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Chapter Text

The Jedi Master who sat before him hadn’t made an appointment; on the other hand, there were very few places that Mace Windu could not go.

“Master Windu,” said the Senator, “to what do I owe this surprise visit?” His voice was light and genial but he couldn’t quite manage to hide the tiny note of irritation in the word surprise. The Jedi brought that sort of thing out in him, he supposed. Typically, his emotional control was perfect. Now, he was struggling to keep a pleasant smile on his face.

“Qui-Gon Jinn is dead,” Windu said.

Well, that was a surprise indeed.

“My condolences,” the Senator said softly. He did the math in his head; Jinn was still too young for it to be old age, disease was unlikely, and he certainly couldn’t imagine the Jedi being felled by anything so mundane as an accident. “What happened, if I may ask?”

The Jedi Master ignored the question. “The funeral will be in two days at the Temple. Given the nature of your past relationship, you are welcome to attend.”

Relationship? What relationship? the Senator thought bitterly. It had been nothing but false promises and empty words until Jinn cast him off at the moment that he needed him most, leaving him to fend for himself at thirteen with nothing but shattered plans and a now-useless education.

“I appreciate the consideration,” he told Windu. “Please leave the details with my secretary.” Mace Windu could barge into his office without notice, but damned if he would stay a second longer than the Senator would allow.  

Windu stood slowly—too slowly, in the Senator’s opinion, but at least he was leaving. “Thank you for your time, Senator Kenobi,” he said, and then was gone.

Now alone in his office, Obi-Wan waited for the flood of emotion that would surely come… but to his surprise, he felt nothing. That surprise quickly turned to relief. He felt nothing.

Perhaps he had finally let go.

The question now remained: should he attend? For obvious reasons, he hadn’t been to the Jedi Temple in years and had seen relatively few of its members other than Windu when the Jedi Master just “happened” to check in on him. Ignore me for years... but now that I’m a Senator you suddenly pay attention to me.

Why would he want to return to all of that?

But if he felt nothing...

He sighed. He might as well. If anything, he would go just so he could spit on the old man’s pyre.

At first, it wasn’t hard. After nearly a decade in local and galactic politics, he could make pleasant small talk with even the most vicious of sentients. He was more than adept at keeping his true feelings hidden, even through the Force.

Shortly before they lit the pyre, he found himself standing near Vokara Che, one of the Healers in the Temple. Asking the people in charge for useful information was usually fruitless, especially if they could maintain leverage by keeping it a secret; however, Obi-Wan had learned over the years the importance of cultivating those outside the halls of power, who usually knew more than their superiors anyway.

“Master Che,” he greeted her warmly. The Twi’lek woman had always been kind to him; hopefully he could use that.

“Senator Kenobi,” she responded just as warmly, though her eyes showed some distraction.

“I was so sorry to hear of Master Jinn’s passing,” he said. Taking a risk, he added, “and under such tragic circumstances.”

She turned to him. “You’ve heard what happened, then?”

“Only the basics… I was hoping that you would be able to fill in some of the details.” He let a flash of sadness appear on his face. “I understand if you can’t, but…”

“Oh, Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry,” Vokara said sympathetically, placing a hand gently on his upper arm, “of course this must be hard for you right now.”

“I’m muddling through,” he said, leaning into her touch. “But there are just so many questions…”

“The first thing you probably haven’t heard is going to be the most difficult,” she said. “I almost can’t believe it myself… we examined him when they brought him back. The wound was a burn.” She shuddered. “A lightsaber wound.”

He put an arm around Vokara’s shoulder and tried to comfort her. “Do they know…?”

“The Naboo security team is conducting an investigation of their own, but it’s been delayed until after they finish cleaning up the aftermath of the battle. They sent us the footage, though: the attacker matches the one who he encountered on Tatooine. We don’t know anything official, but… given the location and circumstances, he was likely after Qui-Gon— Master Jinn, I mean—rather than the Queen. But we don’t know for sure. We don’t even know who he is and now there are whispers that he was a Sith…”

He held her as she whispered the whole story: the negotiations with the Trade Federation, the occupation of Naboo, the desperate flight with the Queen and the first encounter with his eventual killer, and his final stand on Naboo, lost in the chaos of the planet’s liberation.

Obi-Wan remembered Queen Amidala’s address to the Senate a few days ago: even young as she was, she had a durasteel core that impressed him. And to call for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum… well, that was probably Senator Palpatine’s doing, but a lesser monarch wouldn’t have been as successful at galvanizing the Chancellor’s opponents into finally taking action.

She reminded him a little of himself, in fact.

Strangely, it was that singular thought that brought it all back. Within the space of a moment, he was back in the Temple, not as a rising star in the Galactic Senate, but as a thirteen-year-old boy watching his life fall apart before his eyes.

He had tried everything to get Qui-Gon’s attention. He was studious, obedient, a promising duelist—he had done everything right, damn it, and it still hadn’t worked. Qui-Gon was done with teaching. He would take no more Padawans.

Younglings who aged out of the Initiate group without being taken as an apprentice were sent to the Jedi Service Corps. Obi-Wan was to go to the AgriCorps on Bandomeer and become a farmer.

All because no one had wanted him.

But that was in the realm of Before: before Melida/Daan, before the war against the Elders, the civil war among the Young, losing Cerasi. Before his temporary governorship became a permanent one, because he was the only one among the Young who was neither Melida nor Daan, the only one they could trust to not take a side. Before those difficult years that he spent just barely holding the fragile coalition together. Before being elected as the planet’s representative. Before he became who he was today: Senator of the entire Cadavine Sector, elected at only twenty and a force to be reckoned with even at the still-young age of twenty-four.

All in all, he was better off than he would have been as a Jedi. Every once in awhile, he offered up a silent thanks to whatever vagaries of luck (which he doubted the existence of) or the Force (which he doubted the benevolence of) brought him to his current self.

But even now, even eleven years past the time of Before, there was still a part of his heart that desperately needed to be wanted. Love me, love me, love me. I’ll do anything if you’ll only love me. If you’ll only call me one of your own. If you’ll only let me stay.

They lit the pyre and Obi-Wan watched the master who rejected him go up in flames.

The firelight illuminated faces he had not seen before, including that of a young Initiate standing next to Mace Windu. Unremarkable, and yet…

He leaned over to Vokara. “Who is that next to Master Windu?”

“That one’s new,” she whispered back. “Master Jinn found him on Tatooine. Anakin Skywalker.”

“A little old, isn’t he?” Obi-Wan whispered in reply, managing to keep the note of irony from showing.

“He was a junkyard slave, apparently; that’s why there was no note of him in the Kyber. Master Jinn argued for his admission. Rather vehemently, in fact: he offered to train the boy himself.”

A lump of ice settled into Obi-Wan’s stomach. That bastard. So much for Qui-Gon claiming he would never take another Padawan.

As he gently removed his arm from the Healer’s shoulder, she leaned in with one last whisper. “His midichlorians were off the scale. Qui-Gon thought… well, he thought that the boy might be the Chosen One.”

That utter bastard. His hands curled into fists.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stared into the flames and hated Anakin Skywalker more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.

Chapter Text

The Force wasn’t meant to be used for cheap tricks, but it certainly made the act of throwing a datapad across the office in frustration much less destructive.

Even so, Obi-Wan only just managed to halt the pad’s forward trajectory to keep it from colliding with the unexpectedly-early Senator who had just appeared in the doorway.

Fortunately, Bail Organa was used to this sort of thing. “Having another tantrum, then?”

Obi-Wan recalled the datapad to his hand. “They’ve scheduled the vote.”

“I’m still skeptical,” the Senator from Alderaan replied, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Obi-Wan’s desk. “There have been rumors of an impending vote at least once a month for the last two years.”

“It’s on the agenda this time,” Obi-Wan said.

“Still not convinced. No one in the Committee has mentioned it.”

“What a surprise,” Obi-Wan drawled sarcastically. The Loyalist Committee had been formed by Chancellor Palpatine only a few months before, for the stated purpose of rooting out Separatist ties. According to the Senators on the Committee who were friendly with Obi-Wan, the members spent most of their time talking in circles and arguing about the Military Creation Act. Obi-Wan had little doubt that the Chancellor was doing his best to keep the debates going in order to keep the Committee from actually accomplishing anything.

Only now, the Act was finally coming up for a vote.

“At least we’ll have an answer,” Bail said, “one way or another.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’m not sure we have the numbers yet to vote it down. Senator Bel Iblis just announced that Corellia is withdrawing from the vote altogether.”

“Counterproductive, I would think,” Bail said. He gave Obi-Wan a calculating look. “But you’re still whipping votes together, I would assume?”

Obi-Wan stood and went to the sofa on the west side of the office. He flopped down onto it with a sigh. “Night and day, it seems. Soon I’ll have to start sneaking into Senators’ offices through the window in order to corner the more elusive ones.”

Bail laughed. “That’s the reassuring thing about you, Obi-Wan: you’re only concerned about actually starting a conversation. Whether or not you’ll convince them is already a given.”

“If I was as successful as you seem to think I am, we wouldn’t be this worried about the vote.”

“You underestimate yourself, Negotiator,” Bail said, using the sobriquet that seemed to haunt Obi-Wan these days. “I’d shudder to think what you could do with Count Dooku; you might end the Separatist movement then and there.”

“He’d likely write me off as backwater trash and then throw me out the nearest airlock.”

“Am I late?” asked Senator Eeshrin Ot’Hyne. His large round eyes surveyed the office inquisitively as he entered, as though he was searching for signs of a hidden predator; although, in Obi-Wan’s experience, Caamasi faces just sort of looked like that.

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan said, sitting up and waving him in. “Bail was just unnecessarily early, that’s all.”

Bail rolled his eyes, then addressed Eeshrin. “We haven’t even unpacked our lunches yet.”

It had become an unofficial tradition for some of the more pacifist-leaning Senators to meet weekly for lunch in Obi-Wan’s office. Initially it had begun as a way of pressuring Bail to change his opinion on the Military Creation Act (which he had initially supported); now, it was more of a social gathering than anything else.

Of course, since they were all Senators, it was difficult to talk about anything but work.

“Senator Mothma sends her regrets,” Eeshrin said, joining Obi-Wan on the sofa. “An impromptu meeting of the Committee on Natural Resource Preservation was called for this afternoon.”

“Have you heard about the scheduled vote on the MCA?” Obi-Wan asked.

Eeshrin nodded. “I did. After all this time, and we are still as divided as we’ve ever been.”

“It might be helpful if the Chancellor were a little less opaque on the matter,” Bail mused.

“Easier to claim to not have an opinion, I suppose,” Obi-Wan said. “It lets everyone else assume that you agree with them.”

“‘Meanwhile, in the Cadavine Sector’s office, Senator Kenobi has managed to assume that everyone else disagrees with him,’” Bail snarked in the voice of a HoloNet news anchor.

“For now,” Eeshrin added with emphasis.

Obi-Wan groaned at the Caamasi. “Not you, too.”

Eeshrin held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “No one thought that the Kenobi Act would be passed—”

“The Galactic Crisis Intervention Protocol and Guidelines Act,” Obi-Wan interjected wearily.

“No one uses that name and you know it,” Bail said.

“As I was saying,” Eeshrin continued, folding his hands in his lap, “no one thought that would pass and yet it did. Thanks to your inexhaustible efforts in rallying the votes.”

“It was easier then,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “People are scared now. They want an army to protect them from the Separatists, even if it means bringing a war to their planets along with it.” He frowned. “They’ll agree to pretty much anything if it means protection from the Separatists.”

“People need reassurance that we are doing something,” Eeshrin agreed. “But that action does not need to be violent.”

“And meanwhile, Palpatine drags his feet like he’s a junior legislator,” Obi-Wan grumbled. “No matter how nice he seems, it benefits him to stall. To stay above the fray and let the two sides wear each other out.”

“Do you think it’s possible that you’re being a little hard on the Chancellor?” Bail asked. “He’s limited in what he can do.”

“Even with the emergency powers we awarded him over two years ago?” Obi-Wan replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Which you voted for as well, I should point out.”

“And, I repeat, it’s been two years! We don’t even know when the next elections will be scheduled. Every time someone brings it up, he merely deflects and charms until they forget. It’s been over a decade since Chancellor Valorum was ousted, and for all we know, Palpatine could be…” He noticed Bail and Eeshrin exchanging a look of amusement. “What?” he demanded.

“It is only that, well…” Eeshrin began.

“...your history of, shall we say, annoyance at the Chancellor…” Bail continued.

“...seems to center around certain personal qualities that may, perhaps…”

“...hit a little too close to home,” Bail finished.

“No,” Obi-Wan said with a glare. “I am nothing like that man.”

“Charming, charismatic, can stay above the political maelstrom when necessary,” Eeshrin pointed out.

“Almost impossible to visibly surprise or unnerve in public,” Bail added. He and Eeshrin exchanged another look. “And seems to be eyeing the Chancellor’s seat…”

“Absolutely not!” Obi-Wan protested. He gave a scoff. “Ridiculous. I’m thirty-five and from a sector that even most of our colleagues couldn’t find on a galactic map.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Eeshrin said. “And there has been talk amongst some of the Senators.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“If you say so,” Bail said serenely.

“Stop that,” Obi-Wan grumbled. He folded his arms across his chest. A thought suddenly occurred to him. He checked his chrono. “Where’s Padme? She should have arrived by now.”

“She was returning from her whirlwind tour campaigning against the MCA this morning,” Eeshrin replied. “But her trip may have been delayed.”

“Hopefully she gets back here before the vote,” Bail said.

“We have some time left before that happens,” Obi-Wan said. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Chapter Text

His years on Melida/Daan had taught Obi-Wan many things, but there were three specific skills that were the most useful at the moment: appearing and remaining calm in a crisis, being patient during times of uncertainty and, most important of all, remembering the name of every administrative assistant in the halls of government.

Therefore, while Bail and a handful of other Senators paced near the door to Senator Amidala’s offices, Obi-Wan knew who to call. Not Padme’s head secretary, who was currently too busy fielding dozens of calls to the office inquiring about the Senator’s condition, but the person in charge of keeping the head secretary informed: Ilse, the office’s project assistant.

