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Chapter Text

Qui-Gon is laid to rest at nightfall.

In that small, royal chapel overlooking the lake country and vast waterfalls surrounding the Theed palace, the Jedi Master finds peace. Under the glow of moonlight, his soul joins the well of the Force in the afterlife – his mortal body forgotten in a bath of flames.

Your eyes can hardly leave the face of the now-Jedi Knight across the room – Obi-Wan is standing tall, hood pulled over his head and eyes set on the sight of his Master’s laying-to-rest before him. The gaze there is hollow, lacking his usual vivaciousness, and his mouth is pulled into a tight grimace.

He does not cry. He will not.

Not in front of the Royal Court.

Not in front of Anakin.

Shoulder to shoulder with the other handmaidens, your heart aches to cross the room and hold him; you wish for nothing more than to soothe the grief set so firmly across his face with a kiss. But, instead, you stay rooted in your place, throat tight with worry and mourning, as a good handmaiden would. You are simply that – not the woman the Jedi Knight has come to care for. You serve the Queen, and he serves the Force, and after this… well, he will be tasked with training Anakin and the likelihood that you may never see him again is one you’ve tried to avoid confronting.

Your heartstrings snap violently at the thought; enough to make you sick.

That night, you’re one of the last to leave – paying your respects to the Jedi Master, you bow in prayer, before touching the altar and finding Obi-Wan’s eyes. He’s staring, far-off from this moment, but softens at the sight of you.

You retire early – finding yourself drowning in the despair that hangs over the palace; your balcony doors are open, welcoming the warm summer breeze as you swipe at stray tears. Curled in a tight ball upon your sheets, you try to calm yourself down. It’s to no avail. Your satin nightgown, dark as the night-sky, clings to you as you try your best to swallow your all-encompassing grief and knot your fingers in your hair. You worry the tresses. You try to breathe.

Obi-Wan would want you to be strong – you need to be. For him.

You’re about to gather a robe and set out to find him when there’s a faint knock upon your door; you know it’s him, just from the rhythmic peck of his knuckles against the wood. It’s his staple, slower now and weighed down with exhaustion.

The moment you fling the door open, you’re greeted by his tear-stained face in the dimly lit hall. The warm light from your bedroom swallows him completely  and shows his pain, clear-as-day, strewn across his face. His eyes are raw, swollen and tired. His robes hang off him, sleeves stretched and worried.

Upon the sight of you, equally as heartbroken as himself, he chokes a sob.

Quickly, you usher him into an embrace – it’s tight, the kind where he wraps his arms around your ribs and buries his face into your neck; his chest quakes, suddenly, and you push fingers through his hair as he muffles another cry into your skin.

Your heart aches. Shatters, nearly. The sound is horrifying.

You urge him up, fingers falling along his jaw to wipe away the falling tears. You can’t help your own sadness, now flowing across your cheeks – you whisper softly:

“Come lay down.”

He obeys wordlessly, nodding shakily as you close the doors to your bedroom behind him. He’s on the edge of the bed, knees bouncing and chest shaking – his face is in his hands, tears staining the dark wool of his robes – when you return to him.

You fall beside Obi-Wan, wiping your own tears away, as you croak out a soft apology.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, hands finding his shoulders, “I’m so sorry, Obi –”

He shakes his head, swallowing his grief for a moment as he looks up at you; his face is soft, echoes of appreciation set in the tiredness of his blue-green eyes. “He was… He was one of my closest friends. He taught me all that I know and –”

Obi’s voice cracks, splintering into shards of heartbreak that he tries to catch in his open palms.

It hurts. You feel it drive straight through your chest.

You rub his back, turned completely to him on the bed – your other hand moves to steal his, knotting eager fingers in his hold. He squeezes them tightly as he speaks.

“I’m scared.”

You exhale softly, leaning to take his face into your hands. He lets you guide his gaze, face within inches of yours as you speak kindly.

