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Your dose of Obidala

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There is a postcard in his mailbox. It tumbles out with the bills, almost falls to the ground before he grabs it. Noone he knows is on vacation right now, so who–

He stares at it dumbfounded. Then frowns.

He looks at the image. It shows the back of Michelangelos Adonis. Huh. What’s that about?

He turns the card. It reads:
“Dear Mr Kenobi -
I greatly admire your firm behind every morning on the way to the subway. Thanks for wearing those snug fitting jeans.
You are a really attractive man.
- A woman.”


He stands there longer than is really necessary. He is torn between feeling flattered and offended. There is a blush on his face. He rubs his beard and hides his face even though noones around to watch him. A wave of self-consciousness rushes through him and he throws the card away on a whim.

Who the hell would write something like that? He thinks and huffs.

But later he’s coming back. The card is still there. He is actually relieved. He snatches it out of the waste basket before he can think twice about it and puts it in his briefcase.

Because that’s the first compliment he’s gotten in… Well, since Satine.

Back home he puts it on the kitchen counter and looks at it while he’s drinking his tea. He thinks about this mysterious woman. If he would guess… There is the unbidden image of a young brunette who he sometimes catches looking at him through lowered lashes. 

Maybe… Maybe she…

Well, he’s set on finding out.

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It’s monday and Obi-Wan stands in the middle of the throneroom which is really not a throneroom at all, because frankly there isn’t even a throne, but he’s just a bodyguard, so who cares? Qui-Gon talks about how his squad is the best and how they will guard the queen with their very life until the wedding to the Skywalker heir is over.

She stands there and stares at him. And Obi-Wan, god bless him, is not staring back. He ist *not* remembering. No, ma’am.

Because if he would remember, then he would think about last friday. He would think about getting his ass dragged into the club by Garen, his best mate. Right now he hates him with a passion, because if it wouldn’t be for Garen Muln and his stupid ideas he wouldn’t stand here and remember the feel of the queens soft curves against his hands.  

He is not thinking how she twirled on that pole for him, a bit wobbly and askew but with natural grace and a stunning smile. Right now he feels even more foolish that he thought she was a stripper in the first place. She wasn’t even dressed like a stripper. It was just wishful thinking, when he stuck his money in her pocket, he realizes.

He is an idiot.

But she just went with it, told him to call her ‘Peaches’ and giggled like crazy. He didn’t get the joke, then, but in that moment he forgot everything. She danced for him until one of the *real* strippers came over to them and told her to get her scrawny punk ass from the pole.  

He’s not thinking about how they laughed with eachother. Then they talked, well, as much as you can talk in a crowded club. Which means they stood so close, way too close, that he could smell the fruity cocktail on her breath and see how her skin glowed like honey.

Right now he looks right through her, like a good soldier. And he *is* a good soldier.

Qui-Gon introduces them all, one at a time. Bant Eerin, the sharp shooter and certified nurse. Garen Muln, the explosives expert and jack-of-all-trades (Obi-Wan adds ‘more like a jackass’ in his head). Then Qui-Gon comes to a halt infront of him. The queen steps into his view. He can’t ignore her any longer.

“And this is Obi-Wan–”

“Kenobi.” She says. Suddenly it’s really quiet. Qui-Gon looks startled.

“You know each other?”

“We have met.” she says in a clipped tone, her voice deeper and richer than he remembers.

He looks her square in the eyes. She wears elaborate make up. Not like the girl he met. No, he can easily distinguish them. This is the queen. The girl he met–
She’s in there, though. She gazes at him through those thick fake lashes.

“My Lady.” he bows his head and hopes that his eyes don’t betray him.

She shakes his hand and doesn’t let go. He wants to peel her black gloves back and expose the warm skin of her arms.

This is *not* good. No, this is bad.

“So,” she starts and pulls her hand away as if he’s poisonous. “You are the best?”

“It’s not in my nature to brag, ma’am.”

“*Oh*?” And they both remember how he *did* brag, but that doesn’t matter right now because they also realize in this very moment that they will never cross *that* particular line. Is that regret in her eyes?

“Well, I wouldn’t know so I just have to take your word for it.” She looks at Qui-Gon and says: “Just make sure that *they* do their job so *I* can do mine.”

And with that she turns on her heel and struts away. Her PA, a young woman he is damned sure was also at the club, throws him a dark look before she follows the queen. The click-click of their footsteps fade.  


Qui-Gon looks mental. There is a twitch in his eye.

“What did just happen?”

Obi-Wan rubs his face and considers lying.

“I think…” Garens says, beside him and he is trying so hard not to laugh that Obi-Wan isn’t sure who is going to have a heart attack first, Qui-Gon or Garen. “Ben may have gotten a lap-dance from the queen.”

Bant gasps. Obi-Wan sighs again and wants to explain, but Qui-Gon stops him with a glare.

“As if this assignment isn’t bad enough already, with the death threats and the wedding of the year thing coming up, you all had to go and make it just a tad more difficult. Just hope to god that the husband-to-be will never find out about this. This wedding secures the peaceful future of Naboo. Always think about *that*.“

Now Qui-Gon looks at Obi-Wan.

“And you–!”

He lifts a finger and wants to start lecturing, but suddenly he just *stops*, looks at Obi-Wan and he knows, he knows whats going on and Obi-Wan is just so screwed… The older man squints his eyes and says: “Keep it together, Kenobi.”

But it’s hard, because the whole time he just thinks about Padmé. Her messed up hair at the end of the night, the slightly smudged mascara and her kiss swollen lips.

She had been so utterly beautiful.

And he was *such* an idiot.

This was not going to end well.

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They are one of those couples that reads the newspaper together. In bed no less.
She gets the politics and gossip pages, he the comics and local pages.
They share the sports part and skip the orbituaries. At least on sundays.

(On wednsdays Obi-Wan reads them after breakfast, his lips set in a tight line. He mentions the ones that Padme should know about)

They do the crossword puzzle together. And rib eachother about the stuff they don’t know or got wrong.
He wears his reading glasses and writes the answers down, because his handwriting is tidier than hers.
She drinks her coffee out of a mug that could also be a bowl, that says “You are the Obi-Wan for me”

Sundays are cozy and smell like ink and coffee.

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She starts with: “If I die before you–”

He huffs and cuts in: “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I am ten years older than you, Padme.”

“Yeah, so? There are also accidents and diseases.”

“Could we postpone this discussion?”

“Why? We talked about what would happen if you die during service.”

“Out of necessity.” She stares. He crosses his arms. She won’t budge. Finally he sighs: “Ok. Say what you want to say.”

She sniffs. “Well… If I die before you… If it came down to it… I would want to be an organ donor. No prolonging of my life. I want to be cremated and set to rest in my families tomb.” he nods, none of that is surprising to him.

“And… I want you to promise me that you try not to loose yourself. This is my biggest fear.” Her eyes are wide and watery.

Please don’t cry now, he thinks. Then: Sarcasm is always a good idea.

“That I turn into a weird hermit who talks to farm animals on a regular basis?”

“It *could* happen.” Silence. They both know it’s true. They both remember the time after Qui-Gons death. First they just look at eachother, but then…

They laugh and it’s a relief. And by the time they stop she has forgotten what she wanted to say.

Later that night she sits down at her desk and writes him a letter. She sheds a  few tears, too. Afterwards she pads back to bed, snuggles into his arms, listens to his soft wheezing and can’t imagine life without him.

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Padme likes to touch.

And she does it a lot. It’s not about him, though. She’s just a very tactile person. It’s in her nature. Nothing big.

So when she touches his hands when they’re speaking, he thinks nothing of it. When she presses her fingertips to his elbow in some kind of aknowledgment he moves on. When she places her hand flat on the middle of his back… he stops for a moment and tries to breath normally, but finally decides to ignore it.  

But then there is this: movie night at Anis place. They watch some Zombie movie that grosses Ben out, but both Padme and Ani are all for it. So he just goes along with it, because last time he choose. So he just has to suck it up if Ani can sit through three hours of Lord of the Rings, he can watch some stupid horror movie.

Ben gets the popcorn out of the kitchen. And watches them. They are so affectionate that he doesn’t know if it wouldn’t be better for him to just leave. Anis has his arm slung over the back of the couch, he toys with her long, brown braid.

He should be happy for Ani. But there is something twisting in his stomach, a churning feeling that he can’t explain.

When he comes back with the popcorn and places it on the coffee table they don’t even look at him, so engrossed with eachother. He sits down in his usual spot besides Padme and before he knows what is happening, she places her hand on his knee and slides it up.

All the way up, from his knee to the inside of his thigh in a slow sensuous move that makes him speechless. His whole body grows taut and his mind screeches to a halt. Her small hand is warm and presses down firmly on the muscle. That’s not something friends do, he thinks. That can’t be something that friends do.

The other two don’t notice. They are still talking. And after a while, they settle and just watch the movie in companionable silence. But her hand is still there and she keeps petting him leisurly, slowly. Burns circles in his jeans with her fingertips.

At some point he looks at her, checks for any signs if this is more than just friendly behavior, but she just looks at him with a small mysetrious smile and all he can think about if this is what friends do nowadays? Do they? DO THEY?

Chapter Text

  • Obi-Wan: Are you stalking PANs Insta again?
  • Anakin: ...
  • Anakin: no
  • Obi-Wan: You liked her last ten pictures.
  • Anakin: ok but she's so fine i could stare at her for days
  • Obi-Wan: You do realize that this sounds creepy?
  • Anakin: am not a creep
  • Anakin: i just can't stop dreamin of her
  • Obi-Wan: Dreams pass. You have to concentrate on your training.
  • Anakin: :(
  • Anakin: wait
  • Anakin: you re talking out of experience???
  • Obi-Wan: ✔ seen 22:34

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Obi-Wan is her best friend. He stood by her side time after time. Through her bad break-up with Ani and their constant fighting, her depression, the shock over finding out that she’s pregnant.

He looked up all about abortions, adoptions, made pro and cons lists and read countless baby books after she decided to keep the twins.

So it’s not a surprise when she looks at him and muses about the lucky women who is going to spend the rest of her life with this wonderful man.

He is standing a few meters down the aisle and stacks diapers in the shopping cart, even though the twins due date is in August, which is still five month from now.

‘But they are on sale, Pad. And we are going to need a whole lot of diapers.’ So he is buying diapers. And the look of him floods her with so many emotions that she is on the verge of tears in an instant. Baby hormones. Totally normal. Happens all the time. 

Satine is so missing out, she thinks. Just look at him. He’s so considerate, gentle, always calm and mature. He’s also funny and smart… Yeah, he is too hard on himself, his self-guilt drives her crazy most of the time and he is a big know-it-all. So he definitly has his flaws. And don’t forget about the fact that he does Yoga, for fucks sake. Who does that anyway?

He drinks green tea and water only. Buys music on vinyl, because it sounds better. All of his stuff is neatly organized, even better than her work place. Yeah, Obi-Wan is a real neat-freak. 

But he is also devoted and loyal and he will do anything for the people he loves.

And to top it all of, he’s easy on the eyes, too.

Padme envies the woman that is going to spend the rest of her life with him. Really, she–

Something, no… Someone is kicking her in the stomach. And she makes a little startled noise which causes Obi-Wan to look up with blue eyes full of concern and love.

And she just realizes, in the most mistimed moment, that she is utterly and truly in love with her best friend. 

Oh, shit, she thinks.

Then she pukes all over her shoes.

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“What is you favorite color?” It’s a rather harmless question. He halts and looks at her. Her long, curled lashes are lowered and hide her eyes. He notices how she spoons the delicious chocolate ice cream into her mouth. There is some whipped cream on the right corner of her mouth.

After a while of pretending to think about it, he says: “Brown.”

She frowns.

“Brown? Really?” she looks dissapointed. “That’s the most boring color ever.”

“It’s not boring.”

“Definitly is.”

“It’s… It makes me feel comfortable. I like wearing brown.” he fidgets with his brown shirt. Takes the spoon and dips it in his pistachio ice cream, without eating it. “But it’s also very versatile. It’s a very… pretty, warm color.”

“Hmm.” she looks thoughtful.

“I like blue and purple. Those are pretty colors. But brown is so… so bland.”

“Bland? No.” he laughs and shakes his head. Before he knows, he says: “Your eyes for instance: They are of a beautiful, deep maroon color, with an almost goldish hue. How is that boring? It’s most stunning.”

They look at each other in silence. The ice cream forgotten. Ok, he realizes, he blew it. He just turned the most harmless question into a missile. That’s pointed at him. At his heart.

Padme blushes, stutters. But it’s just a moment. Ah, there she is, the diplomat: “Obi-Wan Kenobi, did you just compliment my eyes?” She tries to make light of it. He plays along, with a tight-lipped smile.

It’s easier like that.

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The first time he kisses her it’s just natural. It just happens. It wasn’t planned on his part and there isn’t an ulterior motive.

He is late for work and he storms out of the house, pressing his mouth firmly against hers on his way out. It’s as if they do this every morning. Which they don’t.

It’s just a short contact. His mouth is hard, his lips dry. He tastes like mint.

He’s out of the door an instant later. If he realizes that he just kissed her, he doesn’t let on. She waits for it to sink in.

At the end of the driveway he suddenly stops and turns around sharply. His face is red, oh yeah, he realized it. Under normal circumstances she would grin now, but she’s too confused herself.

So for a few seconds they just stand and stare. He says her name and suddenly there is this pull towards him that she can’t explain. Padmes heart beats faster and she does a step forward. The concrete under her bare feet is cold, but doesn’t snap her out of it.

Her mouth is very dry. Suddenly his cell is blaring and reminds him that he has to go. The spell is broken. But his kiss lingers on her lips.

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Whenever he is sick, she has to send him to bed. More than that: She has to negotiate with him about it. When he *is* finally in bed (she always wins- another sure sign that he is indeed sick) he sleeps for a long time. At least he doesn’t whine.

Padme has given up on trying to make soup for him (or anyone else). She orders it and gets it delivered. She is too organized, to practical to spent her valueable time making blue soup that tastes aweful.

When he wakes up she spoonfeeds him. It’s never a good sign when he just lets her. After that she tucks him in again. Hovers a bit. This is the part where he tells her that he is healthy and that he’s not going to sleep. She arches an eyebrow and orders him to sleep. It doesn’t take him long.

He would never admit it, but secretly he loves to get bossed around. Obi-Wan has definitly a bit of a masochistic streak. She smiles, strokes his face and goes back to her desk where there are lots of papers waiting to be read and signed. 

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As a Jedi Obi-Wan thinks he shouldn’t indulge. Padme is quite different in that regard. She loves to indulge, she loves to splurge. And she just loves to give her friends and loved ones expensive things.

He has a pair of custom made boots that cost more than all of the furniture in his little temple appartment. He only wears them on special occasions, like banquets and balls. When Padme notices, and she always does, there is a twinkle in her eyes. She looks approvingly. He loves every second of it.

Then there is that pair of gloves, beige and soft as silk and warm as if alive. He takes them with him everytime he goes to a cold planet. Even Hoth is bearable with those wonderful gloves. He thanks her silently everytime he takes them off.

There are more gifts like those. They are all considerate and well-chosen. He shouldn’t enjoy them as much as he does. Her lavishing him like that. But the truth is, he does. And he feels very guilty about it, too.

His face burns, as he looks down at the gift for his naming day. He already knows that he is going to love it.

Because it’s a gift from Padme.

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“It would be best if we would get married.”

Everything went downhill from there. Obi-Wan really couldn’t understand why such a reasonable person as Padme Amidala didn’t see the logic and sheer necessity.

“You sure know how to sweet talk a lady, Master Kenobi.” she gritted out and looked at him sourly.

He frowned. He did that a lot with her actually. And when he wasn’t frowning at her or bickering with her, he was blushing because of her. He was forty years old and he hated his complexion just as much as back when he was a kid.

He really couldn’t find the fault in his reasoning. Surly she had to see–

“The least you could do before demanding my hand in marriage would be kissing me. Maybe that would convince me.”

Kissing? What had kissing to do with anything?

But when he looked into her face he saw that she meant it. It was the line her mouth was set it, the way she held her head, so regal as if she was a queen again. Ah, so, kissing it was.

Of course he had kissed before. Not extensively, but he guessed it would be sufficient for this matter.

“M’lady,” he said and noticed absently that he was sweating as if he was— What? Nervous? Why would he be nervous, he wondered. “I am going to kiss you now.”

“You may.” She looked amused. He was rather taken aback.

He leaned down to her. This near, her face was just as lovely as from the other side of the room. That was most distressing and very distracting. He found his heart thumping, his hands aching to touch her. What exactly was happening here?

He pressed his closed lips to hers. She smelled like something sweet and herbal. Very nice, he noted. For a moment they didn’t move. What now? He had no clue. But then her lips coaxed his open expertly, her tongue slipped in his mouth and suddenly he found he just couldn’t hold back any longer. He wrapped her in his arms, their bodies pressed so close that he could feel her soft curves against his own body.

Finally he kissed her. Really kissed her. Till his mind was foggy and she was a boneless mess in his arms. He hadn’t known that he still had it in him. What a pleasant surprise indeed. The kiss came to a close.

She was panting. He was just as breathless. They stared at each other for a moment.

Obi-Wan set her securely to her feet. They righted their clothing.

Finally, with her lips still swollen and a twinkle in her hooded eyes, she said: “You convinced me, Negotiator. You may marry me.”

With that she turned and left the room.

It was strange, but he felt as if he just accomplished something great. He permitted himself a smug smile.

Chapter Text

„Oh my, Padmé. Come to the window. Now.“ Sabe sounds urgent.

„They are at it again.“  


„The Jinn Boys. They are in the backyard practicing.“  

Padme comes over to Sabe and Dorme. Her schoolbook is still in her hand. Tomorrow she has a math test, there is still a lot to look into. But she moves her thick glasses from her head down to her nose anyway. Now she can see them. There is her neighbor, Mr Jinn, standing at the side and talking quietly to his sons.

The oldest one, lanky and tall, with the long black hair and a man-bun. They call him Xan, she remembers. Then there is Phee, blonde and stocky and with an easy laugh. Ani, the youngest, who follows her around whenever he sees her and asks her questions about Angels, which she thinks is rather odd for a nine year old.

„Is that–?“ she gasps. Of course, there is also Ben Kenobi… Her face is heated, her hands are sweaty. Oh my. She chants in her head. Oh my oh my oh my.

„You just recognised him now?“ Sabe arches an eyebrow.

It’s their history substitute teacher, Mr Kenobi. Just without his usual attire. Just without his usual… anything, really. He is only wearing very snug fitting workout pants. Padme didn’t know that seeing a man like that could trigger her body to react that way. It feels… She feels hot. Their is a thrumming in her body that she has no name for yet.

She inches closer to the window. She opens her mouth, but nothing is coming out. Padme is stunned speechless. Not something that happens a lot. She is president of the debate club for a reason.

Sabe and Dorme giggle.

„I bet she’s never seen a half naked man this close.“ says Dorme. She’s the shy one usually, but also the only one of them who already lost her virginity.

Sabe just huffs and leans forwards. „Not nearly close enough for my taste.“ Sabe is the one with the big mouth. As always. But after that comment even she is silent and they just stand there and watch. It’s the same as every other day, Sabe informs them.

The four young men do some kind of martial arts routine. It looks fluent, even beautiful. Padme is awed. And she is envious that Sabe gets to watch that spectacle every day.

It’s over an hour later that the men go back inside.

The three girls share giggles and decide to meet up tomorrow again. When she meets Mr Kenobi in the hallway the following day she will blush and squeak.  

This is the summer that Padme and her friends spent plastered to Sabes bedroom window. This is the summer that Padme has the worst crush on her history teacher thinking that she’ll never love another boy, no, man that much.

Years later, Ben will tell her grinning, that they always knew that they were watching.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan misses her mirth. He misses her pearly, gleeful string of laugther.

The thing is, he never hears it anymore after Anakin. But he guesses it’s the same with him. He isn’t exactly Mr. Sunshine himself.

But the twins… The twins are oblivious to their problems. Of course they are, as babies, as children should be. They don’t care about their self-guilt and self-hatred.

So when he comes back from Mos Espa and hears her sobbing with laughter he is caught of guard but instantly drawn in like a moth to a flame. He steps into the small kitchen and there she is, laughing. It’s an utterly beautiful sound. Her sight makes his heart ache. It’s almost like a healing balm he never knew he needed. 

Obi-Wan stands there until she notices him. She says, clapping in delight: “Oh, Ben, you will never guess what Leia and Luke just did!?”

Both toddlers look happy and smile at him, as if they want to say look at what we did! and he thinks to himself, smiling: yes, you did well.

Chapter Text

At first Padme thinks she is solely attracted to his mind. To hear him discuss matters during negotiations was always an odd turn on for her. At first she didn’t realize that it also transgressed into the physical plane as well.

When she finally admits to herself rather grudgingly that he is indeed an attractive man she reasons with herself, that she is only attracted to this persona, the mystified Negotiator. Yes, that’s it. That’s all.

When the third and final realization hits home it’s a bit overwhelming. She looks at him; talking, discussing, arguing with Bail over wether or not they should participate in a forming Rebel alliance. He has his hands folded over his broad chest and strokes his beard. Something she has seen him do over and over in the last years. She knows this gesture so well, like say the inside of his hand when they touch accidently.

And then there is a spark somewhere deep within, ok, maybe it’s more like a wildfire that goes off in a dried out forrest. She ignites and thinks Oh. She burns and burns. Quietly, or so she thinks. She can’t just get up and leave now, can’t she?

All the while he keeps talking to Bail, which makes matters worse. When he looks up she realizes that he knows. His ears and neck are bright pink and contrast quite a bit with his hair. It’s as if he is the one burning up. His eyes are positivly smoldering as their gazes lock.

Of course, Padme can’t even have such a incredible realization that she really wants Obi-Wan, mind, body and mystified alias and all that, all by herself. No, the flames don’t just burn in her, but also show in her force signature as well.

She really hates the force at times.

But maybe, she thinks still looking in his eyes, she isn’t in this alone.

Chapter Text

Sometimes when space and circumstances make it necessary, all of them share sleeping quarters. He is the one sleeping nearest to the door, with his lightsaber by his hand. Padme is always on the other side at the wall, facing him. Luke and Leia lay between them, two warm bodies that keep distracting him in the dark and the force. Strange that those moments are by far the times he feels safest, he feels most content. There are times in the night, after caring for one of the twins or calming down Padme with a reassuring hand on hers after a bad dream, that he just listens to their breathing. They are safe. It’s the closest he gets to peace these days. Maybe because everyone that matters to him is so near.

Chapter Text

They meet on one of the starlit beaches of Hawai’i. He is a diving instructor. She is there on vacation after the death of her father, a diplomat. It’s strange, she thinks as she looks into his blue eyes, it feels like coming home after a long time of trying to get something that was always out of reach.

It’s like out of a romance novel that she never read.

His name is Soren, but everyone calls him Paddy. His long blonde hair is almost bleached white. He wears it into varying styles of intricate braids piled onto his head. He looks etheral like that. He’s been here ever since his one week surfing trip two years ago.

He tells her that he knew that he had to stay here, that he belongs here. It reminds him of something out of a past life. He looks at her full of longing and says: “I was waiting for something, someone. I think it was you.”

Xinyi is sceptic, but she feels the pull too. She doesn’t believe in stuff like that. She believes in a great entity for which she doesn’t have a name. Not a god, but a power that tries to balance everything. She can feel it, when she does her kung fu, when she wields her wodao sword. Other than that there aren’t any gods she pledges her loyalty to. Noone every came to rescue her anyway. She does remember something, sometimes.

“Stay with me.” he says after the third day, after making love. After he cried in her arms for no reason. She holds him and drowns in her emotions. The feelings he awakens in her are frightening. Some part of her thinks: Let go, let go. Attachment is forbidden.

But she holds on. Paddy is as much of her lifelife, as she is to him.

“Alright. I’ll stay.” So she does. Her family is having a fit back in Tokyo, but Xinyi doesn’t care anymore, not after finding him. She always did what was right for her family. She complied. She was the perfect daughter, the perfect little soldier. But it ends after he asks her to stay. Xinyi has a new family. One that was there before somehow.

When she is with Paddy everything becomes quiet and right. That he just turned twenty one, where she is pushing forty… Well, noone is concerned about that here. Noone looks at them twice. 

He works as a diving instructor, she finds a job at a gym  where she teaches Yoga courses. It’s a good life. Better than some others she lived before.

When she tells him that she is pregnant, he is overjoyed. They buy a house and he paints a room in shades of purple, blue, pink, magenta.

“Like a sunset.” he says. Xinyi looks amused but doesn’t say anything. He is the romantic after all.

Paddy worries about her pregnancy constantly. But she isn’t concerned at all. It’s just a body and it does what it is supposed to do. Bend. She always bent it to her will.

In the third trimester he says: “Wouldn’t it be beautiful to give birth on a beach instead of one of those cold sterile birthing facilities?”

Xinyi looks at him as if he is crazy.

“Are you the same person who worried about me every since my morning sickness started?”

But of course, Paddy manipulates her into birthing on a beach. He is good at manipulating, he would have been a great politician. Sometimes she thinks this birth is more for him, than her.

The birth is hard work, and why wouldn’t it be? But Xinyi is prepared, she always was. She lays in Paddys arms afterwards, exhausted and a bit grumpy but that’s forgotten when the midwife lays the baby onto her breasts.

It looks at her with big black eyes. She can hear Paddys sniffles before he starts crying in earnest. She pets his knee half-heartedly. The baby looks on knowingly.

It seems as if a whole sky is waiting in those eyes. A galaxy that’s far grander than anything they can imagine. Paddy kisses the sides of her face.

Xinyi smiles and says in mandarin: “You are finally here.”

Later the midwife asks: “What is the name of the baby?”

Paddy answers instantly, his eyes are brimming with tears and happiness.

“Annie. Annie Sky.” His smile is the sun, is Xinyis heart and soul.

“We are finally complete again.”

She closes her eyes and revels.

Chapter Text

“We don’t really have a lot in common.” he says, while watching the twins waddle around.

“No, we don’t.” Her answer comes instantly, as if she already thought about it.

“Maybe we should leave it at that one night. We were just trying to–”

“Comfort eachother?” she finishes. She looks at him funnily.

She laughs, it sounds hollow. “You know, maybe we don’t have a lot of passion, but you are what I have right now and I want to keep you.”

“That’s a rather romantic outlook, Padme. Keep talking.” his voice is laced with sarcasm. Luke falls onto his bottom. Padme goes over to him, picks him up and gets him to his feet again. When she return she sits down nearer to him.

“Love isn’t about who fits you the best, like it’s a… A shirt. Because if it was than Ani and me wouldn’t have gotton together in the first place.

“For me love is about finding someone who understands. Who made similar experiences. Who wants to walk into the same direction with me. We don’t have to gaze into eachothers eyes all the time that would be boring pretty soon, wouldn’t it be? We don’t have to kiss passionatly to know what we feel for eachother. At this point in my life I want someone I can trust with my thoughts and my feelings.”

Her face is illuminated by the small fire. Her eyes are dark and lovingly as she watches her children.

He could stay like that with her forever. It’s very comfortable. He turns his head, looks onto the open plane, the children, the mountains and horizon behind that. He sees what she sees.

“Is that romantic enough for you, Obi-Wan?”

“That is quiet enough for me.”

They smile at each other and stay like that for a long time, never noticing that they are already holding hands.

Chapter Text

Padme always thought the saying ‘It just happened’ was an easy way out. Now she actually knows different.

She meets him two month after Satines death. After she broke it off with Ani. They bump into each other and they laugh and joke. She can’t pinpoint the moment they start flirting.

He always had an sarcastic humor that was laced with… something. And now it’s directed at her. She goes with it. She enjoys it. Harmless flirting between friends.

They want to say goodbye, but they find that they can’t part. He asks: You want to eat a late lunch?

She says Yes. Where are we going?

Wherever you want, M’lady.

Padme. Tonight it’s Padme.

He nods his head, understanding.

They have a late lunch in a restaurant she likes. At first it’s a bit awkward, she asks herself what she is doing here? It gets easier after she realizes that not all men are like Anakin or Rush Clovis.