Slipping around the corner, he placed a call to Ilse’s private comlink.

“I’m on my way back now,” she said curtly before he could speak. His assumption was correct: she was being used as the go-between. “My speeder cab is almost at the east entrance.”

Obi-Wan made his way quickly to the lift. “What a relief. I’ll be down to meet you shortly.”

“Senator Kenobi?” Ilse asked, confused.

“I imagine you’ve had a busy day,” he continued. “If you give me an extra minute, I’ll have a cup of caf waiting for you.”

“You’re not calling to offer me a warm drink, Senator,” she said, annoyed. “She’s all right. She’ll be heading back to her offices in about half an hour.”

“Surely I can call for more than one reason, Ilse?” he asked, entering the lift.

She gave a sharp laugh. “Fine. I’m about five minutes away.”

“Any sweetener?”

“No, thank you. You’re saccharine enough as it is.” She hung up and Obi-Wan smiled. Ilse was bright, energetic, and not easy to fool. He hoped Padme had plans for the young woman’s future; it would be a waste of potential otherwise.

He made a slight detour to the Cassander Senator’s office where, in exchange for the news that Senator Amidala had survived the attempt on her life when she arrived back on Coruscant, the office staff let him walk away with two cups of potent Garqi caf. There was something enjoyable about maintaining the web of alliances, friendships, and contacts that he had built up over his years in the Senate, even for something as mundane as a cup of caf.

Obi-Wan met Ilse as she entered the Senate Building. She took a sniff of the cup that he handed her and raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve been flattering Anelide for access to her caf again?”

“Very astute,” he said with a smile. “It was also on my way.”

“Your restraint in asking about the Senator would be almost admirable if you hadn’t gone to such great lengths, you know.” She took a sip of her drink. “As I said before: she’s all right. She was flying in a separate ship when they landed. Captain Typho’s instincts were right, as usual, but…” She looked away. “Corde was her decoy today. The shooter got her instead.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Ilse,” Obi-Wan said softly.

They walked in silence until they reached the lift. Then she said, “I didn’t even really know her. The handmaidens are all a little… stand-offish. They don’t talk to the rest of us much, except when they have to. So I suppose it’s easier on us than it is on them.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note: Ilse was the sort of person who tried to hide her grief behind a facade of sarcasm and unconcern.

“You are all united in a common purpose,” he told her, “and today you are also united in your grief, which is better to bear with others than it is to bear alone.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Trust me on this.”

As they exited the lift, Ilse showed him through the side door that led to the office of Padme’s secretaries. “Here,” she said, “I’ll let you into the antechamber; you can wait for the Senator there.”

To Obi-Wan’s surprise, however, there was someone already waiting there.

The young man stood up abruptly from the couch he had been sitting on and was already apologizing before Obi-Wan had taken his first step into the room. “I’m sorry! Someone told me to wait here but I can go back out into the hall.”

“No, no,” Obi-Wan reassured him. “I’m the interloper here. Perhaps we can wait for the Senator together?”

With a sigh of relief, the young man sat down again. The robes and long braid made it obvious that he was a Padawan. Although tall, the fact that those robes looked far too big on him meant that he could have been anywhere between 15 and 20 years old.

And something about him was strangely familiar. Perhaps he had been a crecheling when Obi-Wan was an Initiate? No, that couldn’t be: even at the older end of his estimate, this Padawan wouldn’t have been born by the time Obi-Wan left.

(Was rejected, said something nasty inside his mind.)

(Escaped, he retorted.)

Regardless, Obi-Wan typically had a good memory for faces, so why did this one look familiar? “We don’t often see Padawans in the Senate building,” he said as he sat in the chair opposite the young apprentice. “What brings you here?”

“Well, I’m here with my master—he’s talking with Chancellor Palpatine right now—and it sounds like there’s going to be an investigation of the attack on P—the Senator. So they’ve asked my master and I—”

‘My master and me,’ Obi-Wan corrected his grammar silently.

(What master would want you?)

(Be quiet.)

“—to assist them,” the Padawan finished. He tugged nervously on his braid. “I haven’t been here before. I didn’t know it was so huge!”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Every planet and sector in the Republic has a representative here. Quite a bit of space is needed to contain them all. It can be easy to get lost at first… but I think you’ll be able to find your way around soon enough.” He fought the urge to pat the young Jedi on the shoulder; he wasn’t even touching the Force and he could tell that the boy was a bundle of nerves. “Don’t worry,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “the Senator is very easy to get along with. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

The boy looked momentarily panicked. “I wasn’t… I mean, I thought…” He sighed and hung his head. “I know her already. We met a long time ago.”

“Well, then I suppose I don’t need to reassure you,” Obi-Wan said gently.

“It's just…” the boy said hesitantly, “it’s just that it was so long ago that I—” He looked up at Obi-Wan. “Do you think she’ll remember me? I was a little kid back then, but…” He gave another sigh, this one more in frustration than worry. “This is silly. Why would she remember me?”

Obi-Wan gave in to the impulse and, leaning in a little more, pat the young man on the shoulder. “In all of the years I have known Senator Amidala, she’s never ceased to surprise me with the things that she remembers.”

“I just want to make a good impression,” the Padawan said. His blue eyes (why was he so familiar?) were full of anxiety that bordered on desperation.

Obi-Wan gave him another pat on the shoulder. “Well, as someone who just made your acquaintance, I can say that your first impression was not a disaster.” He gave him a smile. “Though I think a little more self-confidence wouldn’t hurt.”

The Padawan blushed, took a deep breath, and let his apprehension bleed out of him as he exhaled. Releasing his emotions to the Force, Obi-Wan could tell from experience, though it seemed to only help the boy a little.

Obi-Wan held out his hand. “We’ve managed to forget to introduce ourselves,” he said with a gentle laugh. “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Senator from the Cadavine Sector.”

The Padawan took his hand and shook it. “I’m An—”

“Skywalker!” Mace Windu entered the office’s antechamber, followed by Senator Amidala, Captain Typho, and a handmaiden.

“Master Windu!” Anakin Skywalker responded; the Padawan shot to his feet and stood at what might as well have been attention if he had included a salute. “I was told to wait here for you to return.” Whatever anxiety the boy had managed to expel into the Force had returned.

Ah, Obi-Wan thought to himself, so that’s why he looked so familiar.

(You hated him.)

(That was a long time ago.)

“Obi-Wan!” Padme said, stepping around Windu to greet him. “What are you doing here?”

“I merely wanted to see for myself that you were all right,” Obi-Wan said, standing and wrapping her in a hug. The fact that he was able to do so without navigating around a complicated headdress was a sign of how chaotic her day had been; of course, former Queen that she was, Padme was still dressed immaculately and had braided her hair into a complex arrangement of knots. As they moved back apart he added quietly, “I also wanted to offer my condolences about Corde. Her devotion and sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

A cloud of grief passed across Padme’s face. “No,” she murmured, “I’ll make sure that it won’t be forgotten. Thank you, my friend.” At last, she noticed the remaining person in the room and her eyes widened. “Ani?” she said breathlessly. “Is that you?”

Anakin gave her a bashful nod, clearly wanting to say something but being too startled himself to speak.

“My goodness,” Padme said, taking a step closer to him, “how you’ve grown.” Obi-Wan noticed a minor twitch around her eyes as she winced over how condescending that sounded. Still, if they hadn’t seen one another since the occupation of Naboo over a decade earlier, her statement wasn’t inaccurate.

Anakin stammered something about her having grown as well, but Padme hardly seemed to notice. The two stared at one another in silence for several more awkward seconds before Captain Typho cleared his throat and ushered them into Padme’s office.

Mace Windu remained with Obi-Wan in the antechamber. “Senator,” Windu said flatly.

“Master Windu,” Obi-Wan replied, trying to remain serene. Interactions between the two of them had not grown warmer over the years.

“It was a surprise to find you here, Senator,” Windu said, “seeing as I gave Senator Amidala’s staff strict instructions to not let anyone inside her offices.”

Obi-Wan shrugged with false modesty. “You’d be surprised what sort of places one can get access to with a strong cup of caf.”

The Jedi Master’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And it was just a cup of caf?”

“Of course it was,” Obi-Wan said, not quite able to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Somehow, their conversations always came back to this. “I am not using the Force to manipulate the minds of anyone.”

“See that it stays that way,” Windu said sternly. “This is why Jedi stay out of politics.”

“But I’m not a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said icily, “remember?”

(Bet they’re regretting that now, aren’t they, Senator?)

(Hush.)

Windu continued to glare at him stonily.

“So, your Padawan,” Obi-Wan said. “It sounds like he’s going to be around here quite a bit in the near future.”

“Working,” Windu warned him. “Without interference.”

“From what exactly?” When Windu didn’t reply, Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Windu, I’m not planning to eat your Padawan. Or whatever other diabolical plot you think I have in the works.”

“What were the two of you talking about just now?” Windu asked abruptly.

“Girl problems,” Obi-Wan said with a shrug.

For a very brief moment, almost too quick for the human eye to follow, the Jedi Master looked troubled.

How very interesting.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, “I should be getting back to my work.”

“Yes, I think you’ve intruded on Senator Amidala’s time enough for today,” Windu said.

Obi-Wan froze as he opened the door that led out into the hallway. Then he turned and smiled.

“Please give my regards to the Chosen One, won’t you?” Obi-Wan asked sweetly.

He was gone before he could see Mace Windu’s reaction, but he suspected that it wasn’t a pleasant one.

Chapter Text

The next few hours were a blur of meetings, briefings, strategies, and revisions.

“Using the attack on Padme to gain sympathy votes? It’s crass,” Bail pointed out during a brief respite in Obi-Wan’s office.

“It’s useful,” Obi-Wan countered. “If we can get some more senators on our side by appealing to our colleagues’ better natures, I say we take advantage of it.”

“This could backfire,” Bail argued. “You thought people were scared before; think of how panicked they are now that their fellow senator was the target of an assassination attempt.”

“So we don’t give them time to think about it,” Obi-Wan said, only half paying attention as he sorted through the pile of datacards on his desk.

“How very democratic,” Bail drawled.

Obi-Wan found the card that he was looking for and passed it to Bail. “There: read that on your way to meet with the Bothan Senator.”

Bail sighed. “Fine. Where are you headed next, incidentally?”

“The Corellian Senator’s office.”

“Garm Bel Iblis? I thought he pulled out of the vote completely.”

“It’s never too late to drag his contrarian hide back into the fold. Besides,” he said, removing a datacard from his own pad and tossing it back onto the desk, “it’s a high risk but also a high reward scenario: having him on our side will likely swing a few more votes.”

“Well, if anyone can convince him, it’ll be—”

“Don’t say ‘The Negotiator,’” Obi-Wan warned.

Bail laughed.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Obi-Wan said with a grumble. “We only have another hour until the vote happens.”

In the end, Palpatine managed to ruin the whole thing.

Obi-Wan spent nearly an hour with Senator Bel Iblis, exhausting more than a few favors in the process (as well as exhausting his colleague), until the Corellian relented. By the time Obi-Wan took his seat in the Senate Hall he felt, if not satisfied, then at least a little more optimistic than he had been that morning.

This feeling was dispelled the instant the Chancellor began speaking: “Due to the unfortunate events of earlier today, the vote on the passage of the Military Creation Act will be postponed until further notice.”

His voice was kind and grandfatherly (or so Obi-Wan had been told, having never known any of his own grandparents); still, one couldn’t rise to the top of galactic politics the way Palpatine had without being at least a little vicious.

A few senators could be heard shouting around the chamber, but Obi-Wan kept his face and emotions calm. He was sure that he could turn this to his advantage somehow. This afforded them more time, more potential resources, and better odds of solidifying their position before the vote. Padme was back; she would have some more ideas on how to appeal to popular sentiment. A few of the senators supporting the MCA would be up for re-election soon, making them vulnerable to public pressure from their constituents to change their stance. This wasn’t a disaster. He could make this work.

He was already on his comlink to Padme before he had reached the exit of the Senate Hall.

“We’ll have to meet later,” she said apologetically. “The Chancellor has called an emergency meeting of the Loyalist Committee.”

“I look forward to hearing about it, I suppose,” Obi-Wan said, already annoyed. “Assuming anything actually happens there.”

“Have you considered taking a nap?” Padme asked drily. “You sound crankier than my nieces.”

“Hilarious,” he said. “I’ll be in my office.”

Back in his office, he reverted to an old habit to relax: though his skills in the Force had likely atrophied a little over the years, they were still strong enough for self-indulgent telekinesis. Unlike his “tantrum” with the thrown datapad earlier in the day, this was more intentional. While focusing, breathing, and opening himself to the Force, he would choose a random object in his office and levitate it. Often only a few inches, but that wasn’t important; the real challenge was keeping it in the air for as long as possible, or until he calmed down enough to get back to work.

He grabbed a random datacard off of his desk and pinned it to the ceiling of his office.

The Jedi could refuse to teach him, they could ignore him for years, and they could send Mace Windu to bother him, but they couldn’t take away his access to the Force. No matter what, it would always be a part of him.

Obi-Wan was focusing so intently on what he was doing that he didn’t notice Anakin Skywalker entering his office until the young man cleared his throat. As the datacard fell down to Obi-Wan’s desk with a clatter, he saw Anakin’s eyes widen.

“Did you… was that the Force?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan suppressed a wince. His Force-sensitivity had never been a secret, but he had instructed his secretary to give him a warning if anyone other than his usual visitors (meaning Padme, Bail, Eeshrin, and Mon) stopped by. Ze must have assumed that Jedi were exempt from this, given Mace Windu’s frequent visits; Obi-Wan would have to have a word with zir about that.

“Yes,” he said, “it was.”

Obviously Windu hadn’t mentioned it. “Then why aren’t you…?”

“A Jedi?” Obi-Wan finished. “I aged out as an Initiate and went into politics instead.”

(Thrown out.)

(Stop that.)