“Obi-Wan… You have nothing to be afraid of,” you murmur, thumb gracing his cheek, “You are kind and loving and strong and… You are ready for whatever the Jedi Council wills. I know that – as do you, deep down. Master Qui-Gon knew as much as well. And Anakin –”

He winces, trying to pull away. You, however, don’t let him. You hold his face a bit tighter.

“Anakin is lucky to have you in his life.”

He’s quiet for a while, lips moving to try and find some words to explain how he’s feeling, but… the longer you hold him, face wrought with worry, the more he sense you may be right, and perhaps fearing fear itself is what his mind has begun to do. A vicious cycle, Master Yoda had once said.

He exhales slowly, turning on the bed to encompass your hand with his own upon his cheek. Obi-Wan turns, kissing your palm gently and letting his eyes slip shut.

You sigh. He kisses your fingertips, one by one.

It’s when he opens his eyes that you know you cannot live life without him. That look – one warm, kind look – spells out the love that has grown between you both in the last handful of weeks.

You wonder what your life was like before he waltzed into it, lightsaber in hand and charm aplenty.

…You find you can’t remember. Nor do you want to.

“Obi-Wan, I –”

“– I will not forget about you,” he breathes, “I… I don’t believe I could if I tried.”

You wonder if he’s reading your mind.

Certainly not, he could never – you’re not weak-minded. You’re strong and radiant and glowing in his heart with the same centeredness that the Force creates; he feels no fear when you’re present, only calm and only love. More love than he knows what to do with.

“I return to Coruscant tomorrow evening,” Obi-Wan continues, noting the way you turn your gaze from him. Through your skin he can feel the discomfort at the idea ripple around you like a roaring river within the Force. It drives a great cavernous divide between his words, the hurt striking him in the lungs and robbing him of his composure, “I-I’m sorry – it is my duty –”

His voice wavers. You swipe at the tears welling quickly, nodding.

“I understand,” you manage, letting him move to dart a slow kiss across your cheek, “You are sworn to the Jedi. It is selfish of me to want you for myself.”

His chest aches. Gentle eyes roam your face, his hands now cradling yours.

“If you asked,” he mutters, gaze falling to your lips, “I would leave the Jedi Order.”

You recoil. “Obi-Wan –”

“Utter it once and I will; you have… you have stolen my heart,” he exhales slowly, a small smile coming to his face, “I tell you that because I know –”

“I would never ask that of you.”

You finish his sentence with your protesting, all without even realizing it.

A slow smile creeps onto his face that reminds you of home. “Exactly.”

You manage a laugh – cheeks glistening with tears and lids swollen with heartache – and duck your face when he runs his fingers through the hair along your temples. He urges forward, sandy brows raised.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“Visit me,” he breathes, “On Coruscant.”

“…Will you write?”

Obi-Wan’s heart nearly melts with the quiet hesitancy that you ask – he’s putty in your hands, leaning into a kiss that is warm with love and reassurance; you smile at that, happily pulling away as his hands cradle your cheeks and chase the question with his affections.

“Of course!” he lands another kiss on the corner of your mouth, then another on your jaw as you squirm, “You need not to ask –”

“You are a Jedi Knight now!” you cry quietly, in good humor, “You may not have time for a simple handmaiden from Naboo…”

He pulls away, eyes shining with an emotion that makes your heart feel like it’s finally anchored after a storm.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. The stars are jealous of your beauty; you outshine the moon, and the twin suns on Tatooine chase your wonder across the sky everyday – I promise you that I will always have time for you.”

The sob that escapes you startles not only yourself, but Obi-Wan.

You find his arms easily, burying your face into his chest as you both fall to the sheets. He’s quick to coo, hands rubbing along the bare dip of your spine, and mutter words of apology – you cling to his robes tightly.

“Stay tonight,” you breathe between sniffles, raising your head to eye him sprawled against the pillows, “Beside me.”