They talk and try not to stare at the others mouth. They only leave because the restaurant needs the table. It’s really late. The air is humid and foggy outside. He takes her to her apartment. They say goodnight again, but he is not leaving. She is not going inside. Finally she gives in and asks: You want to try some nubian whiskey?

You want to get me drunk?

Her smile is sly. Would that be so bad?

He comes up with her. She gets comfortable on the couch. Sheds layers of clothing. Her feet are bare, she stretches her legs out and almost touches him.

Aren’t you sweating under all of your robes and tunics?

His eyes seem to burn her as he says: Yes, I actually feel very heated.

They haven’t touched the whiskey yet. There is no excuse for their behavior.

When they drink, they don’t toast to anything. No talking anymore. No pretending. The alcohol burns, just like her core burns. She knows it’s anticipation.

You always wondered how it would be between us?

I am wondering now.

Her breathing hitches. She slides a bit down to push her feet against his legs. There is no hesitation on his part. His steady hands slide her robes out of the way. All the way up. There is no surprise on his face, when he finds that she isn’t wearing any underwear.

I took them of in the restaurant restroom.

So sure of yourself?

Just hopeful.

The first contact with his hand make her moan. He slides his finger through her folds, his fingertips come away wet. When he starts rubbing her clit in earnest her head falls back and she moans his name.

He takes her bend over the couch. It’s passionate, but not uncomfortable so. He’s a very considerate lover. She remembers suddenly that it’s not just about the man. It doesn’t take long for her to come. Her spasming takes him over the edge as well.

He hasn’t even donned the tunics. Both of them are touch starved, wanting more than a friend can give. They only forget, they don’t heal. But she suspects that they could actually heal each other if…Yeah, if.

After the sex they undress each other. After the sex they look at each other and she asks herself why she never thought of this before. Why sometimes, some revelations are just too late to change anything.

They lay near each other in the starless darkness of Coruscant, caress the other and drink whiskey.

You remind me of Satine, sometimes.

Is that good?

Yes, yes. That’s good.


Your are nothing like my… My friend. Both of them know who she is speaking about.

And that’s good?

Very good.

For a night long that’s all they need. To remember. To forget.

In the morning they stand and watch the other get dressed. They put all of their masks back in place.

At the door he says: Thank you for the nubian whiskey. She nods her head, replies: Not at all.

Senator Amidala.

Master Kenobi.

He stands on the other side of her door now. Before she can do anything stupid she pushes the button and the doors slide shut. He was just opening his mouth to say something.

That was their chance.

A few weeks later she and Anakin make up again.

He is after all, still her husband. And she thinks bleakly: Some people get more chances than they deserve.

Chapter Text

People liked to talk. Padmé knew that. Gossip was like food for the soul for the more ordinary people.

When her body started to change and it became finally noticable that she really was pregnant the rumors where inescapable.

She always worried about people thinking Anakin would be her lover, the father of her child, that she totally, utterly forgot that there where other men in her life as well.

So it came as a surprise when Dormé said: “There is a holonet poll regarding the parentage of your child.” 

“A what?”

“A holonet poll, Senator.” she explained, her eyes trained on her slim fingers. “People are guessing who the father is.”

“Ana–?” she gasped, but Dormé was already shaking her head.

“No, M’Lady, actually… people seem to think he is the most unlikely option.”

Padmé forwned. First she was relieved than confused and finally curiosity got the better of her.

“So who do they think it is?”

Dormé scoffed and showed her the holonet page. “Look for yourself. I am… going to make you a nice relaxing tea.”

Before Padmé could say something Dormé had hurried off into the kitchen.

She looked down at the screen and read the headline.

Who is the Daddy? The headline read. Padmés eyes flitted down to the poll and stared at the name.  

1. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi

Padmé kept staring at the name dumbfounded. Actually she sat there staring at the screen for quite some time. Trouble, she thought, this is going to be trouble. What if someone really believed this? What if Anakin really believed this? Or the council?

Then she thought of Obi-Wan, but found herself uncomfortable, almost incapable. Almost as if–

Padmé had a really bad feeling about this.

Chapter Text


“Yes, Commander Skywalker?” Padme doesn’t look up, too distracted with her datapad.

“The new doc is here, Ma'am.”

“Get him in here.”

“Um… He’s in sickbay. He says if you want to talk to him, you should just drop by whenever you’re ready.”

Padme looks up and slams the datapad down harder than is really necessary… Oh yeah, another one of those Alpha males for her to break in. Great she really needs one of those right now. As if she doesn’t have enough on her hands already with the Naboo conflict.

It’s always the same. They see Padme and her petite form, her long brown hair and think her weak. She sighs and grounds her teeth.

Dorme was a good doctor. She already misses her desperately and curses Panaka for marrying her, stealing her away from Padmes ship.

“Good, good.” she rises from her chair and everyone is trying not to look at her because they know their captain, they know what will happen in sickbay and truthfully all of them would like to be a fly on that wall. “You have the bridge, Skywalker.”

She stalks off and goes over to the turbolift. On her way to sickbay she tames her righteous anger. When the door slides open she is presented with smiling nurses who scurry along and nod pleasantly at her.

Threepio the medical droid tells her that the doctor is in his office. She can already see neatly cut red hair and a broad back. He isn’t wearing his uniform yet. Why isn’t he wearing his uniform?

She stands in the door, from this near she notices that he is not as tall as say Anakin for instance. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and holds her head up high. The clearing of her throat gets his attention.

When he turns around she is presented with a handsome face and bright blue eyes. For a moment she is speechless. He also stops in his tracks and just looks at her as if he just found something, someone. Yeah, someone he hasn’t seen in a long time. A long lost friend for instance. He is clearly delighted.

“Hello there.” he says casually and she blinks slowly at his greeting. “You are the Captain, I presume? I am the new doctor, Obi-Wan Kenobi. But you already knew that, right?” He has the audacity to laugh. It’s a rather melodic sound that makes her nervous. Padme doesn’t do nervous.

His eyes twinkle and Padme thinks hurriedly: No, this won’t do. This won’t do at all.

She stares him down. At least she tries to.

“Captain Naberrie.” her voice is laced with steel. “You can call me Captain.”

He is still rather jovial, as if he doesn’t notices her strict tone and hard eyes.

“Oh, of course. Captain. Yes, I heard of you. You left quite an impression on my last Captain, Bail Organa. I am supposed to tell you that he and Breha hope to have you over for dinner the next time you’re in port.”

He smiles and Padme almost groans. He has dimples for stars sake and his smile is gorgeous. She presses her lips together as she feels her body growing hot under his caring gaze. She bet he has great bedside manners.

“Captain.” he says and there is a lilt to his voice that is really pleasant. She shudders. “Captain, are you alright? You look a bit heated.”

He comes forward and tries to check her vitals. She slaps at his hand and holds him back with a single stare.

“Don’t you ever touch me without asking me first. I am the Captain.”

Now he does look taken aback, almost embarrassed. He steps back.

“I am sorry, Captain. You are right of course. That was quite rude. I don’t know what has gotten into me.”

He averts his eyes, there is some pink to his cheeks that she can see even through his beard. The smile is gone, now he looks rather earnest and as old as his file said he is.

Padme feels like a grade A bitch.

“Next time I order you to my bridge I want you to be there, ready to report.” she says, at the door she turns around and adds: “Welcome to the Ambassador, Doctor Kenobi.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Their gazes meet and she feels something ignite in her. Those blue eyes won’t let her go and it takes all of her willpower to turn around and leave sickbay. She feels his stare all the way back to the turbolift. Only when she is alone, she slumps against the wall of the lift.

This is not good, she thinks trying to get air into her lungs. Her heart races and her hands are sweaty and all the way back she thinks about those dimples.

It’s a panic attack, she thinks first and that thought make it easier to bear, but than she realizes that she is blushing at the memory of that face, those eyes, his voice. Oh no, a voice in her head chants over and over again as she realizes what is happening, oh no no no.

Of all things that could go wrong today she had to go and fall in love with the ships new doctor. Great, just great, Padme. 

She is in deep trouble.

Chapter Text


She has been strange all morning and he can’t help wonder why.

She is like a stormy cloud in the force and it irritates him and the children.
When he asks her, she huffs than laughs and says: “I haven’t had sex in over two years.”

He doesn’t really know what she expects but it’s obvious that it isn’t his mumbling and blushing. She isn’t apologetic at all.

“I am a nubian woman, after all. We are red blooded and sensual.” she shrugs.
He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. His face feels really hot.

“I heard about that…” he mumbles uncomfortably.

“It’s normal in my society for a woman of age to have a healthy sexual appetite. When I started having sex with fifteen-”

He chokes on his spit and turns even redder.

“You… What?!”

“Oh come on Obi-Wan, you think I was old enough to rule a planet but not to take a lover?” she makes a noise that is half laugh, half snort. “That’s a rather patriarchic view, isn’t it?”

He thinks about that gangly girl with the heavy braids he met so many years ago when he was still a Padawan. Tries to imagine that she- His mind refuses to come up with an image.

“Never mind,” Padme turns away from him. “You’re not going to offer me help, are you?”

“No!” he says with more force than was really necessary. She turns away. He thinks he might have hurt her.

“Anakin was right about you.” The words are soft-spoken but meant to be heard.

“Right about what?” his voice is rather cold now.

“That you’re a prude.”

“I am not a prude. Just…” he searches for a more fitting word. “Guarded.”

Padme laughs and it doesn’t sound nice at all. “Get over yourself!” her voice is way too loud. “It’s just sex. Every other man-”

Oh yes, here we go. Every other man. But he doesn’t.

He feels like she just called him a eunuch.

“Yes,” he agrees and now he is almost as worked up over this thing as she is. “It is just sex. So maybe *you* should get over yourself. I am doing just fine, thank you.”

They stare at each other for a moment. His confusion is prickling under his skin, almost itching and he stares at her burning eyes, her cheeks are flushed and she looks almost hungry. Almost as if she’s ready to bite him any minute now.

Her frustration and need are a coiling maelstorm that makes it hard for him to look at her. So he looks away, confused. He’s not doing fine at all, but he will never tell her.

“I am in my room.” she says as she rushes past him. “I am going to take care of myself.”

He busies himself with the children and tries not to think about what she does in her bedroom.

Later, it hits him hard that she actually asked *him* to help her out. Is she really that desperate or does she trust him that much? He doesn’t know what to think.

But he can’t go to her. He can’t tell Padme that it’s not because of her, that he would indeed serve her in this regard as well as in every other aspect of their life out here.

But…Obi-Wan is forty-one and he never had sex before. When he thinks about it, it does sound rather pathetic. Right now it feels like it as well. Usually it’s nothing he frets about. He does have *some* experience.

Kissing, yes. Necking, alright. And at some point Satine did something with her mouth to him he can’t think about even now, after all this time.

Maybe he is indeed prudish, he thinks. He hasn’t felt the need to change something about his virginity in quite some time. At some point it had just stopped bothering him. The strange thing is just that it bothers him *now* and he can’t explain why.

Chapter Text

Artoo had decided and who was she to say no to that little fucker? So she wouldn’t call the police. Well, not yet.

Padme sat down in front of the man who held the big fluffy cat in his lap.

“As I was saying” he started and his voice sounded actually less slurred than just a few moments ago when she went down to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. “I thought this was Anakins house.”

“And now you’re in my living room cuddling my cat…”

“I am held at gunpoint, can’t you see? That cat has it’s claws sunk in my jeans.”

It was the truth. Artoo was mewling and pawing the front of his jeans. She really liked the redhead.

“You do this often?”

“The part with the breaking in or cuddling strange cats?” Before she could answer he said: “I don’t really like cats.” To the cat: “Don’t look at me so offended.”

Padme lifted her eyebrows.

“But I break into Anakins house on a regular basis.”

“Is that what friends do?”

“I don’t know. It’s what I do. Sometimes he catches me and than we hang out. Or we do saber fights.”

“Is that a dick reference?!” Padme pulled a blanket over her bare legs. “Are you two an item?”

Just a moment silence in which she looked at him intently. Trying to figure him out. “If you are: Can I watch?”

She was giggling and he huffed indignantly.

“Maybe I should throw this big cat at your head, m'lady.”

“Omygod what are you? Fifty?”

“Not far off. Thirthy-eight. Anakin and I work at a medieval fair, so no, saber isn’t some kind of penis metaphor.” he paused and assesed her, than added: “But you can watch. It would be just me, but I would give my very best to make it worth your while.”

He was wriggling his reddish eyebrows at her. Now Padme was flat out laughing.

“That wasn’t really a joke.” she laughs even harder. Ok, he was a funny guy.

Now he grumbled. It was kinda cute.

“So, you wanna hang out while your cuddling my cat?” He looked as if he was really thinking about it.

“Well, I can’t go anywhere right now and it would be quite rude to send you away… So yeah. Why not?”

“Beer or wine?”

“Wine of course. Red wine, please.”

“I have only beer.”

“Why did you offer me wine than?”

“Just to be a good host I guess. There was a fifty fifty chance for you to never find out that I am not.”

“Ok, so beer it is.” she stood and got them the beer. They toasted to the cat.

“How about we watch Moulin Rouge and try to lipsynch Satine and the writer guy? I could be Satine.” he suggests while sipping his beer with a slightly digusted frown.

“How about we watch Garden State and try to make sense of the story?”

“And drink every time the brunette chick does something cute? We would be pretty drunk at the end of the movie.” he winked at her.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“You’re not my type.”

They smiled at each other fondly. That was actually kinda nice, Padme thought. He was still petting the cat rather awkwardly.

“Whats your name, stranger?”

“My friends call me Ben. You can call me Obi-Wan though.” his grin was rather toothy now.

“Weird name for a weird guy. I am Padme.”

“Nice name for a weird lady.” They sat there in silence. It stretched and stretched and Padme thought about what he would do if she would climb into his lap and demand to be petted.

“Did you knew that Padme means Lotus?”

“You just made that up.”

“No, I didn’t. Really I didn’t.”

“Hmm. Ok.”

His fingers were curling and uncurling in Artoos fur. She was still purring and stretching and seemingly the most happiest kitty ever. 

“You are staying here. You are making my grumpy cat happy.”

“Is that a job offer?”

Instead of an answer she grabbed her cellular and squealed: “Let’s take a selfie!”

This could be the start of a friendship, Padme thought and smiled into the camera while the weird guy on her couch gave her the side-eye. 

Chapter Text

"Mom, what's with you and that Kenobi guy?"

Padme rolls her eyes at Leia and continues to chop vegetables.

"He brought her flowers and chocolate yesterday." Luke yells from the living room. How he could hear them over the noise of the tv screen Leia doesn't know.

"Yes, he brought me flowers. He's a real gentleman." Her mother sounds wistful, pleased even. She looks... Kinda happy.

"He is so..." Leia pulls a face. The teenager face, her mom calls it. "Old."

Her mother just smiles, she seems oddly amused.

"He is a bit older than me, yes."

"That's *weird*."

"Dad is younger than me." Yeah, Leia knows that, but in all of the pictures her mom doesn't *look* six years older. Kenobi sure as hell looks older than their mom. He looks like twenty years her senior. Weird, just weird and wrong.

"Yeah and Dad is handsome. Can't say that from the white haired wizard."

Padme snorts and shakes her head. She isn't saying it, but she has that look on her face that tells Leia that she thinks her superficial.

"That's in the eye of the beholder, Leia."

No, it isn't, she thinks.

Luke enters the kitchen and looks for something to eat. Padme swats at his hand as he tries to steal some of the bell pepper slices.

"You could have, like, a man that's your age. Who doesn't wear beige tweed and smells like dusty books and lavendel."

"Maybe I like that smell." Padme replies and that little smile is back. What's up with that? She also lets out a sigh. Than her mom adds rather dreamily: "He also smells like pines."

Luke und Leia look at eachother sheepishly. Her brother just shrugs. He isn't really bothered by mom dating Kenobi though.

"He is coming over for dinner later, Leia. And I want you to be on your best behavior. Please."

With that Padme turns around and looks at Leia pointedly.

"I *really* like him, Leia."

The phone rings and ends the conversation. Padme goes over to the living room to answer it. Leia can hear her softly talking on the phone. She lets out a melodic laugh, followed by "Oh Ben! You didn't have to!"

"Don't you think we should do something?" she asks her brother.

"Like what exactly?" Luke stuffs some of the bell pepper slices in his mouth and starts chewing.

"He is not the right one."

"You don't know that Leia." Some of the chewed bits fall from his mouth and onto his black t-shirt. Leia looks at him with disgust.

"Course I do. We have to stop that from happening."

"Leia," her brother says softly. "Dad isn't coming back. This time he left for good."

Leia frowns at him.

"He's going to come back. I *know* it, Luke. You'll see."

"Leia, just... Just keep your nose out of moms buisness. I want her to be happy. She's been through so much those last few years with dad... If she's happy with Mr. Kenobi than I am ok with it."

Leia glowers and thinks about a way to show her mom that this time, when dad is coming home that he isn't going to relapse. He is going to stay sober and they live happily ever after. As a family.

No Mr. Kenobi included.

She is going to make sure of that.

Chapter Text

More than once Padmé regrets that she didn't took the chance and went with Obi-Wan instead of taking the children into hiding and raising them with the help of Dormé and Panaka.

When they finally meet again it's like... Like nothing has changed. Like everything has changed. It's as if they are magnets and have to stay close. It's a drug. They have so many things to tell each other, so many stories to share that they sit huddled together in a corner and talk all night. Ahsoka looks at them and shakes her head and pads to bed mumbling a goodnight they don't hear.

He is older now. They are both older. Only five years, but the grief has turned his copper hair almost completely grey. She finds it oddly attractive on him, wants to stretch out her hand and feel his hair.

Padmé feels as if she found something, a part of herself, that she thought lost. It's the woman that she once was. She can see her reflected in his ocean-blue eyes, he still looks at her with that respect and adoration he once did and it makes her blush and her heart race. She wants to feel like that woman again.
Suddenly she is that woman.

When she climbs atop of him and takes control it's almost too much. He looks at her and tries to verbally reject her, while his hands are already buried in the folds of her clothes, trying to get the fabric out of the way.

"Padmé, we can't--" he gasps, when she frees him from the confines of his trousers and the tip of his manhood brushes her clit.

"Please," she says, but it's really more of a demand. ",let me have that."

He nods and she slides down with a smooth motion. He's buried deep inside her before he can really comprehend the situation. He closes his eyes and his head thumps back against the wall.

Of course she tried, she tried to move on. After Anakin. She had lovers and some of them even made her body feel good, made her forget. But still-- She just feels so broken these days. Like there is something that she just can't get back. No matter what.

For all of the people she meets after everything she is just a woman, and most of the time not even that: She is just a mother. Someone who tries hard.  

Her heart feels broken, her mind is splintered into shards.

Now, here, with Obi-Wan, she realizes that he doesn't just sees the woman she was, he also sees the woman she is and he still looks up to her as if she's a queen.

He is also broken, she knows. And it's strange to think that, but his shards fit perfectly around her broken pieces until they're a new picture that looks nothing like the old one but it's beautiful, so beautiful--

She rises and falls. Her body knows what to do. Better than her treacherous mind. But it's strange because that mind halted the moment he let her have him. His hands are trying to undress her, while she takes her pleasure.

"I want to see you." he grounds out and she nods and helps him where she can until all of the buttons on the front are opened and her dress hangs down to her sides and he slides his hands all over her. Slides his eyes all over her, too.

By all of her gods, she hasn't felt this beautiful in forever.  

Her nerves are tingling, she is sweating and smiling and she just can't stop.  She changes the position, rises from her knees up and plants her feet on both sides of his hips. She can feel him deeper that way and he touches something deep inside her. It's almost pain but she goes with it. Just let it happen. Just let go.

His fingers dig into her hips. He meets her halfway now, thrusts upwards into her. His face is red, he is just as sweaty as she is and he is looking at her so intently with his blazing eyes that it makes her dizzy with want. But she can't look away.

When she comes she feels the liquid spill out of her and all over him. It's like a dam that finally breaks and it feels so good, so relieving that she sobs and falls forward. He's there to catch her. So Padmé shakes and he holds her and then fills her up with his warm seed.

"Obi-Wan." she chants. "Obi-Wan. Obi--"

Her face is pressed to the side of his face. He smells so good, of forgotten things she never knew that she wanted.
They are a complete mess.

"That hasn't happened in a long time. I really didn't think--"

He silences her by crushing their mouths together in a kiss that feels like a thank you, as if she gave *him* something just as important.

The kiss gets softer and wetter by the second until it's a languid, sensuous thing. Then it's over and he presses his forehead against hers.

She never would've thought that he would be that affectionate. Padmé really likes that. She also likes it that he lays her down, touches and pets her. Soothes her quivering, too sensitive nerves. 

"I've forgotten how beautiful you are."

"Yes, me too." She kisses the inside of his hand and smiles at him. "Thanks for reminding me."


Chapter Text

Continuation from [this]


There are nights when he is the one who needs someone to take care of him. At first she doesn't know what to do, when she wakes up from his fidgeting and those... noises he makes in the back of his throat. It sounds like a noise a scared child would make.

But even though he is restless, he holds tight to his guard. His shoulders are stiff, the muscles on his back hard, unyielding.  

Whenever they go to sleep he does so with his lightsaber in his hand and his broad back to them, so he'll be ready to fight if someone enters their quarters without permission. He never turns his back towards the door.

It's a small thing to rest her hand on the spot between his shoulder blades or on his arm, while she nurses one of the twins. His relief isn't instant, but gradually.

In the bad nights she kneels beside him and strokes his sweaty forehead until he calms down. He is so vulnerable in this moment. Right now their roles are reversed, here Padmé is the protector.
Sometimes he wakes up when she finally pulls her hand away and looks at her intently, before she rushes back to her side of the bed, her heart pounding in her ears.

They never speak about it in the mornings. There is nothing to speak about.

Chapter Text

1st drabble, 2nd (double) drabble


They shared beds before. Countless nights huddled together for warmth, seeking shelter against the elements of nature. She knows his sleep patterns, he knows hers.
Their bodies are accustomed to the other’s. It’s comfortable. It’s warm and safe.  

Until the twins are taken out of the equation. Ever since the children wanted their own room, their own bed, it’s like this.

Awkward at best. They tried sleeping apart at first. Him on the small sofa in the living room, and Padmé on the bed. They could hear each other tossing and turning, both of them aware that neither of them could sleep.

The third night Padmé suggests that they’ll share the bed. He’s not replying, but also not refusing. She knows it bothers him that he started to rely on her so heavily. As he follows her into the bedroom and gets ready for the night she feels oddly nervous.  

That night they lay on opposite sides of the bed and put as much space between them as they can without falling out of the bed. He’s so still, so stiff and it makes all of her muscles hurt just laying next to him.

This is silly, she thinks. Padmé let’s out a frustrated huff and rolls her eyes at herself. She can’t sleep like that either. Finally she turns on the light, grabs the pillow and throws it at his head. He gives a yelp and looks at her befuddled.

“What in all Sith hells–”

“Sleep, Kenobi. Before I throw you out of the bed. You can over think everything tomorrow.”

He blinks. She stares. When he lowers his eyes, she knows he’s giving in.

“As you wish, M'lady.”

She holds her tongues before she says something that she will regret come morning.
They wish each other a good night - again. And finally, they sleep.

When she wakes up the following morning she is plastered to his chest, his head rests atop of her head and his beard tickles her forehead. Their legs are entwined. She’s holding onto his shirt for goddesses sake.

Then she realizes that it isn’t his lightsaber poking into her hip. Oh, she thinks and looks up. And of course, it’s just her luck that he picks this exact moment to wake up. She knows her face is red and her pupils blown and her core is throbbing and this is all kinds of awkward.

They lock gazes and his eyes widen when he realizes. She can exactly tell when, because his grip gets all tense, before he pulls away. Obi-Wan is out of bed quicker than she thought humanly possible. Even quicker than his blush to appear on his cheeks, which says something about his reflexes. He mumbles an excuse and is gone.  

Padmé doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry.

Well, at least, now he has something to think about.  

Chapter Text

The rain has turned to drizzle at last and Ben turns off the windshield wipers. He peers out into the semi-darkness. Yes, they are still there, sitting at the window of the little café.

The woman is lovely. She looks to be in her early forties, dark hair that curls due to the humidity. Her gaze is bright, her cheeks heated from the warm air inside of the café or maybe from flirting with the man beside her.

He looks to be in his late thirties. Blonde, wavy hair. Boyish looks, he is quite the charmer, with his loop sided grin. He’s got a scar running down on the left side of his forehead down to his cheek. Makes him look less polished, a bit rugged. They make quite the stunning couple.

Ben's stomach drops. He feels helpless. He wants to go home and forget he ever saw them, but he can’t. He wants to quit watching them flirt and exchange glances. But he can’t.

It takes some time for him to find his cell phone and call her.

Her face gets all nervous and drawn when she realizes that her phone is ringing. He doesn’t want to watch, but he can’t stop either.

“Hello!” she greets cheerfully and the man opposite her hides his face as if she just made the funniest joke.

“Padmé.” he says instead of a greeting and catches the desperation in his voice. He looks away to gets himself together.

“You haven’t forgotten to pick Quinn up from soccer, right?” she asks and he has to press his hand to his mouth to stifle a sob or a laugh, or a mixture of both.

“No, no I didn’t. I picked up Quinn, got her to soccer practice and then drove Delia over to her friends house.”

“You’re already with Cody?” she asks suddenly.

“I am on my way. Just stopped to call you-- To hear if you’re alright?” This is her chance to tell him the truth. He stares intently across the street.

“Yes I am. Sabé and I are already drinking a nice big cup of coffee.”

Ben nods and just looks at her through the window. Padmé is looking at the young man, whose hand lays suspiciously close to hers on top of the table.

“Don’t wait up for me.” he says finally. “Cody and I are going out for drinks.”

“Ok, but promise me to not mix your drinks again.” she chides and he sees the small smile even from here. It hurts him, just as much as her lies. “You know how bad you felt the last time.”

"Yes, I know." he nods as if she can see him.

Ever since the death of his father eighteen years ago he tells her that he loves her at the end of every phone call. "I..." he starts and swallows. "I miss you."

Before she can reply, he ends the call. Back in the café he can see her peering at the display with furrowed brows.

Ben writes Cody a message which says need to get drunk, asap. meet you in the cantina before hitting send. He throws the cell somewhere in the dark and starts the ignition. Ten minutes later he sits at the bar and starts downing shots. There is no pretense of enjoyment.

When Cody arrives he slides in besides him and orders a beer. Ben is already past tipsy and beyond miserable. After another five minutes of silence Ben lifts his head and says devastated: "Padmé is cheating on me."  

Chapter Text

"I can totally be the bad guy!"

Padmé laughs at him and his costume choice. The lilac suit isn't that bad.

"You can't pull off the Joker." she continues her giggling. He is deeply offended.

"So, what do you suggest?"

Now she's giddy and actually jumps up and down. His girlfriend, Padmé, who majors in politics doesn't do stuff like that. Halloween definitely brings out the worst in people.

"How about we go as Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Or a peanut butter jelly sandwich. Or an Oreo Cookie! Or we could be Ken and Barbie. Or--"

"Oh god, you really want to be one of those couples, do you?"   

She just grins instead of answering and looks at him knowingly.

"You're just grumpy that you won't be the Joker to Anakin's Batman." Well, yeah, it would've been perfect. "It's not a bad thing that you can't pull off the villain, Obi-Wan." she says and puts her arms around him. "You're clearly the hero of this story. And this is a romance."

Her smile is bright and cheery, before she kisses him deeply.

He doesn't complain. 

Chapter Text

This one has gotten way out of hand. I am sorry, not sorry! But hey, it’s #30 so kinda a milestone, right? Right?

continuation from [this]


"Who is he?" He yells. Her husband never yells. He rarely even raises his voice. To see him like that... It's oddly satisfying. Padmé watches his pacing through their shared bedroom.

"I don't know what you're talking about." There is a trickle of excitement in her.

"I saw you." Ben continues loud, fueled by anger. "I followed you and I want to know who. He. Is." She tries to stay calm. She can do that. She can lie to him again, just like the last few days. Just a bit longer...

"Who do you think he is?" she tries for nonchalance but ends up being flimsy. She hangs her blazer on a hanger and takes it over to her closet.

He swallows and shakes his head, comes after her.