“Oh,” Anakin said uncomfortably. Obi-Wan sighed internally; finally meeting the young man had lessened some of the resentment that he felt regarding Anakin, but letting go of his hurt feelings was still a work in progress. Regardless, it wasn’t the boy’s fault.

The awkward silence had gone on long enough. “What brings you here?” he asked Anakin. “I thought you were with Senator Amidala.”

Anakin began absentmindedly playing with his Padawan braid. “She had a meeting with the Chancellor, so she said I could take a break until it was over. And since I don’t really know anyone else…” He shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know… you seemed really nice. But I can go wait in her office if you need to—”

“No, no, that’s fine. Come, have a seat.” He gestured to the sofa and sat in the armchair next to it. After Anakin was seated on the couch, Obi-Wan gave him a knowing smile. “So, it seems she remembered you after all.”

Anakin blushed so fiercely that Obi-Wan could actually feel it through the Force. “I… um… yeah, she did.” The giddy grin on his face faded as he sighed, “I guess I was making a big deal out of nothing, right?”

“What makes you say that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Master Windu says that I tend to let my emotions run away with me. ‘There is no emotion, there is peace,’ isn’t really something I’ve ever been good at.” The Padawan’s shoulders slumped a little.

“Peace cannot come through the denial of your emotions, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. He had always had an issue with that line of the Jedi Code; Anakin wasn’t the first young Jedi to have fallen prey to that misconception. “It comes through understanding and accepting those emotions. I’m sure Master Windu would agree as well.”

Anakin gave him a look that was more narrow than it had been a moment before. “What were you and Master Windu talking about at Padme’s—I mean, Senator Amidala’s office?”

“Just reminiscing about old times,” he said lightly. “Nothing of substance.”

Anakin looked skeptical. “He didn’t look very happy after you left.”

“I have no idea why,” he said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Perhaps he was concerned about the Senator.”

Anakin nodded, though still didn’t seem entirely convinced; however, the mention of Padme seemed to be enough to distract him. “Hey,” he asked Obi-Wan nervously, “I was wondering… if it wouldn’t be out of line… it’s just that I haven’t seen her in years and… I mean, it didn’t really sink in until now, but I don’t really know that much about her. Or about what she’s doing now.” He ran a hand through his hair and resumed fidgeting with his braid. “I don’t even really know what a senator does. Is it all just meetings and datacards?”

Obi-Wan smiled. This young man’s naivete was oddly charming. “Well,” he began, “it’s a bit more complicated than that…”

At some point during this explanation, they began talking about the Military Creation Act. Anakin frowned in confusion. “I don’t get what the problem is,” he said. “It’s just about creating the army; that doesn’t mean that they have to use it.”

He had hit upon an argument that Obi-Wan had heard far too often recently. Fortunately, he had become adept at giving examples. “Tell me,” he said to Anakin, “as part of your training, you’ve had to go through physical conditioning, correct? Things like endurance, strength training, agility, yes?”

Anakin nodded. Obi-Wan continued: “Now, some might argue that, with the Force as your ally, such exercises are unnecessary. Why develop your strength when you can just lift something with the Force?”

“Because relying on the Force too much can be a limiting,” Anakin said, “and it’s helpful to have a number of tools at your disposal.” He gave another frown. “But that’s exactly what I mean! Wouldn’t an army just be another tool at the Republic’s disposal?”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said seriously, “have you ever witnessed a war?”

The Padawan shrugged uncomfortably. “The fight with the Trade Federation on Naboo. A couple of incidents when I was on a mission with Master Windu.”

“Those are battles. Though bloody and unfortunate, they are not the same thing as a war.” Memories of Melida/Daan, of those first months and the years that they spent repairing their world, came seeping back into his mind. “War changes the way you approach a situation. Dialogue ceases, patience is exhausted, and everything that happens is tainted by fear: fear of the other, fear of what they might do to you. You get into the habit of striking before you can be attacked. Other options, ones that could resolve the conflict, are pushed into the background. You don’t think about them. You forget. And then the death toll rises until everything around you is covered in blood.” He closed his eyes for a moment, driving those memories away. He opened his eyes and looked at Anakin. “Giving the Republic this army puts the galaxy one step closer to an outcome that should be unthinkable.”

Anakin thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “I see what you’re saying, but I don’t see why an army couldn’t be used as peacekeepers.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “There is no such thing as peace at the barrel of a blaster.”

“Maybe peace can’t come by denying the possibility of violence, either,” Anakin said, echoing Obi-Wan’s words from earlier.

Obi-Wan gave him a half-smile. “Perhaps.”

Anakin suddenly stiffened. “Master Windu’s coming,” he said, quickly standing. “I should go.”

“Before you do,” Obi-Wan said, heading to his desk. He handed Anakin a small card. “My personal comm frequency. In case you have any more questions about the Senate… or certain senators.”

“Thanks,” said Anakin, tucking the card somewhere inside his Jedi robes. He bit his lower lip in unexpected apprehension. “Hey, um… you and Padme… you’re not… I mean, the two of you aren’t…?”

Obi-Wan hid a laugh. “No, not at all.”

“Skywalker!” came Mace Windu’s voice from outside Obi-Wan’s office.

“Sorry, Master Windu!” Anakin said, hurrying out to meet him.

“You were supposed to stay with the Senator!”

“She told me I could take a break while she was meeting with the Chancellor,” Anakin protested.

“Which means that you should have stayed nearby, not headed to the opposite end of the building.”

As their voices faded down the hall, Obi-Wan realized two things.

First, judging by the boy’s posture and voice as he walked behind Windu, Anakin Skywalker was absolutely miserable.

And second, Obi-Wan was already resolving to help that young man in any way that he could.

(You care about him.)

(I do.)

Chapter Text

As a senator, Obi-Wan had to keep his priorities in order. There were duties to his constituents back in the Cadavine Sector, three different committees whose activities he needed to keep track of, and over two dozen colleagues asking for favors of one sort or another. There were roughly five major pieces of legislation that he needed to argue out of committee, another two bills that he needed to find a way to bury in red tape, and that wasn’t even counting his largest headache: the Military Creation Act, which Bail at one point joked had escaped death so often that it was a medical miracle.

A call from a twenty-year old monk with a crush on Obi-Wan’s colleague should not rank particularly high on that list of priorities; and yet, here he was, missing the first fifteen minutes of a Mediation and Resolution Committee meeting in order to play agony aunt to a panicking Anakin Skywalker.

“Every time I open my mouth, I freeze,” Anakin complained. “Like my brain thinks of two different things to say and they crash into each other before I figure out which one is the best.”

“I suspect that you might be overthinking it,” Obi-Wan said, trying to keep the amusement he was feeling out of his voice. It wasn’t as though his childhood had been precisely normal either, but at least he had left the Jedi Order before teenage hormones had hit.

“Of course I’m overthinking it!” Anakin’s voice actually cracked with the exclamation. He followed it with a frustrated groan. “This is so embarrassing. I’m letting my emotions run all over the place. I should know better.”

“Jedi training aside, Anakin, you sound terrified. What horrible outcome are you imagining?”

“I don't know! No, wait, I do: that out of all the thousands of words I could put together, I'll somehow end up saying the exact ones that will show her that I'm still just a dumb kid. I mean, I guess I am still just a dumb kid.”

“Anakin, if there is anyone out there who perfectly understands what it’s like to worry about being underestimated because of one’s age, it would be Senator Amidala.”

Anakin seemed to take a moment to think that over. Finally, in a voice that barely carried over the comm: “I just don't want her to be disappointed in me.”

In the young Jedi’s voice, Obi-Wan heard echoes of himself, of the old desperation that he still couldn't quite rid himself of even after all these years: Love me, love me, love me. Don’t send me away.

I’ll do anything if you’ll only love me.

One more affection-starved child in the halls of the Jedi Temple.

Once, in passing, Anakin mentioned that his mother was still on Tatooine, likely still a slave. Ever since that conversation, Obi-Wan had been making discreet inquiries into how one might locate a woman who, as far as the Republic was concerned, might as well have not existed. The Jedi Order certainly seemed content to pretend that she didn’t exist, Obi-Wan thought bitterly. He still had some favors he could call in; a few more weeks of work and he might be able to find her.

Unlike most Jedi, Anakin had been old enough to remember his mother, to remember being unconditionally loved only to have that source taken away. No wonder Anakin called him so often lately: he had no one else to talk to.

“The only way out of this is through, Anakin. Rather than focusing on what you think she wants to hear, focus on what you actually mean. The right words will come, trust me.” Many years of politics had taught him that much, even if the lesson had mainly been on how to lie more effectively. “The two of you need to have a serious conversation, the sooner the better.”

“I don’t even know when we would have the chance: Master Windu doesn’t trust me to guard her by myself yet.”

“Ah, yes,” Obi-Wan conceded. “That would make things difficult.” He tried to imagine having a heart-to-heart with someone in front of Mace Windu. The attempt nearly gave him a headache.

“So I don’t really know what to do.” Anakin sighed. “Do you?” The hopelessness in his voice was painful to hear.

All the more heartbreaking, Obi-Wan noticed that Padme was in a similar state. She hid it far better, but she had been a semi-flustered mess ever since Anakin first arrived in her office. He understood their hesitancy, of course, but a distracted Senator and a distracted bodyguard was a recipe for disaster.

A disaster that could be averted by something as simple as an unsupervised conversation.

He had an idea, but it would only work if neither of them knew the plan.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea,” he told Anakin, resuming his struggle to keep the smile out of his voice.

He hated to admit it to himself, and certainly would never admit it out loud, but Obi-Wan thought that Fete Week was a massive waste of time. He knew that this put him in the company of the sort of people who sneered at music and children, but something about the entire state of affairs made him feel like a caged animal. Possibly because he was almost literally caged up during some of it.

The Glitannai Luminaria was pretty—even his jaded heart couldn’t deny that—but he would have been content to watch it from a distance, rather than cooped up in one of the floating gondolas that slowly moved up and down the Esplanade.

The gondolas were more like small rooms than ships, with windows on all four sides and even small areas on each side where passengers could step out into the night air. A group of senators and other dignitaries would board together at one of the loading platforms and then spend the following hours socializing while watching the lights, until the gondola completed its painfully slow circuit of the Glitannai Esplanade.

In previous years, Obi-Wan was able to use the situation to his advantage. More than a few of his colleagues had had this evening respite ruined by the unexpected appearance of Senator Kenobi in their gondola, armed with a smile and a datapad of notes, and the realization that they had no possible avenue of escape.

But after the recent flurry of activity around the Military Creation Act, Obi-Wan found himself without an obvious target. Certainly, there were Senators and other influential people who he might be able to work on during the several hour-long event, but no one that was a priority.

Therefore, he decided to use the opportunity to indulge in a little mischief instead.

It involved about a day of preparation, the cooperation of three staff members, and about half a dozen suspicious looks from Bail Organa (who, when Obi-Wan refused to tell him what was going on, actually breathed a sigh of relief: “Finally, something I'm not complicit in.”)

On the evening of the Luminaria, this area of the boarding platform was full of so many sentients that one could scarcely move. Obi-Wan got into position with only a few moments to spare: Padme and Anakin were already stepping onto the next gondola. The other Senators who were to accompany them had been unfortunately delayed by a series of highly coincidental inconveniences between their offices and the Esplanade. Which left only one other possible companion, who happened to be walking right in front of Obi-Wan on his way to the boarding area.

With far, far too much glee, Obi-Wan stepped firmly on the hem of Mace Windu’s cloak.

To the Jedi Master’s credit, he did not fall over. He did, however, overcompensate for the additional weight by pulling forward hard enough to stumble a little. This also had the effect of yanking Obi-Wan off of his feet, taking the Ishori Senator down with him.

Obi-Wan had chosen well: Ishori were easily agitated, which meant that Windu’s focus was quickly taken up by a very loud and emotional Senator Rn’osi while Obi-Wan got to his feet and made his way to the edge of the platform. Distracted by the commotion, Windu missed Padme’s attempt at getting his attention and the doors closed without him.

Obi-Wan gave her a cheerful little wave from where he stood on the platform, which earned him a look of momentary confusion. It wasn’t until the gondola began to float away down the Esplanade that Padme realized that for the next few hours she and Anakin Skywalker were completely alone.

The best thing to do now would be to make himself scarce before Windu figured out what had happened. Fortunately, another gondola was moving into position. Obi-Wan darted inside just as the doors opened and made his way to one of the exterior lookouts. Ahead in the distance, he could just barely make out Padme’s figure in the dim light as she stood on the lookout facing him.

His comm beeped. “I suppose you think this is funny?” Padme said when he answered.

“He’s not listening in on this, is he?”

“No,” Padme said testily. “He’s talking to Master Windu now. Exactly what was your plan here?”

“I assumed that the two of you could use the opportunity to get to know one another better.”

“You’re meddling. I’m not a fan of this.”

“At least admit that you’re a fan of his?”

Padme didn’t reply immediately; he got the sense that she was trying to find the right words. “Jedi Skywalker and I are… Obi-Wan, we’re around each other all the time!”

“But not alone. Not without Mace Windu or your staff or half a dozen senators around.” He leaned against the rail. “Both of you obviously like one another, and you haven’t had the chance for an actual conversation. One that you both desperately need, by the way.” He smirked. “Among other things.”

He could almost see Padme’s blush from here. “I have no idea what you’re implying, Senator.”

“Yes, you do.”

“That would be inappropriate: he’s technically working for me.”

“I'm not saying that you should go deflower young Skywalker right this minute, Padme. I'm merely trying to point out that in this case, a little less decorum might do you both some good.”

Padme snorted. “Of course you would say to disregard professional behavior; if you and Bail drunkenly hook up one more time you're going to spark a diplomatic incident.”

“That hasn't happened in ages, not since he started seeing Breha,” he protested mildly, “and anyway, you're trying to change the subject.”

“Obviously I'm trying to change the subject. This is absurd.”

“Padme, I'm asking this in all seriousness: what has you so worried?”

Her reply, after a brief pause, was in a softer tone than before: “I'm not blind. I know he likes me… but I worry that he has this image of me in his head that I'm not going to measure up to.”