He doesn’t protest. Just kisses you sweetly, and nods, nose brushing yours as you prop yourself up on his chest – the Jedi Knight’s gaze is heavy with adoration as you do, swiping at the tears along your cheeks.

“You mean the world to me,” he says.

“And you to me.”

As the moon wanes in the sky, you fall asleep in the arms of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Come morning break, everything will be different.

You try your best to pretend sunrise will never come. You hardly sleep, waking to kiss him a hundred times throughout the night. He does the same, trying his best to remember the dips of your body, the curve of your smile, the color of your eyes. Sleep is restless and unwanted. Both of you evade it in favor of each other.

But morning comes as it always does, and after breakfast, Obi-Wan leaves on a Senate transport – Anakin’s hand in his.

The last you see of Obi-Wan Kenobi is a sad smile as the ramp closes with a hiss. The last he sees of you is a tearful smile, hidden beneath a pale pink hood, as you stay rooted beside the Queen of Naboo.  

Until two years later.

Chapter Text

Much has changed in two years.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is now less of a boy and more of a man – he’s grown into his kindness and charm, hair having finally settled down after all those years in a wild buzzcut. His padawan braid was forgone years ago, on the eve of him leaving you, and traded in for short, sandy locks that occasionally hung in his face during sparring.

His face is less round – cheekbones sitting high on his face from the rather strenuous task of keeping a vivacious padawan in check. He has more wrinkles now, no doubt thanks to young Anakin Skywalker who – as Obi considers how much he’s changed in the mirror of his quarter’s refresher – is wrestling with his boots atop his Jedi Master’s bed.

Over young Skywalker’s shoulder, the sun has began to set over Coruscant.

“Do you think Padmé will be there?” he babbles on, a bit gap-toothed now that he’s finally lost his last baby tooth at the age of eleven; he’s as wide-eyed as ever, scrutinizing the fact his Master is paying particular attention to his hair right now, “I hope she is – I haven’t seen her in ages. I miss her.”

Obi-Wan holds his tongue.

If only the young padawan knew his Master was also eager to see a certain member of the royal party – he’s sure he’d never hear the end of it. Obi-Wan, carding a hand through his hair and rubbing his jaw, ignores the slight shake in his hand. Nerves.

(He hadn’t heard from you in weeks – though he hadn’t stopped his usual correspondence. There was a frightful part of him heavy with worry that perhaps he’d overstepped. If… If maybe he’d been to eager on keeping up correspondence leading up to your arrive on Coruscant. Not that he knew with complete certainty that’d you’d be within the arriving party…)

Breathe. In, hold. Out.

You will be happy to see him, despite the changes in him.

He knows that.

“Be mindful, young Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathes, leaning on the edge of the sink and smiling whist-fully at his young apprentice, “This visit is a –”

“Diplomatic trial, I know, but –”

“But, we must keep in mind why we’ve been asked to mind the Queen and her royal consorts, Anakin,” he speaks slowly, flicking off the light to the refresher and propping his hands on his hips, “There’s been grave threats made upon the Queen. It is our duty to ensure their safety while they visit the Senate for the trial of these men.”

Anakin exhales slowly, nodding as he does. He gives Obi-Wan one of his understanding, trying-to-be-wise-beyond-his-years smiles and stands in his boots, now zipped up and on.

It brings a dimpled smile to his Master’s face. It always does.

Anakin, though rambunctious and powerful and outgoing and trouble-making, is rather cute.

Obi-Wan kneels, moving to adjust the young padawan’s robes, belted at a bit of an odd-angle, and smooth’s the dark fabric into a neat pleat down the child’s shoulder. Anakin still had much to learn as far as dressing went. He had a bad habit of napping in his robes – and Obi-Wan had a bad habit of letting him.