"Your lover. I think he is your lover." he grits the words out. And Padmé takes a step back. It's not the words itself that make her recoil, it's his eyes. He is devastated, hurt, confused, angry.

He looks like he's about to loose everything and she finally really gets it.

"Do you... Do you love him, Padmé?"

This is the moment she realizes that she shouldn't play with him, no matter how much she enjoyed his previous bouts of jealousy. Lying is not an option any longer. Not when he thinks their marriage is about to unravel.

"No!" she rushes over to him. He stands in front of the mantlepiece, where pictures of their past are lined up. An engagement picture back when they still lived in London. A wedding picture where they gaze lovingly at each other. Pictures of their children through all ages. A picture for the fifth anniversary, and another one for the tenth. Their fifteenth anniversary is coming up in a few days. It should have been a surprise, dammit.  

"So it's just... What? Sex?" He paces again, raking his hands through his reddish hair that is greying at the temples. When he looks at her he is completely disheveled.

"He is a photographer."

"A photo--" he is completely baffled. "I am missing something here, am I?"  

She gives him a timid smile.

"His name is Anakin Skywalker and he is a professional photographer for erotic pictures."

"Erotic-- What?" He stares. "And what exactly are you doing with him if you're not having--" She arches an eyebrow to tell him subtly that he's being obtuse.

"He took pictures. Of-- Of me."  

"You." he echos dumbly. "Erotic pictures of you."

She blushes. "Yes."

"But you're not... Naked?"

"Not in... All of them?" she offers lamely.

His eyes are wide as saucers. Maybe that wasn't the best idea. He looks as if he's going to have a heart attack.


Padmé sighs deeply, before she goes over to the closet and grabs the hidden folder out of one of her shoe boxes. Now she is nervous, her stomach is doing flip-flops and she wants to hide. The folder holds all twenty pictures that Anakin took of her. She already chose three pictures which were supposed to get framed. On the eve of their anniversary she would've given them to him, after their usual romantic dinner without the kids.

This is not as planned and therefore not in Padmé's comfort zone.

Padmé can't really read his expression. His face is somewhat blank. At some point he frowns when he reaches one of Anakin's favorites. He praised her a whole lot, told her she was a natural.

Ben sighs deeply after half of the pictures and puts them carefully back. Is that all? she asks herself and wants to tell him that there is more, but he puts the folder away and looks at her as if he still doesn't understand.

He was supposed to be overcome by her utter sexiness and throw her on the bed and have his wicked way with her. Now she is confused.

"You payed him for this?"

"Of course. He is one of the best." At least that's what Sola told her.

"I saw you, Padmé. You were flirting with him."

She blushes. "Maybe I was flirting, but I am not cheating." And than she adds more softly: "I love you."

They sit silently next to each other.

"I love you, too." he says. "I just don't get it."  

"Those pictures were my present for you. For our anniversary. I thought... Maybe, if you would see that I am still desirable--"

"You are desirable."

She arches an eyebrow.

"Well, I don't feel that way. And you don't look at me as if you think I am sexy. You are not affected in the least by those pictures. Anakin thought they were hot. He assured me they're hot. I guess that's why I flirted with him. His attention felt good. And the last few days, when you were jealous... That felt good too." She bites her lips at her own admission. "I am so sorry. It wasn't my intention to hurt you."

When he doesn't respond she stands up, takes the folder and stuffs it into the wastebasket. On her way to the bathroom she says:  

"I thought I could shake things up with something new but it seems like I was mistaken."

That finally spurs him into action.

"Padmé, wait."

"No, it's ok. You don't have to say anything. I get it. We got older. I am forty-two now and my breasts are sagging and my ass and thighs have cellulite. My stomach has stretch marks... I get it. I am not a Victoria Secret Model."

He gets a "Padmé" in before she rants on: "To top it all off you have a stressful job as a brooker, I have a stressful job at the office. Than there are the kids and the house and the dogs. Soccer games on the weekends, grocery shopping, running errands. You have your hobbies, I have mine. Not to mention our friends. Yeah, I get it. That's not exactly the stuff for epic romance."

"Padmé." It's the way he says her name that makes her stop her rambling. She is so nervous that she can't look at him.

He comes over to her where she's standing and holds on to her upper arms.

"You are attractive and desirable to me. I should tell you more often. Show you more often. I am truly sorry that I've been neglecting you like that."

She doesn't try to respond, she can see that he's not done talking.

Finally he says somewhat weakly: "The last year I finally really felt my age. And with our fifteenth anniversary coming up there was this little nagging voice in my head asking why you're still with me. But it seemed so silly to bring this up. I am turning fifty-three and I should be way over those insecurities. But obviously, I am not."

Padmé didn't know. Her husband wasn't the type who spoke of self-doubt and insecurities. Yeah, he started working out again, meet up with Cody two times a week to go running, what unexplainably added to her insecurities. Gosh, what a mess.    

"Seeing you with this guy, was like all of my worst nightmares finally came true. He is what? In his late thirties? He looks the part of the young and handsome lover. Cody could barely hold me back to follow him and give him a piece of my mind." He hangs his head, clearly not proud of himself.

"Really?" She sounds hopeful. There were times when she thought jealousy petty. Look at her now.

"Really. I was so jealous I could hardly think." He gives another deep sigh and a shake of his head.

This time they look at each other longer and it's intimate and warm. Padmé shivers under his gaze. When Ben speaks again his voice is huskier than before.          

"I am not affected by those pictures because that's not the woman that I see. They are nice and yeah, hot, too. But... I like..." he takes a deep breath and finally says: "I like you in the mornings before you put on your make-up, with your hair mussed and without a bra on, knowing that I could slide my hand under your shirt. I like it when you're wearing those shorts and I can see your wriggly bits. Your arse and tits are perfect, they truly are."

His ears are crimson now and even though his words are not Shakespeare they make her feel giddy and wanted. They stand so near that they can almost touch and Padmé feels an electricity between them that hasn't been there in quite some time.

She bites her lips, his gaze follows.

"Maybe..." his voice drops and she can feel herself getting wetter by the second. "Maybe if you still want to try something new... I could take some pictures of you. Show you what I see."

She grins wickedly.

"Only if I get to return the favor." He looks uncertain but finally nods.

"You have yourself a deal, Mrs. Kenobi. Now get your sexy ass to bed."

He even slaps her behind when she complies, which makes her yelp and giggle.

They stay awake way longer than they usually would on a weekday and show each other exactly how much they still love each other.

Afterwards they decide to frame the pictures they took themselves which aren't nearly as artsy or conventionally sexy and Padmé could never ever show them to anybody but every time she looks at them she grins, blushes and feels loved and wanted.

She decides a 'Thank you!' note for Anakin is in order.      

Chapter Text

She’d always had a knack for monsters. So this time around he would be a monster.


The first time she remembered, she was five years old. She dreamed of the man with the kind eyes and the soft hands. In Jane’s young mind it was clear that it was a foreboding dream: this would be her future love.

When she met Frost she thought he was the nearest she would get to the image in her mind. After Frost she gave up looking. In this time there was no place for wishing and hoping. So she settled for the next best thing and stayed with Hammond.


He dreamed of her. Almost every night he saw her. Beautiful and sad.

She had been strong, but also so very very weak. She had loved a monster. Just like his mother had. So what did that say about womenfolks?

When he met Jane he knew that she was the one. Somehow, she looked like a gaunt and grittier version of the woman in his dreams. How was that possible? He had no idea.

He decided than and there: She would be his.  


There was a part in him that wanted to be good. That longed to be her hero.

He’d never wanted that before. That notion was at odds with his very nature. But there was something at the core of his being, a kind of contradiction: a strange code that he stuck to even when he wrecked mayhem.

“For you I want to be a better man.” he ground out while he pounded into her tight heat, claiming her in the only way that he knew possible for a man like him.

He’d never before wanted to possess a woman like he wanted to possess Jane. 

There had always been something off-putting about the thought of attaching himself to people. But Jane-

He held her down while she glared at him with her fiery eyes. She was crying, half of pain and half of pleasure. The constant chanting that she hated him finally stopped and only her contracting muscles around his cock told him that she just came without making a single sound. His world exploded and he shot his seed deep into her womb. Her cinching milked him dry. He groaned her name.

She was his. She belonged to him. He told her so.


He kept her. But she wasn’t a prisoner. No, she choose to stay, because of her daughter. He treated Mary good, but he told her what he would do if she wouldn’t cooperate. Oh no, he wouldn’t hurt her. But there were other ways to hurt a girl. More subtle ways to fuck her up.

So she stayed. Because of her child.

Not like the last time, when she left her babes in a universe that was both wider and not nearly as dark as this one, but just as bad.

It was strange that she started dreaming of the gentle-eyed man again. It was as if Bishop’s vile presence triggered something in her. After he came to her in the night and made her treacherous body want him she dreamed of fire and soot. And saw how the soft spoken man turned into a killer who murdered her husband. The husband that tried to kill her. Who ultimately killed her.  

She woke up sobbing uncontrollably. Bishop was confused, didn’t really know what to do with her. Finally he cradled her to his naked chest and held her close.

“What did you dream about, Jane?” he asked when she was calm again. When she looked up, her mind made her believe that his hair was red and his eyes were as gentle as his hands.

He was the devil in diguise.

“You. I dreamed about you.”

“And that has you sobbing like that?”

“I just realized that you’ll be a killer in every lifetime.”

At that he suddenly let go of her and she fell to the bed. He turned and went to the door. He stopped there and said: “For you I would try to be a better man, Jane.”

Finally she was alone. She hated him, but there was a part in her that couldn’t stop wondering about him, too.  


When Hammond came to get them, he did so with the help of some old friends. It was a massacre. She looked around for Bishop, hoping he would be alright so she could kill him. 

She grabed her daughters hand and they ran down the stairs.

She realized that this was the moment that everything came full circle again. Hammond and Bishop faced each other with drawn guns. Bishop mocked her husband with tales of him fucking his wife. Hammond was silent. The shot rang before they were down the stairs. It wasn’t Hammond who shot him, but Frost.

Bishop was almost already dead when she fell down to her knees next to him.

“Why did you shoot him?” she screamed at her husband.

“So he said the truth? You were his lover?” She shook her head and pressed her hands to his wound. The blood trickled through her fingers. She couldn’t let him go. Not like this. It wasn’t Frost or Hammonds place to kill Bishop. It should’ve been her. This was her revenge, her anger, her place.Bishop was hers.

“So this is how it feels, being mourned.” Bishop choked out and offering a trademark smirk. It looked strange on his ghost white face. “I’m most certainly more powerful than you now, Hammond.”

Hammond looked up and ground out a terse “I hate you!” and Jane was just shaking her head over and over again, finally realizing her mistake. Here in this moment she saw the soft eyes and felt a gentle hand around hers.

“Next time–” he said, his eyes intently on her, his voice full of raw emotion. Then she saw the light fading from his eyes.

“Next time we’ll get it right.” she whisperd, but wasn't Jane who did it. It was that other woman. The one that didn’t wanted to kill him, that wanted to be near him, that knew who he was without asking why or how.

Jane sat there, staring down at his lifeless body and said: “Deep down there was good in him.” she turned to Hammond, but her words held no value. “He let me and the girl go. We would’ve come home tonight.”

But everything was already broken. Again.

Hammond left her and her girl shortly after that. Never to be seen again.

And Jane?

Well, after that there were no dreams for Jane anymore. But she knew that somewhere he was waiting.


This was always the worst part: to continue living after everything had fallen apart. Waiting for another chance.

She collected the ransom for the Bishop boys, set on building a life for Mary and the child that was growing inside of her.

Hoping. Wishing.

Next time would be better… Next time we’ll get it right.  

Chapter Text

Padmé Naberrie was allowed to have a baby. She wouldn’t be stigmatized or frowned upon. The queen though– She couldn’t be a mother. No, the Amidala had to be more than a woman, a demi-goddess under mere mortals.

She talked to her parents and they understood. They would raise the child, so she could continue her political career. She was of course thankful. And even though they promised to help her she wouldn’t forget her father’s disappointed look and her mother’s questioning gaze as if she was waiting for a tearful tale how she had been seduced and used.

But the tale went nothing like that.  

She wasn’t some damsel that had been in need of saving. And even though they were called Jedi Knights, Obi-Wan actually had been still a learner.

It had been a crush and than it had been more: She’d given him solace, a way out of the turmoil of his emotions, a warm body to hold onto in the bleakness of the night he needed it most. Padmé caressed, kissed and held him. Gave him everything she could. And the whole time she thought it had been the same for him… Foolish girl, loosing her heart like that. Giving it away like that.

But Obi-Wan gave her something, too. So how could she give that away? How could she write it off as a mistake?

No, she thought and peered into the scrunched up face of her newborn baby girl. Their daughter was perfect.

This was a wrong that didn’t need any righting.  

Chapter Text

“I just came to thank you, Master Kenobi.” She seemed to think better of it. “Obi-Wan.” Her tone was conversational.

“For what?”

“Jumping out of that window, after that drone. That was quite–” Padme caught herself revealing too much of her feelings and said: “Reckless. Quite reckless. But I wanted to thank you anyway.”

He inclined his head.

“That is my job. And it wasn’t reckless at all. I am quite secure as to estimate the limits of my abilities.”

She raised one eyebrow. “If you say so.”

It sounded quite snide. He came over to her. It didn’t sit right with her having him this near, but she glossed it over with a smile. This was her forte, after all.

“So you’re still harboring some ill feelings because of,” There was the shortest hesitation. “,what happened ten years ago.”

Of course he knew. Jedi tricks, she thought. Her smile became even more superficial.

“Not at all. But I don’t forget things.” she admitted. “And yes, I do remember the invasion very clearly. How the Jedi didn’t help us.”

His smile held no humor. Neither did his.

“And yes, I do remember that other incident, too.”

His features seemed very stark all of a sudden. He shifted away from her, strolled to the window. She felt some satisfaction over his discomfort.

“I see you do remember it, too.”

“Yes, I do.” His back was to turned to her. “I remember you coming to my chamber.”

“I choose you.” she simply stated. There was no need to deny it.   

“I wasn’t up to be chosen.”

“Oh, you made that very clear back then. Quite rudely so.”

“I was just stunned that you pursued me in the way that you did.”

“I just decided on what I wanted and went for it. That’s not unusual.”

“For a fifteen year old? Very.”

“For a fifteen year old nubian woman? Not at all. But that doesn’t matter now anyway, does it? I offered you myself and you declined. In a very hurtful way, if I may add. But we can’t change the past now. And I didn’t want it changed anyway. It set my head straight about some things.”

His gaze seemed to search for something. The silence was heavy with other unsaid things. How appalled he’d been, how he laughed at her to hide his discomfort and the spark she’d seen in his eyes. Stupid man-child.

Foolish Padmé.

“You were a child, Padmé. I couldn’t have coveted you, even if I wanted to.”

But did you want to? her heart screamed. Did you?

His eyes burned. He held onto himself, his beliefs. He would never answer that question. It was no use asking.  

“In your world.” she said with scorn. “Only in your world.”

“Yes, the world I was raised in.”

“It seems like neither you nor I can’t overcome our upbringing.”

“So it seems.”  

“Maybe it was for the better. At least I understood that you weren’t the person I thought you were. I understood that we are very different in our views and personalities. The way you rejected me– you hurt my pride. You disregarded my maturity and my judgment with your patriarchic coruscanti prejudices.”

Than she shook her head and laughed.

“Regarding me as a child just because it suited your fancy, but bowing to my wishes as a queen… I never would have thought you a hypocrite, Obi-Wan.”

There was something in him. A barely contained thing, bordering on anger. She couldn’t say if it was for her or for himself. Or both?

“Well, it seems like you didn’t came here to thank me at all, m'lady, but to hurt my pride instead.”

She lowered her lashes demurely. It was just an act. She couldn’t say why she did that, he would see right through it.

“It wasn’t my intent. I came here to talk to an old friend.” He laughed bitterly, it was not a pleasant sound. Clearly not believing anything she just said.“Well then,” he said folding his arms over his broad chest.

“We did talk. Just like old times.”

What else was there to say? She hurt unexpectedly, knowing there was nothing that she could say to heal this rift.

“Good night, Master Kenobi.” She took a hold of her skirts and went for the door. But something held her back. When she asked him about the time of their departure the next morning it was only to stray. There was a feeling in her chest that made her restless.

“Before the noon.” He looked over the Coruscant skyline, his profile coming into sharp contrast. His face was unreadable. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t say any more, but than he added: “But I just decided, given the nature of our past, that it would be wiser for Anakin to accompany you to Naboo.”

Rejection. Again. It hurt. Why did he do that? How could he, after what she just told him. But then a voice inside her, both quiet and honest whispered that she hurt him too. Just as much.

“Well, then. You are the Jedi. This is your field of expertise.” This time she couldn’t hide the cracking of her voice.

“Yes it is.” A nod of his head and a bow. “Good night, Senator.”

“Pleasant dreams.” she murmured over her shoulder.

“Jedi don’t dream.” That halted her again. All of a sudden she really saw him. Obi-Wan, the Master that the Padawan she once knew had become. Serious, strict, always following his principles, the code, the rules of his order. So many expectations, so many promises, so many hopes that rested on his shoulders. There was nothing left of that young man he had been. She felt sorry for him.

“Yes, so I have been told.” She left him to his thoughts, his pride and his prejudices.  

Chapter Text

“For however long you want me.”

Padmé could taste the words on her lips. She swallowed them whole, before they kissed and fell like something pulled down by gravity.

After that first time they never spoke about it again. No reason verbalizing what had no substance, no place in both of their lives. Neither in her heart, nor in his. That’s what she told herself anyway.  

It wasn’t as if they were a couple. They didn’t help each other grow. They weren’t supporting each other. They were barely friends.
An old friend, that’s what she called him.  

When she married Anakin, they stopped. If he guessed why, he never said anything. Of course not. Goddess forbid that Obi-Wan Kenobi would talk about something he wanted, something he felt. Maybe if he had said something back than, things would’ve turned out differently. Maybe–

But it was no use thinking about things they never said, while she was dying on that operation table, hearing the twins wailing in the distance.

She wasted her last breath talking about something Obi-Wan wouldn’t believe anyway. She was fading, but there was something he needed to know.

“I still want…” a tear slid down the side of her face. He tried to smile, but the sadness shone through. His response was choked out, thick with emotion.

“For–” There was some moisture on his lashes. “For however long you want me.”

Chapter Text

Sarah is Satine, Arnold is Anakin, Patricia is Padmé, Benjamin is Obi-Wan

Even after she reads the letter, she cannot believe it. Ben doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say or do so she’ll accept the truth.

“They wouldn’t.” her voice is strangled, like someone is actually choking her.

“Sarah’s passport is gone as are her families heirlooms and some clothes. And of course the money that we had at home.” He is strangely detached, almost numb. He guesses the impact of this going to come later, when he has time for it. If, he has time for it.

Right now it’s Patricia he’s worried about. 

Her brown eyes are huge. She shakes her head. For a moment she seems to forget all about the letter and crumbles it in her hand, before she looks at it, confusion written all over her delicate features.

Somewhere on the second floor Leia and Luke are chasing each other around. They can hear the thump thump thump from above, whenever they are running through the hallway.

“What are we going to do?” Her polish lilt is back. That only happens when she is really upset. “I can’t pay the mortgage of the house on my own. I don’t even have a job! How am I… how am I supposed to… The kids. What is with the kids? What were they thinking? Benjamin, I don’t know how–”

She unravels. She cries now and he is there to catch her. Her sobbing is quiet and it hurts him deeply. He strokes her carefully maintained hair.

“I will help you. We could… We could help each other. Sarah left Korkie with me. I’m not sure how I’ll supposed to look after him, since I am gone most of the day.”

They stare at each other. Patricia nods stiffly. It’s better than nothing, Ben supposes.

“Benjamin.” Her voice is so faint and fearful that he can feel something twisting in his gut. How could his brother do something like that to his family? To his wife?
“What will the people say?”

He thought about that, too. Of course he has. But the prospect is not as bleak for him as for her. She’s an outsider anyway: the jewish-polish little housewife that Arnold brought with him during war. Ben shakes his head. He doesn’t know what to answer.

“We could say Sarah went up to Canada to visit her family. As for Arnold… Maybe a business trip?”

“To Britain.” she finally says and let go of Ben. “He went back to Britain.”

She squares her shoulders and pulls a drawer open, fumbles with a pack of Luckies. Her hands are shaking so severe that the cigarette won’t come out. He goes to her, takes the pack. Takes a cigarette and lights it, before passing it to her. Careful not to touch her skin.

They sit next to the mantlepiece, where happy family pictures are lined up. Patricia smokes quietly, staring off into the distance. Maybe thinking about this morning, when she said goodbye to Arnold.

It’s only a short moment of quietness before the children stomp down the stairs screaming for Uncle Ben.

He stays another hour, before he leaves because Korkie is going to come home in a bit. The letter is safely stuffed in the right pocket of his suit jacket. He doesn’t need to read it again, he knows it by heart already. He recites it to himself on his way home. When he gets out of the car he waves at his neighbor, Cody, while the other man is mowing his front lawn.

When he closes the door behind him, it’s so quiet that he imagines Sarah moving around down the hall. Of course, she is not. She left him and Korkie to be with his brother.

Ben pours himself a glass of bourbon and sits down. He can still feel the outline of the letter in his pocket. His anger burns his insides, just like the alcohol does.  

He can’t stop asking himself how Arnold could do this to Patricia. He drifts off to sleep with the image of her sad, drawn face in his mind.

Chapter Text

“Are you serious?” Obi-Wan asked uncharacteristically loud. Padmé had to wonder about him. He was really worked up over that whole bed thing.

The girl behind the counter looked at him with a sour expression. “We’re not the Waldorf. Either take the room or don’t.”

Obi-Wan opened the mouth and Padmé just knew that he would decline.

Oh, no, you won’t! she thought and pushed him out of the way.

“We’re taking it.”

Padmé smashed her Master Card onto the reception and dared him to say one word. She sure as hell wouldn’t sleep in the car, no matter what he said. They had spent the better half of the last two days cramped in that damned car of his.

That was all she could take. She needed a shower, hell, he needed a shower and then she needed to sleep, before she found herself strangling him to death with the strap of her purse or worse, kissing him.

Yes, Obi-Wan was a good cop. He had morals, values and he was by the book. And by that she meant he was so laced up that even Judge Windu sometimes made fun of him.

Padmé grabbed the key card and told Obi-Wan over her shoulder that he could stay in the car for all she cared, but that she wanted to sleep in a bed. He followed reluctantly. At least he wasn’t grumbling.

The room was as bad as she thought it would be. Padmé wouldn’t think about how many couples had already done the dirty deed in this bed. She threw her purse and her suitcase into the armchair and plopped down onto the matress.

He stood at the door and looked at the bed with something akin to disgust. Sure, Padmé liked things clean and orderly but he was…

He’d only allowed her to eat in his car because they spent so much time in there the last days and she had to promise to never, ever tell Anakin. And no, she wasn’t allowed to have mustard on her hot dog. Or mayonaisse. But she did drew the line at relish. What good was a hot dog without any relish anyway?

“Do you want to order takeout?”

“You want to eat in here?” he asked and looked around as if he might vomit.

She nodded vigorously.

“Yes! I need to eat. I don’t know how you can function on green tea and a bagel with some low-fat cream cheese alone.” She shuddered and flipped through her cell phone, searching for the next chinese restaurant. “Oh, and of course meditation.”

She placed an order online, while he took a seat and went through their joined papers on the case. He was bent forward, brows furrowed deep in thought. The last few days she’ realized that his red hair was all mussed up at the end of the day, because he couldn’t stop running his hand through it. She loved it that way.

Padmé sighed deeply watching him. He didn’t notice. He never did. It was as if he really didn’t see her. Padmé was stuck deep somewhere in friendzone-limbo and she hated every minute of it. She’d thought she’d been over her crush on him. Anakin had laughed at her as if this was the best joke she ever told him.

When she came back from New York and got the job as the district attorney she had the feeling that she finally was where she wanted to be. Maybe her love life was lacking a bit, but that could be changed. She would have tons of offers, Dormé reassured her.

But then she was back at the precinct, catching up with Anakin who had shamelessly flirted with her and told her all of the gossip on all of the people she knew back when she was only a legal secretary and then… Well, Obi-Wan had strutted right back into her heart without even noticing.

He shoved a perp right by them, telling him his rights.

“Oh, come one, Kenobi,” the man said smiling and revealed teeth that were filed into fangs. “,you know that I know the drill.”

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan said nonchalantly. “,feels like Groundhog Day for me, too, Maul.” He didn’t even so much as batted an eye, when he looked at her. “Hey, Pad. Good having you back.”

She wanted to say something, but he was already gone. Her heart was hammering, her palms sweaty and her brain was still trying out that word concept. Anakin looked at her, shaking his head. “Well, seems like some things never change, huh?”    

That was six month ago. But some things had changed. She could hold her own now. She was the goddamned DA and she knew her worth. And just because she got a bit weak in the knees now and then didn’t mean that she wasn’t a strong woman. She was good at her job. She had her family. She dated, sometimes even men her mother set her up with. But only sometimes.

Life had been good. Until this case. The case from hell. Padmé was more than glad when all of this was over. Not that she didn’t like Obi-Wan’s company but… It was all a bit too much.

A car could get really stuffy real fast. And more than once Padmé felt herself drawn in by his soft voice and his stupid cologne.
Tomorrow they would meet their fink in the middle of nowhere and then she had everything she needed to get Dooku into jail. And that would be that.

When Padmé came out of the shower the food had already arrived. It smelled heavenly.

“I thought you would never get out of there.”

“That’s the first shower in three days, Kenobi.” She sat down and started eating. “And if you want to sleep in that bed, I would advise you to take a shower, too.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see the necessity showering if you have to sleep in that bed, but ok. You noticed those stains? The guys from the CSI would’ve a field day in here.”

“I forgot my lab kit this morning.” she grumbled and ate the rest of her Chop Suey. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“That’s the reason so many people have STDs, Padmé.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Take that shower. If you feel better I can throw you a bed sheet in there and you can sleep in the tub.” He shook his head, but he was smiling.

The door fell closed and Padmé was not thinking about naked Obi-Wan. Nope, not at all. She was stronger than this. She was… Well, she was trying, ok? Sighing she grabbed her cell and texted Anakin.

“Why are you grinning like that?” She didn’t know if she should be relieved or disappointed that he wasn’t only wearing a towel slung around his hips. Why was stuff like this only happening in movies? Weren’t they like… inspired by real life?

“Ani just said something funny.” she typed a quick bye. “He says hi, by the way.”

“Ani, huh?” he repeated and shot her a funny look. “Wasn’t that your nickname for him when he came straight out of the academy?”

“Those were the days.” she sighed. He padded over to the other side of the bed and eyed it wearily, before sliding under the covers.

“You were still a legal secretary.” he murmured. “Palpatine was really hard on you back then.”

“Well yes, but even though it was hard, it helped prepare me for New York. No one was nice back there.”

The distance between them seemed to shrink. He was really near and really sexy. Wet hair and sleepy eyes were a good look on him. She gnawed on her lip nervously. Old habits die hard and all that.

“I always knew you would make it.” His voice was soft. It felt like a caress and she shivered under the thin blanket. “You cold?”

She shook her head, thinking about turning off the light. It would have the advantage that he couldn’t see her and her possible blushing, but on the other side she wouldn’t be able to see him either.

Padmé really didn’t notice that they were staring at each other, that Obi-Wan hadn’t in fact said anything since a few minutes. He looked at her like… Like her niece looked at a big yummy piece of chocolate fudge cake. His pupils were dilated and his breathing was a bit too fast. Wow, ok. So what exactly did that mean? Did he just stare at her lips? Omy. She wasn’t prepared for that. Would he–?

He leaned over her and was all up in her personal space for a moment– to turn the light on the nightstand off.  

“We should sleep.” he ground out and fell back on the bed, shutting his eyes instantly. It was almost comical. Just that it really wasn’t.

Padmé just stared in the darkness and listened to her thundering heartbeat. For a moment she really thought he would…

Imagination. It had been all her imagination. Because he would never. He just wasn’t into her.

Chapter Text

The children are having a hard time.

