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The duchess is not at all what he expected.
Maybe he’s come to expect the rather outlandish costumes of systems’ dignitaries, but Obi-Wan is surprised by her appearance.
And even more so by her age. He did not think someone his own age would be trusted with the safety and well-being of so many systems.
They told him she is a person of key interest in the galaxy, with significant influence. That the Council of Neutral Systems grows under her reign. That, although, her own planet falls apart, she holds the rest of them together. That her assassination would not only cause a second wave in Mandalore’s civil war, but would instigate the dissolution of the Neutral Council.
They did not tell him she is nineteen.
A combination of curiosity and incomprehension draws his attention to her throughout dinner.
On one glance, Obi-Wan catches the duchess’ eye. He averts his gaze, quickly as possible; face suddenly heating.
He reaches for his glass, hoping neither she nor anyone else noticed. The duchess’ attention is redirected to the table’s conversation; Obi-Wan’s finds its way back to her.
More things the Council didn’t think to inform him of: her extraordinary intelligence, willpower, and character. It is displayed in her actions and words as the dialogue runs its course.
They didn’t say anything about how beautiful she is. The thought crosses his mind before he can prevent it. Immediately he admonishes himself. He shouldn’t be thinking like that; he is a Jedi padawan.
But when he looks back across the table his stomach drops.
Damn it.
----------
By morning, he’s convinced himself: Yes, the duchess is attractive; that doesn’t mean anything to me.
Still, when she emerges from her quarters Obi-Wan swallows hard and hangs back, content to let Master Qui-Gon take point. He is able to maintain a good distance from the duchess and it is like he expected things to be; staying on the periphery, not interfering with the assignment’s business.
He focuses his attention on the possible dangers, rather than watching the duchess. It is work he is comfortable with.
The air is always stiffer when the duchess speaks to her people. The chances of an attack increase and she and the people are all too conscious of the presence of Jedi.
Obi-Wan scans the crowds as cautiously as they watch him.
----------
“When will you be back?”
“I cannot say for certain.”
Master Qui-Gon makes ready to leave for the provinces. Obi-Wan is the only one to see him off.
“Keep to the plan: avoid situations you cannot handle on your own, allow the duchess to speak as often as she can. Do not let her council dissuade you; she may be young, but she is the best hope for this system.”
“Yes, Master,” he nods, the word ‘young’ ringing in his ears.
If the duchess is young, so is he. Obi-Wan hasn’t considered himself young since before Qotile; he didn’t think Master Qui-Gon did either. It rankles.
“May the Force will be with you, Obi-Wan.”
“And with you, Master.”
He brings his focus back to the task at hand as his master takes off. The mission is the same, but he’ll have to pick up the slack. There’s no buffer between him and the duchess anymore.
Nervously, he returns to their current hideout, assuring himself his initial impression didn’t mean anything – he can do this without distraction.
He knocks gently on her door. “Your Grace? We must be on the move.”
They may be the first words he’s spoken to her.
----------
It gets easier. Well, it gets easier to be around Duchess Satine; the mission only gets harder.
Obi-Wan’s at least confident he can speak to her without saying anything he’ll regret, but he keeps conversation to a minimum.
On the other hand, it becomes increasingly risky to stay in Enceri. Even though Duchess Satine’s continued presence in the city and regular speeches spark hope in her people, there are frequent attacks.
Her council pressures him to get her out; she digs in her heels.
He informs them, “As long as our hideout is secure, there is no need to abandon Enceri.”
The council raises numerous objections all at once. Obi-Wan reminds them as sternly as he can Master Qui-Gon left him in charge of the duchess’ protection.
Duchess Satine gives him an approving look.
It is only a delay of the inevitable, but it buys her more time to speak to her citizens. The next time they run, she’ll have to give it up, almost entirely.
----------
Obi-Wan lamely excuses himself; he needs to think – he needs space, even if it’s only just the other side of the door.
He lets the back of his head hit the wall, eyes shut tight.
Oh gods. This can’t be happening.
There, in that broom cupboard, all his careful distancing from her went to waste.
She was in reach. Not just within reach of his grasp – she has been there before – but she was in reach of just about every other part of him too.
