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Coruscant never slept. The setting sun bathed the streets in an eerie red glow, but the denizens of the city still swarmed through the streets, which were as busy now as during the work day. Obi-Wan narrowly avoided colliding with a woman racing across his path, then had to sidestep a merchant's cart to avoid having his foot run over. His heart pounded, and he heard his master's voice in his head, reminding him that this reaction was rather unbecoming of a Jedi, especially one who was a knight and had a padawan of his own. But it made no difference; his mind swarmed like the crowds in front of him, and Obi-Wan didn't know how to calm himself. He didn't know if he wanted to.
"Master Obi-Wan, you're walking very fast!"
He barely heard Anakin's voice over the buzz of the city, but it arrested him on the spot. He stopped and turned, searching for his padawan. It took a second, but then he saw a flash of blond hair and a bouncing braid ducking between a Coruscanti couple dressed for the opera. Anakin was growing again; he was lithe and spindly, but still small for his age, and Obi-Wan blushed as he realized Anakin probably had to take two steps for every one he had made.
Anakin was breathing heavily, but he didn't seem too put out. "I lost you a couple times, but I felt for you with the Force and found you again!"
The blush became a rush of shame. How long had it slipped his mind that his padawan was with him on this trip through the city? He knew the answer, even if he was loathe to admit it to himself.
"I'm sorry, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "My mind was on other things. We'll slow down."
"It feels like your mind is on many things," Anakin said, starring up at him. Obi-Wan looked back towards the setting sun, unwilling to let the prescient boy look in his eyes lest he know every secret churning inside him. Obi-Wan had just started teaching his pupil to reach out with his mind in order to ascertain the emotions of others. Like so many other things, the skill had come almost naturally to Anakin Skywalker. Now Obi-Wan regretted teaching him.
"Actually, your mind's only on one thing," Anakin intoned. "But the thoughts are so jumbled and messy!"
Definitely regretted it.
Obi-Wan slammed a mental barrier in place to keep his padawan out of his head, but he managed a pinched smile as he looked down at the boy. "Now you're just showing off."
Anakin smiled smugly, then turned to take in an opulent and colorful crimson lighting display that flickered in the dimming light and pointed the way to one of the . . . seedier neighborhoods in the district. Obi-Wan didn't particularly want his padawan to garner a curiosity for what went on down that narrow road, but for now, he was relieved that Anakin's mind was off of him and his own turbulent thoughts.
"Why did you get so upset before?"
Obi-Wan stiffened. "I didn't get upset."
"Not on the outside. But I could tell."
This child was going to be the death of him.
"Just for a second, your feelings were . . . ugly."
"Ugly?"
"Yeah, it felt like when Watto would lose while betting on the pod-races, and he knew that he wasn't getting what he wanted."
Obi-Wan picked up the pace again. Anakin could run behind him if he wanted.
"They were only ugly for a second, Master," Anakin continued. "Then they were just . . . really messy. Like my workbench when I'd work on 3PO."
How could the child sense so much but not sense that he didn't want to talk about it?
"Was it because of the angel on the viewscreen in the plaza?"
"What?"
"The angel. With the blond hair and the crown on her head."
Obi-Wan bit his lip. "She's not an angel, Anakin."
"But it is about her?"
"Anakin."
There must have been just enough of an edge in Obi-Wan's voice that his padawan fell silent.
Infinitely long shadows gave way to darkness just as they made it back to the Jedi Temple. Making their way up the front steps, Obi-Wan bade Anakin head for the padawan dormitories and get ready for bed. They had an early training session the next morning, and Obi-Wan reminded him as such, as Qui-Gon used to do with him.
Anakin raced ahead of him, swinging his arms as he took the stairs two at a time. He reached the top first and leaned against one of the pilons near the front door of the temple. He turned back to Obi-Wan, eyes alight with curiosity.
"Maybe you'll tell me about her when I'm older?"
For the second time that night, Anakin's voice stopped Obi-Wan in his tracks. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Master Windu and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi standing by one of the other pilons, looking out over the courtyard. He didn't want to risk them overhearing, so he lowered his voice and said, "When you're older, padawan."
Anakin scampered off with a smile on his face, not knowing that Obi-Wan fully intended that he would never know about that. No one would.
Obi-Wan looked to his right and found Master Windu's eyes on him. He gave a polite bow, but his heart pounded as he considered whether the experienced Jedi could read his emotions as deftly as Anakin had.
He jogged up the remaining stairs, heading for the knights' quarters. Obi-Wan passed several other knights, convinced they, too, could hear his heart beating as loudly he could. This place of peace, with the tall ceilings and the great columns of unmovable stone, felt suffocating. His stomach churned and he contemplated ducking into the refresher on this level, but the nausea abated and he continued toward his room. He needed to meditate, he needed to find his center, he needed to get rid of the ugly that was still inside of him . . .
So why were his feet taking him up two stories and towards the communication center?