They miss their daddy. They ask for him all the time. Patricia doesn’t have any answers. So she lies. What else is there to do? There is still a chance they are coming back, at least that is what Benjamin said a few days ago, while quietly smoking in her kitchen. Well, she can accept his decision to lie to himself. But she won’t. She lies to everyone else, but not herself.

She lies to the neighbors when they ask where Arnold is. She lies to the kindergarten teachers. To the doctor. To the woman at the grocery store. She smiles her frayed smile and tells her stupid story.

They believe her. All of them.

When she’s coming home after she brought the twins to the kindergarten she does her cleaning. She scrubs the floors on her hands and knees. She loads the washing machine, hangs the wet clothing on the line out in the garden and irons afterwards. She does it like she is still at the laundry where she worked when she first came to America, because no one is interested in her degrees here.

For them she is only a jewish-polish woman who got lucky being rescued by one of their soldiers. That it was actually her rescuing him, doesn’t matter anymore. She thinks even Arnold forgot about that.

When there is a suit jacket from Benjamin on her ironing board she looks at it long and hard. He is shorter than Arnold, but broader in the shoulders. This shade of blue wouldn’t look good on him, but it suits his brother and his fair complexion. Patricia inspects the garment very thorough and irons it very carefully.    

She puts it on a hanger at the wardrobe, so he won’t forget it when he’s coming to pick up Korkie.

She liked the boy before, but now she really gets to know him. His eyes tell her that he knows what happened. He isn’t asking any questions, not like the twins are. Bejamin brings him to school in the mornings and afterwards he takes the bus and drives over to Patricia’s house. He stays here every day, does his homework on the kitchen table while Patricia cooks dinner for all of them.

He sometimes meets with some friends, but he has to be back before it gets dark. When she tells him this rule she sees the defiance in his eyes, the snotty reply of ’You are not my mother!’, but it never comes.  

In the following weeks a lot of his things migrate over to her house and that’s ok. But when Benjamin gets a phone call telling him that no day goes by that Korkie doesn’t forget either some of his books or homework or both, Patricia realizes just how divided the boys life has become.

She decides then and there that they have to do this right. When she explains it to Benjamin he agrees reluctantly, even though in a way this is his house. Yes, it’s Arnold name on the contract, but his brother is effectively the one paying everything ever since Arnold’s bank account has run dry. He gives her money for the groceries, for the kids new clothes, for the gas in her car.

In a way it’s like before, with Arnold. Just not everything, of course. She misses having someone near. A hug, a kiss on the cheek or her forehead, an arm slung around her waist or her shoulder. Sometimes Benjamin looks so lost, that she is pretty sure he misses human contact, just like she does. But it wouldn’t be proper, she tells herself, so she just clings to herself.

And they’re not doing this for themselves anyway. So they move Korkie’s stuff down to her house one saturday.

Benjamin falls asleep on the couch that night and she has to wake him so he will drive home. His car in the driveway just attracts to much unwanted attention. She feels bad for him having to go back to his house, alone. He shouldn’t be over there. He should be here with them.

He just rubs his face vigorously, the hairs of his moustache stick in different directions and she’s giggling quietly at the sight of him.

They smile at each other. Before she knows what she’s doing, she smoothes down the hairs, without actually touching his face. He doesn’t move, he allows it.

“You have to go now.” she says and pulls her hand back.

He nods and gets up. At the door he sees his suit jacket and halts, says: “Thank you, Patricia. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

It’s strange that he is the one saying that, when she is the one who feels that way.

“That goes both ways.”

He nods, takes the jacket and leaves. Drives out of the street without any lights on. She knows he’ll turn them on at the corner. Hopefully he’ll not forget about the lights. Then Patricia waits for the phone to ring. While she waits she recites the Prayer of Protection.

When Korkie pads to her into the living room she is surprised.

“You just missed Benjamin.” she says and puts her cigarette down on the ashtray.

“Ok.” he nods and sits down. He looks very young in his checkered PJs and that little frown. 

“Bad dream?”

He bites his lips. It takes him some time to form the words around some apparently very strong emotional turmoil.

“I knew it.” he finally says and Patricia decides that she doesn’t want to know. “About them.”

“Korkie–” she starts. He hurries to say what he has to say.

“I came home earlier one day and–” he shrugs as if this is no big deal. “She said she would never leave me.” There are stubborn, angry tears running down his cheeks. “She lied.”

Patricia doesn’t respond, it doesn’t seem to bother the boy. The silence is filled with the ringing of the phone. One, two, three, four, five times. Then it’s still. For a moment she thinks of Benjamin on the other side of the town by his phone, bleary-eyed and alone.  

“Are they coming back?”

She sighs and then exhales and says what she thinks is the truth.

“I don’t know.”

He accepts her answer.

“Do you need a hug?”

“Yes,” he says and it’s almost wistful. “but not from you.”

“Fair enough.” She isn’t offended. “Do you want a hot chocolate instead?”

“Yes, please.”

She makes him a cocoa and they sit together in comfortable silence. It doesn’t take long for the boy to fall asleep beside her on the couch.

Chapter Text

“You could call me Ben, you know.”

His voice is light, but she can hear that it means more to him than he wants her to know.

She stops scrubbing the casserole and looks at him. He stands in the dim kitchen, with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, while he dries one of the plates she just cleaned. At the end of the day, there is a reddish stubble on his jaw, that makes her wonder how it would feel against her hand. His moustache stands not as much out as in the mornings.  

It is around seven o'clock, the time of the day that makes Patricia wistful. But not depressingly so. Not anymore.

Not with Benjamin around. There is a part in her that wonders why he bothers to leave in the evenings. Since they moved Korkie’s stuff into the guestroom a few weeks ago Benjamin spends all of his waking day here. He leaves way too late and is there bright and early to bring Korkie to school.

Since that first night that Korkie stayed here she is trying to figure out a way to breach the subject. With Arnold, she would’ve tried to manipulate him into thinking he came up with the idea himself. Good for his ego. Good for her, too. She doesn’t think that it will work with his brother though.

It’s really not practical that they maintain two houses, when they only use one. And she is always worried sick when he drives away to the other side of town. She dreads every late rainfall and hopes the streets are cleared of fallen leaves, that it won’t freeze overnight.

She started clearing out Arnolds study, just in case. It calms some of her anger, when she throws all of his stuff in cardboard boxes, without any system or order, not caring what breaks and what doesn’t. The only thing she puts aside is the picture of his mother. Sharon was a fine woman. Patricia puts her picture on the mantlepiece. Benjamin doesn’t comment on it.  

“Yes, I could.” she says and looks in the murky water. “But I like your name.”

He makes a non-committal sound, while he opens the cupboard and puts the plates away. She doesn’t elaborate, not right now.

A bit later when he is reading the paper on the sofa she quietly sits down opposite him. She doesn’t say anything. Arnold never liked to be bothered in the evenings while tinkering on his bike. Patricia learned how to give a man the space he needs. No matter what she needs.

After a few minutes Benjamin looks at her over the edge of the paper. There is a frown on his face.

“The temperatures are going to drop.” she starts without preamble. “You should stay here tonight.”

He blinks and opens his mouth, she knows what his anwer will be. She shakes her head.

“It makes no sense for you to go back to that house… And you know that. It only makes me worry and it confuses the kids. And it’s money that we could use for other things.”

She is the ever practical one. But still… She is a woman. Did she cross the line to being too pushy? Too demanding? Woman shouldn’t talk about money, her mother always said. But Benjamin isn’t her husband. He helps her. She helps him. It’s a trade. So maybe that entitles her to talk about money? She doesn’t know. Navigating their relationship is difficult.

He seems stunned, folds the paper and puts it beside him on the sofa.

“I thought about this myself, but I didn’t wanted to presume that you… That I.. T-that we…”    

He lacks the skill to tell her exactly what he thinks and so she just nods.

“I cleared out Arnolds study. There would be room for you. We could even write down a contract if you think–”

He laughs. She hasn’t heard that sound in a long time. Her heart opens up a bit.

“I trust you enough to not throw me or Korkie out without notice.”

There is a light silence between them. But it doesn’t last. He turns solemn rather quickly. “And yes, it would be a huge relief, selling the house. Not having to pay the mortgage for this house and the running costs at the other place. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything… I just… It feels strange talking with you about this even though we’re both in this together. We could use the money for other things. Safe something up.”

The last statement lies between them and implies a future that they never aknowledg. Patricia wants to ask: For whom are we saving? For what? For when?
She stays quiet, because it seems too soon to talk about this.  

Patricia plans a life with a man that’s not her husband. While her husband is enjoying the present with Benjamins wife.  
She feels the anger in her gut and clenches her fists. Breathes.

Benjamins right hand touches the back of her hand carefullly, deliberate. This kind of comfort doesn’t happen often, but Patricia is so much more grateful when it does.

She smiles down on his white hand with the bluish veins, that lies still on her olive-toned skin.

When she looks up he’s awkwardly avoiding eye contact. Patrcia feels a tingling inside of her that she can’t explain.

“Do you know what Benjamin means? Do you know the biblical story?” Some part of her tells her to stop. To not tell him.

He shakes his head.

It’s just a story, she tells herself.

“Benjamin was the youngest child of Jacob. His mother Rahel died giving birth to him and named him Ben-oni, Son of Sorrow, with her dying breath.” She looks up to him and his eyes are right there. It’s something that is even rarer between them, than touching: That they really look at each other.
It’s as if they are afraid what they could find in the others features.

“Jacob changed the name to Benjamin. It means Son of the South or Son of my right hand. The… the noun yamin refers to the right side of things, which is the seat of ones power, too.”

Her thumb drags over his skin and his eyes follow the movement. She has no idea what he thinks. They share a look, as if she just shared a secret. As if this story somehow has a deeper meaning.

“But as a verb it also means to… to choose the right thing. And isn’t that beautiful?”

To her, it is. His name reminds her of that. Now he knows.

He looks at her aghast. He gives a ‘huh’ and then finally says “I never knew.”

Their hands are still touching. It feels good. It feels right. Her palm gets sweaty. Her conflicted emotions make her pull away slowly, so he won’t notice.

She puts on her frayed smile and gets up. She is tired.

“I put a sheet on the couch. There’s also a comforter and a pillow. Try not to stay up to long.”

She touches his shoulders when she passes him, just because she can. Because he’s here and she is, too.

In her head Patricia says the words of the prayer of protection, just like every other night when he left.

This his time she doesn’t need to worry, but even though she is yawning till her jaws crack and her eyes water it takes her way too long to fall asleep. She listens to the creaking floorboards when Benjamin moves around the house. For a moment she imagines him standing in front of her door, waiting just as she is waiting.

Of course he is not.

Protect us and inspire us to think and act only out of love. She repeats this line a few times. Stuck on the words - and her feelings.

Prayers can be found here

The meaning behind the name Benjamin taken from here


Chapter Text

When she woke up, she realized, feeling rather powerless, that she was still alive. She felt some discomfort and realized that her breasts felt full and were aching painfully. Her gown was uncomfortable wet at the front and she reeked of spoiled milk.

She stared at the white ceiling first and than as the door opened she looked over and noticed her arm. Or rather how flawless her skin looked where her bond mark had been just yesterday.

Anakin’s claim had vanished from her body. That meant-

Her inability of comprehending this information was somehow forgotten or at least shoved aside by the arrival of a man that hovered in the doorway. Obi-Wan’s haggard face showed clear signs of self-guilt and sadness.

“Where am I?” she asked, without greeting.


“I thought I was dead.” I hoped I was dead.

She didn’t need to say the words, he heard them loud and clear. He sighed and came over to her bed. His steps unusually loud.

“There was a complication.” he hurried to add: “but the twins are fine. Just fine.” Padmé felt a ping of guilt that she hadn’t thought about her babies first. When she searched for relieve or happiness over the good news she found that there was none.

Instead Padmé noticed how his gaze had wandered to where her arm lay on top of the comforter. “But… The complications disappeared out of unknown reasons. They brought you back and you were perfectly fine.” he paused. “Medical wise.”

He rubbed his own arm absentminded through his sleeve. He was wincing as if in pain. If Padmé didn’t knew any better she would think his bond mark was hurting him.

But Jedi didn’t have a soulmate that was common knowledge. Anakin had had one though and Padmé tried not to think too long and hard about what that implied.

“How long have you been awake?” he tried to sound calm, but well, he didn’t.

“Just a few minutes.”


Obi-Wan was still rubbing his arm. He looked somewhat lost.

“I don’t know if you noticed. But. Your bond mark has vanished.”

She looked at him and could feel something churning in her gut. It could be anger. But she couldn’t really tell because she felt so numb and detached.

“I noticed.” her voice was off. It sounded a bit like that learned timbre she had adapted back as a queen, to sound different from her civilian self.

Just hoarser. It made her nervous.

“Is that your way of telling me that you killed him?”

He averted his eyes and hung his head in shame.

“I am sorry.”

“Yes, me too. For trusting you, Obi-Wan.”

More silence until he finally said: “Could you… Could you please show me your arm? The doctor said…”

She frowned and slid her sleeve up. It was strange looking at her unmarred skin where usually Anakin’s name, in his excentric scrawl, had resided. Her eyes stung. When the tears started running down her face she was irritated and wiped angrily at her cheeks.

“Could you…” he halted, he sounded strange now, chocked. “Could you please show me your other arm?”

She looked up then, furious somehow and ripped the other sides sleeve up. First she glared at him through the tears but he was just staring at her arm. He was white as a sheet, his eyes wide and frightened, his mouth open. She looked down then and gasped loudly when she saw it herself.

There, in the middle of her lower arm was his name in neat, orderly scripture. The only oddity was the flourish at the O; it was big, almost bold.

Padmé felt as if she would throw up any minute now. Obi-Wan wasn’t looking any better. He jumped up so suddenly that his chair tipped over.

And then she realized what had happened: Anakin had died and left her. That woman, the senator and former queen had died, too. In her space was a husk of a woman, hollow and numb. And it seemed like the universe thought it fair to give her a new soulmate. One that fitted her current state.

And who would fit that woman better than her husband’s murderer?

And while Obi-Wan was fleeing Padmé threw her head back and laughed, hoarse and brittle, while the tears streamed down her face.

Chapter Text

He sleeps on the couch in Arnold's study. Nothing reminds him of his brother here.

When he steps into the living room there is Sharon's face waiting for him though, looking down from the mantlepiece out of a silver picture-frame. All dark hair and dark eyes and deep lines around her eyes.

It's not as if he didn't like her, he did. Later. After the pain and the anger went away.

When he looks at the picture now it's just a reminder that Arnold really is way more his father’s son, than Benjamin ever was. His brother repeats his father’s mistakes and left his wife to be with another woman.

And once again there is Ben, left behind to pick up the pieces.

He looks after Korkie, who misses his aunt and slowly walks his way towards the begin of his teenage years. Still a child often, but also sometimes already more.

He looks after the twins, who miss their father, giving them all he can while still trying to stay in line, because after all he's just their uncle. He could never replace Arnold.

He looks after Patricia. Patricia who doesn't let on that she is missing anyone, even though he knows she does. But she seems so strong, so determined to get on with her life, to live it regardless of her loss. He's awed by her strength, her pragmatism, her way of thinking.

She noticed Korkie's feelings and acted accordingly, proposed the house selling, got him moving in for gods sake. Is Patricia actually looking out for him?

He is doing a pretty poor job, he thinks to himself one night. When he is feeling cynical he thinks about that she just needs him to provide the money. But even if this was true, he couldn't just get up and leave. It's against his nature.

He is here to take care of his brothers mess, just like he always did.

So, here they are. Sitting in the realtors office, ready to sell Sarah's and his house.

The secretary looks at them expectantly as she is waiting for them to fill out the form. She takes them for a married couple. They don't correct her. The realtor of course operates on the secretary's assumption of them being married. They don't act differently though but it seems to be enough.

And when the man asks them is they need a moment to talk things through they just look at each other and Patrcia nods, thanks him.

Afterwards they don't talk about it. Don't look at each other. Why? Is it because of the lying? Well, he doesn't think so.

What does this mean? he asks himself. Nothing, his brain complies. They do have the same surname anyway. They both still wear their wedding rings. And with the kids there to complete the picture... Of course someone would think that they--

But it doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean anything that they are growing together and re-aligning their life around each other and depending on the other. It doesn't matter that he craves her smile and the soft hand on his shoulder when she passes him sitting on the couch. It doesn't matter that she irons his shirts for him or that she waits for him when he is coming home late.

It doesn't mean anything that the broken shards Arnold and Sarah left behind slowly melt into something new.

Weekends spent together as a family, with meals and board games and tickle fights. Ben throws balls with the kids in the garden, while Patricia reads a book laying in the hammock, sipping on a glass of lemonade. Sometimes the kids want her to join in, which she does without complaining.

It shouldn't feel this domestic. Shouldn't mean anything, he knows.

But oh, it does. It does.

And Ben can’t help being afraid.

Chapter Text

It was Miss Naberries first week so everyone was bound to be nice to her. Even Mr. Grumpypant's Kenobi.

They were in the middle of an English Quiz when the door opened and she walked in.

“Excuse me.” she said politely and came into the classroom. The new math teacher looked immaculate and professional. Her eyes slid over the class and she winked into their direction before turning to her colleague.

Kenobi looked up from some test he was grading. Everyone held their breath. It wasn’t a secret that the resident Grouch didn’t like people walking in on his class.

Everyone knew what was coming.

“The projector in my room broke and I wanted to ask if I could borrow yours?” she looked hopeful at the other teacher and Ahsoka felt so very bad for her in that moment.

Here it comes, she thought.

Kenobi rose hurriedly from his seat and said: “Of course you can.”

You could hear heads snapping up. No one was even pretending to write. Not even the know-it-all's in the first row.

Barriss looked to Ahsoka and mouthed: What the fuck?

“Thank you! You were my only hope!” the woman sighed in relief. “Breha said you have the only working projector. How is that even possible?”

She laughed and went over to the projector and started to unplug it. He lifted it up before she could and said: “I’ll help you. My class is occupied with their test anyway.”

The other teacher looked funnily at Kenobi. She was going to decline. Ahsoka couldn’t wait for what was going to happen next.

“That isn’t the first projector I am hauling around.” she replied sternly.

“Oh I am sure of that.” he said dryly not letting go of the device. “I assure you it has nothing to do with you. I just want to see were my projector is going to end up.”

Miss Naberrie grinned good-naturedly. Some of the students muffled their stunned laughter.

Kenobi shot a glare in their general direction. Instant sobriety. He had that effect on people.

That was more like the teacher they knew and feared.

“Behave yourself, while I am gone. Offee, you are in charge.”

Barriss nodded swiftly. He turned to the woman again. As they left the classroom Ahsoka could hear her say:

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for such a strict teacher, Mr. Kenobi.”

“Actually,” he said. “it’s Obi-Wan.”

The door closed behind them. Ahsoka was speechless.

What had just happened?

Chapter Text

The second time was when Kenobi almost caught them smoking beside the Gym. It wasn't exactly their best moment.

“Oh my god, B, hide the cigarette. Mr. Grumpy is coming our way.”

“Shit.” Barriss flailed her arms, threw the cigarette down and stomped wildly on it.

Ahsoka knew they were busted. He saw them. He definitely saw the cigarette. Not good. Not good at all. Uncle Mace would kill her if she would get another reprimand. And that meant chores until she couldn’t see straight, not meeting her friends--

He strode over to them. His eyes trained onto them, as if he wanted to force them into staying were they were. But then, out of nowhere descended an angel in form of their math teacher Miss Naberrie.

Even Ahsoka who was somewhat selective in her fashion taste had to admit that Miss N always looked great. Today she wore a somewhat 50s inspired skirt with a creme-white top, that had little cherries on it. She topped it off with red flats. Her hair was styled in a classic french braid and she wore just enough make-up to look fresh and youthful. She was the dream of every High School student. Everyone liked her. She was funny, had a way of explaining math so that even dumbasses like Lux Bonterri could handle it and she seemed to genuinely care for her pupils. But even though she seemed soft, she wasn’t and Ahsoka greatly admired that quality.    

The first time someone had tried walking all over her she made it quite clear that she could be hard as steel. Ahsoka had decided than and there that she wanted to be like Miss N when she grew up.

Barriss grabbed her hand and pulled her away. Ahsoka looked back and almost fell down at what she saw. She stopped dead in her tracks.

Mr. Kenobi, their english teacher, with the perpetual frown stuck on his face, not only smiled at the woman, no, he seemed to… Enjoy her company. Yes, in a very awkward way, but his smile was genuine. Come to think of it: So was hers.

“Soka, what are you doing there!” the other girl mock-whispered, half-screeched.

“Tell me that you see it too and that it’s not my brain playing tricks on me.”

“Oh my god.” Barriss said awed. “She’s a goddess. Or a witch. Or both.”

“Ok, so you see it. That is-”

Miss N laughed a melodic laugh and Grumpy Kenobi almost looked… pleased. And he never looked pleased. His frown was his trademark sign. The High School had their own memes with his face stuck onto the Grumpy cat. Ahsoka had made them after encountering him during her first hour of detention, it had been her revenge. She was sure that he knew about them.

Also: No one should wear that much beige and brown. Didn’t he have a mirror at home? Ahsoka couldn’t even look at his outfit too long without her aging speeding up.

The fact that he was smiling now threw her whole world in a loop. What was happening there?

“We have to get closer.”

“Are you insane? What if he sees us?”

“Damn, I want to know what is going on!”

“It’s clear what is happening, Soka! They are flirting. I told you she couldn’t be that perfect. Now we know: She has an awful taste in men. Yuck.” Barriss shuddered.

“Aren’t you curious? Not at all?” They seemed totally oblivious to their surroundings.

“Not at all, Soka. Let’s go home before he notices us.”

Well, maybe Barriss had a point-

“Miss Tano, Miss Offee. What exactly are you doing here?” Kenobi started and Ahsoka was almost relieved to see his frown once more.

Barriss shot Ahsoka a dark look as they crossed the distance. It meant something along the lines of: Why am I your friend? My mother is going to kill me and I am still so very young.

“You just wanted to leave, right?” Miss Naberrie asked archly and lifted one of her delicate brows up. Grumpy Kenobi seemed to be surprised but stayed quiet.

Barriss was the one who found her voice first.

“Yes, we were just- Just on our way home.”
“Then off you go.” she said and motioned for them to leave. Ahsoka and Barriss looked at each other for a moment before they took the chance.

They really had gotten of off the hook way easier than Ahsoka had anticipated. And as they hurried across the parking lot she could hear Miss N say to Mr. Grumpypants: “Coffee sounds great!”

Chapter Text

“You seem nervous, m'lady.” Dormé pointed out while helping Padmé with the headpiece she had chosen for today.


“Nervous? Why would you say that? I am not nervous.” Dormé didn’t say anything, but it was clear that they both knew that she was lying.


The truth was that she was nervous. Very much so.


She hadn’t seen him in ten years. Ten years! It seemed like another lifetime.

Her whole life had changed after the invasion. Padmé still remembered everything very vividly. There was Sabé wearing the queens garb and negotiating with the Trade Federation. Then their hurried escape when it dawned on them that there was no way of getting out of this. While they ran she stumbled somehow and had sprained her ankle. At first she’d ignored it but it had gotten worse the longer she put pressure on it.


Sabé had noticed. Of course she did. The other girl had always an eye on her. She was her most trusted handmaiden.


To her mortification Master Jinn told his Padawan to carry ‘the limping handmaiden’. And she’d been swept of off her feet quite literally.


Strong arms, broad chest and one side of a dimpled smile. And of course his intoxicating smell. The only other male she’d been that close to had been Palo and he seemed like a pale copy of the real thing. It was all a bit too much and she had protested loudly until Sabé quieted her with a stern, queenly glare.


By the looks her handmaidens had given her she had known that she was in for something later. Not thinking about that she had held onto him, feeling embarrassed, excited and insulted, all at once. He on the other hand had acted as if he carried people around every other day.


It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but in her memories it went on forever.


And than on Tatooine she hadn’t been able to go with Master Jinn even though she wanted to. But Panaka had been adamant and refused her because of her injury. So she stayed behind and sent Eirtae.


And what did she do? Well what was there to do other than worry and hope for the best? Flirt with a Padawan of course. Obi-Wan.


The name alone made her blush. Dormé didn’t comment on it and left her alone to order her thoughts before the Jedi would arrive.


Their parting had been stilted, contained. They both were contained by their roles. He, a newly appointed Master and she, not a handmaiden anymore. He’d taken her hand and held it a moment longer than necessary.


Padmé sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. They would be here any minute now.


Ten years. How old was he now? In his thirties? She was more than curious to see him. Ani, too. Of course, but he was only a far away memory of the little boy that had held onto Eirtae’s hand.


She knew the handmaiden had stayed in contact with the boy. As far as she could remember he had developed a bit of a crush on the other woman. Through her Padmé had heard about Obi-Wan from now and then until Eirtae had resigned her post as a handmaiden and went to persue politics. She was a governeur in one of Naboos provinces now.


“M'lady, the Jedi have arrived.”


Padmé rose, composed herself and stepped into the sitting room. Then she could hear Jar Jar’s loud squealing. Footsteps out in the hall, while she stared at the Coruscant skyline.


“Looky looky, senator.” Padmé braced herself and turned around. Even over the distance their eyes met and she had to admit to herself that she wasn’t prepared at all.


Goddess, she thought and could feel giddiness bubble up inside of her, he’s even more handsome now.




“If i didn’t know you any better, Master, I would say that you are nervous.”


“Anakin, just because you are nervous doesn’t mean that I am.”


Anakin shot him a glare as if to say yeah sure.


“If you say so, Master.”


“Why would I be nervous?” he asked, more to himself. “It’s not as if I’ve fallen into a nest of gundarks. That would’ve warrant some nervousness.”


“At least you’ve got that part right, master.”


They shared a quiet laugh.


Then Anakin looked over to him and mustered him. Was he sweating? Anakin didn’t comment his Master’s state again.


There was some loaded silence and Obi-Wan could’t help fidgeting with his robes. Did they sit right? Now it was too late anyway. He felt like a twenty year old again. This was bad. He’d known what to expect and yet… Here he was thinking about things that had happened ten years ago, that didn’t held any meaning at all. At least not to her.


When he was young he had had a history of falling for women during missions, just like Qui-Gon had had a history of collecting strays. After Satine Qui-Gon tested him every chance he could get. Time and time again he slung innocent little damsels, stubborn she-warriors or sassy princesses his way. He was hardening him and it seemed to work. Or maybe Satine had cured him after she’d broken his heart.


But then there was Padmé. She had been different. She was like all of those women packed in one enticing little package. She was the sassy damsel who could fight like a warrior and at the end of it all wasn’t a princess, no, but a queen. He’d been so foolish!


He rubbed his beard and centered himself. It was no use dwelling on the past and things that should stay there. Still, Anakin seemed to have a blast poking at his Master’s discomfort.


He sighed. It was always the same. He’d been like that, too.


But he was a Master for a reason. So he let go of his emotion. Let it flow into the force. Watched it dissolve and dissipate. The force sang to him, quietly. It always did. It was the most beautiful thing.


Anakin beside him seemed to sigh, as if to say here he goes again. But Obi-Wan could also pick up Anakin’s slight feeling of envy.


And then the doors opened. Jar Jar greeted them and it was quite comfortable. They all knew each other. It would be all good. They followed the tall figure of the Gungan into a large sitting room. She stood right in front of the window, talking to her chief of security.


The force didn’t halt, the soft cadence just flowed on and on inside of him. His peace was right there and she was here and somehow there really wasn’t a difference between those two places at all. It was rather disconcerting to notice that they could exist at the same time in the same place.


He stepped out of the elevator and they met halfway. Her eyes were soft and brown, like jewels in her heart-shaped face - just like he remembered. He bowed then, a deep bow, fit for a queen not a senator. Etiquette, he told himself. But it was also admiration.


“It’s a great pleasure of seeing you again, m'lady.”


“It’s been far too long, Master Kenobi.”


They were still holding hands and neither she nor him let go. It was a warm stream of energy that singed his nerves and started to consume him from the inside. He didn’t even realize that his heart was pumping faster, his breathing had become labored and his hands were sweaty. What he noticed instead were her dilating pupils, her hard swallowing, her softly parted lips and then her pink tongue that darted out to moisture her lips.


