Ti.
He had trouble then, his thoughts continuously drifting to his lost lover when the Jedi's tongue slowly ran over him, when he pressed deep inside her, each time threatening to tear him away from his task, from fulfilling his pleasures until the rage of it all came crashing down upon him, leaving him lost within himself as he roughly dominated that which was his. But with Padmé, it would be easier. After all, his undeniable attraction to her had been her similarities to Satine. Closing his eyes and imagining his lover in his arms would be a simple thing, especially since the girl was already beginning to want as her thoughts wandered. It was true that he couldn't actively use the Force, but he suspected that there was a passive effect he had on the Dark Side, one that Padmé was responding to, even if subconsciously. It still had the desired effect. He wasn't influencing her. She was choosing this. And that made it so much sweeter.
"I'm sorry..." Padmé said softly. "About Satine, she-"
"Don't," Obi-Wan snapped. He didn't mean to, but the pain was far too acute to handle while he wrestled for sanity. "Please don't, I-" He didn't get to finish. Padmé had reached out, grabbed his hand, and slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at her, big brown eyes filled with sympathy and concern, and she lightly tugged him closer. With a shuddering breath, Kenobi sat beside her, tightly grasping her hand in his, and Padmé knew that the Jedi had mistakenly targeted him. There was no way he could be commanding the Mandalorians, not when he couldn't even talk about his lost love, not when he couldn't bear to even hear her name spoken. The pain was far too great. Obi-Wan was broken, and he had come to her. She could help, she could fix him. After all, they had been friends once. She could be a friend to him again, just...not in the same way. She had Anakin now. Anakin, not Obi-Wan.
"Let me help you," she said quickly, breathless, unaware of how her other hand had drifted to the Sith's thigh, her long fingers tracing long, light lines up and down the smooth feel of his pants. "Please, Obi-Wan, you must have come to me for a reason."
"...I did," Kenobi said softly. "We...used to be friends." His eyes met hers for a moment, and quickly averted when he found want there, not physical want, but a desire to help him. Despite their distance, despite everything that had happened with the war, with the Jedi, Padmé Amidala still held Obi-Wan in her heart, still thought of him on occasion, still held sympathy and respect for the friend she had lost, the lover that was never hers despite her wishes. "I find myself lacking for places I can turn these days. Before..." Kenobi choked on his words, swallowed, and began again. "Before, I had Satine. She was always by my side through all of this, she helped make this mess bearable. You know I never wanted war, you know I strive for peace, and I have tried, Padmé, but as this war becomes more vicious, it seems that it will only end when we destroy each other."
"I thought that peace was possible," the Senator whispered, drawing closer to the trembling man. "With what Mandalore was doing, it seemed possible. Systems were leaving all the time to join her Empire, I thought maybe one day, the Republic and the Confederacy would be too small to fight. That the other option was so much better that we would just...have peace." She sighed heavily. "I worked with her a few times. She was a good woman. She was lucky to have you." The gold eyes slowly drifted to her, searching, examining, and Padmé flushed deeply, suddenly noticing how far up the Sith's leg her hand was resting, and she quickly pulled it back. "I mean, you were lucky to have her."
For a moment, the Senator thought she saw a small, faint smile tug on the edge of Kenobi's mouth. "Yes, I was...I loved her for a long time. Since I was quite young."
"...before I met you?" she asked tentatively, and she felt her heart ache when the man nodded.
"We were sixteen, and I hated her. Until I loved her." Finally, a light, soft smile crossed his lips, and he reached up a shaking hand and held it to Padmé's burning cheek. "That was part of what drew me to you. You reminded me so much of her." Gold eyes ran over the Senator, looked through her as she trembled, and Kenobi felt her want to help become need for him, her mind struggling to get a firm grasp of the confusing, conflicting emotions she was feeling. Old memories, her lust for her first Jedi protector, her love for her second Jedi all clashed within her, and despite her struggle, Kenobi felt her shift closer as desire began to cloud her judgement.
"Me?" she squeaked. "I reminded you of her?" Kenobi trembled, a soft whimper escaping his lips, and she pressed closer, tearing her hand from his and laying one on his strong chest, the other on the sharp line of his jaw. She didn't love him, she loved Anakin, but the man before her was grieving, was in desperate need of help, and she had always been willing to help him, always felt a pull of sympathy for her fallen Jedi Knight. She shook her head. Not hers. The entire war, he had been a grave danger to the Republic. When he wasn't attempting for peace.