He buries his face as deeply into his hands as possible, wanting to let out a strangled noise of frustration, but not daring to make a sound. (She’s just on the other side of the wall.)
If only he could have disappeared the moment she dragged him into that damn cupboard.
If only he could disappear now.
Why did she have to be my age? Why did she have to be beautiful and intelligent and incredible and my age?
He doesn’t understand why he focuses on the last one when it is everything about her which is making him lose control of himself.
She wasn’t just within reach tonight, he wanted to reach out and touch her.
He wants to go back in there and not resist – to not hold back anymore. He wants her to reciprocate.
But he knows she won’t.
They come from two separate worlds; not just systems, they were brought up as completely different people. She abhors everything the Jedi are and he, well, he should know better; Master Qui-Gon taught him better than this.
He sinks to the floor in despair. Master Qui-Gon left him with a task; how can he do it if he can’t figure out what’s going on inside his own head?
After meditating one thing is clear; indifference towards Satine is not an option for Obi-Wan.
(Maybe it never was.)
----------
They walk in silence back from Satine’s most recent address to the public. It is a comfortable silence compared to those they experienced only a few days earlier. And even so, Obi-Wan aches for some connection with her.
He dumbly opens his mouth to speak, only to promptly close it, realizing he doesn’t have the slightest idea what to say. He is glad she looks ahead and not at him.
“I never thanked you for coming with me to spy on Merrick and for your… discretion with the barman.”
His throat goes dry, “I was only doing my duty.”
“As you said, but I would like to thank you anyway.”
He hesitates.
“You’re welcome.”
“That being said, I cannot approve of your attacking the poor man.”
Obi-Wan stops dead in his tracks, “You consider that attacking?”
“It was an assault, regardless of whether or not he came out unharmed.”
He’s raring for the debate to come, but a glint of light from a nearby rooftop diverts his attention. His eyes narrow then widen as he recognizes the unmistakable gleam of a blaster barrel.
“Satine, get down!”
He pushes past her, drawing his lightsaber as a round of shots are fired. They rebound off the blue blade and into a wall. Obi-Wan climbs the wall, but the perpetrator bolts, abandoning their rifle.
After retrieving the weapon, Obi-Wan returns to Satine.
Offering her his free hand, “What were you were saying about assaults?”
She looks disapprovingly from the blaster, to him, to his extended hand, “If anything, I believe this only proves my stance
“What I did at the bar was an act of defense, Your Grace. Defense of you, I might add. What happened here was an act of aggression.”
“Regardless, it is violence.”
Obi-Wan shrugs, “That may be, but there is a difference in context.”
She still crouches, huddled on the ground, and he still holds his hand out to her. He almost expects her to refuse it out of sheer pride.
But soft fingers wrap around his open hand, causing his heart to beat at a pace he didn’t know was possible.
On her feet again, Satine is eye-to-eye with Obi-Wan. “I do not approve.”
“I did not expect you to.” He casts a wary glance at the surrounding area, “We may have to leave Enceri because of this.”
----------
They are at their most vulnerable when they are between towns. It is when they are most likely to be spotted. Bounty hunters do not follow directly, but they send tracker probes after them.
Obi-Wan prepares to slice one in half as a blast of energy whizzes by him and hits the probe, rendering it useless.
“You carry a deactivator? Doesn’t that count as violent?”
“There is a difference in context.”
“If you say so.”
Despite her claim, Satine looks mildly uncertain. He ushers her forward with a gentle hand on her arm.
----------
One bounty hunter chases them off Mandalore. Satine paces on board their transport; unable to sit and unable to contain her fury.
“How did they – how could they – this is outrageous!”
Obi-Wan listens, amused by her spluttering rage. This is the first time he’s heard her incapable of speaking.
“We’ll be back as soon as we shake this bounty hunter.”
“And we have to go all the way to Draboon in order to accomplish that?”
“It’s a solution.”
Satine makes a strangled noise of frustration; Obi-Wan unconsciously reaches out and catches her wrist.
“I cannot rule Mandalore like this.”