Anakin cleared his throat rather loudly, his presence at his side was confusion mingled with amusement and curiosity.


Obi-Wan snapped out of it first and let go of her hand. Her cheeks were rosy. She looked lovely.


“You remember Anakin?” he asked and turned, just so that he wouldn’t have to gaze at her anymore.


He wanted to look around for Qui-Gon. He had to be somewhere near. He could almost imagine him standing beside Anakin, silently chuckling to himself. Yes, he would be very amused by this little scene.


Obi-Wan knew without a doubt that this was a test. The force was testing his strength of will, his endurance, his discipline.


But the first time since Satine he didn’t knew if he could withstand, not when Padmé kept smiling at him like that.


Chapter Text

inspired by Cheese Buns and Bad Buns by HPfanonezillion




What exactly was he doing here? He had no clue. Okay, actually he had a clue, it just seemed too absurd, when he put it in words.


He sighed at his tablet and watched the woman on the screen. The brunette looked at the camera now and said quite seriously: "You should always use setting spray. This one easy step advances your make-up game to a whole new level."


She took a bottle and sprayed it all over her carefully applied makeup and then waved at her face, helping the moisture dry. The sheen on her face made her look almost ethereal.


He blushed at the thought, but couldn't stop watching anyway. His trousers were uncomfortably tight, but he wouldn't jack off. It seemed disrespectful to her. Like he was one of the freaks who watched her videos she had mentioned in her vlog.


"Are you watching that makeup chick again?" Anakin suddenly bent over his shoulder and peered at the tablet. Obi-Wan flailed and almost knocked over his soda.


"Dude, chill." Ani said and threw some chips into his mouth. He looked smug, he always did when he did that trick. "Or were you going to jerk off?"


"No!" The appalled tone didn't seem to work. His best friend knew him too well. Obi-Wan cleared his throat and tried again. "Of course not, Anakin. That would be rude."


"You are actually taking her feelings into account? Shiiiit. You don't even know her! You really got it bad , Kenobi."


Anakin looked at the screen again and whistled. "But she does look good. A bit too much makeup though. Does she look good without all that stuff too?"


Obi-Wan sighed. He was not going to rant to his best friend about a woman's choice how much makeup she could or could not apply. He simply stated. "She looks good either way."


Ani skipped back to the beginning of the tutorial. It showed the young woman without makeup. She'd bound her hair back and held her moisturizer into the camera before carefully massaging her skin.


"I do kinda know her." Obi-Wan finally confessed. And why exactly was he telling Anakin this? "We wrote a few emails. She saw our saber stuff. She said one of her friends was into sword fighting and she wanted some recommendations for a tutor in the area."


"Tell me you recommended yourself." Ani bit down hard on his chips while watching Obi-Wan's squirming.


"You recommended Windu, right?" He clicked his tongue.


"Of course I did." He sounded self-righteous even to his own ears.


"This was your chance of getting to know her." Ani had no mercy.


"Yeah... I know." he shook his head and mumbled: "She is way out of my league anyway."


Anakin huffed and hit him on the back of his head on his way out. Then he paused at the door.


"Aren't all of those chicks into Instagram?"


"Yeah, why?"


"Your stalking her Insta account, too, aren't you?"


"I am not stalking , Anakin. We are mutuals. She comments on my stuff just as often and..." he felt his cheeks heat under Ani's knowing gaze.


"You are liking all of her posts that aren't about Makeup, right?"


How did he knew him so well?


"Yeah." his voice sounded terse.


"Well. Listen to the greatest, Kenobi." Anakin leaned on the door frame, all suave. "It's wcw, tonight. Just post a picture of her with that tag and see where it goes."


Before Anakin's smug smile disappeared he added: "If you don't, the chosen one will take over. You had your warning, dude."


Well, that made it quite easy, right? He had to rescue her, before Anakin would make her fall in love and then crush her heart. He copied one of her pics from her healthy living tag and tagged it #wcw. He stared at it quite some time. She really looked lovely.


He clicked on post.


Now he just had to wait.



Chapter Text

Sequel to Cool Girl




"We should sleep."


Yeah, as if. He thought anxiously and listened to Padmé's shallow breathing while trying to calm himself down. He kept his eyes closed. Just to be on the safe side.


He’d known from the start that this was a bad idea.


The last two days had been bad already, but this ? Laying next to Padmé, almost touching her, being aware of her lithe body under that thin sheet? This was pure unadulterated torture.


He should’ve jacked off in the shower, but thanks to his self-guilt he just set the water to ice cold and gritted his teeth while the spray hit his body, which cooled his skin but not the heat in his heart and mind.


He felt like he was burning up. His body itched, his skin was too tight. He was just lucky that Padmé faced to the other side and couldn't see him sporting a boner. Jesus Christ. This was bad.


Her face framed by her dark hair, before he had turned off the light, came back to him. He had leaned over her for a moment and caught her scent. She smelled really good. He just had been too near. Had to remind himself to turn the light off.


Get a grip, Kenobi. Pull yourself together.


He'd said it too many times to himself the last six month.


He still remembered that moment when he'd first seen her when he'd brought Maul in. She was so beautiful and it was certainly not his place to notice. Not when Anakin's shoulder brushed hers and they were laughing so comfortably, as if she had never left.


"Oh, come one, Kenobi," Maul had said and rattled with the handcuffs ",you know that I know the drill."


He said something about Groundhog day, trying to be... What? Suave? "Hey, Pad. Good having you back." Ah, well done, Kenobi. Now she thinks you're a douchebag. But she just looked at him for a moment before dismissing him completely. Uh ok.


The thought that she might not remember him was disconcerting. But he pushed by, because Maul strained against him and he didn't wanted that freak any nearer to her than he'd already been.


Mauls leer in her direction when he pushed him down the hall distracted him. That bastard always knew how to yank his chain.


"A friend of yours, Kenobi? I'll bet she's into some kinky shit. Maybe she'll call me daddy while I fuck her from behind. You know what I--"


He'd banged Mauls head into the metal bars then. Not his best moment. But, well.


After than it had just gotten worse.


She wasn't the little secretary anymore. Palpatine couldn't boss her around anymore. She wore heels so high that he wondered how she could even walk in them. Her suit sets looked as if they coast more than his whole wardrobe put together. She wore bags that people actually stole, because they were so expensive.


She wore her head high, but she wasn't vain. On the inside, she was still the soft-spoken girl he had come to know back in the day. She just owned herself now. She knew who she was. And it made her even more beautiful. He kept his eyes trained on his desk when she walked by. He didn't need a distraction. When he talked to her, it was all business. He had better things to do than fall in love.


He'd tried to ignore the growing attraction. He ignored her flirting with Anakin. And he ignored Anakin who kept bugging him, because he somehow knew . And how was that possible? Anakin was the most oblivious, annoying nitwit (he really loved that guy, but it was true) he knew, how could he know that he had the biggest crush on her since the invention of crushes?


Anakin was merciless with his teasing. Dropping hints that she... But she didn't, right? She wouldn't. No.


On christmas she came to the office party with a man who introduced himself as Rush. And who the hell had a name like that ? He was a shifty-eyed investment guy who sure belonged somewhere else than Padmé's live. The worst part was that she didn't even seem to enjoy his company. She wasn't laughing like she usually did. She wore a tight lipped smile when she talked to him.


After a while he actually sent Anakin over to her. Which ended with Ani punching Rush in the face. Oh man, he messed up royally.


That was the moment he decided that enough was enough. He fell back to meditation. It had helped during the last few days. He even thought he could hear Master Yoda's voice. Which at least took care of one of his problems. His yoga instructor wasn't the most attractive person.

He concentrated on his breathing and let go of every feeling that bothered him. Ah, better.


Than he heard the noise. Padmé, beside him, was so cold that her teeth were clattering furiously.


"Padmé? Are you awake?" He rolled his eyes at himself. Of course she was awake. She was freezing beside him.




He looked over at her. She had the thin coverlet pulled all up to her ears, but it just

wasn't enough for her petite frame.


He could offer her his blanket. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. But also dumb, his practical self concluded.


They could also share both blankets and warm each other. This was practical. And most enticing. The thought made his mind go blank for a moment. No, it was practical. It wasn't just his inner caveman talking.


"We could..." he cleared his throat. "We could share the blankets." He couldn't actually say huddle for warmth. He would feel even more idiotic. He really thought she would say no. To his surprise, she didn't.

She slowly turned to him and breathed something that sounded like a yes .


It took him a moment before he lifted the cover and slid in behind her. He piled his cover on hers. Then he settled. She was really cold, so he slung an arm around her and pulled her nearer and rubbed her arms. It still took her some time to stop shivering. She sighed contently and snuggled closer.


"Thank you." she murmured.


He nodded, cleared his throat. "You're welcome. Anakin would kill me if I brought you back frozen."


She gave a snort.


Silence. Darkness. Awkwardness.


And her curves pressing into his body so invitingly. Yeah sure, he thought annoyed at himself, while his cock got hard in earnest now. He tried to will it away. He failed. Master Yoda would be disappointed in him. Padmé didn't seem to notice.


He listened. Maybe she was asleep? She wriggled. No she wasn't. She wriggled some more. Didn't she notice ?


She kept on going. If she wouldn't stop soon, this would end rather quickly. More wriggling... No actually it felt like grinding. And it almost felt as if she was doing it on purpose. It took him all of his willpower to not rut against her. He couldn't stifle his groaning though. Padmé giggled.


"Are you..." he huffed in exasperation while he tried to get away from her without pulling the blankets off of her. "Are you having fun torturing me?"


She turned around and looked at him wide-eyed and apologetic.


"O-of course not. I am sorry--"


"It's just a natural reaction. I-I haven't... Not in a long..."


"I just couldn't stop myself--"


"I mean. Since Satine actually. Natural. It's natural. I am a man, if you haven't noticed."


"I noticed. How could I not--"


"It has nothing to do with you." It was a dumb thing to say. He knew it, the moment it left his mouth. Damn.


Padmé sat up and pulled the blankets with her. The cold night air hit his heated skin and brought him back to reality.


" Really , Obi-Wan?"


In the dim light he made out her soft skin. His gaze slid down slowly over her shoulder and her plum-colored bra. Why was she wearing a lace bra and matching panties anyway? It's most unpractical , he thought confused.


He thought about what she had been wearing the last few days. Thought about her behavior. His brain suddenly caught up with his body. It only took a moment. He was a detective after all. The realization hit him upside the head.


"Are you even listening to me?" She was red in the face and obviously angry, while he was still staring at her breasts. Ah great, now she would think he was mental and a perv.


"You're in love with me." he stated rather flatly.


Padmé halted and stared at him.


But before the situation could get worse, Padmé's cell began blaring. His followed suit. He leaned over and switched the light on. They took their cells rather reluctantly and answered them in unison.


He had Anakin on the line. Padmé greeted her fink.


He rose out of bed and went over to the bathroom. He caught her staring and looked right back.


This is not over, he thought and closed the door with one last longing look.


Next thing he knew, all hell broke loose.




Chapter Text




Anakin swore it wasn't his fault. Obi-Wan didn't believe him. Well, he had three more weeks before he had to go back to London. He would crash on Siri's couch for a few days, hopefully dodging every awkward try of hers to get back together. Then he would get everything back in order. But... He would miss New Jersey. He would miss his friends. His live suddenly seemed really bleak.


But, there wasn't time to dwell. So he didn't.


A few days later Padmé turned up and smashed one of her textbooks on the kitchen table. Anakin didn't even blink. But he did pull his cheetos out from under the heavy book.


"What is this about?" Obi-Wan asked and grabbed his reading glasses and eyed the cover.


Padmé crossed her arms and said the most unexpected thing: "Marry me."


Anakin coughed so loudly that Ahsoka came running into the kitchen.


"What's the commotion, guys?" No one was talking to her. Anakin was still coughing, his face turning a dangerous shade of red, while Obi-Wan and Padmé stared at each other.


It took Obi-Wan a moment to respond.


"Padmé just proposed marriage to me."


Ahsoka thumped Anakin's back.


"It's the easiest way for you to stay and you know that. I don't know why you haven't asked one of us yet, but we are your friends. And we don't want you to go."


Padmé tried not to think about Obi-Wan leaving. It made her quite sad. It just didn't seem right. And if she single-handed had to rescue him, even from himself, she would.


"That's a big thing to ask for." he said calmly and shook his head. That was the problem, Padmé knew. He would never ask this of a friend.


"I am offering ."


"You don't know what you're saying." he huffed and paced the kitchen. Padmé stood her ground.


"I am a lawyer, Obi-Wan. Of course I know."


"Then you know that it would require for us to live together for a whole year. You want that?" He eyed her. She used her lawyer-persona to intimidate him: Standing straight, head up, chest out and she spoke two notches louder than usual. Her sparkling eyes watched him calculating.


"I know all about what we would need to do."


"That is actually a great idea!" Ahsoka said. "Like in Green Card ? With that Gerard guy and Andy McThingy. This could work."


"You think so?" Anakin asked. "I mean, look at them. They have as much chemistry as our fridge."


Ahsoka shrugged, sitting down on one of the chairs. "Who says you need to have chemistry? They are friends. We could use that and build on that. They already know a lot about each other..."


"A lot? I am pretty sure it needs more than knowing 'a lot' when you have to persuade one of the immigration workers..."


Padmé turned to the other two and asked rather annoyed: "You think we couldn't pull it off?"


Anakin shrugged. "Soka and I could pull it off."


Ahsoka cackled. "Yeah we would, Skyguy. We would rock that thing."


Obi-Wan looked puzzled.


"And why is that?"


"Snips and I just get each other." Anakin shrugged. "Like... How longs Padmé's ovulation cycle?"


Padmé and Obi-Wan looked at each other in horror. "WHAT?" At least they had that in common.


"See, now you're turning red and she is getting angry." He pointed from Obi-Wan, to Padmé and then to Ahsoka. "My girl here has a 25 day cycle. What about you Padmé? What condoms does your loverboy need?" Anakin leaned back smoothly, while Padmé blushed furiously. "Well, he looks like a Medium to me and" Anakin stage-whispered into Padmé's direction. "He's european. You know what that means. He's uncut!"

Obi-Wan groaned and hid his face. This was outrageous and why was Anakin talking about his...


Ahsoka was laughing so hard that she almost fell from her chair, while snorting Soda from her nose.


"How do you wanna do those interviews if every question throws you like that?" He seemed smug because he knew that he had a point.


Padmé and Obi-Wan looked at each other. She squared her shoulders.


"Ani, we still have two and a half weeks to get prepared. If you don't have a better idea, than go ahead. Help him pack. Or maybe you want to marry Obi-Wan? There is way more chemistry between you two anyway. Oh wait, you can't. Because legally you're brothers."


Anakin glowered at her.


"I would, if I could."


"Yeah, but that's not the point. So there is only Ahsoka, who is only eighteen. Bail and Breha who just married. And me."


Obi-Wan sighed. "This get's better and better by the minute."


She turned to Obi-Wan again.


"If you tell me, you prefer to go back to London. Ok, fine. Than it's your decision and I'll accept it. But... I don't think you want to go. And I think you would never ask. But I know what I am doing. I know the law. And I don't want to loose my friend, you know."


Maybe now he would get it.


"Padmé, that's..." His words failed him.


Their eyes met. He seemed rather embarrassed and touched, while Padmé's glowing cheeks told a completely different story.


Maybe , Anakin thought, there is a bit more chemistry than I thought. He nudged Ahsoka and she looked at him knowingly.


You think what I am thinking?


Her gaze seemed to say: This will work.


Maybe in more ways than they know.


"So, are you going to help us?" Obi-Wan asked suddenly. "Will you throw all the ridiculous questions at us that you can come up with?"


Ahsoka and Anakin looked rather pleased. They could and they would. They nodded in unison.


"So, now that that's settled." Padmé said and went over to the coffeemaker. "I need a coffee."


Obi-Wan sat down at the table, opposite from Ahsoka and Anakin.


"So, how about we make a kind of test-run? Moms and Qui's not-thanksgiving dinner is in ten days. How about you let them know the good news."


"That's a great idea, Skyguy!" Ahsoka nodded. "If they can make them believe that they are in love, those interviews will be a walk in the park."


Everyone agreed. The mood was less gloomy than since Obi-Wan had received the letter. They all felt hopeful.


Padmé put the mugs on the table and served the coffee. While she handed Anakin his, she said: "And just so you know, Ani." She held a moment longer onto the mug and looked him square in the eyes. "Uncut guys last longer."


Anakin sputtered. Ahsoka grinned like a lunatic. While Obi-Wan... It was a mixture of astonishment and utter disbelief.


She leaned back and smiled smugly while drinking her coffee.


This would be fun.


Chapter Text

Continuation of sorts to Stick



Now and then he hears her. Sometimes he asks himself if she does that to spite him, after their conversation a few weeks ago about her desires, about her needs. But he puts that thought away almost instantly. No , he thinks and tosses to the other side of his cot, she tries to be quiet but really can't help it.


Sometimes he can almost see how she bites her finger to keep herself from getting to loud, how she writhes with pleasure under her own delicate hands. Her naked skin is surely glistening with fresh sweat that would taste slightly salty.


Those fantasies-- No, those images , because they are most certainly not fantasies, are the worst.


He tries to keep them in line. Tries to tune out the soft simmering of her warmth in the force, but often he fails. There is a small voice that whispers that he isn't trying hard enough.


So he lays awake and stares at the ceiling, breathless. He fists the sheets so he won't do anything that he really shouldn't be doing.


Sleep only comes after her release, this is the moment he shields himself properly. This isn't something he shouldn't know. Because... You can't unknow things , his master had always said.


When it's over and she finally sleeps he can feel sleep claiming him. It drags him under. Takes him down. His body aches, just like his mind.


In the morning he will wake up with his hand wrapped around himself, the inside of his sleep-pants soiled with his seed.


He feels like he is sixteen again. It is not a good feeling.



Chapter Text

continuation from Pt I, Pt II


The third time was during a trip to the museum. Kenobi had filled in last minute after Ms Antilles fell down and twisted her ankle. Everyone had groaned when Miss N told them about it. She looked seriously confused, but didn’t comment on it.

Well, the trip went as planned. Kenobi was ok, Ahsoka guessed. He sat in the front seat and pretended reading until Miss N plopped down into the seat next to him and they talked for quite a while. Ahsoka didn’t know what about and most of the time she couldn’t watch them because Bonterri was right there trying to get her attention while Bariss beside her huffed and made disgusted noises, which meant that she was also trying to get her attention.


And later, in the museum, after Lux had kissed her in a dark corner and Bariss seemed to know straight away and was - out of unknown reasons - angry with her, Ahsoka fled to the next room and almost stumbled into her teachers.


She hid behind a nearby statue. She really wasn’t watching at all. She just happened to look at the painting behind them, while she was standing behind a statue. Yeah.


They stood close. Really close. Way closer than colleagues should stand, Ahsoka thought. They were having a deep conversation while gazing into each other’s eye.


And this time she realized what had been right in front of her eyes. They were in love with each other. It was quite obvious when she forgot that they were her teachers. Kenobi’s features had softened and his eyes were completely focused on Miss N. She looked up at him, her lips curled into a small smile of contentment as she said something about last sunday when they had graded together while drinking coffee. Ahsoka wondered, that was what teachers did in their free time? So lame.


“Maybe…” Kenobi looked down at his sweater which wasn’t only beige, but also held a hint of orange and brown. Come to think of it. He still wore the most hideous things but his wardrobe had changed in the last weeks.


Right now he seemed almost embarrassed. Ahsoka saw how he flushed straight up his neck to the tips of his ears. “Maybe we could do that more often… I mean–” He fidgeted and she beamed. “I mean we could meet up and grade together and like… you could stay for dinner. I make a rather good stew.”


Ahsoka shook her head. Stew? Really? Way to go, Kenobi.


She nodded and said in a rush, as if afraid he could take it back: “Or we could forgo the grading.”


Her math teacher seemed clearly to think that she had been too eager and Ahsoka could almost hear her scolding herself.


“Oh.” His voice sounded strangled. Then: “Yes. I would love to.”


She looked at him rather… well… relieved. And smitten.


They both looked back to the picture. Ahsoka would bet they both had no clue what they were looking at.


“There you are.”


The teachers and Ahsoka both looked around with panicked eyes. It was Bonterri who had spotted her behind the plant.


Kenobi of course was the first to recover and came over to her with forceful steps before she could disappear.


He stopped right in front of her, folded his arms and said with his stiffest, uptight tone (that enunciated his british accent): “Why, Miss Tano, do we come across each other in the most peculiar moments?”


Ahsoka gave something like a shrug, followed by her most winning smile. It wasn’t working on him. Instead his eyebrow did The Thing and made her feel very young and foolish. She really didn’t like him. How could he be the same man who just flirted awkwardly with Miss N? Really, it was a mystery.


“That’s what I keep was asking myself, Mr. Kenobi.”


He jerked his chin into the direction of the door and she fled from the scene. Bonterri followed her, of course.


Later in the bus she contemplated how foolish people in love were. That even someone as Kenobi wasn’t immune to that feeling was… Kinda reassuring but also frightening. Because for all of his observational skills he obviously couldn’t see that Miss N was head over heels for him.


It was astounding that smart people like them couldn’t see what was exactly in front of their eyes. She shook her head and looked at Barriss beside her, who was listening to some moody indie song that wasn’t about love, her best friend claimed. (The song definitely was about love) She still wouldn’t talk to her. But why? Was she in love with Bonterri or what? The thought unsettled her.


She looked over to him now and was greeted with him looking straight at her as if he had watched her the whole time. Had he? The thought sparked a strange feeling in her stomach.


Then she understood: Obviously Kenobi and Miss N weren’t the only fools. Ahsoka was the biggest of them all.  

Chapter Text

It was Valentines Day and Obi-Wan was kissing her.

His beard had tickled when he first touched her lips with his. But the longer they kissed the less she felt it. She would have the worst case of beard burn in the morning but it didn’t matter right now. Everything that mattered was this kiss. His mouth opening hers, the first touch of their tongues. It felt so good that she couldn’t help but moan.

What had started as an innocent goodnight kiss between friends, with him bumping into her by accident, had somehow turned into so much more.

They stumbled a bit deeper into the dark hallway, away from the crowded bar. Away from their friends and their constant bickering and downing too many shots.

Had he drunk too much? She couldn’t be sure. Was she drunk? HEr head was dizzy, but… the thoughts dissipated. His hands held her steady. The shape of his body against hers was exciting and new.  

A song ended and a new one started. Another love song, of course. Ed Sheeran, ah ok. Not her cup but…  

But the music wasn’t what she was listening to. It was his breath against her skin, going too fast, his soft groaning when her hands slid to his neck, her heartbeat loud and indignant in her ears. The want that had sparked in her was a full blown fire by now and he stoked the flames with his clever lips. She found herself pressed against the wall, his hand cupping her face.

He had just wanted to say goodbye, she thought confused and fisted her fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

Padmé couldn’t put her head around it. Trying to make sense was impossible.

They were slowly pulling apart and for a moment they looked in to each other’s eyes. Padmé felt her body respond to his stare. Goosebumps all over her skin. Heat and wetness between her legs. She felt weak, but it was ok. Because his face told her that he felt it too.

“Is this how you kiss all of your friends goodbye?”

“I don’t kiss my friends like that.” he said with an almost too serious expression. She felt her heart sink and tried to pull back but he didn’t let go. One hand slid over her back. “My girlfriend however…”

She just noticed the faint blush on his cheeks and how hopeful he looked. He was so shy and so smug at once that Padmé had to laugh.

“You think you kiss me once and I’ll be your girlfriend?” She arched her eyebrows and he stuttered. “How about dates? And movie nights? And strolls through the park?”

“Which end in more kisses?”

“Well… Yes. Hopefully.”

He looked at her full of adoration and Padmé asked herself how she had deluded herself into thinking that they were only friends. They kissed each other one more time.  His mouth curled into a smile against hers and it made her giddy with feelings.

Obi-Wan slung an arm around her and she snuggled closer. On their way out they could hear Ahsoka sighing rather exasperated: “It was about damned time!”

Chapter Text

When he finally wakes he first notices the warm light on his face first. He is trying to open his eyes, but a piercing pain shoots deep into his head along his eye nerve. Tears start running down his face.


A warm hand lands on his chest, an incoherent mumble follows. He knows this voice. It’s Senator Amidala’s. Padmé’s.


“Keep them closed. Your eyes were burned.” A cloth follows the path where the tears streak his face and cleans him.


“Is that what knocked me out?” He remembers desperately trying to repair the distress signal after the ship had crashed onto the remote planet. Suddenly there had been pain and blackness.


“The battery exploded and the alkaline liquid splashed onto your face.” She tries to tell him as calm as possible, but now that the pain is only moderate he can concentrate on other things. Like her force signature. She is scared. He can feel it now. If he could see her he would certainly notice the signs of distress on her face.


“I washed it out as best as I could. Hopefully this will suffice. I thought there would be bacta drops in the medi kit, but…” her voice trails off. Both of them listen to the silence for a moment.


He tries not to let himself sink into the sudden panic over the fact that he could loose his eyesight. Even if, he still has the force. With the force, he can see everything that matters. It will be enough, he tells himself.


The burning sensation in his chest only subsides slowly though.


“What about the signal? Is the damage solvable?”


“No,” she answers matter-of-factly. “but I programmed Artoo to send out a broadband signal.”


He is impressed. “How did you know–?”


“Anakin showed me, just in case…” He can feel her pulling away from him when she realizes that she said too much.


“Ah, of course.” but what he really wanted to say was: I see.




“I am amazed that you are so calm.” she says when they are eating. The rations will last them for a week approximately. Hopefully someone will notice Artoo’s signal before that.


“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks in return and tests the food consistence with his fingers.


“Well…” she sounds as if she might have rolled her eyes at him. “You’ve just been told that you had alkaline burns on your eyes and face. I would be scared.”


“I am a Jedi. We should be able to function under any given situation.”


“You are not a robot, Obi-Wan.”


“Yes, I am well aware.” There is some kind of amusement over her words.  


“So you are scared?” Somehow his answer is important to her and he contemplates lying. He is not so sure about his motives.


He clears his throat, his hands busy with the food.


“Of course I am. But I try not to.”




There it is again: Her warm hand on the back of his own. It feels like she is pulling him back from the blackness, into the plane of existence where she resides. There is more than just the force, he suddenly remembers.


His swallowing is very audible. He is sure she heard it too.


“It’s okay. I am here.”


She leaves her hand there for a long time.




It’s only been a few days and the blackness is suffocating.


Padmé looks after him. Calms him with a hand that covers his own in times he is not centered. She shouldn’t have such an effect on him. But it’s the blackness, the force and Padmé. It’s all he has these days.


He remembers learning how to fight without his sight. He had the most problems with this exercise in his class. Yoda reprimanded him quite a lot, reminded him to let the force guide him. It had been hard. It had taken him a long time. But he learned.


He always does in the end.  




Padmé talks to him a lot. She fills the blackness with her voice. He knows how she sounds. The cadence, the timbre. He knows how her smiles sound and her cheekiness. He also learns about the shrillness of her panic and the melancholy of being unable to do anything. After the third day he feels that he is getting too depended, too attached.


This will not do.  


But as it is, he is still not able to open his eyes without pain. When they sleep he finds himself slipping into her dreams. It’s highly unethical but he does so anyway. His subconscious is quite occupied with curiosity stretches out to feel more. More than just the dull darkness. She is the light and he…


There are colors and emotions and she seems to invite him in with a wave of that perfectly shaped hand.

They dance and twirl in a mix of laughter and ease. He couldn’t walk away even if he wanted to. Her hand is holding onto him.




Whenever she leaves to look for something edible, he tells her to stay close to the ship. To not go too far. He stands in the shadow of the ship wreck and feels her force signature sliding away. There is this dreadful feeling that she won’t come back. She shoves it away. He doesn’t need it.


The first few times he is restless anyway, it takes him some time to let go. He listens to the world around him. The wind, the animals, the noises of the woods around him. He smells dark earth, mixed with last nights faint drizzle.


He unstraps his lightsaber, ignites it… and moves with the world around him. He is it’s center in this very moment. The force shows him what he needs to know.  


“You are doing your katas.” He halts for a moment when he notices that Padmé is back.


“You sound surprised.”