Obi-Wan recalled Anakin’s words from their last conversation: I just don't want her to be disappointed in me.

“Well, there's only one way to set more realistic expectations,” Obi-Wan said. “Talk. Just talk. Use your words, you're quite good at that.”

“High praise, coming from the—”

“Don't say ‘Negotiator.’”

“Don’t think you’re getting away with this, by the way. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

“Speaking of watching your back, I see Anakin heading your way,” Obi-Wan said. “Enjoy your company.”

“Enjoy yours as well,” she said drily and ended the call. Before Obi-Wan could puzzle out what she meant by that, he heard footsteps on the carpet.

He turned. It was Chancellor Palpatine.

“Senator Kenobi,” the Chancellor said, sounding nearly as surprised as Obi-Wan felt; though unlike him, Palpatine seemed to consider the surprise a pleasant one.

“My apologies, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, mostly addressing the guards that flanked Palpatine and who were no doubt less than thrilled with his unexpected appearance. “I seem to have been… misplaced after all the commotion on the platform.”

“No apology necessary,” Palpatine said. Behind him, Obi-Wan noticed a handful of familiar-looking dignitaries chatting quietly as they attempted to find an ideal spot near the windows. “Unanticipated meetings can often be the most rewarding, wouldn’t you say?”

“Certainly the most interesting,” Obi-Wan agreed, still trying to find his mental footing. Something about the Chancellor always made him feel as though his efforts at charm were hopelessly transparent. He didn’t enjoy feeling this exposed. “But I should leave you to your invited guests nonetheless.”

Instead, Palpatine guided him towards one of the unoccupied lookouts. “I consider you a guest of mine as well, Senator. Please, indulge an old man and join me for a few minutes.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t charm his way out of this one. For the first time in years, he would have to actually watch the damn thing.

The light pollution on Coruscant was so intense that most of its permanent residents had never seen a starry sky in their entire lives. The Luminaria, he supposed, would have been the next best thing: billions of tiny lights, floating slowly up from the lower levels of the Esplanade, filling the air with strange constellations.

“I’m curious: how many of these displays have you attended, Senator?” the Chancellor asked.

Obi-Wan rested his arms on the railing as he considered the question. “I missed a few years when I was first elected to the Senate; there were too many pressing concerns at home for me to stay on Coruscant for more than a few weeks at a time. But the last seven or eight years, yes.” Though typically he spent it paying more attention to the attendees than the event itself. “What about you, Chancellor?”

Palpatine’s gaze remained fixed on the illumination. “More than I can count, it seems. We have a similar festival of lights on Naboo, in fact. A trifle dull sometimes, but fascinating in its own way.” He made a noise that sounded vaguely like a laugh. “All of those little lights, struggling against the dark.”

“While you watch from here, above it all?” Obi-Wan asked with a raised eyebrow.

Palpatine shook his head. “Not from above, no… but from a distance, perhaps. Amazing, on a planet as populous as this one, how one can feel so alone sometimes.”

Obi-Wan smiled ruefully. “I’ve experienced that as well. I suppose that all we can do is look for our fellow wanderers in the dark.”

Well, as long as he was here, he might as well try and corner the Chancellor on the finer points of the Military Creation Act. Even the worst-case scenario—that Palpatine would ignore him entirely—wasn’t that bad of an outcome. Something about being here was making Obi-Wan increasingly uncomfortable.

The discomfort suddenly blossomed into a spike of danger in the Force. In unison, Obi-Wan and Palpatine turned to look in the direction of Padme and Anakin’s ship. For the moment, nothing was wrong—

Then blaster fire erupted on the outside of the distant craft. After an initial sniper bolt, the unknown shooter seemed to have resorted to a weapon with automatic fire. Obi-Wan saw Anakin’s lightsaber sweeping through the air to deflect as many bolts as possible. Obi-Wan could see Republic officers approaching on landspeeders; but in the meantime, Padme and Anakin were sitting nerfs.

Obi-Wan didn’t need the Force to know that Mace Windu was likely ready to spit blaster bolts over the fact that he was stuck on the platform. He winced; his interference with Windu earlier had put his friends in even more danger.

It had been a long time since Obi-Wan was forced to watch someone he loved in peril from a distance, unable to do anything to help.

He only relaxed his grip on the railing when two of Palpatine’s guards ordered him and the Chancellor to step back from the lookout, lest they become targets as well. In the gondola’s interior, the air was thick with the fearful cries of the other passengers.

The next few minutes seemed to take years. At last, however, the shooting ceased.

“Attention, gathered sentients: this craft will be reversing course and returning to the platform,” came a voice over the ship’s comms. “This will take a few minutes. Thank you for your patience.” The alarmed conversations of their fellow passengers began to quiet down into the usual buzz of conversation.

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of Padme and Anakin’s silhouettes. They were all right.

It was only then that something caught up with him: both he and Chancellor Palpatine had turned to look before the gondola was hit.

He attempted to broach the subject delicately. “Your reaction time just now was rather impressive,” he remarked lightly. “Uncannily so, in fact. I must admit, I’m surprised that someone of your status had been overlooked by the Jedi Order.”

The Chancellor’s face froze for the briefest of moments, then he gave Obi-Wan a small smile. “I was given to understand that one needed a certain level of Force potential in order to be considered for training. My talents were too… modest… to be worth the effort.” He turned his gaze to the city lights, looking wistful. “I sometimes wonder what might have been, of course… what it would have been like to be accepted among their ranks.” His eyes flicked briefly to Obi-Wan’s face. “I imagine you must wonder that yourself.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He did indeed.

The Chancellor was immediately surrounded by aides and guards as he disembarked; it took some effort for Obi-Wan to push through them and make his way to where Padme and Anakin were standing.

Before he could reach them, however, Mace Windu blocked his path. “Senator,” he said coldly. “I want a word with you.”

Irritation flooded through him. “I would have thought you had an assassin to catch,” Obi-Wan said, weighing his odds of success if he tried to dart past the Jedi anyway; the odds were not good.

“The assassin is being dealt with,” Windu said. “What I want to know is what you were doing on the platform earlier.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And why you went to such efforts to isolate Senator Amidala.”

“You can’t possibly believe that I had anything to do with the assassination attempt,” Obi-Wan said, slightly incredulous. “Leaving aside the fact that Senator Amidala is a friend, what could I possibly gain from her murder?”

“That didn’t answer my question. What were you trying to do?”

Obi-Wan smiled over Windu’s shoulder at Padme and Anakin. “You know what I was trying to do.” He looked back at Windu, the smile still on his face. “Though you might not want to admit it.”

“Senator, I would strongly advise you to refrain from this kind of behavior in the future.” There was a knife’s edge in the Jedi’s voice.

“Or what? Is there some kind of Jedi jail I didn’t know about?” Obi-Wan fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “I know that the Order considers itself to have jurisdiction over every Force-user in the galaxy, but I’m also a Republic citizen. There is no law that forbids me from a little harmless meddling in a relationship between two consenting adults, no matter how much the Jedi might disapprove.” He snorted. “If you want to question me about the attack on the Senator, go ahead, but don’t forget that the rules of the Order no longer apply to me.” Obi-Wan knew this was going down a risky path; the Jedi had, as usual, gotten under his skin. “So if you—or, perhaps, an actual law enforcement officer—have any relevant questions to ask me, you know where my office is. Now, if you will excuse me.” He brushed past Windu who, fortunately, did not try to stop him.

When he reached Padme, she was already prepared for what he was going to say. “I know you had nothing to do with it,” she said, her gaze landing briefly on Windu, who had taken Anakin aside.

“I still feel terrible, of course.”

“Of course you do but, strangely, I think your meddling may have helped: the assassin would likely have taken a shot even if we hadn’t been alone and, this way, no one else was in any danger. No one was hurt.” Obi-Wan could see the unspoken “this time” in her eyes. She forced a smile. “Besides, between all the shooting, we did in fact get an opportunity to talk.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, not bothering to hide his satisfied smirk. “Might I ask for details?”

“You might ask,” Padme said, rolling her eyes, “but you’ll have to be content with not receiving any answers.”

“Since I can just ask Anakin, I’m not sure if this counts as a punishment.”

“Oh, it isn’t punishment,” she said. “Your payback is on its way, though.”

“I’m fairly certain that I’ll be able to handle it, whatever it is.”

“Be careful, Senator,” Padme said with a wicked grin. “I think you’ll find my revenge to be particularly brutal.”

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan encountered Padme’s revenge a few days later, when he stopped by her office on his way to a committee meeting. She had dined with a handful of businesspeople the previous evening and he was keen to know if their influence could be counted on for support of a particular finance bill that he was attempting to get on the agenda for the next session of the Senate.

He caught her just as she was on her way out. Mace Windu was waiting for her in the office’s antechamber, with Anakin Skywalker an eager shadow at his side.

“Senator!” Padme said brightly. “Your timing is perfect: I was hoping to talk to you today.”

“Does that mean that your friends on Kuat have shown an interest in helping?” he asked, attempting to keep his focus from drifting over to the very striking blonde at her side. She and Padme appeared to be cut from similar cloth, or at least used the same stylist; however, the two women were also a study in contrasts: while Padme glowed warm gold and brown, her companion shone in cool silver tones: she wore a loose gown of blue and purple, accented with surprisingly intricate silver trim, and her hair was interwoven with enough jewelry that she nearly sparkled like starlight. Her sharp features were placed with almost artisanal precision on a face so pale and ethereal that it reminded him of ice.

(You're staring.)

(Of course I'm staring.)

“They haven't committed to anything definite… but I think you’d be safe dropping a few hints the next time you see Senator Lenoan.” Padme smiled. “But that wasn't the primary reason. I—”

“Senator Amidala,” interrupted her head secretary, “pardon me, but we just received a call from the Chancellor’s office: he has a few minutes to meet with you but you'll have to hurry over now.”

Padme nodded, then turned to the woman at her side. “My apologies, Duchess Satine, but we’ll have to part ways here.”

“No apology needed, Senator Amidala,” the duchess said warmly. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me during my visit to Coruscant.”

“And we’re still on for dinner tonight?” Padme added, less formal than before. It was obvious that they were friends; he wondered why Padme had never mentioned her before.

“Of course, Padme,” the duchess said with a smile. “I wouldn't miss it.”

(That smile…)

(Stop staring. You're going to embarrass yourself in front of the Jedi.)

“Then I leave you in the very capable hands of Senator Kenobi,” Padme said. She looked over at Mace Windu. “We'll need to make a brief detour before we head out, then.”

“We are at your disposal, Senator Amidala,” Windu said as the two Jedi accompanied her out of the office. Padme's secretary went back to her desk, leaving Obi-Wan and the duchess as the only two people in the antechamber.

Both of them had turned to watch the party leave, and Obi-Wan pivoted back to face Satine with what he hoped was a winning smile. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to handle the introductions ourselves.”

Her expression, however, was not nearly as friendly as it had been before. The comparison to ice was now even more pronounced: her blue eyes were so cold that Obi-Wan was surprised his breath hadn’t frozen.

“I already know who you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said sharply as she headed for the door. “If you will excuse me.”

“I typically have a good memory for faces,” he said, following her in an attempt to keep her attention. “I’m certain I would remember yours, your highness.”

She kept walking. “I know you by reputation, Senator,” she said, “which is more than sufficient.”

Obi-Wan’s smile began to falter. “You know, typically people wait to get upset with me until I’ve actually done something first.”

“Oh, you’ve done plenty, Senator Kenobi.” Her voice was as chilly as her face.

He frowned in irritation. “Well, enlighten me, then, on how I’ve managed to offend you in the span of a mere twenty seconds of acquaintance.”

She finally stopped and whirled around to face him. “Article Thirty-Eight, Section Eleven of the Galactic Crisis Intervention Protocol and Guidelines Act.”

Obi-Wan knew the legislation she was referring to; in fact, he knew the whole Act by heart. After all, he had written it.

Something she was well aware of, apparently: “More commonly known as the Kenobi Act.”

His eyes narrowed. “What precisely are you a duchess of, your highness?”

Satine’s gaze didn’t waver. “Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan just barely kept the wince off of his face. Section 11 covered, among other things, Republic intervention in non-Republic systems… including the staunchly neutral world of Mandalore.

“I see,” he hissed.

“Your attempt at cleverness, Senator, has brought no end of trouble and violence to my people.”

He couldn’t help it: he laughed in disbelief. “Violence on Mandalore? Your people’s entire culture is based around violence and war; I can’t see the Republic doing anything that could surpass that.”

“You don’t see a lot, do you?” she snapped. “Other than cheap holodramas, apparently. Our people have changed: we eschew war and support peace… only now, we have to worry that the Republic may invade at any moment if we misstep.”

“And you would rather that the Republic sit on its hands and do nothing in the face of atrocities?”

Satine glared. “That was not what I meant; furthermore, you know that wasn’t what I meant. Hyperbole might work in the Senate, but it won’t work on me.”

She was right about that, he noted with annoyance. “If you know so much about this Act, your highness, then surely you know the circumstances of its creation.”

Some of the intensity of her glare faded. “The occupation of Naboo,” she said.

“I sat in the Senate that day and watched Padme plead for help, and the Senate did nothing. They left her to return to what was almost certain death on Naboo, all because they could not agree on a single thing that would resolve the crisis. Because of that, I spent the next several years, barely pausing for breath, making sure that such inaction would never happen again.”

It was the single piece of legislation that he was unreservedly proud of. If he died or retired today, that work would live on as his legacy. It had been years since someone had tried to throw that accomplishment in his face as a negative thing; he hadn’t realized how much of his pride was still tied up in it.

“Good intentions do not excuse violent outcomes, Senator,” Satine said. Did she actually sound smug, or was that just Obi-Wan’s irritation clouding his perception? He couldn’t tell. “This is not purely theoretical for Mandalore: in the seven years since the passing of the Kenobi Act, there have been no fewer than twenty-one instances of Republic interference in our system’s affairs. This Act has been used as a pretense by nearly every neighboring system to commit economic warfare and other actions that threaten our very sovereignty because they can simply smile and claim that such actions are for humanitarian reasons.”