“Ready, then?” Obi asks, noting Anakin’s slight sheepishness that he hadn’t fixed the skewed collar himself. Obi-Wan’s face is soft, though, and any worry Anakin had about a scolding melted as his Master stood and patted his shoulder.

“Yep!” Anakin chirps, “Born ready.”

“Then let’s go greet our Royal friends, shall we?”

Much has changed in two years.

You’ve grown sharper in beauty and wit, becoming one of Padmé’s closest confidants alongside Dormé and Cordé – and with the geo-political climate becoming more and more heated on Naboo, the number of threats upon the Queen’s life had boomed.

You, in turn, had become better with a blaster and even more dangerous than before.

You needed to be. Just last week, Moteé had been stabbed in an unsuccessful assassination attempt at a state dinner by a would-be reporter. It was Ellé who’d stopped the attack, pinning the Zygerrian to the banquet table with her vibroblade to his throat.

The fringe-political group seemed to blame young Padmé for the loses they faced in the Occupation of Naboo by the Trade Federation. They blamed the young Queen’s actions, condemning them as a part of the greater move towards Galactic War. Seeing the newly re-elected Queen continue to hold her seat upon the throne was the last thing these terrorists wanted.

The Royal Naboo Security Forces were keen on finding out who was responsible. And so was Padmé.

Piles of evidence eventually led Captain Panaka straight to a group of far-right Centrists who were operating out of Naboo’s eastern city, Solleu. With furhter plans to bomb the Royal Palace found in their possession, the group of four had been extradited to the Senate for trial on Coruscant – and now, here you find yourself, accompanying the Queen alongside Dormé, Cordé, Ellé, and the Royal Guard to said trial.

“You’re fussing.”

It’s Dormé who says it, the decoy’s headdress tinkering as she turns to eye you in the transport. Padmé, beside her, spares you a bright look. She’s out of royal garb – she plays the part of handmaiden, now, until within the Senate building.

“Are you nervous?”

You balk. You turn your attention back to the cape wrapped around your shoulders – it’s a deep emerald and velvet, matching that of your fellow handmaiden’s and pinned neatly across your shoulders with a broach bearing the Naboo Royal crest. Beneath your cape lays a belt outfitted with your blaster, vibroblade, and medical kit – the high collar of your ink-black compression suit peeking above the cape’s neckline. It’s battle dress, though the occasion calls for it. The transition between the landing strip to the Senate will be dangerous.

You fuss with the hem and cross your legs.

“I’m not – I… Why would I be nervous?”

Padmé serves you a look, the corner of her lips turning upwards. “Lying is unbecoming, you know.”

That stirs a laugh out of Cordé, who has her eyes turned out the transport’s window.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about –” you try to wave their prying words away, swatting at them as if they were flies in the air.

It earns you four rather unimpressed looks.

“Surely if I was seeing the man I’d been pining over for the last two years,” Ellé pipes up from the back corner, attention pulled from sharpening her blade, “I’d be nervous.”

“I –”

Padmé grins. “Has he written you recently?”

(Of course he’d written. He writes nearly twice a week. He’s consistent and frequent and you try to be as good as him about replying, but it’s hard to find the right words to express how much you love someone when it’s been two years since you’ve seen their face and there’s lightyears of distance between you. Because of that, you have a handful of unanswered holo-messages upon your person communicator that, in the last handful of weeks due to some rather pesky security purges done in attempt to secure the Royal communications, you have been unable to reply to.)

You try to hide the way your face splits in two. You try so hard; but it’s not easy, not when the girls light up with excitement – reading parts of his messages had become a rather guilty pleasure of theirs.

Not that they were to blame.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a romantic.

Padmé had been the first to find out about your correspondences, the young Queen nosy enough to read over your shoulder one afternoon when she’d caught you seeking peace in the gardens. It had been a tight-lipped secret that the young Queen had sworn to keep, but the others were wickedly smart – and upon catching you reading a rather lovely poem, penned to you earlier that day, to Padmé one evening in the gardens (your usual rendezvous when sharing such things) Dormé had been the next to become obsessed with the winding love-story of you and young Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Years later, the others within this very small group of women know, too, but no one else. It was a secret kept safe amongst the Queen’s closest friends – your closest friends. You’d trust these women with your life; and so, your most protected secret.