Padmé grit her teeth, closed her eyes, turned her head from him. That was right, wasn't it? Kenobi had pressed for peace on more than one occasion, had killed people, yes, but far less than others. His involvement with Mandalore seemed to reenforce his deep desire for peace, for an end to the foolish conflict, just as Padmé had always wanted. But he was a threat to the Jedi. When they had attacked him first. The realization struck her suddenly, savagely, and it nearly knocked the air out of her lungs. It was possible that, perhaps, the Jedi were the aggressors, just as they were now. After all, they had labeled Kenobi the Shadow King with no proof of it, had assumed Obi-Wan had burned Ord Mantell, though there was no evidence, just as they had assumed that he was currently burning Oba Diah when he was actually here, seeking help and comfort and talk from his old friend. It hit her even harder when she realized that it wasn't the Jedi, but Anakin that was driving it, and in a heartbeat, she felt her temper rising the more she thought about how petty, how childish this was beginning to look. Anakin had always been jealous of Obi-Wan. Always.
She took her hands off the Sith Lord and scooted away, her lip caught between her teeth and her hands clasped firmly in her lap. She loved Anakin. She loved Anakin. She didn't love Obi-Wan. She just wanted him.
"You did remind me of her," Kenobi whispered, looking back out the window, his eyes unfocused as he leaned back against the couch, his body relaxing as his mind drifted. "You still do. But at the time we met, I was committed to the Jedi. I pushed my love away, just as I was supposed to do. I could never have her, the Code wouldn't allow it, and nor did her position as the ruler of Mandalore allow her to love me, so..."
"So you left," the Senator finished, suddenly understanding. It made his attraction to her seem suddenly more appealing. After all, remembrance of Obi-Wan is what drove her to Anakin. They were similar in many ways. "On Mandalore..." she ventured carefully. "You said you wanted me." She shivered, nearly moaned when she felt her blood heat and run thick with arousal, the echo of his words softly sounding in her mind as she remembered what they had done to her, how three words uttered from a man that made her knees weak could make her mindless with lust for him. Perhaps he was influencing her even now, but there had always been the lingering doubt in her mind that it hadn't been the work of the Sith Lord. That her aching want for him could be blamed on nobody but herself. She didn't love Obi-Wan, not anymore, but she couldn't deny that she didn't desperately crave him either. Just as Obi-Wan didn't love her, but was still drawn to her. The why was unimportant. He was here.
"I did," he said softly, cautiously. "I meant it."
"You must have been with Satine at the time." He hissed, his entire body tensing, his gold eyes hard with sudden hurt and anger, but he quickly swallowed the rage.
"I was, yes..." Kenobi whispered, his voice quivering. "It was not the relationship we had...t-toward the end, but I did love her." He looked back at the Senator, her brown eyes hazy, her pupils dilated, her small hands shaking in her lap, and he knew it was over. What her mind wanted didn't matter, because the needs of her body were leaving her in a haze, but even then, even her mind was conflicted, torn between the man she loved and the man she had always craved. "I am Sith, Padmé. I embrace my passions, accept them, no matter what they may be. I am honest with myself. Can you say the same?"
Before she knew what she was doing, before she could stop herself, before her internal declarations of love for Anakin could stop her, she was straddling his lap, her frantic, shaking hands struggling to undo the belt that cinched his robes, her breath coming in fast, uneven pants. She loved Anakin, yes. But Anakin was so often gone, so often away, and her need was overwhelming, and it was now. Often, when he was away, she would tend to herself. She was a woman, after all, with a woman's needs, and her absent, conservative lover wasn't around enough to fulfil them. And now, in her apartment, on her couch, was the man she had lusted after for years, one that continued to haunt her even after all this time. She had so often found herself thinking of him, even long after she had stopped loving him, the carnal lust for a man she could never have gripping her and filling her with jealousy for the woman that did get to have the handsome man in her bed.
"I've always wanted you," she hissed, a sharp gasp of satisfaction torn from her throat when she managed to undo the belt, and she pushed the black robes off his shoulders. "Especially after you said you wanted me, I..." She moaned, leaned her forehead against his chest and rocked her hips over his when a wave of arousal hit her. "I thought it was your fault," she panted. "I thought you did something to me, but I have always wanted you."
He didn't say anything, and for a moment, Padmé thought she had overstepped her bounds, had trod in a place that was not meant for her, that it was far, far too soon for him to take this step, for him to be with another woman when Satine was less than two months dead. But then, he laid a hand on her hip, the long fingers digging against her skin as she moved, and with a gasp of delight she bent to unfastening the buttons on his red trimmed black shirt.