“And who gets to decide that it isn’t for humanitarian reasons?” he demanded. A tiny voice in the back of his head pointed out that he was being unreasonable. He ignored it.

“We are not a member of your Republic, Senator! Which, in case you forgot, means that the rules of the Republic do not apply to us.”

“Other than what is negotiated between the Republic and your system through diplomatic agreements,” he pointed out, though her words reminded him uncomfortably of what he said to Windu the previous day: Don’t forget that the rules of the Order no longer apply to me.

“Yes, which your precious Act managed to completely circumvent! Our existing treaties can now be summarily ignored if a Republic system decides that it takes issue with anything that we do.” Her hands were now balled into fists at her side. “And all because you didn’t take the time to think through the implications of your work before you stuck your name on it.”

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions about someone that you don’t even know,” Obi-Wan protested angrily. It hadn't been his idea to call it that.

“Then here is that introduction you wanted, Senator: my name is Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore,” she spat. “Hopefully you will never have a reason to remember it.” She stormed off.

Obi-Wan needed to take more than a few deep breaths before he could even think of heading to his next meeting; even so, he was twenty minutes late and nearly drove Senator Paulness to tears.

Padme’s vengeance wasn’t over. She sent him a discreet message the following morning inviting him to her private residence that night for what turned out to be a going-away party; she and Anakin would be going off-planet the next day and would be out of contact until Master Windu located the assassin (or, as Obi-Wan found out later, the person who hired the assassin that was apprehended the night of the Luminaria and died before being questioned). It was a small gathering, mostly other senators, with Anakin standing off to the side looking as though he would flinch if anyone glanced at him too hard.

Obi-Wan was making his way towards the young Jedi when he caught sight of absolutely gorgeous set of curves, wrapped in an elaborate gown so skin-tight that it caused some distant part of his mind to wonder about circulation. With her back facing him, the only other thing he could see was the delicate headdress she wore.

For a split second, he thought that she was Padme, which made the extremely tight dress even more confusing because Anakin already looked as though any further psychological havoc would cause him to short-circuit, until she shifted her posture and Obi-Wan realized that Padme was not that tall.

(Oh dear.)

She turned and Obi-Wan found himself staring almost slack-jawed at Satine Kryze.

“Well, well,” she said drily, “if it isn’t the collection of half-truths and hyperbole known as Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He could feel his expression souring. “And here you are, Duchess, hobnobbing with the meddling oppressors.”

“I try to keep an open mind,” she said, clearly trying to keep her tone polite.

He caught the hidden barb nonetheless. “I’m surprised you care so much about what the Republic is doing,” he said.

“As your hallmark piece of legislation demonstrated, Senator, what happens in the Galactic Republic has repercussions for everyone.” She fixed him with a sharp glare. “But we maintain our neutrality.”

“Keeping your options open in case Dooku makes a sweet enough offer?”

The temperature around them seemed to drop several hundred degrees. “Count Dooku is no friend to Mandalore or to me.”

“Really? I would have thought that aristocrats like yourselves would stick together, Duchess.” He was sneering and, frankly, he no longer cared, even though he saw a few other people beginning to stare, including Padme and Anakin.

“Oh, and you’re just a man of the people then, Senator?” Satine retorted.

“I represent a sector that several of my colleagues have called a backwater to my face—”

“Try saying that again and I’ll try not to notice the crisp Core accent that you’re saying it in.”

As though he hadn’t heard that before. “It doesn’t matter where I was raised. Melida/Daan has been my home for over two decades.”

“No wonder you’re such a fan of meddling, Senator—it put you in the cushy position you’re in today.”

“At least I did something to deserve it, your worshipfulness—”

“Thoughtless know-it-all!” she interrupted.

“Stubborn idealist!”

“Political opportunist!”

“Padme, may I speak to you in private, please?” Obi-Wan said in a voice that was, he realized, a trifle too loud.

Once Padme ushered him into the kitchen, he released the noise of sheer frustration he had been holding back. “Is something the matter, Obi-Wan?” Padme asked with deliberate sweetness.

Obi-Wan glared at her. “You know exactly what’s the matter: the vicious ice storm that you apparently call a friend.”

Padme’s expression remained serene. “Do you mean Satine? She and I have been friends for years; since my time as Queen, in fact.”

“She is the single most irritating creature I have ever met and, furthermore, she despises me. Why didn’t you warn me about her?”

She adopted a look of feigned innocence. “Oh, did I not mention her? Well, things happen so quickly around here, it must have slipped my mind.”

“If this is your revenge, I must say that your threat was rather understated. This is agony.”

Padme crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, you need to figure out a way to deal with that agony, Obi-Wan, because the two of you are going to have to work together while I’m away.”

“What?” he said in what he realized may have actually been a shout. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t have a choice: she has far more connections to influential people than either of us do, connections that we need in order to defeat the Military Creation Act. Besides, you won’t find a more tireless supporter of pacifism than Satine.”

“I find it hard to believe that someone so… combative could be an advocate for peace,” he grumbled.

“You were hardly peaceful yourself back there. I think you’ll discover that you have more in common than you think.”

“Unlikely,” he growled.

“Well, you’ll have to use your silver tongue, won’t you, Negotiator?” She made her way back to the kitchen door, then turned and added almost casually: “It’s a nice dress she’s wearing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Senator.”

“Yes, you do.” She winked and left him alone with his increasingly confused thoughts.

Thoughts which became even more confused when Satine herself entered the kitchen. Her expression was unreadable, but at least she didn’t seem furious with him.

“We’ve managed to make a mess of things, I think,” he said after the awkward pause between them had stretched to an unbearable length. “I don’t know about you, but that wasn’t my finest moment.”

“Nor mine,” she said with a grimace. “I do not apologize for my criticism, Senator, but I do apologize for making it… personal. It is personal for me, but that doesn’t excuse such petty things as name-calling.”

“You were right, incidentally,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t really know anything about you or your people. I made careless assumptions and then used them to attack you, and for that I am sorry.”

“I suppose it’s too much for me to hope that you would apologize for your legislative record as well?”

“I won’t apologize for that,” he confirmed. “You’re not the only one for whom this is personal.”

He caught a flicker of something in her eyes; a reassessment of some kind. “Tell me how it’s personal for you,” she said, almost cautiously.

“When I was thirteen,” Obi-Wan began, “I got on the wrong ship and ended up on Melida/Daan—a world so divided that they couldn’t even agree on what to call it. The civil war there had lasted for centuries and, at last, there was a chance for peace: a group of Melida and Daan children united to put an end to the fighting. And somehow, impossibly, we won.” Even so, memories of the subsequent battle of Zehava surfaced in his mind: the Scavengers trying to resume the fighting, Cerasi’s murder, the unnecessary bloodshed that followed until he found a way to stop it. He didn’t have to tell Satine that part, though.

(Not yet, anyway.)

(What do you mean, ‘not yet’?)

(You’re already telling her more than you need to.)

“But we inherited a world that was nearly destroyed,” he continued, trying to stay focused on the here and now despite having one foot in the past. “Generations that had never known peace had to suddenly find a way to live alongside one another.” He fought back the old anger, the now-faded rage that had propelled him into politics from the early days after the war all the way to Coruscant. “And the Republic did nothing. They had given up on Melida/Daan centuries ago.” He returned his attention to Satine. “I never want to witness anything like that again. I can’t sit by and watch; not when there’s something I can do about it.”

Her mouth had dropped open slightly, a thousand possible words struggling to find their way out, until at last she said quietly, “Then you know more about my people than you think. The civil war on Mandalore was…” A cloud of pain passed over her face. “It was as though every cruelty that had been lurking under the surface sprang to life all at once. I was—well, I suppose I was lucky: I was only forced to go on the run after they sent bounty hunters after me. Many others were simply massacred… all for the supposed crime of wanting our people to have a better legacy than one of violence.”

Padme was right, Obi-Wan realized: they did have more in common than he thought. “And yet, you don’t seem bitter,” he said.

“It was a long time ago… almost twenty years. The bitterness faded along with the scars. Besides,” she said, “there wasn’t time. The war ended and I was still the Duchess, which meant that the task of rebuilding Mandalore was mine alone.”

“I understand,” he said softly. It was an understatement, in fact: he knew exactly what that was like. Feeling young, unready, nearly overwhelmed by the magnitude of the work that lay ahead. Feeling as though it would never get better, until the day when he finally looked back and realized that it had.

“I know,” she replied. The anger that lay between them was gone. “Those years are what made me a pacifist.”

“It was the same for me,” he said. He could barely take his eyes off of her before; it was impossible now. “But pacifism doesn’t necessarily mean neutrality.”

“It does if your potential allies do not share those views,” Satine said. “If the Republic gets involved in our affairs, it will only lead to further violence.”

“I believe that the Republic has a responsibility to intervene in situations where there is a humanitarian crisis,” he said. “Sometimes there are situations where total non-violence is impossible, where all that one can do is minimize the overall harm.”

“I still think that what you call ‘humanitarian intervention’ is just a more palatable way to say ‘aggression.’”

“I look forward to convincing you otherwise,” he said.

“And I look forward to being right,” she countered with a smile.

(That smile again…)

(And it’s at you this time.)

“Perhaps there are some amendments that could be made to the Act,” Obi-Wan conceded. “A clearer process for protesting abuse of the guidelines.”

“Assuming one can get the ear of a Senator,” she said skeptically.

“Well, you’re talking to one now, aren’t you?”

Unexpectedly, she laughed. “And of course, the first thing I do is insult him. Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite irritating?”

He rolled his eyes but found that the malice he felt before was gone. “On a near daily basis, it seems.”

“I noticed the Bothan Senator nearly fled the room when you arrived tonight.”

“You noticed my arrival?” He arched an eyebrow.

“I noticed a Bothan running for his life and felt compelled to look for the impossible creature that had frightened him.”

He grinned. “And were you disappointed or impressed?”

She puzzled over that for a moment. “I was… curious. It was one more question to add to the list of questions that I already had about you.”

“Such as why Padme would be friends with someone like me?” he said teasingly.

“I suspect that you were wondering the exact same thing about me, weren’t you?” she replied in an identical tone of voice.

He laughed. “Do you know, I think we might actually be getting along?”

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on, finally.”

“What a relief. It wouldn’t do for people to see a pair of pacifists at each other’s throats.” He was growing increasingly conscious of his breathing. When had they stepped so close to one another?

“Indeed,” Satine said, her voice growing softer. “Besides, it also means that I can do this.” She gently took his chin in her hand and drew him in for a kiss.

It felt like a sun going nova inside of his chest. He pulled her closer, his hands running down her back over the impossibly smooth fabric of her dress. Even pressed against him, she still felt too far away.

Satine moved her hand from his chin to the back of his head as she ran her fingers through his hair. Her other hand gripped his shoulder so tightly that it was almost painful. Any resemblance she had to ice was gone: her lips felt like an inferno.

A step or two put his back up against the nearest wall. Leaning on him for support, Satine moved her hands past his shoulders and down to his waist. Even that far from his groin, her caress dragged a low moan from the back of his throat.

His fingers tightened on her hips as he continued kissing her hungrily, caught in the strange intersection of giddiness and desperation.

“This wasn’t what you meant by ‘at each other’s throats,’ was it?” she murmured when he shifted his attention from her lips to nibbling at the smooth skin just below her jawline. The end of the question was swallowed up by her involuntary gasp.

“Not at all,” he said as the sensation of her breath in his ear sent a delightful shiver down his spine. “Though I think it might be wise to take this somewhere a little more private. At the very least because Padme will need her kitchen back eventually.”

“I’ll need a moment to retrieve my things,” she said, still breathless.

“I’ll need a moment to call a speedercab,” he said, brushing her neck with his lips one last time before she stepped away. Before she reached the door, he cocked an eyebrow and asked, “That dress, by the way…?”

Satine laughed, a little sheepishly. “All right, I confess: I was feeling a tad optimistic. Padme neglected to tell me that you were as handsome as you were exasperating.”

Later that night, as his fingers traced lazy circles on her bare shoulder while she slept beside him, his comm signaled that he had a text-only message.

Padme only needed two words: “Revenge complete.”

Chapter Text

Although the absence of Padme Amidala was still keenly felt by her allies in the Senate, it could not be denied that Duchess Satine Kryze was certainly picking up quite a bit of the slack in opposing the Military Creation Act. The Senators who encountered her didn’t have time to compare the two women, however, due to the much more noticeable alteration that her presence had caused.

Namely that, as a pair, she and Obi-Wan were formidable.

The passionate arguments she had used on him turned out to be nothing compared to the kind of rhetorical onslaught that Satine could deliver when she had a specific goal in mind. The unfortunate Senators who got in her way often found themselves the target of a tirade that knocked out the very foundations of their self-confidence and left them feeling utterly ashamed of every aggressive thought they had ever had in their lives.

At her side, Obi-Wan was perfectly positioned to be the kind, friendly, warm alternative to Satine’s icy devastation. He charmed them, encouraged them, and built them back up into someone who could find the strength to act on their (possibly newly-acquired) moral convictions.

The passage of the MCA was becoming less and less likely.

“You know, ‘the Duchess and the Senator’ does have a nice holodrama-style ring to it,” Eeshrin Ot’Hyne mused aloud during the group’s regular weekly lunch in Obi-Wan’s office.

Mon Mothma snorted. “Yes, though it’s less of a romance and more of a horror story.” She gave Obi-Wan and Satine, who were in the process of exchanging increasingly flirtatious looks, a rather irritated glare. “I’m starting to understand why Mandalore has the impressive reputation that it does. I would hate to have you as an opponent.”

“Trust me,” Obi-Wan said, still smiling at the Duchess, “it’s every bit as terrifying as it sounds.”

“He only barely managed to escape with his life,” Satine agreed.

They didn’t always agree; they were both too passionate about their beliefs to set such things aside, but they had been able to find a unique equilibrium in that tension. They debated and argued, though with less vitriol than when they first met, and then channeled that passion into more delightful activities.

It was like standing in the eye of a whirlwind. Terrifying and exhilarating and impossible.