Obi-Wan was standing in front of the locked door before he even knew what was happening. At this time of night, the main communications wing would be empty. Only the emergency comm room – a smaller drain on resources – would be manned through the night. That didn't mean that the consoles couldn't be used if necessary. However, the room was off-limits to all but the Jedi masters and anyone who had the code to get in.
Fortunately, Obi-Wan had the code.
Two days before, Master Sifo-Dyas had asked him to stand in for him for a communication that required the entire counsel – or hand-picked representatives standing in for them – to be present. The code would be reset at the start of the coming week, but right now, it would still be active.
Obi-Wan Kenobi prided himself on the fact that the masters trusted him – a recently appointed Jedi knight – with such authority. He was certain the only reason they did is because he wasn't the kind of man to abuse that power.
But here he was, punching in the code that would cause the door to hiss open.
Like he suspected, the wing was deserted. He stepped inside and waved his arm behind him to close the door. He opted not to turn on the lights. He remembered the layout well enough, and this seemed to be something better done in the dark.
Lies. Guilt. Secrets.
They all came in the dark.
Obi-Wan's stomach rebelled again, but he pushed it away. The ugly feeling inside him was almost welcome in comparison.
The Jedi knight moved to the holotable. The device powered on thanks to his proximity, bathing the room in a ghostly blue light.
Now he could see the keypad.
With shaking fingers, he put in the personal location combination. It was a miracle that he remembered it; he should have had no reason to.
He pressed enter and wanted to throw up.
The seconds stretched immeasurably.
What if she wasn't there? There would be no second shot at this.
No, it would be the middle of the night on Mandalore. For a moment, he felt guilty about waking her, but at least she would be there.
And yet.
What if he wasn't waking her?
What if she wasn't alone?
The ugliness inside Obi-Wan exploded. It swelled until it threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't breathe, but he recognized the ugly for what it was.
Suspicion.
Jealousy.
Anger.
Betrayal.
Force.
"Obi-Wan?"
She was there.
And the ugly dissipated so quickly it nearly floored him.
Peace. Beauty. Tranquility.
"Obi-Wan?" Her voice was tinny from the broadcast, and he could hear the sleepy anxiety that always came from a late-night communication. "Is that you?"
"Satine?" He ignored the boyish crack his voice made and moved closer to the device so that it would pick up his image.
"Obi-Wan!" He registered the moment that her eyes found him. He expected – hoped – she would be excited to see him. It had been so long. "Is everything alright? Are we in any danger?"
The professional tone threw him for a loop, and Obi-Wan felt a fool. Even in her flowing white nightdress, she looked so regal, so in command. In his haste . . . his folly . . . he'd forgotten that this wasn't his Satine. This was the Duchess of Mandalore, a woman who, in the last six years had become responsible for a system of billions. She had far more pressing matters than the one he'd felt compelled to call about.
Obi-Wan straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. "No, your Highness, there's no danger. Nothing like that."
"Oh?" He swore he could see the hologram's eyebrow raise.
"No." He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how shabby he must look after a long day in the city. "In fact, this communication is not one of an official capacity."
She didn't say anything, but Obi-Wan could see her breathing.
"Duchess?"
"You saw the news report."
Obi-Wan held his breath. "Is it true?"
She looked ready to say something, but then the hologram rippled as Satine turned, clearly addressing someone in the room. "No, I'm fine, dear. I'll be right out."
She was with someone.
The knot in his stomach twisted into an angry blackhole that threatened to swallow him whole. No, not a blackhole. A supernova that would implode and devastate everything it could touch. Was this rage? He'd felt this once before, when he'd watched the red demon snuff the life from his beloved master. But he'd had a lightsaber, and he'd rendered justice. Now . . . his rage burned towards a faceless man, who had taken what he never could've had.
Obi-Wan resisted the urge to shut the holotable down and run from the room.
"Obi?"
Her voice was an anchor, reminding him of his duty; the boundaries put in place long ago. The words rushed out. "Lady Kryze, I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your evening. This matter is certainly none of my business, and I'm very happy for you and your intended. I was calling to . . . to simply offer my congratulations."
"Are you done?"
Obi-Wan's brow wrinkled. "My lady?"
"There's no one here. I'm not getting married. You're a terrible liar, and envy's not a good look on you."
"I – you're," he stammered heavily, "what?"
She fisted her hands in her hair in frustration. "Ka'ra, you're as hopeless now as you were six years ago."
The insult brought his mind back into focus.
"I'm not the one getting married to the Duke of Taris."
"You're not getting married at all!"
He didn't have anything to say to that. Because that was the problem, wasn't it.
The silence stretched on until Satine said, softly, "I was speaking with my handmaiden. There have been some . . . threats, recently. She was checking that I was alright."
The simmering anger redirected itself towards her unknown assailants, and Obi-Wan jumped at the chance to offer something of value. "I could speak to the Council. They could send a protector."
Maybe it'd be him.
But it had the opposite effect, and Satine's face grew impassive. "I don't need a protector, Obi-Wan. We're handling the threat just fine on our own."