"I wish you told me," Obi-Wan finally said, resting his palm on her flushed cheek. "If I knew when I was a Jedi, we could have done this much sooner."
It was enough to break her. In an instant, all thoughts of Anakin, her soon to be husband, fled from her mind and was replaced with Obi-Wan and all the mindless lust he had inspired in her. She didn't know if this was his influence, or of it had come from herself, old love and breathless memories amplified by his presence and his vulnerability in his grief, but she didn't care. This was happening, and it was happening now, the wrongness of it all only heightening her desire for him, just as the forbidden nature of her relationship with Anakin continued to be a source of excitement, even if it was an inconvenience. Her...affair with Obi-Wan was doubly forbidden and had none of the frustrations that came from an established relationship. This was all forbidden lust, powerful and consuming and alluring, and she would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't excited and aroused by it, the culmination of years of fantasies ending now in consumation, provided nothing got in their way. With the lockdown of the district, she suspected that nothing would.
She tore his shirt off with a victorious cry, and she instantly stopped, her dilated brown eyes widening as she saw how thin he was, how paper-thin his skin looked over strong, corded muscles, how his pale skin was covered in deep, dark scars of old injuries, and raised, red welts that spidered across his skin like lightning, clearly much more recent. Her long, thin fingers traced the welts, the muscles tensing as she touched, the skin prickling in a trail of goosebumbs where she had touched the hairless chest. Anakin had battle scars too, but not nearly so bad, or nearly so many, and nobody had ever heard of the mighty Negotiator being seriously wounded, as these scars would suggest. It could only mean one thing. Kenobi had been tortured, in the past and recently, and Padmé felt a stab of pity within her, a deep sympathy for the man that made her want to take care of him and ease his suffering, and she knew that this would happen again. And again. And again. Someone had to love this tortured creature. She could do that. Even if she loved Anakin. Even as she loved Anakin.
It had been almost too easy to get the Senator to this point, and Obi-Wan watched her as she pulled her dress over her head, frantically undressing as if it were suddenly far, far too hot in the room. The biggest struggle had been for him to fight off the madness that threatened his mind with every step closer he came to plunging within Anakin Skywalker's willing fiancé. But as she worked, as she stripped herself bare, as she ran her hands over him and moaned wantonly, the thrill of having the man she had wanted for so long in her grasp, Obi-Wan felt the madness subside, the permeating grief that he had felt reducing to a dull throb as he watched. There was something calming in watching Padmé debase herself, her frantic hands running over him and exploring the body she had wanted for so long, her soft moans as she kissed his neck, his chest, the defined muscles of his stomach, lower when she slid her hand within his pants.
He couldn't help but wonder if the Force had been leading him here all along. His heart was with Satine, had always been with Satine, and would always be until the very end of his days, but the Force had taken her from him, and Padmé's seduction was a touch too perfect, a bit too easy. Small things, things unintentionally done, had added up to this moment, making the Senator pliable when she would otherwise be stubborn, allowing her to forget love in favor of lust, leading her to take a lover when she was inclined to be faithful. It was almost as if the Force itself had guided them to this point, laid it out perfectly to give the Sith a swift, easy revenge against Anakin Skywalker. His Master had been right. The Force favored the Sith, was drawn to darkness, and now was actively allowing Kenobi to take what belonged to a Jedi. For a fleeting moment, he thought that perhaps, just maybe, the child in his vision was never born from Satine. After all, he had been destined to lose them both. However, he had a feeling deep within him that the child, the boy, his son, may have been born from Padmé instead.
Now, the challenge would be to actually do it. He found himself distant as he watched her, the woman sliding between his legs and tearing off his boots as she pressed kisses to the inside of his thigh. Obi-Wan found himself more intellectually stimulated by the contemplation of the Force, the realization that his ally still stood beside him, than by the woman that was physically stimulating him. Quinlan Vos would be appalled. The grief made it difficult, and the tight control on the Force, the threat of insanity looming over him made it impossible. He growled deeply, pulled the lustful woman up, drew her against him, and kissed at her neck as he laid her down, kicking his pants off as he used his knees to spread her legs, grabbing at the Dark Side to fuel his own passion, and it quickly responded to his call, quickening his blood with arousal. After what seemed like an eternity of torment and flames, the Force had given Obi-Wan a gift, and he wouldn't squander it. He closed his eyes, thought of Satine, and became one with Anakin Skywalker's lover.