“You won’t have to. You will not have to rule Mandalore from the shadows. Your people are rallying to your cause. They are as tired and war-weary as you. They are ready to follow you; this – this will pass, Your Grace.”
He means to give her some measure of comfort, deliberately resisting an urge to include himself.
Satine, more at ease, takes a seat next to him. Their knees bump together as the transport rattles and her free hand reaches for his, still holding fast to her wrist, but she does not remove it.
Obi-Wan watches as she absentmindedly strokes the back of his hand, staring into nothing.
“I hope you are right.”
----------
They are chased into a cave by the bounty hunter.
Hopefully that will be enough to lose him, Obi-Wan thinks. He looks around him. Further in, there’s some sort of insect nest. Some smaller nests line the walls. Out of breath, Satine tries to steady herself against them.
“Don’t–”
But his warning disturbs the cave’s inhabitants as much as Satine’s leaning on the wall could have. The screeching of the venom-mites drowns out her shocked yell. A swarm scurries across the floor of the cave toward them, threatening the intruders.
More stunned than anything else, Obi-Wan’s pulse races. He readies to fight them off, rather than go back out into the open.
Satine lets out yelp of pain, “Ouch! One of them bit me!”
Other than shaking her punctured hand, she seems relatively unconcerned.
She doesn’t know what they are, Obi-Wan realizes and panics for her. “Are you sure it was just a bite?!”
“No, but what does it matter?”
A great deal, actually. Venom-mite bites are harmless; it’s the poison from their sting which is deadly.
“We have to get out of here! Now!”
He grabs her uninjured arm and tugs her toward the entrance. The swarm follows at an uncanny speed. The closer they get to the exit, the more Obi-Wan can feel Satine slowing down.
“Are you absolutely certain it didn’t sting you?!”
“I – I don’t know.”
A swarm of angry and deadly venom-mites behind them, a ruthless bounty hunter ahead, and Satine is possibly suffering the effects of poison. In a split-second decision and ignoring her protests, Obi-Wan whisks Satine into his arms, carries out her of the cave, straight past the bounty hunter, and keeps going.
He looks back after he’s put a good thirty meters between them and the cave. The venom-mites have stopped chasing them in favor of the bounty hunter; he swells and screams from the poison, an ugly sight.
“Obi-Wan! Watch where you’re – oof!”
Distracted by the scene behind them, Obi-Wan trips, dropping Satine. She skids in the dirt until she collides with a boulder. There is a tearing sound, but he pays it no mind, afraid the venom is about to take effect.
He scrambles over to her, heart in his throat, “Your Grace, let me see your hand!” The wound is small and a neat row of teeth punctures. Obi-Wan breathes easy.
She wasn’t stung. She’s going to be alright.
He examines the rest of her; double-checking for signs of the poisonous effect. There is nothing of the sort, but the tear in her clothes reveals a pretty deep cut from her fall.
They bandage it with a piece of cloth torn from his robes.
Later she teases him about his daring rescue, delighting in his little bungle at the end. He tries to tease back about her lack of knowledge concerning the fauna of her sector, but he’s too relieved she was not more gravely injured to it give his all.
Positive the bounty hunter isn’t following them, they quickly return to Mandalore and leave Draboon behind them.
----------
The last few days bring them closer than Obi-Wan ever would have dared. Satine is still under constant threat and they have to keep on the move, but little things continue to pass and change between them.
They drop all pretense of formality. He no longer uses even the occasional ‘Your Grace’ and she, smiling, calls him ‘Obi.’
They trade teasing compliments back and forth. She tells him he would be a terrible politician and he says she might be a half-decent Jedi.
They both reach out for each other, with and without reason; the slightest brush of skin is enough to send a shiver down his spine.
He is in way over his head and, what’s more, he doesn’t care.
----------
They lie in the shade of a tree, the first rest they have had in weeks. Somewhere beyond the borders of the town danger still looms, but it does not bother them here, not today.
They do not speak; they soak in the serenity. Satine watches the sky. Obi-Wan sits upright to watch her.