She fumbles with her words. He would love to see her face right now. Why is she awkwardly looking for words? He listens, asks the force. But no answer. He will never know. His sigh is a bit of a surrender.


“You think you could fight?” she asks carefully.


“Yes. I think I could.”


He knows she doesn’t believe him.


Then: “There are soldiers on their way. They come from the mountains. They should be here by tomorrow.”




This night Padmé sleeps restless, tosses and turns. She seems half awake at times, mumbles incoherent nonsense. Her moving around keeps him awake. It takes him some time to decide what to do. He thinks about her hand on his when he had felt off center. After all, he remembers himself, she is a mere civilian. He goes to her to calm her.


Sits on the ground beside her cot and holds her hand, places it on his heart after a moment of sorting out his thoughts. Then he meditates. He controls his heartbeat to a deep and steady rhythm, like drums in the distance. Her aura settles eventually. The colors change from the dark burned crimson of her panic, back to the soft pastels of her usual self.


She sleeps. And he guards her. It’s the least he can do.




When the soldiers come they fight. She doesn’t ask him again if he is capable. And he trusts her to fight and stay safe equally. He hears her blasterfire wiz through the air. Can hear the distant beeping of Artoo.


He is centered and fights like he always did. He is determined not to let them win. His one goal is to keep the senator safe. It had been his duty to deliver her to the peace negotiations and stay with her to ultimately accompany her to Coruscant.  


He is not going to let her come to any harm under his watch.


When he finds them pushed against the side of the wreck, he places himself in front of her.


“Obi-Wan–” she starts and her voice is so lost that he tries to ignore her because otherwise… Because it does things to his insides that are unacceptable.


He fights with determination. His muscles know better than him what to do. His sword  swings through the air in a meditative pattern. Now and then Padmé shoots her blaster when someone comes too near.  


Finally it ends with the loud firing of the military issued guns the Clone Troops carry. When Padmé touches him he let’s his guard down. He’s panting and sweats profoundly. His eyes burn, seems like some of the sweat came in contact with the burns.


Padmé tells him steely to stay where he is. When she comes back she wipes the sweat away, cools the aching pain. He leans into the safety of her hands. It might just be the last time. His breath catches at the realization.


“Hold still.” she whispers and pushes his hair back.


There is a commotion around them, the footsteps of soldiers on the mossy ground and then he hears Cody’s familiar voice.


“You put on quite a show, General.” There is almost a smile there. “Good to have you back.”


“First the General has to be brought to the healing halls right this instant, Commander Cody.” Padmés voice is all senatorial steel. “As you can see he has severe burns on his face…”  


When he stand up and walks up the ramp and sits down, he hears the whispers of astonishment. How did he do this? They want to know. How could he fight like this without his sight?


Padmés presence is soothing. She is sitting a bit nearer than she usually would, but it is clear that she can’t take his hand. That he can’t take her hand.


But he can feel her. She is grateful and relieved.


“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” she suddenly says, her voice soft like her hands. “For looking out for me.”


A day ago he would’ve smiled and let the moment become a treasured memory. But the only thing he does now is nod and when he steadies his voice he answers like a Jedi would: “That was my duty, senator.”


Her eyes are on him for quite some time. She doesn’t say anything anymore.


It’s only Obi-Wan and the blackness now.


The force is unusually quiet.




When he opens his eyes for the first time in what feels like month the light is almost blinding him. Bant Eerin is besides him and talks soothingly. Yoda stands on the other side.


They are are only blurred shapes for a moment. His gaze gets drawn to where Padmé hovers at the foot of his bed. When his eyes finally focus it is to recognize her.


He sighs relieved. She is still here. She wasn’t a hallucination. Wasn’t swallowed up by the blackness. No, the light reveals her small form, the tumble of her curls.


Her face is… Lovely. The faint memory of how he saw her before gets erased by the crisp image of this Padmé. Patiently waiting for him, her hands that touched him so often, curled around her upper arms.


For a moment it’s almost too much. He averts his gaze it’s the only way for him to stay focused. Yoda watches him thoughtful.


Bant gives him instructions how to care for the burns. And thanks to Padmé’s careful first aid, Bant adds, there won’t be any scarring left.


When Yoda leaves he hopes for a few words with Padmé, but as always life doesn’t go as planned. Anakin comes in, an air of panic and anger mixed on his face. Obi-Wan sighs.


His former Padawan stays as long as it takes for him to get reassured by Obi-Wan that everything is ok. Than he leaves with Padmé who glances back to him on their way out as if there is something she wants to say. She doesn’t.


Outside he can watch them for a moment through the glass. Anakin barely holds himself back. If Obi-Wan strains his heightened hearing he might just make out their words.


Padmé looks over to him. Their eyes meet with unsaid things. Her face is so expressive, her dark eyes tell him everything that her hands and words couldn’t. But he can’t know. He looks away.


Everything will be back to normal. He will hold on to the force with desperation while looking the other way, keeping up a charade of not seeing, not noticing, of being blind. Padmé and Anakin will rely on it. Anakin oblivious that he could know and Padmé…


His head falls back on the bed. He still can see her face when he closes his eyes, feel her hands weight. He knows: There is more than the force.


But not for him.


Before the feelings crush him in a tidal wave he reminds himself of the old mantra:


There is only the force.


Next time he looks up Padmé and Anakin are gone. He is alone again.

Chapter Text

continuation from [this]

Ben sings ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ these days. He is standing in the kitchen and prepares dinner. Patricia doesn’t know yet if this is a good idea.  

But she does like his singing, so she doesn’t comment on it out of fear he will stop. She plays cards with the kids. They laugh and try to cheat so they will win. She let it slide.

It’s saturday. And it is cold outside.

When the knock on the door comes she is still humming along to the tune.

There are two man standing in front of her door. A tall one. And a short, stocky one.  

“Mrs. Jones?” It’s the short one.

“Yes?” Patricia frowns.

“Your husband is Arnold Jones jr.?”

She wants to say 'No’ but the truth is… “Yes, I am.” Patricia grits her teeth.

“Can we come in?” The short one is all charming smiles.

Patricia thinks for a moment before answering his smile with a fake one of her own. She knows all about the police.

She closes the door, but some of the cold air streams into the living room anyway.

“Patricia, who–?” It’s Ben, all dimpled smile and rosy cheeks due to the heat from the oven. The mirth on his features slides away when he sees the men standing there.

“Mr. Benjamin Jones, I reckon?” This time it’s the lanky one who speaks. It’s most obvious that he is from New England. He sounds all stiff and uptight. But also nervous. Way too nervous for a policeman.

“Yes, I am. And who are you?” They both pull their badges out.

The smaller one says: “Arthur Danes. This is my partner, Detective Thomas.”

Ben looks at Patricia. She goes and sends the children away. She hopes they won’t be lurking at the top of the stairs.

“It came to our attention from various sources that your husband Arnold Jones, jr. is missing. No one has seen him since the 19th of May. So, do you know about your husband whereabout?”

Patrcia sits still. She thinks about all her neighbors who would go to the police to claim that she murdered her husband. Because that’s what the police is here for, aren’t they?

Patricia feels the bile on her tongue and swallows. It’s Ben who answers.

“My wife and my brother… Left. Together.”

Danes and Thomas exchange unimpressed glances.

“And that’s why you sold your house and moved in with your sister-in-law?” Danes tone is heavy with sarcasm.

“It was the most practical option.” Ben is calm and answers like he is already sitting in front of a judge. “Sarah left her nephew, our godchild with me. I couldn’t care for him on my own, so I asked Patircia if she would help me out. So I in return helped her out when she didn’t have any money left.”

“And then you moved in?” Again Danes again with the implications. “Out of practicality of course?”

“Yes. I was paying for two houses, three kids, the groceries, the gas for two cars… You get the picture. It was our best option.”

There is silence.

“So you are trying to tell me that both your wife and your brother just left. With each other?”

Ben nods and Patricia dreads what is coming next.

“Your wife is how old exactly?” It’s Detective Thomas this time.

“She is forty-one. But I don’t see why this is–”

“And your brother is, what? Thirty?”

Ben nods.

“And you really want to tell me that they are having an affair?” Danes looks as if Ben told him the best joke. He leans back and whistles.  

“Well, from the things that your neighbors told us it seems to be the other way around, you see. Even before your spouses hasty exit, you two seemed to be a little too close for brother and sister-in-law…”

Patrcia thinks about all the nights Ben’s car was parking in the driveway, for everyone to see. For all to wonder. How could they ever think that this would go unnoticed?

“What are you insinuating?” Ben asks rather loud now, desperate. He sees where this is going.

“Are you even aware of the fact that you are holding Mrs. Jones’ hand?”

Patricia is aware. And thankful for his support. She is also aware of why he is holding her hand in the first place and why she let’s him.

His eyes fall down to their clasped hands and he swallows. The other men see it, too. Something softens in her at his revelation. It’s the worst timing.

Ben rises from his seat. Patrcia follows suit. But then it’s her who speaks with a level voice: “Sarah and Arnold are both alive. If you wait a moment I’ll show you the evidence. And then I want to to leave this house.”

Danes nods and makes a gesture for her to go on.

She goes into the kitchen. Way slower than she usually would. She is not showing them how frightened she is. She opens the kitchen cabinet and pulls a letter out.

It’s dated the 24th of November, it arrived last week. Back in the living room she hands it to Danes.

He reads it. Hands it to Thomas. Danes nods reluctantly.

“Do you mind if I copy that for our files?”

“Yes, I do mind. This letter is not leaving the house.”

Danes eyes narrow, before he smiles at her again.

“Of course, ma'am. You know that we have to proof that though first thing on monday. It’s going to take some time before I can close that file.”

“Do what you have to do, Detective Danes.”

“So, sorry for the inconvenience.” They all know, he is not sorry at all.

When the door falls shut behind them it takes some time before Ben turns to her. She hands him the letter. He looks utterly confused.

After reading it, he shakes his head.

He stands, puts the letter down on the coffee table and leaves. He continues his cooking, but is not singing any longer.

The document says it’s an one-sided express divorce filed in Reno, Nevada on the 1st of November 1956. It’s signed and dated, from Arnold Jones, jr. There is another document, this time signed by Sarah Jones nee Morton.

And behind that is a marriage certificate.

Chapter Text

His smile was tentative at first.


"What is this?" he asked her over the counter and pointed to a pastry.


"Oh, that's baklava. It's a turkish specialty that my grandmother used to make. It's her recipe. Actually it's the first I ever learned."


"Is it... good?"


"Good? It's more than good. It's delicious. It's made of layers of filo pastry and chopped nuts, sweetened with honey."


He wasn't looking at the pastry anymore. He swallowed, as if was hungry. Maybe he was. He blushed and said: "Yeah, ah... Sounds good. I'll take five medium roast coffees, four cappuccinos and one coffee of the darkest roast you've got. And... ten of those baklavas."


Padmé gave a laugh. It was utterly sweet how he pronounced it.


He was handsome. In a very grown up way. There was nothing juvenile about him. Stunning blue eyes, a dimpled smile and a crooked tooth which added somehow more to his charm. A well trimmed beard, no hair out of place. She saw that his upper arms were inked. Yes, he was a good looking man who liked to flirt but had no clue how much he appealed to women.


When he came in he held the door for Mrs. Miller, the old lady who bought her croissants at Padmés place every morning since she opened her shop half a year ago. 


Then he caught the stumbling Dormé and rescued two perfectly fine latte macchiatos and two pieces of apple pies. He also rescued Dormé of getting her ass kicked - again. And this all before he even arrived at the counter.


He held the attention of all the women in the room.


Padmé was a professional though. Yeah, whatever get's you through the night, girl.


"So, you work around here?" she asked nonchalantly.


"Yeah, I am. Have to get coffee for the boys. I lost a bet and--" he cleared his throat and blushed. The second time already.


Why was it so endearing that a grown man was blushing right to the tips of his ears? Padmé turned around to the coffee machine. She filled milk in a high mug and started whisking it.


"Are you a policeman?"


"Oh no!" he sounded offended. "Not a policeman. Definitely not."


She topped the cappuccino with the foam. Her hands did the work while she was looking at him, never spilling anything.


"So, you seem good at your job. Your boss must be really proud."


She heard Sabé's barking laugh from the kitchen, which was a clear indicator that her friend was eavesdropping again.


"Yes," Padmé said slyly. "I am very proud of myself."


His face got paler. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to--"


"Yes, I am Padmé."


She put the foam away and grabbed the cups for the coffee. Lined them up. Filled them up with a flourish.


"As in Padmé's Sweets and Pastries."


His gaze dropped down to the cups, where her hands were putting lids on all of them. Nine containers all stacked and ready.


"So, the darkest roast?" She asked and her brown eyes met his. The temperature rose from within her. He had to feel it. It was almost as if they were connected. Her blood was cursing through her and heated everything up. Everything.


His blue gaze was mesmerizing her. He licked his lips slowly and Padmé could feel how the hairs on her arms rose in response.


"This is my personal stash. It's a very rare blend." She spilled some beans into a mortar and with years of endless practice she started crushing the beans with a pestle.


"It tastes smooth, like cherry and chocolate and forbidden things. But no note of bitterness. It's highly caffeinated and addictive. So, whoever get's this coffee should be prepared to..."


He swallowed and watching as she brewed the coffee.


"Come back for more."


She placed the container in front of him. How did she even knew that the coffee was for him? She couldn't tell. Just a feeling.


"Is there anything else you need?" Maybe my telephone number?


"I need..." It's sounded like a croak. "I need a receipt."


She gave him the check, he handed her the money. Their fingers touched briefly. It cursed through her and made her want things she hadn’t allowed herself to want since--


"Hey, Ben. What is taking you so long?"


All of a sudden a familiar voice was cutting through her lustful haze.


There, behind the strangers shoulders stood her ex-boyfriend. All glorious muscled and blonde curls falling perfectly tousled around his handsome face. That asshole.


"I told you to stay out of my shop, Anakin!"


She stuffed the money into the cash register. Anakin wasn't moving. The stranger looked speculating from Anakin to Padmé.


"So, you already met my ex."


"She is your ex?" The man named Ben sounded unbelieving, surprised.


"What did you think? That she actually is a fire-breathing dragon?" Before she came up with a good comeback to his favorite nickname for her, the other man said: "Don't be smart with me, Anakin. I can still kick your ass if I want to even if I am not your trainer anymore."


"What? You are his trainer? Ben Kenobi?"


They looked at each other, then over to Anakin.


"So I talked to you about each other. What's the big deal?" The younger man shrugged.


The Ben Kenobi Anakin had desrcibed when he talked about his past had been an old white haired character with strange quirks and creaking joints. She actually imagined him looking like some kind of wizard with a funny british accent. And now that he stood here he looked... Well, hell. He looked sexy. And he was a fire-fighter. Muscled, tatted and with that beard... He was trouble.


Padmé was in trouble even though she'd sworn to herself she would never again date a fire-fighter.


"Are you coming or what, old man?" Anakin demanded, still not crossing the threshold.


Ben rolled his eyes and sighed.


"Yeah, I am coming."


Suddenly he turned back to Padmé, grabbed the cup with her special blend and took a deliberatly slow sip. His eyes closed for a second.


"This really is a good coffee." There was a faint sheen of liquid on his upper lip. Padmé wanted to lick it off. He took another sip.


Putting his container into the cup holder, he grabbed the baklava and just stood there for the longest moment.


"I may have to come back, Padmé." His voice was rich and promising. Like the coffee she couldn't have enough of.  


Then he was gone. The door closed. She could still see the outline of his broad back. She found herself drawn to the door, staring at his jean-clad behind. Before he crossed the street he turned around.


He smiled at her. No smirk, no sexy grin. Just a real smile. When he lifted his hand and waved at her she found herself already waving back.


Damn, she was in trouble.


Chapter Text

They have to be careful. They are careful. Naboo's citizens help them wherever they can. They hide their former queen well.


As he watches her come up the stairs from the lake, his breath catches in his throat. It happens more often these days. It shouldn't, but he is affected by her. It doesn't matter that she is round with Anakin's child. She is glowing, ethereal, too lovely for his mind to come up with more fitting words.


It's the proximity, he tells himself, the lack of anything to do but talk or be still and sit near each other or listen to the others breathing at the opposite side of the room. They walk daily in the nearby forest, discuss everything and nothing. They are getting to know each other anew. No, not anew. They never really knew each other before, they always held the other at bay. Maybe knowing what would happen? Maybe, maybe...


The light illuminates her and her simple white gown. Petals fall from the tree's all around her and shower her with affection and little gifts. She smiles. His heart clenches.


He looks out at the lake. Behind his closed eyelids her face appears. With simpler brushstrokes his mind paints her eyes, her mole, her blooming smile. Nonetheless she is perfect, only privy to his mind's eye.


"Obi-Wan." she calls, her steps echo. Mindful. She moves oh-so-mindful to not stumble.


Any day now she could go into labour. She is a bit more impatient, sometimes moody and on occasions even cruel, but he knows her. And even if there would've been someone else, anyone else, be it another Jedi or a handmaiden of hers, he would have been by her side anyway. How could he not?


"What are you thinking about?" She slides her hand across her face to bring a stray lock behind her ear. It's good that she did that, his fingers were already itching with the wish to know the texture of her skin.


"I was wondering when the babes are deciding to come into this world."


Her smile is a bit strained. He knows she is weary. He feels how divided she is. He wonders if he should touch her hand. He doesn't.


Under the folds of his robe he curls his fingers around his wrist. The self-guilt and shame wake up and rear their ugly heads.


"Any day now." She looks over to the lake dreamily. "Could we go inside?"


"Of course, Milady." He bows his head.


She sets the pace. He follows. It's been like this since the beginning.


Inside they sit by the window, she talks to him about birds and water and hidden flowers. He gazes at her as if she's a sky full of stars. When Padmé falls asleep beside him, leaning into him heavily he feels a flicker of something else than the guilt or the shame. It's a spark of something brighter.


They might be the last remaining things of an old era, but they're not here because of that. They don't gravitate towards each other because they want to cling to the old world. No, they change together. Each on their own, but together . And now they learn the new shape of their spirits.


Like now, when she slides into his arms and he accommodates her body against his. They learn how they fit. His body against hers. His chin resting on her head. Her face leaning on his sternum. Her hands under his arms, hidden in the folds of his coarse tunics. His arms wound around her. Their legs tangled. Sometimes he feels a kick or a punch through skin and clothes. Sometimes he feels the same through the force, two colorful flames trying to get his attention.


This is how Padmé and Obi-Wan learn how their new edges, curves, angles fit the other. He finds they fit beautifully. He draws her closer into the circle of his arms.


Later he will worry that he overstepped the boundaries of old. The rules they set a long time ago. And he hopes, even though he knows he shouldn't, that those bounds too will change and mold and give birth to something new.


This is his secret dream.



Chapter Text

There is a man sitting, reading over in the corner. He is the only one with a book, real book.


Padmé fumbles with her own book ( Jane Eyre would have shown him too much of what kind of a person she is. So she had grabbed the well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice - and it wasn't entirely wrong but it was also too damn safe ) and walks over to him.


"Excuse me," she says and touches his shoulder. ",are you Rush, Rush Clovis?"


He seems surprised and looks at her a bit disoriented. Only for a moment, before he nods and stands up to offer a hand. He wears jeans and a blazer. It looks almost like someone who would work at a bookstore, not as a lawyer in a big law firm.


"Yeah, yeah ... That would be me. Rush. That's my name."


His eyes are really blue and he looks cheeky and shy at the same time, with his red hair building a neat frame for his face and the slight blush on his cheeks.


Padmé can't help but smile at him. Even though he is not her type.


"I am Padmé. It's good to finally meet you. I almost started thinking Bail only made you up." She laughs a bit to cover up what she just said.


They sit down and talk. They order coffee. Or rather: She orders coffee, he drinks his remaining green tea. They joke about the healthy life. The flirting comes natural. He has a dark humour, which she enjoys. Her sarcastic remarks make him grin in return. They share a piece of thick chocolate fudge cake.


She leans forward onto the table. His hands are right beside hers and they almost touch. It's what she really wants in this moment and it makes her heart race. His face is in focus, while the background seeps away.


When he smiles at her his eyes crease in the corners and she wants to touch those lines. She looks away when she notices that her reaction to him is entirely too strong, too much, too soon. She can feel the blood in her face, her hands getting wet and the empty feeling in her belly that's not hunger. She wants a big glass of red wine. She wants to feel dizzy, but the thing is, she already feels dizzy.


The book that lays beside his right arm is from Nick Hornby. He doesn't look like a guy who reads sappy books like that, but well. People like what they like, right? She realizes that she really should have brought Jane Eyre.


She thinks to herself: I am just going to tell him, when we meet next time.


Not even twenty minutes into their coffee date and she knows she wants another one. Bail had been so right to set them up and she thanks him silently.


He goes to use the restroom. And Padmé get's a call. From the real Rush Clovis who excuses himself that he didn't show up, that he had a very important meeting.


After she ends the call she asks herself who the hell the guy is she has been flirting with the last thirty minutes. And even though she knows she shouldn't, she stays and waits. She doesn't know yet if she is angry or pissed off or enarmoured.


It takes her ten minutes to come to the conclusion that he is gone. When she goes to the counter the barista tells her that her date paid for her coffee and cake.


Padmé looks back to the table were his book still lays. A wave of disappointment washes over her.


She grabs the Hornby and thumbs through it.


In the front there is an ExLibris that shows a dessert and a small hut. The letter's Kenobi's Oasis are entwined with the picture that bleed into an opened book. There is an address and a telephone number.


Hmm, maybe it's nothing , she thinks. But maybe... Maybe she'll find this guy and get's to yell at him. And maybe afterwards she'll get her second date. This time hopefully knowing his real name.


Padmé should have known that eyes as steady and blue as his couldn't belong to a guy named Rush .


She closes the book and leaves the café.

Chapter Text

The wolf gives something akin to a laugh. It's not a laugh, of course. But it's a joyful sound that's reminiscent of a laugh. She sprints down to the caves, two other wolves right behind her.


Anakin smirks when he notices them. And even though the moment was kind of charged a few seconds ago with Ben and Qui arguing what feels like the thousand time this week the mood lightens instantly.


When Padmé transforms her body into the lithe grace of her human skin she tips her head back in laughter. Her hair holds a few leaves, her face is flushed.


Sabé and Dormé are giggling as well. The trio walks towards the three men standing in the locker room like entrance where they store their clothes when they go for a run or a patrol. Ben, Qui and Anakin are in various stages of undress. His brother and father seem to agree to putting their arguing aside right now.


Padmé comes to them, while she slips on panties and a threadbare top. How she manages to do this while walking Anakin doesn't know. She flicks her hair back over her shoulder.


Nakedness is not an issues when you're a changeling. It's a normal part life. But he tries not to look at Padmé too long, because she's beautiful and all but he doesn't want to go to bonertown. That would be embarrassing. She is after all still the closest thing to a sister he's got. So yeah, he's pointedly looking somewhere else. Namely his brother.


Ben is nonchalant but Anakin has noticed something about the two of them recently. His brother looks at her, yes. But only at her face, ever. And she too seems really intent on not letting her eyes slide down his bare chest.


His brother is not muscular like an actor or model but he looks ok, Anakin guesses. At least all of the ladies in the caves think so. They ogle him all the time. Dressed or not-dressed, it doesn't matter.


It's his beautiful soul , Anakin's mother says. Ani always makes puking sounds when she says something like this. She is just too cheesy.


Of course she is allowed to be like that, because she's their mom and even though he wipes at his face after she kisses him, he loves her.


Where was he? Ah yeah, Ben and Padmé not trying to look at each other. It's a change that happened over the course of the last year. Before both of them seemed oblivious to the other. They were friends, sure, but it's different now. Everything is different.


It's clear that Ben is going to be Alpha one day. Ani knows that his father wants him to be his first commander, his right hand. Ani doesn't want anything as much as this. He and his brother, taking care of the pack. It sounds like a dream. Sometimes those dreams get a little out of hand and he imagines himself as the Alpha but he knows that most of the dominant juveniles like him picture things like this.


Padmé is technically not a dominant but she is not submissive either. She is what wolves refer to as a maternal female. Her instincts to protect the weak and the young are so high that her behavior places her at the top of pack structure. In changeling wolf lore they are known as omegas but the title is so outdated and cringe-worthy that no one uses it anymore these days.


"Let me guess," Padmé says and cooks her head to the side to look from Ben to Qui without craning her neck. ", you are talking about the Reunion?"


Behind her Sabé and Dormé saunter off and tell her to meet them in the cantina. Padmé waves.

Ani get's an elbow to his ribcage when he looks after them. His brother eyes him knowingly.


"You could say that." Qui smiles. "We were also talking about the chance it will bring to the den."


"The chance?"


"It's time for Ben to actively seek a mate. He is not getting younger. Thirty without a mate is very unheard of. And It will stabilize the pack. I know you don't like the prospect of that, but it's necessary."


The moment is uncomfortable. Awkwardness all around. Padmé and Ben exchange glances.


Qui goes from serious to teasing in a matter of seconds.


"And maybe he won't be the only one finding someone during the annual belthain bonfires." Padmé arches an eyebrow at the not so subtly reminder that she should be looking for a mate too.


Ben makes a noise in the back of his throat that clearly tells them what he thinks about that. The waves of distress and uneasyness coming from Ben make Ani a bit dizzy. His skin itches. Ben is clearly on his way to protective overload.


"I do understand that I have to start looking for a mate," Ben starts and places himself slightly in front of Padmé. He does this a lot these days. Ani looks at his dad and notices that he noticed. Padmé on the other hand is oblivious. It is subtle, but not subtle enough for other Alphas. ",but Padmé just turned twenty-one. She is not in need of a mate if I find a suitable partner soon. I don't think the utter obsession the council has with Padmé's status as a single maternal female is justified."


Padmé shoots him a look that may be thankful. Then her face is back to mere interest.


"I couldn't have said it better." Padmé nods. "But maybe we should just see this as a chance . For our pack." She places a hand on Qui's arm and then on Ben's. "Without any implications and expectations."


When she turns to Ben with a little smile and a twinkle, she says: "And maybe there will be some pretty blondes around."


"Well," Ben mumbles serious. "she doesn't have to be a blonde."


Padmé ignores this piece of information and looks at him as if she knows better.


"You do remember that Qui and Thal met this way."


"You are right of course." Qui says and smiles at the thought of his first wife. "Let's not fight, Ben. I just want you to be happy."


Ben sighs and let's his arms fall down. Padmé averts her eyes quickly.


"It won't hurt to take a look around, I guess." It's a peace offering if he ever heard one, Ani thinks. "Who knows what will happen?"


Ben nods and Qui looks pleased. Padmé seems to be glad she could ease some of the tension.


"I have to head up for a training session with the juveniles." Ben says suddenly. Padmé throws them a distracted goodbye and hurries after Ben.


"You need some help with them?"


"If you're up for some sparring?"


"You know I'll kick your butt, Kenobi."


"Well," he says and shoots her a fond look. "They do have to learn to never underestimate their opposite. But don't think I'll go easy on you, Pad."


"I know you won't. But it's not going to change the outcome."


Then they are too far off even for changeling ears to catch any more of their banter.


Ani looks at his father and starts to ask: "Why aren't they--?"


His father sighs and shakes his head. "I think they haven't realized it yet."



Chapter Text

Their's was the kind of secret affair where both parties involved knew that it wouldn't last. Not because of lacking feelings, but because of their differences in lifestyles.


They meet when Obi-Wan works as a waiter in the little coffee shop around the corner of Padmé's office.


Every day he hands her the coffee she craves so much. With a smile she learns to crave even more. Sometimes it is a dimpled smirk. It could look almost devious with the intent of flirting and sarcastic banter. Or it looks more secretive smile, all pliant and kissable. Their looks linger longer on these days, longer than is socially acceptable.


The fantasies start out of boredom. Getting fucked against the counter or on one of the rickety table was a favorite. She dreams of getting whipped cream sucked off of her nipples, while some of the cream drops down into her blouse.


Sometimes a woman just needs a fantasy. Something to get by when work is too much.


And it is often too much these days. She decides to try for senator. Anakin thinks it's a great idea. He stands behind her, as always. They will look good on the campaign posters. Youngest female senator and the decorated war hero. Padmé is not above milking their love story.


