Chapter Text
Obi-Wan Kenobi exhaled in relief when the pilot turned off the seatbelt light.
Blast, he hated flying.
Even the first class accommodations he had sprung for didn’t diminish the fact. Nothing could have possibly eased the ten hour nonstop from London to Seattle. The moment he had stepped on the plane, he had regretted his promise to attend Anakin and Padmé’s wedding.
Blasted millennials, always in a hurry. They had reconnected barely six months ago, and had gotten engaged only a couple of months afterward. Of course, he had his suspicions of why they were so eager to have their wedding, but that was truly none of his business.
Grumbling under his breath as he retrieved his carry on bag from the overhead bin, Obi-Wan followed the flow of traffic off of the jumbo jet and into the airport. In less than a half hour, he was at the baggage claim, and ten minutes later, he stepped out into the gray Seattle dawn to greet his long time friend and work partner.
Anakin helped him load his suitcases into the back of the SUV, likely Padmé’s. “Good flight?”
“Horrible. The pilot had absolutely no idea what he was doing.” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow when he saw that the driver’s seat was empty. “Who drove you?”
“I did.” The younger man raised his right arm, metal from the elbow down. “Padmé surprised me for an engagement present. It’s a hell of a lot better than my last one. I can even beat her at Jenga now.”
“I’m glad. You’re last one was bloody awful.” As usual, guilt followed the statement. It had been Obi-Wan’s call that had caused the younger man to lose his arm in a bombing. True, the consequential retirement had given Anakin a chance to reconnect with the love of his life, but it didn’t make him feel any better about it. “How is Padmé doing, by the way?” The petite brunette was a well known political journalist who had stolen the boy’s heart nearly five years before.
A dreamy-eyed look came into the younger man’s eyes as he merged into traffic. Disgusting. “She’s perfect, Obi-Wan.” And with that, he launched into a fifteen minute monologue of the respectable journalist’s good qualities. Obi-Wan listened in relative silence, glad that the man had found a bit of sun on his horizon.
It was more than he can say for himself.
True, he had his estate in Cumbria, his position in the Agency, and his friends. His life wasn’t so very bleak, but it still would have been better if…
No, he would not think about that. He had no idea why he even still thought of her, after all these years. It had been, what? Eight, ten years? Eleven years, four months, and sixteen days?
“Obi-Wan?”
He blinked his way out of memories. “Yes, Anakin?”
The younger man looked at him in concern. “You okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Anakin looked skeptical. “Who is Padmé’s maid of honor?”
Well, blast. Sola? Sabé? He was certain it had started with an S, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember. Heaving a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair. “I suppose I’m tired, Anakin. I haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours.”
“You had a twelve hour flight. What were you doing the whole time?” The incredulousness in Anakin’s voice wasn’t lost on him.
He picked at the window sill absently. “I don’t like flying.”
Anakin snorted. “I don’t understand why. Whatever happened to you wanting to become a pilot?”
“That was a long time ago, Anakin. Who even told you that?”
“Qui-Gon did. He always bragged about you, you know, about how well you’d done at flight academy, and how you were going to get you license and stuff.” He slanted a glance at him. “How you were just taking some time off to explore your options.”
Of course he had. Qui-Gonn had been the closest thing to a father either of them had ever had, and had never failed to brag about his foster kids. “Priorities change. You know that as well as I do.”
Anakin grunted a sound that might have been agreement, or it might not. Whichever it was, Obi-Wan let the subject slide.
Satine Kryze took a sip of her sparkling juice, wishing it was alcohol. Though she would never admit it, and certainly not to the women who were attending Padmé’s bachelorette party, she hated weddings. For the past eleven years, she had managed to avoid any ceremonies of heartfelt marital binding, and she would be damned before this one would take her down.
When Padmé had asked her to be maid of honour, she had searched for every excuse to cancel. But alas, she was on vacation, and no excuse presented itself. So here she was, sipping on bubbly grape juice as the other five bridesmaids relived memories with the bride, who beamed at them all as she helped herself to another fruit pop.
Ah, the cravings of a pregnant women.
Though Padmé had never said anything, she had been avoiding all varieties of liquor like the plague, bringing veggie chips and seltzer water to every fitting, and had been subject to unnecessary fits of emotion at the slightest things. Not to mention her groom doted on her even more, if that was possible.
Oh, yes. She was most definitely pregnant.
Plopping down onto the cushion beside Satine, she smiled around a mouthful of pineapple. “Having fun, yet?”