He had fallen in love.

It had happened quickly, but what in his life had ever been at anything other than a breakneck speed? Satine quickly abandoned the pretense of occupying her temporary residence on Coruscant and had more or less moved into his apartment. Waking up next to her in the morning was now so normal that he actually had difficulty recalling what it was like to sleep alone.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was fascinating.

He watched her getting dressed, watched how she arranged herself so precisely in the trappings of fabric and jewelry and complicated accessories. Sometimes he couldn’t resist interfering with the process.

She swatted at his fingers, which had started to work their way up the back of her neck and into the light-colored locks of her hair. “You lost your chance,” she admonished him teasingly. “I just got this headdress in place and I’d rather that you not mess it up.”

“Messing you up is part of the fun, though,” Obi-Wan protested, a wicked grin on his face.

“Later,” she said, pulling him in for a kiss. “First, we have a planet to verbally subjugate.”

Obi-Wan had always done his best to stay away from anything having to do with the Jedi Order, but since they were heavily involved in the investigation into Padme’s attackers, he had to find a way to stay in the loop on what they were doing. Fortunately, the Jedi weren’t the only ones involved, and Captain Gregor Typho of the Naboo Security Forces harbored none of the suspicions about him that Mace Windu did.

What he learned was that, after Padme and Anakin departed Coruscant for parts unknown, the trail had gone cold. While that was good news for Padme’s safety, it would be rather pointless if the attacks resumed the second she returned to her duties in the Senate.

Someone needed to draw the assassin out into the open.

“I have an idea,” Satine said abruptly, after a day of haranguing what might have been every Senator in the Mid Rim. “You'll probably like it—it's an absolutely terrible one.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I will ignore that dig at my legislative record in the interest of satisfying my curiosity.”

“Before she left Coruscant, Padme left me with the access codes to her residence, in case something needed to be handled there while she was away. Given what Captain Typho has told you, that location was a prime target for any attempted assassination, correct?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Massive windows, not too far from speeder lanes as well as a few well-positioned corporate buildings that were largely unoccupied at night.” He wasn't sure exactly where she was going with this, but he was beginning to get a bad feeling about it.

“Well, wouldn't it be an excellent opportunity to tempt the assassin into trying again?” she asked. She was attempting to sound nonchalant but was not quite succeeding.

“I'm fairly sure that I'm not going to like this…”

“I've talked with Captain Typho myself, you know, and he seems amenable to the idea. I do have a few outfits that resemble hers and she tends to wear her hair in a way that I could probably mimic.”

“You are blond and about a foot taller than her.”

“I can disguise the hair, at least. Furthermore, I'm sure that those brown robes of Anakin's wouldn't be too difficult to come by…”

“Are you honestly suggesting that I dress up as a Jedi?” Obi-Wan said, incredulous.

“You're both clean-shaven, roughly the same height, and if you keep the hood up, no one will notice the hair,” she pointed out.

“I'm almost wishing that this is some kind of bizarre Jedi fetish that you have, because at least that would make some sense.”

“Why wouldn’t it make sense?” Satine asked. “All we have to do is make it look like she's home and see if we can goad the assassin into making another attempt. Then Typho or whoever else can swoop in and nab them in the act.”

“Hopefully that ‘whoever else' doesn't include Mace Windu, because I'm positive that it would give him a literal nosebleed to see me dressed like that.”

“Didn't you say that he left Coruscant a few days ago?”

“Jedi have a knack for showing up at inconvenient times,” he grumbled.

“Obi-Wan,” she said, taking his hands in hers, “if they catch this killer then Padme can come out of hiding. This is a way that we can help.” Her expression was suddenly sad. “I can't bear to just sit here and do nothing.”

That was the moment that Obi-Wan realized that Satine was going to get her way on this. Being unable to help was agony for him as well.

Even though her plan was insane. “Let me see if I am understanding this properly,” Obi-Wan said wearily. “You propose that we make ourselves bait for the assassin that was trying to kill Padme?”

“Correct.”

“And in this scenario, the best-case outcome is that someone will shoot at us.”

“Yes.”

“Specifically, at you.”

“Yes.”

He groaned. “Is this some sort of Mandalorian honor thing, or is this particular brand of recklessness unique to you alone?”

“You’ll just have to come with me to Mandalore one of these days and find out for yourself, won’t you?” she teased him. It had been something they talked about: all the things that they would do once the Military Creation Act was defeated. Go to Mandalore. Visit Melida/Daan together. Spend time doing something neither of them was used to: relaxing.

What they hadn’t discussed, in that hazy hypothetical future, was what happened next. They both had extremely demanding jobs. Not just jobs: lives, lives that had not been built with the possibility of a partner in mind. Would their feelings ever reach a point where they could walk away from those duties? Would they even be the same people if they did walk away?

They didn’t have to decide yet, of course. That would come later, when hopefully his head would be clearer, not as full of outright giddiness when she was near him, when they could both be calm and rational about it. But not now, not when nearly every look they exchanged was enough to stop his heart in his chest, not when they could barely keep their hands off of one another, not when he felt mildly drunk all the time with the sheer flood of emotions running under his skin every time he thought about her.

The hard part would come eventually. But not yet.

Trying to stop an assassin sounded easy by comparison. He sighed and nodded. “All right. I'll find some uncomfortable robes and work on my posture.”

“Come on,” she said to him. “Let's go tell Captain Typho the good news.”

“I'm sure he'll be thrilled at the prospect of watching two non-combatants try to fling themselves into mortal peril,” he replied drily.

He felt absurd.

“This is extremely embarrassing,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself as he stood at attention in Padme’s living room. He felt like a child playing dress-up—worse, he felt like he was an adult pretending to be a child pretending to be…

If things had gone differently, he might have had to wear these robes all the time.

He ordered himself to stop thinking about those kinds of things right now. It didn’t matter that he spent his entire childhood with the Order. It didn’t matter that he knew the reason for every fold and crease in the standard Jedi outfit. It didn’t matter that they didn’t want him—

(You weren’t good enough for these robes.)

(Stop it.)

(You look like a fool.)

(Shut up.)

Satine interrupted his increasingly horrid thoughts. “Captain Typho and the Coruscant Security officers are in place,” she said. “All we have to do is play the part.”

“Right, I’ll just continue to… stand here, I suppose.” He had been in a foul mood all evening, even before they arrived at Padme’s residence. Satine, meanwhile, was apparently having fun with her disguise and seemed to view the whole thing as some kind of game. Every time she passed him on some made-up errand, she brushed just a little bit closer to him, until keeping his hands to himself became increasingly difficult.

“I think it would rather ruin the deception if I suddenly pulled you to the ground and ravished you, you know,” he growled as she made her way past him again.

She winked. “This must be what Anakin feels like all the time. Poor thing.” She trailed her fingers along the length of his belt.

Obi-Wan silently swore that the second this ordeal was over, he would tackle her and hope that they didn’t make a mess of Padme’s apartment in the process.

Tackling her… something about that was nagging at him…

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Get down!” he cried, pushing Satine to the floor behind a nearby sofa.

They were still halfway to the ground when everything around them seemed to explode.

The room’s large window shattered; it was supposed to be strong enough to withstand quite a bit of damage, which fortunately meant that most of the blast was absorbed before reaching the interior of the residence. Otherwise, they would have been burned alive.

Satine rolled out from under him and peeked over the back of the sofa. Obi-Wan knew that he really should have pulled her back down and out of sight, but he couldn’t resist taking a look outside as well. He caught a glimpse of an armored and helmeted figure, before they ignited their jetpack and fled as Coruscant Security moved in.

He heard Satine draw in a sharp breath. “I know that armor,” she hissed, standing up.

Obi-Wan was startled. “Was that Mandalorian armor?” he asked.

“It may have been once, but that man is no Mandalorian,” she spat. “Jango Fett. A bounty hunter.”

Obi-Wan pulled out his comlink to call Captain Typho, but Satine was already moving to the door. “Where are you going?” he asked, pulling himself up off of the floor and running after her.

She pulled out a comlink of her own and keyed in a frequency while utterly ignoring him. She was moving so quickly that he couldn’t hear her furious conversation with whoever was on the other end. At the end, he caught her demand: “…track the trajectory and let me know immediately.”

“Satine, what is going on?” he asked, utterly bewildered.

“We’re going to my ship,” she said, “and we’re going to follow him.”

“What makes you think that he’s leaving the planet?”

“My staff just told me that his ship just started up from standby. Likely a remote signal of some kind.”

“You have staff here? You’re monitoring his ship—you know where his ship is?” Obi-Wan demanded, his voice growing louder due to confusion more than emotion.

They stepped into the lift and Satine finally looked at him. She was nearly incandescent with rage. “That man has been a blight on my people for decades. He sells his violent arts to the highest bidder, he wears that armor despite having no right to it, and he makes a mockery of our honor and heritage!” She fumed in silence for a moment, then added in a quieter but no less angry voice, “Of course I had his movements tracked. I was informed that he was on Coruscant a few days ago. I should have known that he was involved in something like this.”

Despite literally everything he knew about Satine since the moment they met, Obi-Wan was not entirely convinced that, if she ever got face-to-face with Jango Fett, she wouldn’t take a swing at him.

The journey to the spaceport was a blur. By the time they reached the Anadem, the light freighter that Satine apparently used for minor and unofficial trips (the Coronet being her official transport), she had spoken at least three more times with whoever was monitoring Fett’s ship. Obi-Wan had a hurried conversation with Captain Typho and attempted to relay as much information to him as he could get out of Satine.

“We’re in pursuit but we lost visual contact,” Typho said.

“You’re too late,” Satine said, tucking her comlink back into her dress. “He’s already taken off.”

Someone had apparently prepared her ship; she snapped off a few quick words to someone in a drab grey flightsuit, and then they were aboard.

“Satine, Captain Typho said that they can handle whatever this is—”

“There’s no time,” she said, heading for the cockpit and keying on the repulsorlifts. “For all we know, he’s just using it as a stopping point before heading to another destination.”

“Using where as a stopping point?”

“Geonosis,” she said as she guided the ship out into the night air and towards the spacelanes heading to orbit. “They tracked Slave I’s exhaust signature heading out on that trajectory when it entered hyperspace.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “What a terrible name for a ship.”

She barely seemed to notice that he was there. “If he moves on from that location, we only have a brief window of time to pick up on the next exhaust signature. We’ll have to be right behind him.”

He risked putting a hand on her shoulder, slightly afraid that she would shake it off… or bite it. “What are you planning to do if we catch up with him?”

“When we catch up to him… and I intend to adapt to the situation as I find it,” she said, some of the tension in her voice beginning to fade. “At the very least, I’m going to stick a homing beacon on that ship of his. We should have done that ages ago.” She flicked a few switches and the ship increased its speed to one that make Obi-Wan a little nervous. “Or perhaps we can rip apart that horrible ship of his.”

“I didn’t realize that this was such a…” he trailed off.

“A sore spot for me?” She laughed, but it came out rather grim. “Bounty hunters have caused enough pain in my life. I will not stand for any more.” She blinked in surprise, appearing to finally realize that Obi-Wan was in fact sitting next to her. “Oh dear. I just abducted you, didn’t I?”

“Well, at least we aren’t being shot at anymore,” he pointed out as they passed beyond the range of Coruscant’s atmosphere. “Where is Geonosis?”

“In the Outer Rim,” she said, pulling the level to send the ship into hyperspace. “Not far from Tatooine, in fact.”

“Then we have some leisure time to fill,” he said, his hand trailing down her back. “Does this ship have a bed, by any chance?”

Satine smiled and rose from the pilot’s seat. “I’m sure you’re dying to get out of those Jedi robes.”

“I may need some assistance in removing them, you know.” He moved his hand to the small of her back.

She leaned into his embrace. “How fortunate for you that I happen to have a few ideas on how to remedy that problem.”

Chapter Text

Later, Obi-Wan went to check his encrypt frequency for messages and found that there was one waiting for him from Anakin. As the holo recording finished playing, Satine joined him in the cockpit.

“Are they still off-world, then?” she asked, tying off the robe she was wearing; they had been about to go to bed. Well, back to bed.

Obi-Wan turned off the projector, still amused by Anakin’s message. “Yes, though there has been a new development.”

Satine frowned for a moment in confusion before she recognized the mischievous smile on his face. She laughed. “So which one of them finally worked up the nerve?”

“He never specified, though judging from his obvious panic I would guess it was him.”

“You must be so proud.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I can’t take the credit. Likely it was some sort of jumble of hormones and longing looks.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Which of course you’re far too mature to be affected by yourself.”

His smile turned slightly feral. “Come closer, my dear, and we’ll find out.”

As he reached for her, she stepped back out of range. “I’d rather we got back into bed first. This ship is too cold for me to warm up on your looks alone.”

“You forget that I like a good challenge, but very well,” he said, getting to his feet and following her.

Now, snuggled under the sheets, Satine murmured, “I’m glad to hear that your Padawan is doing so well.”

He frowned. “He’s not my Padawan.”

“Of course he is, my love. He obviously adores you, far more than that Jedi Master of his.”

“A Jedi Master who would be less than thrilled to hear you say that.” Although some part of him was secretly pleased at the idea that he had yet another way to drive Mace Windu crazy.

“You know,” Satine said, sitting up a little, “you’ve never explained why Master Windu dislikes you so much.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I suppose it started with the simple fact that I didn’t stay in the AgriCorps like I was supposed to. In a way, I can’t fault the Council’s reasons for worrying: look no further than Count Dooku if you want to see the kind of havoc a single rogue Jedi can wreak. And it isn’t as though I’ve kept my head down over the years.”

“But there’s ‘worry’ and then there’s ‘distrust,’” she pointed out.

“You’re right,” he admitted. He had spent a long time thinking about this himself. “I think the change occurred ten years ago, after Qu—after a Sith Lord attacked the Jedi.”

“Yes, Padme mentioned that to me once. It happened on Naboo, didn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yes. He killed a Jedi Master and vanished without a trace. After that, every Force-user not under the Jedi Order’s direct supervision became, at best, a potential Sith recruit.”