The waiter, Obi-Wan, was just a nice fantasy. She doesn't know anything expect his name. Sometimes, when she looks through her notes, she feels her mind wander. She will imagine that they meet somewhere else, just a stroke of luck.


Maybe in the Opera, because he wasn't just a waiter, but some kind of rich heir too. He just works in the coffee shop to get to people without the burden of his heritage.


It was always the same: At some point he would kiss her breathless. At some point he made her orgasm.


She felt faintly guilty afterwards. But not enough to stop.


Getting to know him wasn't an option. They talked, flirted, bantered. Both of them delighted to take their minds of their jobs, the stress, the weight of life. They are both secure in this setting. He is the soft-spoken waiter who smiles easily. And she is the young politician, who answers his smiles just as readily.


If their circumstances were different they would certainly break the illusion, end up in bed. Padmé was almost sure that they would be dissapointed with this outcome, because no one could life up to a fantasy.


After a year she comes into the café expecting her usual coffee and a smile. But he isn't there. Instead there is a young woman with sepia-brown skin and blue dreads. And even though she is nice, she wasn't what Padmé had come to... expect? To want? To adore?


Their life's separated. She thought of him often in the beginning. Still thought about meeting him by chance and unravelling the mystery behind the smile.

But they never meet. At some point she is sure it was only a little crush.


And after some time she forgets even that, because that's what happens after a while.


She was a senator now, so she didn't have time for mindless dreaming. She had a wonderful fiance and even time for him was cut short. Even more so when she decides to take the next step and become governor.


She succeeds of course. Because that's what she does. Anakin surprises her with tickets to the theater, where they would watch Shakespeare's 'The Tempest'.


The instant she recognizes him, bring tears to her eyes. Her heart is pounding, her blood rushing out of her limbs, leaving her hands and feet cold. Her face is red and hot. And she imagines that all of his words are for her, that his eyes are not only seemingly directed in her direction.


During the intermission she drinks too much champagne. The buzz in her head is a blessing. She goes back to her seat slightly tipsy. Anakin winks at her and asks her if she enjoys herself. They hold hands. He is very pleased with himself.


Afterwards she sits at the bar, waiting for her husband. She can only imagine how full the restrooms are right now.


"How about a cup of coffee?" The cup, on a caucer with a neatly folded napkin and four cubes of sugar, slides into view. Of course she knows who it is. Her heart stops anyway. It's too much like one of her fantasies.


He is even more handsome now, with his beard and the faint lines around his eyes. She let's the sugar fall into the hot liquid.


"Thank you."


She stirs the black coffee and finds that she wants to drink it badly, burn her mouth and lick the sugar off of her lips.


"You are a great actor." He looks away humbly, but his smile is pleased.


They sit in silence and an observer would think that they are a couple about to break up. That they don't to know what to say to the other. Padmé thinks that both of them know exactly what they want to say. It's just that they can't.


Suddenly she worries that Anakin will be back too soon. Before... Before... What?


Obi-Wan swallows, his lips open to form words. He licks them slowly instead. She has to drag her gaze away from his mouth when he starts speaking.


"Your husband... I saw him."


"Yes. He will be right back."


He nods.


"I should go."


She doesn't say anything else, doesn't hold him back. Of course he should leave. But like in her fantasies (and in his?) they get pulled together.


"I missed your smile."


The words are so soft that she almost doesn't catch them. But he is also closer now. Close enough to feel the tension that comes with closeness. He smells like fresh sweat and some faint leathery after shave. She blushes. It's just the alcohol, she is sure.


"Goodbye." Obi-Wan says it first, she repeats it unwillingly. Their gazes are still locked. When he leaves she is not staring after him. But she can make out the shape of his body reflected in the window opposite the bar.


It's another ten minutes before Anakin is back, ranting how impolite rich people can get if they have to stand in line for once in their lives. They hail a cub, talk about the play, about their weekend plans. Padmé cuddles up to him, there on the back seat. He smells like Anakin - it's a small comfort.


Her hand is still curled around the napkin that came with her cup of coffee. There on the back is a telephone number. Nothing else.


While the world is sliding by in a blur of darkened colors against the wet asphalt, Padmé's mind slips into another fantasy:

It's monday morning, she is in her office and with clammy fingers she dials the number. On the other side there is a click and a warm voice, welcoming her, pulling her in.


It's just a fantasy, Padmé tells herself and closes her eyes for a moment. She is still dizzy from the alcohol and hyped up from the coffee and something else.


This time she can't really believe herself.

Chapter Text

The arrangement worked. Better yet, it suited both of them perfectly.

But somehow over time, it changed.

After the first initial awkwardness over their unusual circumstances they sat down and talked it over. They were honest with each other.

Obi-Wan talked about his medical condition and how it altered him and his behavior. Padmé nodded when she thought he needed her to be quiet and asked questions when she felt they were necessary to understand everything.

Padmé talked about her life and her commitment to her work. How she always fought for others. How her work was everything she wanted. That she never let herself get defined by other or their perspective of her gender.

He listened attentively while his hands wrapped around a mug of steaming hot chocolate, sometimes he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“So,” she said, trying to sound less affected than she felt. “What do you think?”

He gave a smile and said “How about a string of meetings were we get to know each other a bit better?”

Padmé could feel the smile tugging at her mouth.

“You mean like a date?”

“Essentially… Yes.”

“Well, I guess we should get to know each other beforehand.”

And there they were, regarding the other with interest and hope: An omega not interested in mating and breeding and an Alpha not capable of the same thing due to an hormonal imbalance.

Padmé felt the nervousness tighten her chest. 

They agreed to meet the following day. But instead of a coffee date and a stroll in the park they spent the whole weekend in each others company.

Obi-Wan spotted her little library in her study and they talked books. They spent time reading next to each other. Even read paragraphs out loud when they found something interesting, discussed various topics at length. When they took a break to drink tea they talked about book to movie transitions. Which brought them to movies.

It just slipped out of her mouth: “You want to watch a movie?” And he agreed just as readily with a smile and a nod.

But first: A late lunch. A dash to the grocery store (and a lot of conversations about healthy food) later they cooked side by side in comfortable silence while sipping white wine.

Padmé thought: I could get used to this. He is so very different from the usual Alpha. He seems to be genuinely interested in me as a person.  

This thought alone made Padmé sigh in relief. She had already let some of her guard down, because he didn’t seem threatening.
As a female omega society expected not a lot of her. Mating, breeding, tending to her pups and her Alpha.

But her parents had raised her against all odds to be someone who had her own opinions, her own dreams and desires. When she presented as an omega everything started to get out of hand. People she had known all of her life suddenly treated her like she didn’t exist.

Why was her beta sister allowed to attend public school while she was home-schooled? Why couldn’t she speak in public without people frowning at her or shaking their heads? Why was she always dismissed, her ideas laughed at?

When she was older she started to understand. Female omegas were courted and treated like fragile dolls, expected to shut up and be bred, while male omegas were hunted down and raped as if it was an Alpha’s right. It sickened her. And then and there she decided that she would change that, Padmé was set on going against this injustice.

She had been twelve at the time. Her parents never tried to talk her out of it. Her mother sure had hoped she would find a fine Alpha and settle down and give her the grandpups that she so desperately wanted but even she understood Padmé thriving for a better life. Not just for her, but for every omega.

After she got her degree she started her own law firm, run by mostly omegas. They got a lot of negative press and even a few death threats, but they dealt with it.

A lot of her work had been pro-bono back then. But it wasn’t about earning a lot of money anyway. And Padmé was lucky to have supportive parents who helped her a lot during this time. Now, five years later she was known as ‘The Omega’s Saint’. A nickname that she hated, but it was publicity and so she kept on using it.
She had sponsors, organized charitable events, raised awareness through big campaigns that were all over the media.

A year ago she had run for congresswoman and won. But with that new problems arose. Even though she didn’t need an Alpha in her circles, the political circus was vastly different from the arena she usually fought in. It was like being back in her village, trying to speak when she wasn’t spoken to: People ignored her.

Bail had told her plainly that she needed an Alpha. But the thing was she didn’t knew any Alpha’s. At least no one that she could imagine living with even if it was just pretend.

The add had been Dromé’s idea. And right now, standing in her kitchen watching Obi-Wan she reminded herself to thank her friend.

In all honesty Padmé hadn’t really believed that this would work. The first few weeks she met horrible Alphas who all thought they could change her mind if they just tried hard enough. As if she was playing a game.

Just when she had been fed up and wanted to delete the add, Obi-Wan had answered her.

He was more than she had hoped for. He had been open with her from the start, shared his medical condition with her and what it entailed. It helped that he was open to her cause and understood exactly why she needed an Alpha. He was willing to give her the safety of his scent so she could go on and try to make the world a better place for omegas.  

And to top it all off he was not only smart but easy on the eyes, too. Where did that thought came from? His looks didn’t matter at all. Right. He wasn’t exactly her type anyway and maybe even a bit too old for her, but since both of them weren’t looking for sex it was all good.

There wasn’t a hint of sexual attraction, even though his smell was enticing, heavenly even. It could easily be the best scent she’d ever smelled. Dried tea leaves and soft moss. A stream that ran through open land and shone brightly against the soft yellow wheat. He smelled dry and clean. It made her sigh with content. 

Obi-Wan himself had eerily similar thoughts, while she peeled the asparagus with deft fingers. With a bright smile in his direction she cut the vegetable into smaller bits and threw it into the pan. All of it looked incredible easy.

It seemed like she could do anything. She was intelligent, a good conversationalist, unbelievably beautiful and kind. But crucial to his decision had been her scent.

The idea of having this scent surround him every day, calmed him. It reminded him of all things lush and dewy. Floral, but not too heavy. Fresh and sweet with a hint of something deeper. A meadow that led into a deep forrest, filled with dark hiding spots and wild marjoram.  

To imagine himself coming home to someone like her eased a part in him that always had been on edge.

His last relationships had all crumbled under the weight of his condition. In his youth people had assumed he would be an omega or maybe even a beta. But when he didn’t present as neither of those two, his father had dragged him to the doctor. They took blood samples, measured, weighed and probed him.

The conclusion was as simple as shocking: He was an Alpha, but his hormones were so low that he wouldn’t go into a rut. The doctor had said that his hormone level would eventually stabilize itself. When it didn’t by the time he was sixteen he started medication.

It was awful. He felt wrong at all times. He had bouts of nausea, aggressive episodes, had to stay home because he was so damned horny all the time that it made him sick to his stomach. Shame, guilt and desperation clung to him and pulled him down into depression.

After his grades dropped he stopped taking the pills. He got his high school diploma, went to college got himself more degrees than were strictly necessary for one person. Ultimately he became a professor for biology and sociology.

Both of his long term relationships broke over his condition. It wasn’t the primary condition though. He was capable of having sex, just not the sex most partners desired. The fact that it also meant that he could never father a child was way worse.

He got comfortable with the idea of being alone. He had friends. He had his work. It would suffice. But late at night when he was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling he yearned for a companion. Someone who would spend the days and nights with him. He didn’t even think about the physicality, he just wanted someone to share his life with. Someone he could take care of.

A relationship that was built on a foundation of friendship maybe? But who wanted that? Who wouldn’t look at him and see only his inability to breed and mate?

He started looking through the entries on reddit. Nervousness gnawed on his insides. Male Alpha in search of… But what was he searching for?
Best to take a beta… Maybe even a teta.

But the cursor of the mouse moved on his own violation to the field Male Alpha in search of female omega.

Why was he even looking here?  

There was nothing there. He looked up every entry. All Alpha’s seemed to look for the same: A breeding ground, sometimes a mate, sometimes sex with knotting, without knotting. And he wouldn’t go into all of the kinky things the knotheads looked for. Obi-Wan was winced while scrolling through this section, peeking through a hand that he had put over his face to hide his embarrassment even though no one could see him.

The idea to search in reverse came to him like lightning. And this was where he found her add.

“Independent Female Omega looking for a live in Alpha and companion, with a binding contract for the next year with option of renewal if both parties are satisfied with the arrangment. Condition: No sex whatsoever.”

He was astounded and relieved. This was exactly what he had been looking for.

Their lunch was light and tasted delicious. Asparagus salad with chopped eggs, garnished with parsley and mustard dressing. Some slices of baguette and another glass of white wine.

No need for talking, just enjoying their meal together.

They even did the dishes together. Obi-Wan did the washing, Padmé dried and put the plates away. She was humming under her breath.

He could tell that she felt no threat coming from him and it made him nervous and giddy. His reaction was somehow unsettling. He rubbed his pruney fingers over his neck, trying to hide his blush. She didn’t notice.

They watched a movie, laughed and talked. Then watched another one. He was the first to fall asleep. When he woke up later, Padmé was snuggled up to him under a soft blanket. He went back to sleep with her in his arms. Everything was alright. Sunday dawned and he realized just how good Padmé fit against his body. Instead of waking her he just stayed where he was. Even if she would decide against him, this moment was somehow a balm for his soul.

The scent of flowers and wild marjoram came to him. He wanted to lean forward, to take everything in. Her hair tickled his nose.He fought the urge to rub a path along her nack with the tip of his nose.

Had they talked about scenting? He tried to think through the fog of drowsiness and couldn’t find and answer. He would ask her. It would be rude to assume, even though she was laying in his arms, her neck stretched out like a banquet.  

When was the last time he had scented someone? It must have been Siri. So give or take ten years. He huffed and shook his head, surprising himself that he even thought about something so intimate. He put the ridiculous knotheaded notion out of his head.

When she woke up she rolled a bit back to look at him. Sleepy and tousled was a good look on her. Even the smudged mascara had a certain appeal.

“It seems like we are compatible.” she stated, not surprised at all.

“So it seems.”

They stayed like that for quite a while, gazing at the other.

“How about breakfast?” His voice was raspy after waking up. “I make a mean french toast or so I’ve been told.”

“French toast sounds heavenly.”

After breakfast Obi-Wan only went home to change his clothes, but it seemed natural to come back. So he did. And even though they didn’t really talk about it, there wasn’t a doubt that he would ultimately stay.

A week later he was only going home to sleep. Two weeks after that he only went home when he needed something.  

At the end of the month they got all of the things he wanted to keep from his apartment.

When they signed the contract both of them felt how right this was. Life seemed good.

Chapter Text

"I think," her mother finally says out of the blue. "this man would do anything you ask of him."


Sola looks almost envious over to their mother who arranges a bouquet of flowers. Then she sends Padmé a smug grin.


"Listen to your mother Padmé." her older sister chants and laughs. Padmé just shakes her head and fusses with Leia's little dress, even though there is nothing wrong with it.


"Oh, come on, you two. Everyone sees how he looks at Padmé. He wouldn't say no if you asked him. I think he is incapable of refusing you anything."


"You make him sound like a pining schoolboy, mother." Padmé says while turning her back and moving aimlessly though the kitchen. She doesn't approve. Sola and her mother exchange a knowing smile.


"He was one of the greatest Jedi of his generation." she goes on, the senator mode turned on. "And he did refuse me a lot, opposed me a lot."


Padmé snorts as if she remembers several occasions.


"Well, those were the good old days." her mothers says sweetly. One of the flowers stands out, she picks it out of the bouquet with sure hands. Never afraid to get pricked. "The days were you were secretly married to the Jedi progeny who turned out to be a complete nutcase."


She snips at the stem of the flower. Her scissors are very sharp. Padmé's dark eyes narrow, but she says nothing. What is there to say? The younger woman doesn't want to argue any more.


"Everything is different now. We shouldn't look back." Sola says, ever the big sister. The peacemaker. "We were talking about the now. The nice Jedi upstairs who adores you."


Padmé rolls her eyes. Leias squirms and she let's her down. For a moment the little girl stands on shaking legs.


"Whose idea was it anyway to pose as a married couple?"


"Not mine." Padmé picks at her nails. "His. It was his idea."


But he only came up with that after Padmé told him that they would never pass as siblings. It's not important for them to know, she thinks. It was still his idea.


"Well," her mother says and her words are serious now. "You can't go around looking at other men now."


"I am just so... lonely ." Her throat closes and it's quiet in the kitchen now. The other two women hear it. They know. It comes down to this. She is the mother of two little children. Does the things a married woman do. Tend to her household, her servants, her husband. It's everything she ever wanted, but it's also just pretending.


Padmé is not allowed to do the things she desires.


She's not allowed to work in a voluntary capacity even though she has the time, because it's not safe. She is not allowed to fight for the things she is passionate about, because someone could recognize her.


Instead of pretending to have no relationship like she did before, she pretends to have one now. It's like a cruel joke.


She has a husband. But no affection. Only mild friendship. Two strangers sleeping beside each other in a too big bed. No hugs, no kisses, no fire. She craves attention and love and passion.


She is a person of duty. But also of dreams and desires.


"Not just lonely, sister. You need a good bedding."


"Sola!" Padmé cries, her head whipping around to her mother, looking for some support. Her mother looks away though.

Then she sighs.


"Your sister has a point there, sweetling. In a way you are married now-- Don't look at me like that, Padmé."


Her mother stands in the middle of the kitchen, the vase in between her hands. She looks like some kind of angry demi-goddess. But Padmé can't help but shake her head no anyway. She doesn't have a husband. Obi-Wan is not her husband. She refuses to call him that.


Even if they slept beside each other cramped in the others personal space on their journey here. Even if they woke up tangled in the morning and learning not to care. Pretending to be still asleep for as long as possible because she needed a persons warmth. Obi-Wan's warmth?


She never thought that this was hers.


" Yes , you are. He may not be the husband you wanted but you have him. Maybe you should do the best with what you have been given."


Padmé stares at her mother. She feels anger in her gut. When she talks it's with spite.


"He is old . And he is not my type. His hair is getting gray already." Even to her own ears she sounds like a petulant child.


Jobal pulls her mouth together in a crinkled line of disapproval.


"I have other things to do. We can continue this talk later ." Or never .


She doesn't say it, but Padmé can hear it anyway. After she is gone it's only Sola and her. And little Leia on the floor, playing with a pot she pulled out of a cupboard.


"It's not as if he is ugly." Sola begins and sit's down rather heavily. "There is a rather fine face hidden under that beard."


"I wouldn't know." she says, lies. Why does she lie?


"It seems to me like you don't want to know."


"Does your husband know that you look at other men that intently?"


"He doesn't need to know everything. Just like I don't want to know everything."


"Maybe that's why you have the better marriage."


"I wouldn't exactly call the thing you had with Anakin a marriage. Stolen moments and passionate sex don't make a good marriage."


"Well it doesn't hinder a good marriage."


"Oh no, of course it doesn't. But it's fleeting. You might not want to hear it but what you have with Kenobi is more similar to my marriage to Darred."


"What exactly are you trying to tell me, Sola?"


"That not all people who have good sex are destined to have good marriages."


"My marriage to Anakin wasn't just about sex."


"Oh no, of course not. There was also the appeal of his stupidly handsome face and his mischievous demeanor with a hint of the forbidden mixed into your love affair."




"You know I always looked up to you, even though you are the younger sister. You always seemed wise beyond your years. You always lived the live of a far older woman."


Sola takes her hand. She is serious and intense.


"Anakin was your way out of that, I get it. I think it's this part that doesn't want to settle now. This wild part of you is bored with all of this. But nevertheless it doesn't dare to see what you could have with Kenobi. Because compared to the young one you two are eye to eye. I think that frightens you. A man that opposes you and dares to have a different opinion."


Padmé snorts.


"Anakin and I always disagreed, Sola."


"And did you talk about that?" her sister prompts. "Did you have serious discussions about your point of view and his and tried to work a way to a middle ground?"


"Of course we--"


"I am not talking about all the times you settled on having sex instead, Pad."


Padmé is speechless. She closes her mouth and listens.


"Because that's what it is, sister dear. Talking until something gives. But sometimes it doesn't . You were unfair, he was obstinate. So you stomp to bed angrily. You lie next to each other and it feels like a gulf. And still. There in the middle of the night he grabs your hand and you hold on. That's what it's about Padmé. Even when you are not one mind and one soul. You still hold on."


Padmé imagines and it scares her.


Could love really be like... like a senate hearing instead of an empire build on blind submission?


She tries to find an answer but can't.


In the night, when Obi-Wan and she lay side by side her hand twitches before she grabs him by his wrist. He snaps out of his slumber instantly and looks at her from the other pillow, another country. His eyes are vulnerable.




"Shh..." she says and rubs her thumb over his pulse point. The dun dun dun of his heartbeat is faster than it needs to be.


"Sleep." she whispers and to her utter wonder he closes his eyes instantly and slips slowly into sleep.


He trusts me, Padmé thinks, her eyes wide and unseeing. Her breathing is a sharp, ragged thing in the dark bedroom.


Maybe, maybe... her thumb keeps rubbing circles. It's warm and comfortable but a fire is alight in her.


She holds on.

Chapter Text

It takes them some time to talk about it.


It’s Patricia, reasonable pragmatic Patricia who comes to his room and calls him out. He moves words around his mouth, unable to get them into a sentence. He wants to say it in a way that doesn’t tell her about all the things she shouldn’t know.


It’s guilt that wrecks him, he knows.


But it’s guilt about the wrong thing, you see?

The moment he held the papers he felt confusion and frustration and a sudden understanding what he held in his hands followed by a surge of relief.


Free, he had thought. I am free.


And then, louder, more insistent: Patricia is free.


His heart had been pounding against his ribs, so hard that he believed the policeman in front of him would notice.  

More relief followed, chased by hope and… excitement.


And this was so wrong. Shouldn’t he mourn his marriage? Shouldn’t he feel righteous anger about Arnold leaving Pat and the children? But he can’t help but think that now everything is going to change.


Everything can be right, now. They can be a family.


He looks over where she is still standing in the doorway.




Ah, her voice. Her too perfect english with this lilt that no one can place. It’s even there in his name. He loves it.


Her voice is all he wants these days. He imagines her saying it over and over through out the day. He wants her to say it happy and content when he slings an arm around her. He wants her to say it with a sigh because she is glad to see him after a long day.


He wants her to say it when they sit and play cards, accusing him of cheating. Or when they take a walk with the children and they team up on her, chasing her around and she screeches, so loud that the pigeons flee.


Those are just a few of the moments he comes up with. And even that makes him doubt himself, even that makes him wallow in self-pity.


Is everything going to stay the way it is now? Will she leave? And then? He has no real clue what he wants. That’s a lie, he wants her and the kids safe, always. He wants them to be happy, to be part of his life. This might be selfish of course, but goddamn, her never asked for much before.


She shakes her head and crosses the room, sits down next to him. So close that the dipping of the mattress brings them close enough to touch. She doesn’t flinch away.


“Are you angry with me, Benjamin?”


He pinches the bridge of his nose.


“Of course not. I mean, ah. I was– I was angry.” Her face falls, but she tries to keep the mask up. He hurries to say: “That you kept it from me that long.”


She didn’t expect this answer. Her eyes stay locked on his face. He looks away and blushes.


His hands fall to his thighs, useless. Even too nervous to fidget.


“So you are not… sad?”


It takes him a moment to understand what she means. Is she sad?


“No. I mean… I was of course. In the beginning. But I haven’t been sad in a long time. Quite on the contrary: I am happy.”


“So you don’t plan on leaving?”


“Of course not!” he huffs and sits up straight. “Patricia! I would not be parted from the children, nor from you. Do you understand?”


Her eyes glisten and her mouth holds a smile he cannot begin to describe. It’s a bit like she found something, a bit like she watches something happen that wasn’t supposed to turn out this good.


When she speaks it comes as a surprise, even for her.


“I didn’t like you, at first. You were so laced up, so serious. You wore this funny hat that’s not quite a fedora. And your moustache… I thought it ridiculous.”


Ben feels around his face in a very self-concious manner. Touches his ridiculous moustache. His face is hot.


“I like my–”


“Oh,” she cries and takes his face in her hand, her thumbs touching the sides of it. Her smile is widening. Her palms are warm and clammy.


Never let go, he thinks.


“I love it, too! It’s not ridiculous, because it’s you.”


They stare at each other.


It’s a long, long moment before he leans in. Her breath mingles with his, it’s warm and smells like homemade jelly. He wants to taste her very badly.


She says: “Ben.”


Just a puff of breath on his parted lips, but his heart quickens and he starts to sweat. He surges forward.  

Tastes her.


Padmé is pliant, but neither shy nor demure. Her kiss is fierce and intense. Her arms are slung around him, holding him near. There is no feeling of doubt in him that she doesn’t want this.


Nothing is said for quite some time.

Chapter Text

He is going crazy.

It is her, he is sure.  But Padmé is dead. He had been there when it had happened. He had felt her fade. Mourned her afterwards. She had become one of his ghosts.

And yet… She stands right there, leans on the bar nonchalantly.

She is thinner, her hair shorter but it is still a glossy brown. There are some harsh lines around her mouth, as if she frowns more these days. Her eyes give her away though. They still hold a soft look, framed by thick lashes.

He croaks. She looks at him.

The embarrassing feelings that wash over him are unexpected. He is very self conscious all of a sudden  regarding his worn clothes, his ratty cloak. His too long hair, his too old face.

He had never been vain. But these days he doesn’t even check the mirror. He doesn’t care about himself. He doesn’t deserve any better.

‘It’s really her.’ Qui-Gon sounds like a proud parent seeing a child return home.  

Ben walks over to her, sits down at the bar. He leaves one stool free in between them, as if a third person would join them any minute now.

“Hello, Kenobi.” Her voice holds a gravel that upsets him. He shoves the picture of Anakin chocking her out of his mind.

“I think I don’t remember your name.”

“Gylla Thule.”

He nods, as if he understands.

After they finish their drinks in silence she asks him if they could go somewhere. It sounds suggestive, even more so as she touches his hand. Of course it is supposed to sound like this. Some of the attention is still on them.

They would think… But she doesn’t seem to mind.

She slides from her stool gracefully. Tugs at his hand, pulling him with her. Someone whistles and Ben finds himself staggering after her like a puppet.

Her touch burns, while his mind scrambles. When was the last time someone touched him? He tries to remember but fails. Her skin is warm, a bit rougher than expected. All of his attention focuses on the imprint of this small hand on his wrist.

When they are out of view, he tries to slip out of her grip, but she doesn’t let go.

“Don’t let go.” she asks, in a tone that sounds far more like Padmé. “I don’t touch people very often these days.”

He nods.

It makes the walk to his hut a bit harder, because they have someone holding them back. But sometimes it is easier, because they have something to hold on to.  

She lets go when they enter the hut. It smells stale and dusty. He wonders if he smells like an old man, if it disgusts her.
Her face is impassive.

“I thought you were dead.”

“In a way I was.” She starts and looks around the small room. There is nothing to see. “Yoda and Bail faked my death. And with some help from my handmaidens I got out of my tombstone and off Naboo.”

He feels no lie in her. Padmé was alive, those were good news. But Yoda tricking him? Why didn’t he tell him?

‘You know why, Padawan.’ Qui-Gon says. Ben knows that his mentors arms are corssed in front of his chest. He is calm and serene. He always is when Ben feels most lost and adrift on the wide sea that is the force.

“He was afraid I would go with you.” It makes sense, he thinks. “He was afraid we would keep the children.”

The word that hurts the most is the we. It seems to be the same for her. He sees the twitch of her expressive mouth as if someone, Ben, cut her.

For a moment they both imagine. Them living on the run or on a random outer rim planet or just somewhere, the kids growing. Growing around them, binding them together, attaching them to the other.

We could have been the others second chance.

For a moment he thinks he sees tears in her eyes, but when he looks at her they are gone.

“This is what I thought. He never confirmed it though.”

“Why did you do it?” There is some accusation behind the question, but mostly Ben is tired. “I could have helped.”

“No, you couldn’t.” There is a bitterness now that makes her seem as old as him. “After I gave birth to my children I was no longer of value.”

Her hands are balled into fists at her sides now and she starts pacing.

“Families aren’t useful to Jedi and their purpose. Neither are the mothers of the children they take. No attachments. Goddess forbid. Don’t give into attachments.”

Her voice is full with scorn. He swears he can smell the smoke coming out of her mouth. All of the ashes that are left from her burned dreams, coat her tongue. She is a crushed thing, but still a survivor.

“Attachments.” It’s a hollow sound coming from him. Not even a right word. He shakes his head. Oh, so many regrets. “Why are you here?”  