Satine hummed noncommittally, taking another sip of non-alcoholic champagne. “Your friends are wonderful women…”
“... but you’d rather be sulking in your penthouse, drowning your sorrows in a bottle of wine.” Padmé munched happily away on her fruit pop, seemingly undisturbed by the thought. “Hey, lighten up. Pretty soon the guys will join us, and you can meet some of Anakin’s friends. I’m sure there has to be at least one cute guy among them.”
She laughed softly in acquiescence, knowing full well that it would never happen. No, her heart was still where it always would be. In the hands of the boy, back to her as he drove off in the night.
God, she hated weddings. And who the hell had a wedding with no alcohol?
The doorbell chimed, immediately setting the bridal party into a frenzy. Four women immediately rushed to every available mirror to check makeup and hair, while the fifth, a young girl named Ahsoka, threatened to open the door in an ominous tone. Padmé fluttered from one refreshment table to the next, making sure each was stocked with enough food for her unendingly hungry fiancé and his no doubt unendingly hungry groomsmen. Meanwhile, Satine watched it all in amusement, still sipping on her sparkling cocktail.
When everything and everyone had been deemed perfect, Ahsoka flung open the door and loudly welcomed the guests. Even though she couldn’t see any of their faces, Satine recognized Anakin’s chuckles and gentle affectionate teasing. The other guys’ voices all blended in together, undistinguishable, and for the most part, unrecognizable. Likely old drinking buddies he had worked with while at the Agency. No doubt all five years her junior, towering, muscle-bound volunteer firefighters looking for a quick lay.
Not exactly her type.
Slowly, they began spilling into the living room, all charm and flexing muscles as they sidled up to the women. One, two, three, four, five. Where was six, then? Surely Padmé wouldn’t allow them to have an uneven amount of bridesmaids and groomsmen?
No, for she heard voices drift in from the foyer. Anakin’s, soft and persuasive, followed by Ahsoka in much the same tone. The third person--- or the sixth groomsmen, as she supposed he must be--- replied in a low tone that made Anakin grunt and Ahsoka whine.
Padmé frowned, abandoning her fruit kabob to disappear into the hall. Her voice then joined the conversation, sweet and pleading, and Satine smiled at the long suffering sigh of the stranger. No man could resist the ‘Senator Amidala’, as her pseudonym was. A few seconds later, Ahsoka and Padmé came out arm in arm, triumphant.
“Well, if it isn’t the Duchess.”
She looked up and smiled. “Captain. I had not the slightest idea that you would be here.”
Rex sat down beside her, crooked smirk on his face. “Yes, well, Anakin can be very persuasive when he wants. And even I don’t dare say no to Padmé. That woman could talk an Egyptian into a space heater.” He tossed back his glass of sparkling grape juice like it was a shot. “Did you see how she talked the General into socializing with us commoners? The great negotiator himself couldn’t resist her charms, and everyone knows he’s sworn off women forever. Ain’t that right, General?”
“Not giving away military secrets, are you Captain?” The British drawl had her looking up, her eyes meeting a pair that she hadn’t seen for the better part of a decade.
“Obi-Wan?”
He froze, arrested by her gaze. How had he not recognized her? She looked exactly the same as she had a decade ago, if not more curvy, more mature. A woman, now, instead of the teenage girl he had left behind.
Rex looked between the two of them, seeming somewhat confused. “You know each other?”
She smoothed her expression into something that resembled a smile as she stood. “Yes, of course. Who hasn’t heard of the great collection of half-truths and hyperbole known as Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Her fingers were white around the stem of her wineglass as she smiled tightly at him. “Though I’m sure he would vow that every one of them were god’s own truth.”
Yes, she had changed, but the years had been better to her than him. Not a single gray hair among the blond, no wrinkles but the small laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. God, she was beautiful. “Satine, it’s good to see you.” Later, he would ask himself how he could pretend to be so calm when he was, in reality, panicking. “After all these years, you’re more beautiful than ever.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Kind words from a man who accused me of treachery.” Rising, she pushed past him. “Rex, please tell me one of you men smuggled in some real drinks. With the way this party is going, I’m going to need something more substantial than grape juice and seltzer.”
Rex gave him an apologetic smile and shrug as he followed her to the refreshment table, leaving Obi-Wan to stare at the loveseat and wonder what had gone wrong.