“… Perhaps.”

A soft gasp. “Does he know you’re coming?”

“All I know,” you explain softly, “is that he’s been asked by the Chancellor to greet the Naboo Royal party upon landing as additional security, and that he’d hoped I’d be amongst the party to accompany you –”

The ship begins to slow its descent.

You visible stiffen. If you hadn’t been nervous before, you’re certainly nervous now.

The others notice – their faces splitting with eager, bright smiles. You can’t help but match it, fingers wound tightly into your cape as you shift in your seat; Captain Panaka announces they’ll be landing shortly once they get clearance from air-traffic command.

“If we don’t see a kiss, I’ll be rather peeved –”

You shoot Ellé a sharp look, one that spurs her to grin wolfishly – a sharp contrast to her polished core-world accent.

“It’s against the code –” you begin to explain.

“Well, certainly you’ve kissed before,” Padmé nearly cries, hands braced on either side of the waxy seats as she leans forward in protest, “He’s written about it –”

“Of course we’ve kissed,” you mutter, pinching your brow, “Just not on a tarmac for the entire Senate to see, is all.”

“… Did you two ever –”

“No!” you nearly shriek, waving your hands at a now grinning Dormé, who has to try and keep her face still as to not disrupt the carefully painted makeup on her lips, “I know what you’re about to ask and no, we never –”

The ship rumbles as the landing pad comes into view.

Panaka, over the transport’s loudspeaker, calls out: “Look alive, ladies. Seems we’ve got a greeting party.”

Your eyes connect with all of theirs before you all rush to the windows, keen on catching a glimpse of a certain Jedi Knight –

And that’s when you see Obi-Wan Kenobi for the first time in two years.

He swears his heart is going to give out.

Even Anakin can sense his Master’s restlessness. It earns Obi-Wan a squint from down below, coming in the form of Anakin’s trademarked curious look. Obi can feel it boring into his skull, but opts to ignore it. Right now, the sandy blonde is busy trying to ground himself as the Naboo Royal Shuttle lands.

It’s gears hiss, weight settling on the Senate’s landing platform 55-B.

When the landing ramp folds out, presenting a set of stairs out the side of the tan transport, him and Anakin move closer – only for Obi-Wan’s breath to catch in his throat so quick he nearly chokes.

Oh.

The first time he sees you in two years, he’s robbed of all the air in his lungs.

He’d remembered your beauty – soft and kind and warm. It was something that he thought of often. Years prior, you’d worn soft shades of rose colored lipstick and ribbons in your hair. This sort of soft, girlish beauty had apparently been ephemeral, over-taken by a daring sense of beauty that held a knife to his throat the moment he laid his eyes upon you.

You step off that transport, swathed in an emerald green cape that kisses the ground as you walk, looking like something out his wildest dreams. The sunset behind you pales in comparison. You haven’t changed… yet, you have – looking older now, and more capable than ever.

You could say the same about him.

He’s just like you remember, except broader – he’s filled out, with hair that isn’t so spikey and the ghost of stubble threatening to overtake his jaw completely, reminding you suddenly of the way Qui-Gon had once styled his facial hair. His chin bears it’s same dimple, and his little beauty mark stands out against tanned skin. He’s… a man – not that he wasn’t all those years ago on Naboo, you remind yourself.

Obi-wan’s eyes, wide and warm, connect with yours and it’s like getting punched square in the chest. You can hardly breathe.

For a moment, and only a moment, the universe slows down. It’s only the two of you on that tarmac, two weary hearts reunited after years of loneliness. It feels good to finally feel whole again, and the both of you thank the stars above in an utterance of prayer. You’re here, and he’s here. You’re together again.