Now Satine was sitting fully upright. “That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?” she asked. “It isn’t as though the Jedi have a monopoly on the Force.”

Something he had constantly grumbled about himself. “You’re right, and I think that it probably led to a great many Force-users coming under unfair scrutiny.”

“Including you.”

He found himself wincing. “As much as I hate to admit it… their concerns about me may not have been entirely unfounded.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He had told her a little about his past, about how he left the Order after it cast him aside, but not this. “When I ran away… I was angry. I was in pain. I was lashing out. I had a chip on my shoulder larger than the Maw. I hated the Jedi, and my hatred could have been so easily exploited by the wrong person.”

Satine lay back down beside him. “But instead you threw in your lot with the Young. You stopped a war. You helped rebuild a planet.”

“Yes,” he said, lightly stroking her hair. “I was still angry but I found a way to channel it into something good.”

She caught his hand and drew it back down. Lacing her fingers through his, she said quietly, “Those years I spent on the run… sometimes being angry was the only thing that got me through the day.”

He squeezed her hand. “It gave us both the strength to survive.”

“And to strive for a better world.”

“Perhaps even a better galaxy,” he mused.

She laughed lightly. “I’ll settle for just Mandalore. Conquering the galaxy sounds exhausting.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you didn’t say ‘violent.’”

“Which should give you an idea of how exhausting I find the notion.” He felt more than heard her laugh again. “I see that Bail and Eeshrin were right about you, though.”

Obi-Wan groaned. “Oh dear… what terrible things have they been telling you about me?”

“Bail had a few very fascinating stories in which you came off quite well,” she said with a wink, “but I was referring to your political aspirations.”

He sighed. “That ridiculous theory that I secretly want to be Chancellor?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

“You would think that someone would take my opinion on the matter into account,” he grumbled.

“And what is that opinion?”

He could already see the same look of skepticism in her eyes that he seemed to encounter in everyone who brought up this irritating topic. “Well, no one would elect me, for starters.”

“That’s not an opinion,” Satine pointed out.

She was correct—it wasn’t an opinion—but every time his thoughts went in that direction he began to feel like he was standing on the edge of something vast and nearly endless, a single step from something he couldn’t precisely name. It felt like being offered a blaster and given a tempting target: the feeling of calamity at his fingertips. “If I focus on things like that, it means that I’m not focusing on the here and now,” he said, “and what is happening now is far more important.”

“Such as?”

“My work. Defeating the MCA. Finding the person who attacked Padme.” He drew her closer until her forehead was resting against his. “You.”

“The here and now,” she murmured, her lips only a centimeter away.

“Especially here,” he said softly. “Especially now.”

He knew that Mace Windu would have found out what happened almost immediately after they left Coruscant; Obi-Wan was actually surprised that it took him this long to call.

At least Obi-Wan was no longer wearing those ridiculous Jedi robes, though the fact that Satine had a change of clothes available for him on the Anadem raised a number of questions that he was a little nervous to ask at the moment.

“For someone who criticized me for acting like a law enforcement officer, you seem to be pretty eager to try on that role yourself, Senator,” a visibly irritated Windu said. “What kind of insanity possessed you to go running to the other end of the galaxy on the trail of a bounty hunter?”

“Would it help, Master Windu, if I said that I dragged Senator Kenobi along against his will?” Satine asked, doing her best to look innocent.

“Strangely enough, it wouldn’t, Your Highness,” Windu said drily. He sighed in exasperation. “I am on my way to Geonosis now. Turn around and go home.”

“We’re almost there, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said. “We may as well monitor where Fett goes when he reaches the planet.”

“It would likely help your search immensely,” Satine added. “A whole planet is a lot of ground to cover, after all.”

“I am aware of how searches work, Your Highness.” Windu sounded more stressed than upset. He pinched the bridge of his nose between a finger and thumb. “All right,” he said at last, lowering his hand, “you will find out where Fett’s ship lands and transmit that information to me— and nothing more, do you understand me? Do not leave your ship. Do not try to confront him.”

“What could we possibly do to him if we did confront him?” Obi-Wan asked. “Present him with a petition?”

“I wish you had remembered that before you were ‘dragged along’ by the Duchess, Senator.” His expression lost its sarcasm and turned deadly serious. “This is a trained killer. Stay away from him.”

“Understood, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said as he turned off the comm.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

The region of Geonosis where Slave I put down had enough air traffic that they were able to tail Fett without it being obvious. The area was heavily industrialized, with clouds of exhaust and other pollution choking the air and making everything appear slightly hazy.

They caught a last glimpse of the ship as it passed through the energy shield that marked off a factory’s landing area. Obi-Wan had just finished transmitting its location to Mace Windu when he noticed Satine, dressed in black, sitting on the bed and pulling on a pair of dark boots.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you wear pants before,” Obi-Wan said, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

“We’ve never had to infiltrate somewhere before,” she said.

“Satine, Windu ordered us to—”

She looked amused. “Since when do you listen to anything Mace Windu has to say? You constantly go out of your way to infuriate him, in fact.”

“I think that he might not be entirely wrong in this instance.” That sentence was agony to say. “Why do you have to be the one to do this?”

Her eyes had an intensity in them that nearly tore him apart. “The only reason why Fett would come here is to meet with the person who hired him,” she said. “Whoever wants to kill Padme has the resources to hire the most vicious bounty hunter in the galaxy. We need to know who that is, and Master Windu will not arrive in time to find out who Fett is meeting with. It has to be us.” She paused and looked pained. “I’m sorry, my love, I shouldn’t have assumed that you would—”

“No, no,” Obi-Wan said quickly, sitting on the bed beside her. “Obviously I’m coming with you. You’re right—Windu won’t make it here in time.”

“I’m not trying to risk myself unnecessarily, you know,” she said.

“I know.”

“Once this is over, I promise we’ll go back to Coruscant and resume crushing the spirits of your Senatorial colleagues.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Obi-Wan said. He stood and helped her to her feet. “I suppose we should hurry, then.”

What in his life had ever been at anything other than a breakneck speed, after all?

It turned out to be surprisingly easy to access the interior of the factory: the entire facility was automated. It was some kind of droid factory, full of long conveyor belts and twisting paths through a deafening array of machinery. There was no one to stop them once they were inside.

There was no sign of Fett but Obi-Wan doubted that the bounty hunter would have a meeting in a place so loud. Conversation, even while screaming, was impossible.

Eventually, the din of the assembly lines faded; they had journeyed into the area of the factory where the droid parts were cast from molten metal. The air was so utterly foul that they both had to keep their noses and mouths covered with their sleeves as they walked. Furthermore, now that there was less noise, the sound of coughing would give them away if anyone was listening.

It may have been the absence of other organic beings, or the dim lighting, or the clouds of steam that made everything seem dreamlike, but Obi-Wan’s skin was crawling like it never had before. He didn’t want to be here. Every instinct screamed at him to leave immediately.

He needed to believe that it wasn’t a premonition through the Force.

Obi-Wan was on the verge of dragging Satine back to the ship, the identity of Fett’s employer be damned, when he heard something new: voices.

They must have been around the corner, hidden by the large tanks of coolant. Close enough that he and Satine could eavesdrop.

One voice, the louder of the two, Satine recognized as belonging to Jango Fett.

“…did more than was asked of me,” Fett said. “Hired the best I could find, covered my tracks, on top of letting those damn long-necks jab me with needles over and over. And I got her out of the way, didn’t I? She’s can’t interfere in whatever it is you’re so worried about if she’s in hiding, can she?”

“Your instructions were to kill her.” The other speaker’s voice was raspy but oddly precise. “And yet she lives.”

“Listen, if you want her dead so badly, then why don't you get your tattooed ass to Coruscant and do it yourself?” Fett scoffed. “It's not like you have any other skills, from the look of you.”

“Spare me your excuses,” the other man hissed. “My master does not tolerate failure.”

“Then why did you haul me all the way out to the back end of the universe? To scold me?”

“Not to scold you,” the unknown speaker said, “but to tie off loose ends.”

“You wouldn’t—” There was a scuffle that ended with the sound of a blaster shot. Fett gave a grunt of either exertion or pain, and then they heard a body hit the ground. Something else slammed into the side of the tank nearest them with a metallic clang.

The object clattered to the floor, which was when Obi-Wan saw that it was a blaster. He reached out with the Force and pulled it towards him.

“What are you doing with that?” Satine asked, a note of distaste in her whisper.

“One less blaster for Fett to use on us,” he whispered back as he clipped it to his belt.

He might have said more, but his train of thought came to an abrupt stop as a familiar hum filled the air.

A lightsaber.

They heard Fett's dying groan as the saber slashed across his throat. Obi-Wan realized with horror that he could see it in his mind's eye, carried by a childhood's-worth of knowledge and warnings about the horrible things that a lightsaber could do to flesh and blood.

A dim red light seeped around the corner and began to flicker. The person carrying it must be on the move.

“We have to go,” Obi-Wan said. His voice was shaking.

Satine's face went pale. “That isn't a Jedi, is it?”

“No,” he said, so quietly that he was not sure if he had even said it aloud.

Kyber crystals weren't red naturally. They had to be bled in order to turn that color, which was only possible with the Dark Side of the Force.

The red light grew brighter.

He and Satine had only taken a few steps when a figure appeared from around the corner: a male Zabrak, his skin covered in red and black markings, carrying a lightsaber the color of blood.

His eyes were yellow.

“Witnesses…” the Sith said softly as he looked them over. “How very unfortunate.”

Chapter Text

With a Sith Lord, there was nothing to do but run. As the blood pounded in his ears to the same frantic beat as his steps, the oppressive cloud of fear in Obi-Wan’s mind gradually shaped itself into words: a Jedi could have stopped this.

In another life, he might have been that Jedi. Instead, he was running for his life and hoping desperately that he could get Satine to safety before the Zabrak caught up with them.

He wasn’t going to fool himself: it was impossible that both of them would make it out of here alive. All he could do was hope that she would be the one to escape.

Every section of the factory looked exactly like every other one. They were lost, choosing directions at random while trying to stay as far away from their pursuer as possible.

Obi-Wan spared a quick glance behind him as he ran. The Sith was barely even running and yet somehow was almost right behind them. He looked amused.

He looked familiar.

The Naboo hadn’t had many security cameras in that area of the palace—it was just a generator complex, after all—but there were enough to capture a few images of Qui-Gon Jinn’s killer. Years later, Obi-Wan called in a few favors and satisfied his curiosity.

He highly doubted that there were two Zabraks with red lightsabers out there.

Where was the assembly area they had passed through on their way in? Every turn they made just put them back in the foundry again.

Obi-Wan knew what a Sith Lord was capable of. The Force could be used to enhance speed, so he could easily catch up with them. He could track them without being able to see them. With enough power and skill, it was even possible to immobilize a person by grabbing them telekinetically.

Which meant that the Sith was just toying with them. He was letting them wear themselves out, and then he would kill them.

Obi-Wan had to try something, anything, while there was still time.

What did he have to work with? His Force potential wasn't enough to make up for two decades spent away from the Order. He could do a few things, manage a couple of tricks, and had a decent danger sense (aside from his horrible decision to ignore it completely), but that didn't change the fact that he hadn't had a teacher since he was thirteen.

He had fought in a war. He knew how to use a variety of weapons. He had some training in self-defense. But all of those things would be useless against someone with nearly supernatural reflexes.

What else did he have?

He had Jango Fett's blaster. Lightsabers could deflect blaster bolts—even he had been able to do it once, back when he was an Initiate—but they didn't work quite as well with stun bolts, which tended to have a less precise center of energy. It wouldn't stop their pursuer, but it might slow him down a little.

Obi-Wan fumbled for the blaster on his hip, flipped the setting to stun, turned, and fired.

The first two shots went wide. Worse, it cost him the few steps that he had managed to keep ahead of their pursuer.

Only one more chance. Point blank range. Make it count.

He raised the blaster.

The Sith shifted his position and a brilliant red filled Obi-Wan’s vision. Agony erupted across his right forearm, so intense that he did not immediately realize that it no longer bore the weight of the blaster… or his right hand.

He was on his knees, unable to remember how he got there, unable to remember what his plan had been, unable to do anything other than cradle his arm to his chest and gasp in pain.

His vision cleared; his mind was finally beginning to resume its internal screaming to run, to get Satine and run, to—

Satine.

Where was Satine?

The Sith was standing over him. They couldn’t run, they didn’t have time, they were going to—

Satine stepped between them.

No.

Obi-Wan tried to scramble to his feet but everything was still so painful that he couldn’t figure out which way was up and his thoughts were a blur and how dare she throw her life away like this for someone as unimportant as him—he had to stop her, he had to do something even though he didn’t know what to do and he couldn't move and all he could do was scream her name.

She turned away from the nightmare in front of her and looked at Obi-Wan. She opened her mouth to tell him—

Her face froze, colder and more distant than it was even when they first met.

The Sith pulled his lightsaber blade back out of her chest.

Satine collapsed to the floor beside Obi-Wan. Whatever grace she carried in life was now gone for good. Whatever words she had for him were now trapped inside her forever.

Whatever they might have accomplished together was now never to be.

She was gone. Absent. Extinguished.

Gone.

(A Jedi could have stopped this.)

But there wasn't anything he could have done to save her. He didn't know how.

There was nothing he could have done.

She was gone.

The Sith seemed to nearly glow in the dark, even more than the molten material of the foundry, even more than the lightsaber he wielded. He was giving Obi-Wan just enough time to despair, and then he would kill him too.

But how could he die here? Dying would be to stand to the side and watch helplessly forever.

He couldn't just stand aside and do nothing.

He couldn't die here.

He refused to die here.

He refused—

Time stopped.

A moment ago, Obi-Wan had felt so small, but now he felt like he contained an infinite space. An endless abyss, plunging down forever.

It wasn't empty, though.

He felt it crawling up from inside of him, stabbing into him as it rode the wave of howling grief up and up.

How was there nothing he could have done?

(A Jedi could have stopped this.)

He was no Jedi.

What was rising up from within him was formless, shapeless, nameless. But he could give it a name.