“Oh, Obi-Wan, I should have warned you.” Padmé suddenly appeared at his elbow, armed with a fruit kebab that looked much nibbled at and picked over. “Satine doesn’t… she tries to avoid men. Especially ex-military.”
“Oh, I’m aware of the Duchess’s views,” he replied quietly, allowing her to twine her arm through his as she chewed on a grape. “I knew her, a long time ago, and I can easily say she hasn’t changed that much.”
Padmé smiled sympathetically. “I can only hope she doesn’t dislike you too much, since you’re going to be going down the aisle together.”
A sinking feeling descended over him. “She’s… a bridesmaid?”
“My maid of honor, actually.” Completely oblivious to the thoughts racing through his head, she chomped away on her fruit pop happily. “I interviewed her at the beginning of my career, to see how she had brought Mandalore from near ruin to be one of the greatest publishing houses in the country. She liked my article, and even asked if I would consider writing for The Sundari, but I had already made a commitment to The Naboo.”
He couldn’t help but follow her gaze to the table where Satine was speaking with Rex and Cody. When he had first met her, she had just been starting out, trying to rescue her family’s failing publishing company. The Mandalore had nearly met its end when a feud had torn apart the board of directors, all family. Yet, she had managed to bring everything together. The Sundari was the political journal that she had built herself, and one of the largest journals in both the States and Europe.
“She has done well for herself,” he admitted softly. “But then, I never doubted it.”
Padmé must have approved of his answer, for she beamed up at him. “Did you know the Council of Neutral States asked her to be on their board? She’s supposed to go to Geneva in two weeks to attend one of their conferences.”
“In Switzerland?” Mentally, he calculated the distance from London to the Swiss City. Less than two hours by plane, if his memory served him correctly. Not that he was going to go, of course. “Has she accepted?”
“She’s thinking about it. Not all of the board is supportive of the idea, and she’s wary about causing another conflict.”
Obi-Wan forced himself to exhale. “As she should be. Her safety is of the utmost importance.”
Something akin to suspicion flickered in Padmé’s gaze, but she didn’t say a word. They stood there for a few minutes in comfortable silence, and he allowed his eyes to follow her across the room.
Every once in a while, she would glance his way, and their eyes would meet for a few seconds. Then, she’d look away quickly, and show her anger in some small way; fingers tightening around her wineglass, smile tightening, or a quick touch to her companion. Even now, he knew her well.
Eventually Padmé left to rescue her refreshment table, which was steadily being devoured by Anakin and his friends, and he was alone.
An hour later, Anakin and Padmé said goodnight and disappeared upstairs, leaving the guests to their partying. The alcohol was brought out now, and chairs and tables cleared for an impromptu dance floor. Lights were dimmed, music turned up, and drinks poured.
He sat on the edge of it all, watching but not participating. Rex and Cody, identical twins, were the closest to his age, but even they were nearly five years younger than him. Ferus Olin and Tru Veld, Anakin’s friends and colleagues from the Agency, were also in attendance. Then there was Anakin’s step brother, Owen, and his girlfriend Beru. Padmé’s sister Sola and her cousins Sabé and Dormè were also there. Anakin’s foster daughter Ahsoka and Satine rounded out the group. Which made him the ancient uncle who was invited simply to make the numbers even.
Sigh.
Eyeing the stairway, he contemplated retiring himself, but then vetoed the decision. He’d always suffered terrible jet lag, and had slept for most of the afternoon. Not that they would know, but still… what would he do? Go and sit in his room for the next several hours? No, better to mingle with the natives and watch pretty women from afar.
He was truly pathetic.
“General, aren’t you going to dance?” Cody asked as he downed a shot between dances. “You can’t sit ‘em all out.”
“Watch me,” Obi-Wan replied drily. “I’m too old for all this. Go and have fun, though I would slow up on the drinks if I were you.”
“Obi-Wan.”
He turned quickly, too quickly, biting back a curse as he wasted some of his drink. “Satine.”
Amusement lit in her eyes as they flickered from him to his glass. “Tipsy already? Perhaps you are the one who should be slowing down on the drinks.”
Cody chuckled, nudging him. “Talk to you later, General. Duchess.”
“Commander.” Her eyes never left his, their ocean blue depths a shade warmer than they had been earlier. “I was surprised to see you here. Padmé said you were in London.”
“I flew in this morning. Anakin asked me to be his best man, so here I am.” He swallowed what remained of his whisky, relishing the burn it brought. Anything to take his mind off of the fact that he was standing here, talking to her. “You’re still in Phoenix?”