But, there’s a job to be done.

Quickly, you move beside Ellé – the four handmaidens fall in line around the Queen, a squad of Royal Guard filing out behind her; you tear your eyes from Obi-Wan reluctantly, quickly scanning the rooftop canopy for any threats. Your hand is on the blaster on your hip, battle regalia on display underneath.

Obi-Wan swallows thickly.

He bows. Anakin follows suite.

If he sees Padmé, he doesn’t say a word – only stares openly as the Royal Party files out onto the tarmac and two men in pilot’s uniforms wrestle with two trunks in the back of the pack.

“It’s with great pleasure that my padawan and I welcome you to the Senate, your highness,” Obi-Wan speaks slowly, eyes shining as he spies Dormé’s face between the crowd; he gives her a familiar smile – he’d made her acquaintance all those years ago aboard the Nubian. He recognizes Padmé, too, smiling up at him sweetly on the right-flank with her blaster in her hand, “We will be your escorts during this time – though, it seems Royal Security certainly has a handle on things.”

He winks. Right at you.

He hasn’t changed at all.

You can feel Dormé’s smirk boring an amusement shaped into the back of your head.

Gods, you could kiss him. If he’s not careful, Ellé is going to get that show she mentioned aboard the transport.

“Thank you, Jedi Knight,” you speak curtly, leading the formation with long strides across the tarmac, following his cue off the well-lit platform, “The extra hand is much appreciated.”

Oh, to hear your voice again. He’s sure he’s never been happier.

Anakin is looking back, face suddenly splitting into a smile of recognization. You catch it being sent Padmé’s way as you move to make way for the Queen into the Senate building. Padmé catches the boy’s eye, too, both of them glowing with fondness for each other.

Obi-Wan is quick, head on a swivel as he leads you and the Naboo Royal party into the Senate building’s elevator, pressing the button for the 80th floor. Upon that floor is the Naboo Senatorial Suite, where Padmé and the party of royal staff will be staying during trial’s proceedings set to begin tomorrow at noon.

The group shuffles into the elevator, crammed a bit, but leaving you to brush shoulders with the very Jedi Knight you’d been so nervous to see. You filed in, once again at the front of the formation around the Queen, before idling shifting in your boots as Obi-Wan crosses his hands in-front of himself and clears his throat.

The elevator begins to move as you catch Obi-Wan barely hiding his affections, face turned to openly admire you.

“I hadn’t thought it possible for you to grow more beautiful,” he says quietly, but loud enough for the entire elevator to eavesdrop, “It is good to see you again, my friend.”

Goodness, if Cordé could swoon she would. Right now, though, she’s jammed between Panaka and the elevator wall. Instead, she shares a knowing, amused look with Ellé across the lift.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re quite the charmer, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” you muster, turning to blink up at him beneath thick lashes; you can take in more of him now – the slope of his nose, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, “Seems as though some things never change.”

“Hardly the first,” he smiles, hand moving to hold the doors to the lift open as the chime, signaling their stop, “And I suppose not… You are still short.”

Padmé laughs at that, trying to hide it as a cough.

It doesn’t pass.

Even Panaka is smirking now, especially as you turn and smile up at Obi-Wan with an awed expression. The Jedi Knight is looking particularly smug, hiding his evident amusement in his sleeve as he rubs his jaw. His eyes bounce to you, then the floor number displayed overhead.

His hands are still shaking, only slightly now. You notice.

Anakin is blinking between the two of you in the meanwhile, leaning around Obi-Wan to get a better look at the smile on your face – that smile is definitely not one of a friend. Anakin’s had plenty of friends before and not one of his friend’s have looked at him like that. And his Master is making the same gross, mushy face.

Anakin blinks back at Padmé, who smiles back.

He serves the same kind of gross, mushy smile his master is, all without even knowing it.