A breeze blows small wisps of hair which frame her face, awash with the contentment of the peaceful afternoon; she is made more beautiful by it. Her features are softened, eyes brightened, cheeked pinked, and lips… He imagines what they must taste like, how they would feel pressed against his. Then, ashamed, he looks away.
“Is something the matter?”
Sitting up, Satine places a hand on his back.
“No, everything’s fine,” he assures.
She does not lie down again; her arm slides away from him and wraps around her knees. Satine looks to the south – to Sundari. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan realizes she was not meant for this kind of life, but she adapted well.
Unlike him.
Obi-Wan’s still not used to the heavy pounding of his heart when she’s around. It’s only gotten worse over time.
He thought, by allowing himself to get close, he could make it stop. He thought her friendship would be enough. He thought…
For once, he stops thinking and gives into change.
He doesn’t know exactly what emboldens him to turn her face towards his and lean in close.
----------
Nothing will ever compare to the sweetness of her lips, Obi-Wan is sure of it.
Satine’s fingers trace his jaw and she smiles into the kiss. He impulsively holds her tighter.
Voices echo down the hall. As they steadily draw nearer, Obi-Wan and Satine disentangle themselves. The pair look absolutely presentable when a few members of Satine’s cabinet pass by.
Out sight again, Satine giggles manically into his chest. Obi-Wan grins feverishly, hugging her and kissing the top of her head.
His heart’s pounding was not stayed by their first kiss or by their second. It beats on ever more fiercely knowing he is not alone.
They fall together.
He forgets codes and rules; he forgets Jedi. He forgets everything he was ever taught about duty and attachment. Satine ignores her councilors, ignores Mandalorian biases, and ignores her own reservations. During those hours when they are alone, nothing else matters.
He wishes it was every hour of every day.
“That was close,” he breathes.
She looks up, beaming, “Well, if you had not grabbed me –”
“I grabbed you? I believe it was you who practically dragged me out of that meeting.”
“I did not!”
“Yes you did.”
“Fine. Perhaps, I did. It does not mean I like you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan laughs at her poorly feigned indifference, “As long as you keep grabbing and kissing me what the hell do I care?”
Satine loops her arms around his neck, “I think you care a great deal about whether or not I like you.”
“It’s a bonus,” he says, moving to place a swift kiss on her lips, but her mouth catches his and they do not break apart as soon as he intended. (Not that he minds.)
They are undisturbed for several blissful minutes, before they hear more shuffling just beyond the walls of their sanctuary.
“I have another meeting,” she whispers.
“Do they really need you?” Obi-Wan doesn’t care if it sounds selfish.
One arm slips down from around his neck; her hand rests over his heart. She assures, “We will speak tonight.” The hand moves and catches his chin, forcing him to look at her. She kisses him again.
He smiles meekly, “I’ll be right behind you.”
For all their nightly talks and stolen moments, time passes unkindly. It is too quick. It hurries them. There’s still so much he’s unsure of.
----------
Master Qui-Gon’s return breaks his freefall. Later, as he dreams, everything he put aside and forgot for months stares at his body bowed on the ground.
From where Obi-Wan lies, the High Council and the Order judge him, yet a hand is offered to help him stand. They can bring him back to the Force, to everything he’s ever known, and they will never speak of it again.
Apart from them, Master Qui-Gon looks on. Obi-Wan cannot read his expression; he doesn’t need to sense his master’s disappointment.
He reaches a hand out to them, ready to accept their forgiveness.
A tree stands in the distance; it prevents him from taking the outstretched hand.
Satine sits beneath its branches.
His arm retracts and he tries standing on his own to go to her. Without aid, he collapses. He calls out to her, but she does not hear.
Obi-Wan cannot stand without one or the other.
----------
Say something.
Obi-Wan wills her to give him a reason to stay.
She does nothing – says nothing. She doesn’t even look at him.
He goes.
On the transport, he doesn’t fight the wave of remorse. It washes over him; all but drowning him before he is wrenched from the waves by a pair of familiar arms.
Master Qui-Gon places a sturdy hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, knowing nothing of the tempest.
“We should have a well-deserved rest before our next mission, wouldn’t you agree?”
Obi-Wan nods.
He doesn’t speak of Satine, but he thinks of her often.