“Yes, though it seems I’m rarely there anymore.” She sighed, tracing the rim of her wine glass. “Business takes me away from home more than I would like.”
“Padmé says the Council of Neutral States has asked you to be on their board.”
Her smile was small, but genuine. “Yes, though I’m not sure I’ll accept. I’m already too busy as it is, and accepting such a position… I’d likely have to relocate to someplace more central.”
“If you ever consider moving to London, I can give you my realtor’s number.” The suggestion was put in jest, but he was dead serious.
A small flicker of surprise lit on her face, followed by a hint of pleasure. “Thank you, I’d like that. Are you still living in the city?”
“Not full time, no. I spend most of my time in Cumbria, though I still keep a flat in London for my business trips.” For a moment, he pondered the situation, wondering how he could be just standing here with her, indulging in small talk as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “How is the Mandalore?”
She smiled. “Good. We recently had to deal with a small uprising from a few of our journalists and editors who were promoting decidedly non pacifist ideals under our name, but we’ve managed to root most of them out.”
He didn’t tell her that he knew all about the scandal with Death Watch, as the group had called themselves, or that he’d volunteered for the position to investigate when the Agency had been called in to investigate the case and had done most of the behind the scenes work to make sure everything about the case went smoothly, or that he had been the one to turn in the anonymous ‘tip’ that had lead to the arrest of the group. He didn’t tell her that he had followed the Mandalore religiously and had every single issue of the Sundari even though he despised politics. And he especially didn’t tell her that he had an entire room wallpapered with every single article that written either about or by her.
Now that he thought about it, that was actually a bit creepy.
No, he was never going to tell her that.
“What are you thinking about, Obi-Wan?” Her voice was softer and lower than it had been earlier, and he could have sworn she had moved closer. “You’re so serious. Do you ever relax?”
Was that a hint of suggestiveness in her tone, or was his self-imposed celibacy beginning to make him imagine things? “Sometimes.”
She hummed, draining the rest of her wine glass and nodding to the empty whiskey glass in his hand. “I’m going to get another. Want one?”
He shouldn’t. He wasn’t a lightweight, but he’d already had a glass of wine and two whiskeys. Another, and he might be tempted to make foolish decisions. And with her around, foolish decisions could be dastardly. Not only did drunk Obi-Wan have lowered inhibitions, but drunk Satine was ten times more seductive than she was normally.
Satine raised an eyebrow at his hesitation. “Don’t tell me you’re already tipsy, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The night’s barely begun.”
“I’m not…”
“Then one more shouldn’t make much of a difference.”
I’m going to regret doing this.
But I’m going to regret it even more if I don’t
Satine mulled over the thought briefly before putting it aside. She wasn’t completely drunk yet, but she was close to it. The heady scent of Obi-Wan surrounded her, adding to the comfortable warmth the alcohol brought.
Even though it was only midnight, the party was beginning to wind down. Sola had left shortly after Padmé and Anakin had said goodnight, and Anakin’s brother and his girlfriend had disappeared upstairs a couple hours earlier. Ferus and Ahsoka, the only completely sober ones among them, were dragging a passed out Tru to his car, were Cody and Rex were already waiting. Sabé and Dormè had only had a couple drinks apiece, and were packing up the few remaining leftovers and tidying up the den as best they could.
She and Obi-Wan had moved to the deck, and were watching the night sky from the depths of an oversized hammock. They were comfortably snuggled under an assortment of throw blankets to ward off the slight chill of the Seattle night, and she found that she didn’t mind the cool as much when she was in his arms.
They’d covered a multitude of subjects over the hours, slowly catching up on what had been happening in each other’s lives, but shying away from speaking about why they’d stopped talking in the first place. But now that they were here, in the relative darkness of the outside and a little drunk, she couldn’t help but voice the question she’d wanted to voice for years.
“Why didn’t you call?”
Contrary to her expectations, he didn’t stiffen up or even seem surprised that she’d asked. Instead, he sighed and pulled her closer. “You know why.”
She did, all to well. “I wouldn’t have asked.”
“I know.”
“But you didn’t…”
“It would have been tempting fate. I wasn’t strong enough to leave you again.”
Wasn’t. “And now?”
A pause, a hesitation. “I don’t know.”
Well that was certainly better than a definite yes, though not as good as a no. Involuntarily, she tightened her grip on his sweater. She may not have forever, but she would would cherish the moments spent in his arms.