"Of course, your grace." He met her cordial tone, but Satine must have forgiven him the oversight, because she softened again. Qui-Gon had taught her to meditate to relative success, but her emotions had always been volatile, and his own – which he wanted to believe were more carefully controlled – tended to follow hers.
"Besides, how would you tell them I need a protector?" she teased. "You called my personal chambers . . . in the middle of the night . . . from a terminal in the Jedi Temple . . . on your own. I have to assume you didn't have permission to do that."
Obi-Wan flushed. The extent of his trespass registered with him, and he realized he'd have to sabotage the call log in order to keep the secret safe. The deception would continue.
"That doesn't sound like you, Master Jedi."
It wasn't. Except that . . .
He said nothing, but Satine seemed to read his thoughts.
"I'm not marrying the duke," she assured him, tucking her loose hair behind her ears; it was longer than it'd been before. "He's rich and powerful, but he's also spoiled and hopelessly ridiculous."
"But the news . . ."
"Rumors and hearsay! They're nothing but tabloids." She waved her hand in dismissal. "I wouldn't put it past the duke to have spread them himself! They're all the same."
"All?"
"This isn't the first time I've had offers, Obi," she said. "Frankly, I'm surprised this is the first one you've heard of."
More burning in his gut. Force, give me peace. He realized just how stupid he was.
"Of course you have," he said, trying to attach a smile to his face. "Why wouldn't you? You're the Duchess of Mandalore, and I'm an idiot. Ni di'kut. Isn't that how you say it?"
"No, Ben, you're not that bad," Satine smiled. "Perhaps utreekov, but not di'kut."
He huffed and remembered that she had called him that numerous times during their year together. "That's hardly any better."
"It's a little better," she said, wrinkling her nose good-naturedly.
She did look like an angel, with her hair spilling over her shoulders and her white nightdress and the haloed effect of the holotable.
Beautiful. Peaceful. Serene.
And completely untouchable.
He ached to be with her, if only to hold her hand like they'd done in the evenings when Qui-Gon was away. But the physical distance mirrored the insurmountable gap between them, and though Obi-Wan's rage released into the Force, it was replaced by a sadness that, even now, he foresaw as his perpetual companion.
"Will you accept one of them?"
It was little more than a whisper as he stared down at her feet. He needed to know. Needed to hear it from her. Needed to make peace with it. To crush the last lingering ray of hope that he now realized had been smoldering inside him for six years.
"Shouldn't I?"
Hope flared. His eyes snapped to hers.
The question could have been rhetorical but her own pointed expression confirmed it wasn't.
"Satine . . . I – I," he trailed off. It was so tempting.
A lifetime of possibilities flashed in his eyes: arriving on Mandalore in civilian clothes and no vow save for the one he would make to her; supporting her in rebuilding her society and protecting her from those who would see it crumble; raising their children . . . a ginger-haired daughter and a blond-headed boy and . . .
Anakin.
She smiled sadly, always taking control was he was indecisive. "I sorry, I shouldn't have asked."
No, please ask!
"I saw you on the holonet with a little boy with a braid. That must be your padawan?"
He refused to wonder whether she was keeping tabs on him on the net or if she'd simply stumbled on the news story by accident.
"Yes. Master Qui-Gon handpicked him before . . ." he trailed off. "He asked me to train him."
"I miss him," she said, her voice forlorn and distant.
"As do I." In spite of himself, Obi-Wan reached out his hand toward the hologram. With little hesitation, Satine lifted her arm as well. The hologram rippled like waves in a pond as her tiny immaterial hand brushed his. Obi-Wan imagined the feel of her skin against his and refused to drop his arm.
"Anakin's very special, Satine," he said. "Qui-Gon believed he'll have an important role in this story."
The story. The grand story. The story foretold by the prophecies Qui-Gon believed so dearly.
"Then I'm certain he will."
A story much bigger than the two of them.
"I can't leave him, Satine."
"I know."
"I just wish . . ."
"Me too." There was no animosity in her voice, only resignation. Her eyes focused on where their hands still rested against one another, and then she lowered her arm. Obi-Wan felt the absence as if he were missing a limb.
"He will do great things, Obi-Wan. As will you. Master Qui-Gon would be proud." She smiled softly. "As am I."
"High praise from the one who has already done great things," he returned, hoping that his cordial words still conveyed the affection he'd never be able to offer. The warmth of her smile convinced him that she knew.
He drank in the sight of her, knowing that he'd just have to forget again later.
"Jate'ca, Satine."
"Good-night, ner jetii. May the Force always be with you."
Her words echoed in his ears, and then the hologram flickered out of existence, leaving Obi-Wan in darkness save for the illumination of several backlit keypads.
Obi-Wan starred at the last place her image had rested. Into the Force, he released the envy he felt over her future – whatever, or whomever, that may include. He recalled his mission as a Jedi, his duty toward Anakin, the purpose of his vow, and believed that it was enough.
"Good-bye, my duchess."
He returned to his quarters to meditate on the will of the Force.