Grief. Fear. Anger.

Hate.

Suffering.

But whose?

Not his. He was in agony still but he also felt horribly present. He was wounded but it didn't matter. Not anymore.

What was roaring out of him, this terrible darkness, was taking form.

It had a shape. It had power, too.

(Unleash your hatred.)

He had power.

(Destroy what makes you weak.)

He could stop this.

(Take your revenge.)

He could do anything.

He raised his arm and the Sith was lifted into the air, his yellow eyes widening in surprise.

He could do anything with this power. Anything he wanted.

There was only absence at the end of Obi-Wan's right arm. And yet, somehow, he felt himself squeezing his absent hand into a fist.

The Sith's entire body seemed to implode: bones all shattered at once, muscles squeezed into pulp, lightsaber in fragments, face unrecognizable…

As though he had been crushed in the grip of an invisible hand.

What remained was dropped into the molten metal. Burned away forever in the inferno.

Obi-Wan felt himself being hollowed out as the horrors he had unleashed bled away.

They were gone.

She was gone.

He was alone.

The only thing he could manage to do now was weep.

Chapter Text

“And you don't know what happened after that?”

“I don't,” Obi-Wan said. He was having trouble focusing on Mace Windu's words; the painkillers the medic droid gave him must be taking effect.

He didn't remember who discovered him in the foundry; he hadn't been coherent and may have even been catatonic. He was evacuated with a group of clone troopers and brought to a medical station a few hours away from Geonosis; the station was nearly overflowing with the survivors of the chaos that erupted between the Jedi and the Separatists.

He held up his right arm, the stump having been sanitized and bandaged. “He did this, then—” Every time he had to say it, he could feel that terrible absence creeping up inside of him. “Then he killed the Duchess, and left. I don't know where he went after that.”

He couldn't tell them what he did. He could barely admit it to himself. All those years of anger and bitterness, but he never resorted to the Dark Side until now. He had never felt so powerful before; in that sense, he could see why it was regarded as addictive, but it also felt as though he had poison running through his veins.

Even if it had allowed him to do the impossible, even if it saved his life, he never wanted to feel that way again.

No one could know what he did. The Jedi were already suspicious of him; Windu seemed convinced that Obi-Wan would fall to the Dark Side at any moment. He didn’t know what they would do to him if they knew.

Mace Windu kept asking him questions and Obi-Wan kept lying to him. He was good at lying. He was normally good at hiding his emotions as well, but all he had the energy to hide now was the horrible memory of the Zabrak's body crushed by the power of the Force alone. He didn't think that Windu would try and probe his mind directly, but he couldn't risk it.

Instead, he focused on the places in his heart that were missing. He focused on the places on his body that were missing. He focused on the sensation of loss and how it cut away at him until he was in tatters.

At last, the questions stopped and Windu stood to leave Obi-Wan's hospital room. He was nearly at the door when he paused and turned. “Senator, I want you to know…” His expression softened. “I'm sorry about Duchess Satine… I know you were close. She was a remarkable woman. You have my condolences.”

“Thank you, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said. It might have been the nicest thing the Jedi had ever said to him.

“If you need…” He seemed to be at a loss for words. “Well, you know where to find me.” He left without saying anything more.

Obi-Wan’s solitude did not last long; an unexpected visitor showed up only minutes later.

“Senator Kenobi,” Chancellor Palpatine said as he entered. His face was lined with concern. “I had heard you were here, but had to see it with my own eyes. However did you end up all the way out here?”

“Chancellor, please come in,” Obi-Wan said. He wondered how Palpatine had gotten here from Coruscant so quickly, but his head was too fuzzy to wonder for long. He gestured at the chair beside the bed. “Have a seat, if you like.”

Palpatine took his time; he was surveying Obi-Wan’s injuries. “I understand that you have had a very difficult few hours,” he said. “Though it is a relief to see you safe, I know that this must be quite traumatic for you right now.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and saw Satine die again. “I survived,” he murmured bitterly. He forced his eyes open and saw Palpatine studying him even more closely than before.

“Yes, the Duchess,” Palpatine said softly. “My apologies; the physical pain must be trivial compared to the emotional pain.” His eyes filled with sympathy. “You loved her, didn’t you?”

Obi-Wan nodded. He couldn’t speak.

“You must be quite upset. Perhaps even angry.” It almost sounded like a question.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said quietly. He could feel the hollow places where the Dark Side had filled him still burning, despite all his disgust.

“I’m sure you did all that you could.”

Obi-Wan trembled slightly. He couldn’t save her. She was gone and he didn’t save her.

If he had tapped into the Dark Side sooner…

“But to be face to face with a Sith, of all things,” Palpatine continued. “I’m amazed that you survived such an ordeal.” Something in his expression sharpened. “How did you manage it?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I don’t know. He just disappeared.”

“He was the same Sith who killed Master Qui-Gon Jinn, was he not?”

“I suppose so.”

“Did you do anything to resist him?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said.

“Are you sure? I know you can be quite resourceful, Senator.”

“There was nothing I could have done,” Obi-Wan whispered, grief clawing at him again. He wanted to close his eyes but every time he did that he watched Satine die again. And again. And again.

“How strange that he left you alive,” Palpatine said wonderingly. “I would have thought a Sith like Maul would have made sure to leave no witnesses.”

Maul...

Obi-Wan frowned and looked at the Chancellor. “You know his name?”

There was the most microscopic of pauses before Palpatine replied gently, “A Jedi was murdered on my homeworld, Senator. I made inquiries. The information is still largely classified, of course, but I had to know.” He rested a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. “I imagine you would have done the same.”

Obi-Wan nodded, now caught up in memories from years ago. He had still been angry at Qui-Gon when he died but, even then, he was curious. He remembered Vokara Che's fear when she told him what happened, he remembered looking for holos from the attacks on Tatooine and Naboo. He had to know what happened.

“For you to have survived an encounter with such a man…” Palpatine mused. “Incredible.” He looked at Obi-Wan more closely. “And you are certain that you don't know what happened to him?”

Obi-Wan's throat suddenly went dry.

(Tell him.)

He couldn't.

(He's a Force user but he isn't a Jedi.)

No one could know what happened.

(He's like you.)

He couldn't risk it.

(He would understand.)

But…

(He could help.)

Maybe he should tell him.

(Just tell him.)

To have someone to confide in… and for that person to be the Chancellor…

(Tell him.)

Someone who could help him.

(Tell him!)

His mouth began to form words, somehow without any conscious decision on his part. “I—”

“Obi-Wan?”

A battered and bloody Anakin Skywalker stood in the doorway to his room.

Obi-Wan sprang to his feet, ignoring Palpatine, ignoring his own wounds, ignoring any kind of Senatorial decorum, and hugged the young Jedi.

“What happened?” he asked just as Anakin attempted to ask him the same question.

Obi-Wan stepped back. Anakin's eyes and expression were haunted; he appeared to have aged about fifty years in the weeks since they saw one another on Coruscant. “I was…” he started to say, but faltered and looked as though he was going to start crying.

“That's all right, it can wait,” Obi-Wan said. “You need to get off your feet.” Using his remaining hand, he guided Anakin into the hospital room.

The Chancellor was still sitting there. Obi-Wan gave him a pointed look. “My apologies, Chancellor, would you mind terribly…?” As Palpatine rose to his feet, Obi-Wan added, “Thank you for your visit, Chancellor. I know there must be many other things to occupy your time.”

It was an obvious dismissal and Palpatine knew it. Something tightened around the corners of his eyes, but then he smiled serenely. “My wishes for a speedy recovery, Senator.” He regarded Anakin. “And for you as well, Jedi Skywalker.”

After the Chancellor had departed and Anakin was seated in his place, Obi-Wan noticed something. “I see we have identical injuries,” he said, indicating the bandage around Anakin's forearm where his right hand should have been.

Anakin seemed to only have just realized that it was gone. He looked at Obi-Wan's arm wide-eyed. “What happened to you?” he asked, horrified.

“I found a missing Sith Lord,” Obi-Wan said, breath freezing in his lungs as he recalled the look in Satine's eyes as she fell. “What about you?”

Anakin almost smiled. “Same, actually.”

They kept one another company while they waited for their wounds to heal and the prosthetics to be ready. There was too much going on for Mace Windu to oversee his apprentice's convalescence, whereas Obi-Wan had nothing but time.

Obi-Wan told him about their pursuit of Jango Fett all the way from Coruscant. He told him about the trip to Geonosis and how Maul saw them and realized that they knew too much to be allowed to live. He told Anakin about Satine dying.

He did not tell him about what happened to Maul.

Slowly, Anakin opened up: how he and Padme followed Mace Windu to Geonosis, only to be captured and nearly killed in some horrible stadium execution that wouldn't have been out of place on Nal Hutta. He told Obi-Wan about his terrifying duel with Count Dooku.

And then he told Obi-Wan about Tatooine.

“I have dreams sometimes,” the young Jedi said, the words fighting to remain unspoken. “They… they come true. They always do. And I saw my mother…”

Obi-Wan's heart nearly stopped in his chest. He had been so close to finding her.

He had been too late: Shmi Skywalker was abducted by Tusken Raiders, tortured, and Anakin had arrived only in time to watch her die in his arms.

“And then…” Anakin's grief seemed to morph into something even more agonizing. “I… I had my lightsaber with me and she was dead and I… I was so angry. I lost control. I—” A sob escaped him before he could stop it. “I killed them.”

“Of course you were angry,” Obi-Wan said gently. “And they attacked your family, you would have had to—”

“No!” Anakin cried. “You don't understand: I killed all of them. Everyone. Not just the ones torturing her. Not just the ones who tried to stop me from reaching her. The whole settlement. Women, children, everyone!” He covered his mouth with his hand, shuddering.

Obi-Wan, who had been sitting across from him, moved to his side and put an arm around Anakin's shoulders.

That touch was enough to break whatever attempt at control Anakin had managed to piece together. He burst into tears, sobbing into Obi-Wan's chest, curling in on himself. The young man suddenly felt so small; it was hard to imagine him having gone head to head against a Sith Lord only days before.

And yet, he had, and survived. They had both survived the last few days, in spite of everything.

They had both lost one of the most important women in their lives.

They had both tapped into a power that nearly tore them apart.

Their physical wounds weren't the only trauma that they had in common.

“I'm a monster,” Anakin said, at last sitting up and trying to wipe his face with the sleeve of his robe.

“No,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “You are not a monster.”

Anakin began to shudder again, his chest shaking uncontrollably. “I used the Dark Side, I—” He gasped. “I have to tell Master Windu, I have to—”

“No!” Obi-Wan said, even more severely than before. He gripped Anakin on the shoulder and waited for the young man to look at him. “Anakin, you cannot tell the Jedi about what happened.”

Anakin’s expression was one of confusion and alarm. “But I have to!” he protested.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, trying not to dig his fingers into the Jedi's shoulder, “do you know what they would do if you told them that you used the Dark Side to commit mass murder on a group of unarmed children?” When the young man shook his head, Obi-Wan continued. “They would eject you from the Order. That is the best-case scenario. At worst, you would be sent to prison, or…” He wasn't sure what the judicial protocol was for that sector, especially where nomadic tribes without official Republic citizenship were concerned, but it was certainly possible that the death penalty would apply.

The implication was clear, however: Anakin looked justifiably terrified.

“Who else knows what happened?” Obi-Wan asked, letting his hand drop and trying to sound less threatening than before.

“Just Padme,” he said quietly. His eyes widened in fear. “Do you think she would—”

“Your secret is safe with her,” Obi-Wan reassured him. “She understands what the stakes are.”

“I don't know how she feels about me now,” Anakin whispered, tears returning to his eyes. “After everything that happened—”

“She still cares about you,” Obi-Wan said. “You know how often she's called, even though she can't be here in person. And Anakin—” The urgency was returning to his voice. “Don't let her go, whatever you do. It doesn't matter what the Order told you, or what uncertainty the future holds, do not lose her. ” Images of Satine, of her smile and her touch and her fearlessness, filled his mind and he could feel his heart breaking all over again.

He took a deep breath, but his voice still shook and there were tears in his eyes. “The galaxy is often terrible… and it's only going to get worse in the coming years. Life is far too fragile and far too short for propriety.”

Anakin appeared to have momentarily stopped breathing. There were obviously a number of things for him to process, and Obi-Wan could see his mind trying to work out what his next words were going to be.

Regardless, they seemed to surprise even him: “I'm going to marry her.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. “Really?” That was an extreme thing to decide after only a few weeks of re-acquaintance, he thought to himself, but it wasn't as though Anakin and Padme’s relationship had been exactly normal, either.

Anakin blushed. “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

He had absolutely no idea. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” Obi-Wan said. “Though I think you'll need to take care of your current hand predicament before you go asking for anyone else's hand,” he added, unable to keep from teasing the younger man.

Anakin snorted. “I'm going to enjoy beating you in arm-wrestling when all this is over.”

They laughed until they started crying again.

After a long silence, Anakin asked, “There’s going to be a war now, isn’t there?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes. There’s no going back now.” The Military Creation Act had passed in his absence. The Grand Army of the Republic, millions of clone troopers created for this purpose, was now a reality. The first battle had already occurred.

“Master Windu says that the Jedi are going to be a part of it.”

Anakin was older than Obi-Wan was when he arrived on Melida/Daan, but not much older.

Obi-Wan remembered what the war there did to him. He didn’t want to think about what this war would do to Anakin.

The only way he could protect the young man would be to end the conflict as quickly as possible. Somehow.

Chapter Text

A note from the author:

Rather than keep everything in a vague hiatus, I’ve decided to leave the story permanently incomplete. There will not be any further updates to Negotiator Ascendant. 

I wrote a longer piece on my Tumblr about this decision, but the heart of it is that the way in which I want to tell this story is unlikely to be the way that you, the reader, want it to be. Things didn’t work out the way I thought they would, and that’s okay. Thank you for reading as far as you did. 

There are other stories that I’ve written and/or are currently writing, which you might enjoy as well, but this particular one is over.

May the Force Be With You.

— Cat