It takes time for her to answer. Mainly, he thinks, because she is still angry and she doesn’t want to be angry right now.

He waits.

“Can I stay?”

She holds his gaze. Inspects him thoroughly. What does she see?

He is worn thin, surrounded by sand. It’s gotten in his joints, his shoes, his beard. He hates it, but he cannot bring himself to care.

He wants to touch her though. The mere thought frightens and stimulates him into a wakefulness of the mind.

There is only one room, one bed, everything else needs to be shared. There will be no room for letting the other be, no space, no haven.
And no games.

Somehow he thinks about her wardrobe. What a hilarious thought! He notices that she only wears a soft backpack over her Poncho. No elaborate dresses and makeup, of course.

Just her and him.  


She smiles and he might die from this. It’s beautiful and it reminds him of other things. He remembers decadent dinners and talking to a bright women with glossy curls, his padawan beside him yawning because they were still talking about politics.

Oh, how he misses it. How he misses the tangled web of happiness and lies.

“You are my only hope.”

He laughs at that, because she says it only half in jest.

“You are my last attachment, dear friend.”

With that she takes his hand. A sliver of light falls on their joined hands, a band made of brightness in an otherwise dark room. 

Chapter Text

Padmé's shoes were killing her. She needed a rest. She needed a footrub, a tall glass of wine and one or five orgasms.

She stumbled inside the apartment and thanked the goddesses that no one was home. No annoying beeping, or anxious chatter, no handmaiden to flutter around her. Padmé was blessedly alone - with a lot of possibilities.

First she drew herself the bath her muscles demanded, then she got the wine. Next on the list were orgasms.

She slipped out of her clothes, just threw all of them down before slipping into the hot water. She moaned and leaned back.

Not even pretending that this wouldn't end with her pleasuring herself she slung her leg over the rim of the bathtub. Her sex opened to the hot water. It felt so good.

Another sip of wine and Padmé's hand slid under the water. Without preamble she slid two fingers over her sensitive nub. She rubbed. She circled.

Her mind wandered to today's peace negotiations. Unbidden but not unwanted came the picture of Obi-Wan. She thought about him laying down his arguments, his voice all steady and calm, with hidden steal underneath it.

She shuddered at the thought and recalled the first throbbing of her core. How her insides had turned molten and soft while listening to him. It was his voice, she knew.  

She was adamant, had the best comebacks when she felt those first stirrings. It propelled her mind into action, sharpened her arguments into little weapons.

Leaning back in her chair, Obi-Wan had looked over to her, nodding into his agreement.

She had made good points and he appreciated that.

They smiled at each other.

But this, here, was her fantasy. She could imagine whatever she wanted. She could imagine herself sitting in front of him on the table. Her bare buttocks sticking to the glossy black of the table. His hand sliding up from her knee, under her skirts. Higher until he would notice, rather surprised that she wasn't wearing anything underneath her robes. He would part the hair between her legs and slide his finger through her slit.

Holding his gaze would be like touching a wire of electricity. But she did so anyway in these imagined moments.  

Her fingertips would circle her clit, his fingers would sink into her velvet heat. It wouldn't take her long at all.

Her thighs shook, her muscles locked. And she came, hard. With clenched teeth her head snapped back. Then she relaxed into the gentleness of this madness.

What was it about his voice, she asked herself later in bed when she couldn't look at her data-pad anymore.

 The seriousness he showed with every carefully chosen word, his almost rigid posture and the certainly constructed image he provided when he scratched his reddish beard, pursing his lips as if he contemplated saying something.

He wore a mask, just like her.

Was the young padawan she had met all these years ago still in there? Was he just hidden, doing his best not getting noticed and only coming out when it was time for a witty one-liner, a sarcastic comment, a comically raised eyebrow?

She heard footsteps from the hallway. Anakin was home. Her former thoughts pushed aside in a practiced move. For a moment she thought about faking sleep.

"Ah good. You're back from the negotiations." He launched in a triad about how Obi-Wan had somehow found him and Snips and told them everything. Ani moaned about how boring it must have been for her. Asked how she could stand it?

And she would be damned to do this all week, he continued. The younger man stripped off his clothes and fell into bed, making her jump.  

"I don't know how you bear it." he mumbled, yawned, already at the edge of sleep.

Yes, she asked herself, how could she indeed?

Chapter Text

“We are going to talk about it, if the kids notice.”

“When they notice.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up, disbelievingly.

And of course, as Padmé predicted, they noticed.

By the time the kids were old enough to realize the differences about their family compared to other families, they lived in a small settlement on a nameless planet on the edge of the outer rim.

They were part of the community and had been for a long enough time to get away with living as secluded as they did.

Obi-Wan worked as a farmer and offered his wares on the local market place, while Padmé had learned how to work as a seamstress.

They worked good together. Never complained about the other in front of other people and kept their arguments from the children.

They called them Mama and Papa. And that was that.  

In the beginning they had slept separately and that had worked well.

But soon the twins were old enough to either bring friends home or visit them in their respective homes.

This was when the questions started.

“Why do you have sepewate bedwooms?”


“I didn’t know what to tell him.” Padmé said and shook her had.

“That I snore.” Obi-Wan didn’t really look up from assembling the loose parts of his lightsaber.

“You don’t snore. You wheez.” she replied offhandedly. “And they know that.”

He looked up and sighed.

“Hand me the–”

“Here you go.”

A slightly damp cloth was placed on his hand before he even completed the sentence.

“Maybe you just like your space.”

She arched an eyebrow into his direction while rummaging around in the kitchen. She always preferred company these days.

“Well, we do have to tell them something.” he said, turning around to the kitchen he said: “I brought you some Gogu wine from the market. It’s in he cooling unit.”

“Just how I like it.” Padmé got the bottle and two glasses. She unkorked the bottle and poured a drink.

“The natives would shake their heads at you if they knew that you drink it cooled down.”

“I am a rebel.” She held her glass up before taking a sip.

“We could just tell them the truth. That not all couples share their sleeping quarters.”

Padmé frowned. He knew she didn’t like the idea.

It had been her who had insisted on pretending to pose as a couple and than as a family. She had wanted for the twins to learn what a family was. A normal family, she had said.

He had just looked nonplussed, thinking about what he knew about families.

He wasn’t sure why she needed to uphold this outdated version of a family unit, but he guessed it was as much for the children as for herself.

He found that a family was a group of similar minded people who were connected by choice. And this, so he realized, was exactly what his family unit had been like.

“Maybe we could just share our sleeping quarters.”

He blinked.

“But you like your space.” he said.

And somehow he found, that this wasn’t the right thing to say. Because this sounded like–
Padmé didn’t seem to notice though. She replied:

“And you wheez. We will get used to it. We did so before.”

Of course she was right.

They had learned to get used to the other. Over the last five years they had learned how to be roommates. Clockwork roommates so to speak.

This evening they shared her bed. It was easy. It was practical, Obi-Wan thought. Why had they never thought about it before?

They never spoke about it after that.


“Why do you never kiss Mama?” Leia’s narrow-eyed question caught him completely off guard. Some soup ran down his beard.

Padmé was just as surprised, but she managed to gather her wits sooner. She wiped Obi-Wan’s glistening chin with her napkin. There was a blush covering his cheeks.

“We– ah– That is— I…” Sometimes she enjoyed his struggle with the children’s brashness. She allowed herself a small smile.

“Kisses are a private matter, Leia.” Padmé said in her most regal tone. “There are people who enjoy giving and receiving kisses everywhere they go. But your father and I only kiss each other in the privacy of our room.”

Obi-Wan looked a bit taken aback. But after a hard glare in his direction he rubbed his beard and nodded solemnly.

“See,” Leia said in Luke’s direction. “that’s what I told you.”

“And also,” Padmé added. “there are more ways to show affection and love for someone than through kisses.”

Leia and Luke seemed to think about it.

“Like, when you mend Papa’s clothes extra carefully?” Luke asked. Padmé nodded.

“For instance.”

“Or when Papa makes you kaff first thing in the morning so you’re not grumpy?”

“Yes… But I am not always–”

“Or when Mama cuts your hair and beard?” Obi-Wan rubbed said beard and nodded. Of course, what else could he do?

“Or when Papa brings fresh flowers on his way home!” Padmé thought about the little bouquet of wildflowers sitting on her nightstand and the feeling of uneasiness in her belly grew.

“Or or or when he reads to her after a long day of seaming!”

“Yes, exactly.” Leia cried happily, meal forgotten. “Our parents are just as couple-y as other parents.”

Padmé could see how Obi-Wan’s face flushed crimson. All of those things they did… They were things they did out of friendship, right? Of course they cared for each other. How could you not care for someone with whom you have spent the last 7 years with?

Even before that they had been friends. She knew Obi-Wan a better part of her life. He was important to her. They were the twins parents…

This was when she realized that maybe all of the things they had told the twins weren’t lies at all. They had shared kisses over the years.

An unknown pressure on the top of her head, while tears spilled from her eyes. Half sadness, half surging joy over the birth of her children.  

A kiss to his bearded chin after he had played with the twins for hours so she could spent the morning in bed, sleeping.

A dry meeting of lips, at the turn of the year, every year. Followed by wishes and the clinking of champagne flutes.

The soft forehead kiss after a tearful confession on her part that she enjoyed her life and that she almost chocked on the guilt. His benediction, his understanding- seared into her skin with chapped lips.

The meeting of their hands in the middle of the night after bad dreams, that too felt like kisses.

Her lips grazing his temple, in passing and him leaning in. Just something that had been giving freely and received just as such. In kind.  

And there were more. All of them flashed before her eyes and when she looked up Obi-Wan was already staring at her. Did he think about those kisses? Or the things they did for each other?

What did he think? she wondered.

Suddenly he was a stranger to her. Someone she didn’t knew like the back of her hand, like herself. It had been comfortable and practical. And now it was something else. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

There at their table sat a man.

A handsome man, that slept in her bed and kept her warm and protected her. One that did things for her like getting kaff in the early mornings. Or braiding her hair with deft fingers before going to bed. Reading to her when her eyes hurt. Kind, thoughtful things.

His name was Obi-Wan.

This was the first time they met.

Separated through the bed they stood facing each other. Her emotions were mirrored on his features. He looked at her as if she was a new woman, too.  

Chapter Text

continuation of 'Loved by You', the Alpha/Beta/Omega verse


* * *



Their routines fell into place and melted together. They saw each other in the evenings, but Padmé missed him nevertheless during the day.


How can I miss him when he is here? she asked herself and cast a look into his bedroom, taking in how he sat in his office chair, rubbing his beard absently.


It's surprising that his presence doesn't feel strange or forced. Maybe because he didn't just barge into her life. It felt natural to give him the empty spaces of her apartment, of her life, too.


At first they did their respective work in their own rooms. But it was frustrating and she found herself almost annoyed by her work. Something that just never happened.


They just had to get a rhythm going, that was all. Everything would fall into place, she was sure.


Most evenings, Obi-Wan was done first and he too found himself frustrated and unable to concentrate, while listening for the shuffling of the papers and her deep sighs from the next room.


Would she even want company? Will she sent me away? Such tedious questions... He thought living with someone without emotional entanglement would be easier.


When she caught him hovering in the doorway she told him to stay with a smile. He did. For the rest of the night he was her sounding board and personal waiter.


A few weeks after that she came home and found Obi-Wan pushing furniture around in her study. He had bought two desks and had put them underneath the window. It was a bit tight, but it worked.


"I have taken the liberty of altering your study." he said quickly, trying to gauge her gaze. "I thought we both might benefit from doing our work in here from now on."


It was only practical, she thought and nodded. The unspoken so we can spend some more time together was there in his eyes. She found herself equally relieved... and somewhat shy .


She found herself saying: "What a wonderful idea."


And from this time on Obi-Wan graded his papers on one side and Padmé brooded over her notes on the other side of the small room.


This way she could talk to him. Look at him.


Too many times she found herself studying his face. noticing a light dusting of the grey along the temples, the five o'clock shadow that held a hint of ginger, his tired eyes scanning the paper. His ball pen following, jumping up and down.


Too many times he looked up and smiled at her, warmth sparking between them.




They ultimately decided that it was better to share a bedroom, too.


It was practical .


A few month into their arrangement Padmé had a particularly emotional case. They talked about it at length sitting in their opposite seats in their study.


But the hurt stayed with her at all times. He realized that supporting her with words just wasn't enough. He sat there and listened to her talking, while feeling the need to hold her close and rub her back.


After a while she excused herself, repeating that she was ok. Before he could say any more she was gone. The door to her room fell shut. He was alone, brooding.


He could hear her quietly talking on the phone to one of her friends, getting the comfort that she clearly needed.


That's my job. The thought was unstoppable and made him halt in his tracks. His job?


Maybe... maybe it just rattled him because...? No other thought came.


Without really noticing what he was doing he pulled out cups and started making hot chocolate.


Little marshmallows swam in one of them and he realized he made it for her, how she liked it.


Before he could further question himself he went over to knock softly on her door. A muffled come in came from the other side of the door. She looked very small in that moment, sitting in the middle of her soft comforter, blankets and big fluffy pillows. It was obvious that she needed comfort. She had built herself a nest .


What kind of Alpha are you that you leave your omega alone in a time of need?


Now wasn't the time to question those thoughts. She looked up, embarrassed.


Her smile was a weak, watery thing.


"Can I..." How could he asks without sounding completely wacked?

"Can I come in and comfort you?"


Padmé's brown eyes were so wide that he thought she would throw him out any second now, but instead she nodded while more tears spilled down her cheeks.


He took off his dress shoes and climbed over the blankets to get to her.


What now? , he thought, unsure. His instincts were so stinted that he had no clue. He offered an arm and Padmé almost pushed him over when she dove forward and buried herself in his embrace, her cold nose pressed above his shirt.


After that she fell asleep while he stroked her hair. He could sleep, he knew but it was somehow important to stay awake and see to her rest.


It was well after midnight when he was content, soothed that her smell was free from anger, pain and sadness.




Padmé woke and sighed deeply. When she realized where she was, that Obi-Wan was laying next to her, she needed a moment to herself. She had fallen asleep with his arms around her. And just like that first moment on the couch a mere month ago, she felt utterly safe .


In a second assessment she noticed that there was no hardness pressing into her, his arms wound tightly around her. And if there was a twinge of disappointment, so could she easily blame that on her emotional state.


When Padmé looked at him, his eyes were still closed in sleep. She studied his face and found herself smiling fondly.


In a way , she thought, he really is my Alpha. Huh, who would've thought?


There was a faint smell that told her how stressed out he'd been over her outbreak. Which she forgave him, since she never let go like this.


When his eyes opened and focused on her she found herself nervous.




"Hello there." His smile was dimpled. She found herself experiencing a soft case of vertigo.


Her grin turned even wider and before she knew it she buried herself in his arms and sucked in his smell. She found herself enjoying that for a bit, realizing too late that she was scenting him, rubbing the tip of her nose against his scent glands. He swallowed, the scent thicker. Obi-Wan's palms pressing reassuringly over her rib-cage.


What are you doing there? Shocked by her actions Padmé paddled back and looked at him.


"I am so sorry, that was inappropriate!"


"It's alright." he said softly, his arms only loosely holding onto her. "We never spoke about scenting before. But... it's ok for me if that is something you want."


"Is... Is that something you want?"


He smiled.


"You mean a lot to me." he said easily. "I enjoy your scent."


She felt herself blush. She wanted to say yes, but could she? Should she? He wasn't pressing. Of course he wasn't, he never did.


Padmé just wanted to rub herself into his skin and feel protected.


What is going on with you? You're turning into a simpering omega? Padmé shook her head at herself and pushed the thoughts back.


I can be weak without calling myself an over-emotional female omega. Those are internalized misogynistic thoughts, Pad. You should know better. I am allowed to enjoy this moment and feel safe. Even if it's my omega nature he appeases to. So he is an Alpha. He is also my friend.


"I enjoy yours, too. It makes me feel at home." What a thing to say!


Obi-Wan blinked slowly, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something. But it never came. Instead he leaned forward and slowly dragged his nose over her neck. Padmé felt herself exhale and leaned into his touch.


They stayed like that for quite some time until he brought some distance between them to gauge her reaction.


It was her turn to lean forward and repeat the motion. She could hear the puff of his breath. Felt it on her hair. His smell was pungent now. The pheromones giving her a clue abut his emotional state. His contentment, the satisfaction over this newfound closeness.


It was... It was intimate. Warm and fuzzy. It left her dizzy. It was almost uncomfortable how good it felt. Padmé also knew that it bordered on sexual. There was a faint glow of warmth somewhere in her, set off by their actions.


Some twigs and a flint-stone would be all they needed to make a fire.


She sank down and just like before he wound his arms around her and held her. They slept until early morning. There were soft smiles and some hand holding, as if they were sharing a secret. It wasn't necessary to talk about it.


When Padmé came back from work in the evening she took his pillow and comforter and put it on the right side of her bed.


When he noticed he asked her if that was what she wanted. Padmé said yes. He tried to argue with her, even though she knew he didn't want to. He didn't want to win. So Padmé just looked levelly at him and told him that she could smell how pleased he was and that made his argument kind of obsolete.


When they slipped into bed together that night, it set of butterflies in her stomach. He wore simple Pyjama Bottoms and a soft t-shirt to bed. His hair was fluffy from running his fingers through the strands all day. When he slipped under the comforter he grabbed his book without looking at her. His glasses sat on tip of his nose making him look ridiculously endearing to her.


She sighed deeply, scooted closer and put her head onto his shoulder. At the edge of sleep she could hear the almost inaudible purring that came from Obi-Wan.


They slept better.


It was all very practical.

Chapter Text

The smack of her fan on fingers was loud, insistent. And very satisfying.

Her suitor's eyes widened. Half surprise and half anger for being chided like a child.

Padmé lifted her head a notch. Looking down her nose to the bristling young cad that had dared to be crude with her. He didn't need to know who she was to respect her.

He stormed off, while Padmé huffed. She plucked the flute off of the balustrade and drained it in two great gulps.

There was a chuckle of amusement from behind her.

Padmé composed herself and turned around. Looking at the man that needed a dressing down. Let them come, she was on a roll. One or two more, it didn't make a difference.

"And you, sir," she called over to the man. ",who are you? The Lionheart?"

The mask that covered the upper half of his face gleamed under the candle light. A man of average height, in a plain mask, the knights armour was shiny, polished to blind the dead.

Such an uninspired costume, Padmé thought. Yet, when he moved to walk over to her his presence made himself known immediately.

No average man then. She decided as she felt as if she was standing beside someone who could command a battalion.  

The faint trace of a smile showed on his lips.

"The Lionheart?" Padmé could tell from those words alone that he came from the Capitol. The accent gave him away. "No. A mere knight, my Lady."

He stepped closer, not at all bothered. It happened that she, too, wasn't bothered. His air of nonchalance making the anxiety and anger in her belly dissipate.

"A Knight?" She asked and opened her fan to presumably cool herself down. Of course, this too, was only for show. "A mere knight, sir? What is your mission then, if I may ask? I thought knights saved maidens? I never heard of one laughing at them."

"If there were any maidens around I would rescue them, of course." She lifted her eyebrows and shot a glare at him. "But I couldn't help to notice that you, my lady, were quite on top of things. And how could you not?"

A sparkle in his blue eyes. Padmé felt appeased.

"Dragons are quite self-sufficient, are they not?"

Padmé hid her amusement behind her fan now.

"Oh yes, dear Knight. They are. But maybe even dragons need some sort of... accomplice now and then."

"An accomplice? Oh, how compelling. Fighting with a dragon. I have never thought of that. That is quite a challenge. But I am at your service, my lady."

"A challenge, yes. Even more so for the dragon, as you may imagine."

"Certainly. It must be hard for a dragon not to follow their instincts."

"Which are very strong."

"Indeed they are. But if I may add, dragons are also almost extinct now. And knights hard to find these days. So... Maybe the dragon rather stifles an instinct to... hmm... play rather than to kill."

"You mean as to prolong the pleasure?"


"So what does the dragon gain?"

"Excitement. Fun. A playmate, perhaps."

"And what does a knight gain?"

He smiled.

"The prize?" he mused. "I think the price is that the knight comes out of the dragons den alive."

She licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement.

"Maybe he gains a playmate, too."

The silence was thick for a moment.

"So who is hunted? The dragon or the knight?"

"Maybe both are the hunter and the prey, Lionheart."

"What a way to die, my beautiful dragon. Being devoured by a being like you."

"But to get devoured," Padmé whispered near his lips. "You first need to catch me."

She saw him leaning in to the kiss, his eyes staying open to the very last moment. And when his lids dropped, she was gone in a ruffle of silk, lace and laughter.

He let her have a few second, not too long, before following her. He would catch her.

And if he didn't...

Well, she certainly would catch him instead.





Chapter Text

When he first meets her, her daemon isn't yet set. She herself is a dark-haired girl with too big eyes who uses great words and thinks of herself quite humanitarian. She is twelve at most.

She wears robes that resemble deity's of her planet. Everywhere on her face is paint. White like innocence. Red like love or lust or war. Her delicate face is framed by her hair, like it's an ornament. There is heavy headwear, jewelry that is wound through her tresses.

He doesn't really like her. He admires her, true. But only grudgingly.

It's Serilda who whispers to him about her in the hours of twilight, the hours the little rodent that is his daemon is most active, most talkative. She also whispers about this daemon of her's. How often he still switches, how the daemon doesn't have any preferences for forms. That makes the idea stick that she is still a child.

Obi-Wan doesn't have to tell Serilda to watch girl and the daemon, the little rodent is naturally curious so she does what she can. She is small enough to dissapear in his clothes. Make people think he doesn't have a deamon.

They fear him in that first moment, until they see Serilda for the first time and laugh. Obi-Wan learned how to deal with this. He uses this as an advantage.

Never underestimate your opponent, Qui-Gon always says. It gives him the upper hand in most fights. 

Serilda is the first to know that Padmé is also a handmaiden. That her handmaidens are also Amidala, in disguise.

Obi-Wan would tell this to Qui-Gon, but he is still on the ship, recuperating from his injury which he got during the fight against the trade federations soldiers.

Later when she drops her disguise Qui-Gon is not too surprised. He had enough time to think about everything. He just smiles at her, as her daemon glides past them and finally settles on her shoulder. 

Padmé gives the daemon a secretive smile.

Maybe Obi-Wan had misjudged her, he thought. She is more than meets the eyes.

Just like the little boy that looks at her like she hung the moon. He is weary of that kid. Not because of his dragon. Or maybe not just because of the dragon. Someone like him shouldn't be a dragon rider, true. But he is and that knowledge might just have saved them. He wouldn't have won the race otherwise.

Obi-Wan doesn't like it anyway.

When he meets Padmé a few years later, her daemon has finally settled. It's a snake - big, mustard yellow and magnificent. But Obi-Wan doesn't care about things like that anymore. He also settled into his skin. The loss of his mentor and becoming a master himself, a master to Anakin and Gia, changed him.

He had his fair share of meeting mysterious women who made him doubt himself. No more. He is a Jedi through and through.

She is thrown of by his lack of astonishment. She is used to people catering to her because of her intellect, her beauty, her intimidating and dazzling deamon. He feels it and is amused by it.

Serilda sits still on his wrist and feels what he feels. But Obi-Wan in return also feels what the daemon feels. 

And this is way more than Obi-Wan would ever admit.

Chapter Text

Master Padmé Naberrie was not the best jedi, not even close. She wasn't particular strong in the force, nor a strict follower of the code. But as an apt student with a quick tongue and even quicker lightsaber, using Vaapad as her primary fighting style, her teachers knew her strength.


She was a user of the living force. An opponent to Mace Windus strict teachings. Sceptical of Master Jinn and his ways. She wasn't part of the noble line of padawans who descended from Yoda himself. She was Jocasta Nu's last padawan.


One that had been only made a jedi because in the year of her birth there hadn't been enough force sensitive children.


Maybe this had been a mistake, some said later.


A grey jedi, some whispered.




Padmé loved teaching the younglings, but came into diplomatic spotlight after getting referred by Master Nu to Supreme Chancellor Valorum. She was already twentyfive at this stage of her life. It was quite uncommon to find a destination so late in life.


Afterwards she was sought after more and more in negotiations and diplomatic hearings. She was getting quite the reputation and people called her 'The Handler'. Just never to her face.


It wasn't a surprise when she was called to a negotiation where various Senators where held hostage.




The senator of Stewjon was an earnest man in his late thirties. He wasn't particularly handsome for a human or any other kind of male, but there was something about him that made Padmé stop in her tracks and take a second, a longer look. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, she thought. Aware of himself, but not arrogantly so.


Maybe his eyes, that were a testament to his perceptiveness. Or his varied smiles from sharp smirks of sarcasm, to a softness around his mouth, gentle and kind, a slight upward lift to one corner.


He had been, so it seemed, the negotiatior until the Jedi's showed up. Padmé counted on someone making a scene. But the senator just nodded and asked if he was still needed and after being declined he slid into the backround.


He was humble enough to step back, but held his work in such high regards that he would step in as soon as he saw someone needed his help.


She could've forgotten about him then, but she didn't.


Padmé was aware of him. Standing behind her, listening in and contemplating every word that was being said.


She saw the side of his mouth twitch when she made a sarcastic comment or an eye roll when one of the kidnappers where being obstuse. There was that one time he snorted but covered it with a cough.


Padmé should've said something then, but she didn't.


Instead she turned around and almost smiled. She knew it was a very subtle thing and not a lot of people would even recognize it as such.


But he did and he stepped forward.


"Jedi Naberrie," he said and put his clean shaven chin down, a subtle nod. "May I be of assistance?"


And so he was of assistance.


They stalled long enough for the security to break into the conference room and free the hostages. Two of the four kidnappers were killed.


Padmé had severed of one arm with her very own lightsaber when one of the kidnappers had tried to kill the Senator of Stewjohn.


They had shared a look when the man fell down, clasped his hand in the other one, trying to stick it back onto the clean and already closed stump. Both of them surprised that the other wasn't more affected by what had just happened.




A few days later an invitation was delivered to her.


Jocasta had looked at her primly, just like she always had if something would happen that she would dissaprove of. Padmé had to surpress a laugh because she knew her teacher wasn't a prudish old female, even though she had cultivated this image over the years.


"You are going to meet this Senator?" the older woman asked. "Always remind yourself that politician are of the worst sort."


"Well, they are not better or worse than the Jedi themself."


It was Jocasta's place to shake her head.


"All male--" she began, but Padmé didn't let her finish the sentence. Ending it with: "Ah, as far as I remember you always said that Count Dooku--"


"Shhh. Don't talk about things you know nothing of, child."


They were silent for a moment, while a young padawan needed directions where he could find reading material on Jedi lineages.


"Yes, I will join him. You may come rescue me if I am not back before nightfall."


Padmé smiled at Jocasta, said her goodbyes and went her way.


First to her room, than after refreshing herself and a short look into the mirror, to the appartment of Obi-Wan Kenobi.




Master Naberries first kiss was a meeting of lips and minds. She could feel him right at the corners of both and asked herself if maybe there was a possibility that he too was a force user.


When they parted, he held her and let his hand rest on the back of her shorn head.


"I dreamed about you." She knew, dreaming could be anything. A vision, a memory, a surreal image.


"Did you?"


"Yes. But you were a queen, not a jedi. Your hair... was quite long."


She laughed at that.


"I just want to be a teacher."


His robes were made of expensive linen, an off-white that almost all Stewjohns seemed to wear. She touched his cheek. There was no stubble at all on his face, the cleft in his chin prominent. It made him look ruggish, she thought.


Her hand wandered over his long red hair that hung over his shoulder, let her fingers slide through the tresses. For or a moment she let her self imagine being draped by it while being intimate.


She shuddered.


"What did you wanted to be?"


He shook his head.


"You won't believe it."


"A jedi?"


"No," he paused looking at her with intensity. "A farmer. But a happy one."


They observed the other, ready to step back and go back to where they've been before they had met.


Padmé found that she didn't wanted that, though. So she charged at him and kissed him, her mouth open and wanting. He responded with demanding hands and desperate lips. His face was warm against her's, his breath smelled of the dark wine they had drunk earlier.


They kissed and kissed.


This was only a beginning, she knew.