The doors open to the 80th floor, twinkling skyline of the Federal Distract glimmering through the large windows lining the hallway. The sight greets you kindly, a bit of the tension in your shoulders melting, as Obi-Wan chirps a charming:

“Shall we?”

You both lead the group down the carpeted hall, hanging a right out of the elevator. Your cape brushes the ground as you walk – his robes doing the very same. Dormé can’t help but think of what a smart couple the two of you make, the smile playing upon her neatly painted lips settling as she catches sight of the Senatorial suite.

The guards outside stand at attention as you offer a respectful bow of your head and move to press open the heavy dura-steel doors – Obi-Wan manages the other, and the party moves into the suite like a flowing river of bodies. Anakin muddles in the fray, watching with bright eyes as the party relaxes visibly and Dormé rolls her neck.

You step into the apartment, closing the doors as the Jedi Knight to your left does the same. His smile is playing loudly upon his lips, eyes roaming happily across you as you button the holster on your hip and begin to undo your cape.

“All things considered,” Ellé says, moving to do the same with her cape, “That went well.”

You’re pulled away from the smile on Obi-Wan’s lips by the task at hand.

Settling in meant sweeping the room, unpacking, and prepping for tomorrow’s hearing. As the Royal Guard leave the rest of the suitcases in the bedroom, the flurry of activity leaves you suddenly a bit panicked – what now? Will he leave? You have hardly had the time to say hello… and – you have so much to say. Now, he’s idling by the door beside you, looking as if he’s also wondering the same thing.

“We’ve still got tomorrow to survive,” mutters Dormé, sighing as Cordé pulls her headdress off, letting dark hair spill across her shoulders, “Don’t speak too soon.”

“All due respect,” Obi-Wan pipes up, “But, you need not to worry; Anakin and I will do all we can to ensure these next few weeks go by smoothly.”

Anakin, upon hearing his name, perks up in the corner. “That’s right.”

Padmé has to laugh.

“You two have certainly come far from what I remember,” she says sweetly, smile wide and genuinely, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It certainly has.”

His eyes fall to the carpet, drifting in your direction as if caught in your orbit. His voice is soft; Padmé can see the forlorn look in his eyes from her spot across the room, gathering dresses from her trunks to hang in the closet.

You’ve folded your cape over your arm.

You’re worrying the hem again.

Padmé lingers in the doorway, eyes bounding between the both of you – it seems Ellé and Cordé are doing the same; suddenly, the young Queen of Naboo lights up, her eyes falling to her Senatorial garbs as she swallows.

“Perhaps… errands would be in order –”

“Your highness,” Panaka states plainly, hands behind his back, “We have no need for –”

“Captain, I believe… Ellé, you had a list, yes?”

Ellé is like a deer in headlights. “Oh! Uh, yes! Of course, it’s… tucked away –”

She’s begun to move towards the bedroom, laughing sheepishly – lying has never been her gift – as she moves to hurry past Padmé and find a scrap of paper tucked into the first drawer of the desk there; she’s cursing slightly, fumbling with the drawers as you and Obi-Wan stand there awkwardly, listening to the fray as Cordé and Dormé move to assist the brazen handmaiden in her attempts to doctor up a to-do list. There’s whispers of your friends adding items to the list, and after a moment that seems to pass far too slowly, they emerge from the bedroom brandishing a crinkled, folded up list.

Panaka coughs, hiding an amused smirk.

“Here,” Padmé says, crossing the room and offering the folded list to you, “Perhaps, Jedi Knight, you could accompany her? To ensure the list is gathered safely, of course. And Anakin can keep up company for now, can’t you, Ani?”

A bright chirp. “I will make sure they’re safe, Master!”

Obi-Wan balks, mouth moving but no words coming out.

The gesture is… kind, and suddenly he’s wondering if Padmé and the other girls are in on your little secret… He nods, though, accepting the assignment without a word of protest which causes the youthful Queen to bloom at the sight of you both before her.

“Good. Thank you,” she says, gesturing to the door with her free hand, “And please, no rush.”

You can hardly believe her.

You grip the list tightly, pulling your cape over your shoulders and pinning it once more as you step through the door Obi-Wan has moved to hold open – his hand ghosts your lower back, prompting you to duck your head sheepishly at the first contact in years.

The door closes behind you heavily and someone locks it from the other side.

Now, alone with Obi-Wan in the hallway, you feel just as you did on the tarmac.

Breathless.

He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he grips the sleeves of his robe tightly. You’ve long forgotten the list, attention turned towards the handsome Jedi Knight before you – finally, you reach out.

Your hands find his face and he’s pulled in, sweeping your hands into his own as he closes the distance between you both.

As easy as breathing, his mouth finds yours. The kiss is gentle, sweet and slow; you can feel his smile digging in against your lips as he kisses you, hands cradling your jaw as you hold on tightly to his wrists. You feel like your entire heart is on fire as your heartstrings snap happily at the comfort his touch brings.

You’d missed this. You’d missed him.

“I missed you,” he pulls away, his nose brushing yours as he holds you close, “I missed you so much – I was so nervous –”

“I know,” you whisper, fingers carding through the sandy locks on his temples, “And I missed you.”

You could cry.

You’re so happy – he sees it on your face and it makes his eyes swim with years worth of adoration. “I meant what I said… You’ve… You’ve gotten even more beautiful. I didn’t think it possible.”

You roll your eyes, lashes blinking quickly to try and hide the misty-eyed reaction that worms out of you. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious –”

“I haven’t been able to write you back, and – and I feel awful… I… The palace has been purging the servers and tightening security measure, and,” you stammer, pausing to take a breath and swallow down your guilt, “I felt so terrible – I… You wrote me so often and…”

“And you were busy,” he urges, smile growing on his face as he thumbs your cheek, “I know that.”

You can’t help the happy tear that rolls down your cheek.

“I thought of you – everyday. From the moment I woke, to the moment I went to bed…”

His heart lurches at your words. Obi-Wan laughs, soft and safe, as he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m here now,” he soothes, minding the delicately wound plaits on wither side of your head, mimicking Padmé’s stapled Senatorial style – you’re beautiful, truly, and he can’t help but steal another kiss, “I must admit I… I was nervous you wouldn’t come.”

“I had to,” you shake your head, holding his hand tightly as you separate, “To see you again…”

His eyes are soft. “I nearly requested you –”

“Padmé would have obliged if you had,” you drop your gaze, “She… She knows.”

“I figured as much,” Obi-Wan nods, wetting his lips, “And the others?”

“I tried to keep it from them, but –”

“But, it’s no matter,” he reassures, smile melting away any worries you’d had about his reaction, “They’re people that you trust. I trust you judgement above all else.”

Gods, you love him. Truly, you do.

“Come then, let’s get this list out of the way so I can have you all to myself,” he mutters, an arm sneaking around your shoulders as he plants yet another kiss to your temple, “A little shopping can’t hurt. I’ve waited years, anyways.”

Your stomach swims delightfully at the idea.

You brandish the list, beginning to follow him towards the lift as you unfold the paper.

You stop in your tracks and laugh.

Obi-Wan blinks.

“What?”

“… They… goodness – read it for yourself.”

You hand it to him, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Obi-Wan takes it in calloused fingers, clearing his throat before eyeing the note.

“Take yourselves to dinner,” he snorts, “And just kiss already.”

You’re shaking your head, laughing quietly, when he looks up. And Obi-Wan figures this is the most wonderful moment he’s had in a long time. He tries to memorize the sight of you before him, then speaks quickly:

“Well, I take that stands as Royal order, doesn’t it?”

You don’t object when he pulls you into the elevator and kisses you dizzy.