Work Text:
Obi-Wan moved through the kitchen, placing a kettle on the stove. When the water began to boil, he poured it into his cup with well practiced movements. Anakin emerged a few moments later.
“Morning, Obi-Wan. What’s the plan for today?” he asked, sitting across from him at the table. Obi-Wan didn’t respond.
Anakin waved his hand in front of his face. “Hello, anyone home?” Obi-Wan’s eyes didn’t move from their focus point across the room. “Are you mad at me or something? What did I do this time? I swear I didn’t mess with your tea stash.” Anakin leaned back and put on his best pouting face, that worked much better when he was 9 then when he was a grown man. “Fine. If you won’t talk to me, I guess I’ll just sit here until you do. You’re supposed to talk to your friends Obi-Wan. Aren’t we friends?”
Obi wan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Go away,” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. But it was loud enough, for when he glanced up, Anakin’s form blew away with the wind.
Obi-Wan stood up from his hunched position over the vaporator, and wiped the sweat from his brow. This repair was taking much longer than he had anticipated, and the sweltering heat of Tatooine’s suns were only making things slower.
“Need some help there, Obi-Wan?” he closed his eyes and didn’t turn around, knowing what he’d see. He’d see a young Togruta, smiling her toothy grin at him, head tilted just like Anakin did. Wordlessly, he kept working. She was persistent though, and walked around to where he was forced to see her face.
“C’mon, Master. I’m better at this stuff than you are, let me help.” He finally looked up at her. She looked exactly as she did when he last saw her, which he knew was impossible. Her lekku had lengthened, and her montrals were beginning to reach towards the sky. The markings on her face had elongated, and she lacked the childlike air about her that she had when they first met.
In his heart, he knew there was no chance that she still appeared this way. Her body was probably lying somewhere, filled with blaster holes and decaying without a proper burial. Not real, he told himself. She’s not here anymore. When he continued to ignore her, she sat down next to him and stared at the vaporator’s inner parts.
Ahsoka tilted her head in thought. “Really, Obi-Wan, you’re making this harder than it needs to be. Just move this wire here-” she motioned with her hand. “-and connect it to this plug here. You’re overthinking it.” Taking a closer look, he realized that she was right. He made the correction without acknowledging her, and she huffed.
“Well, maybe after you stop being such a nerfherder, we can spar a bit. It’s been too long since we’ve had the chance to.” This is too much. They hadn’t sparred for ages, not since before she left the Order. And they’d never get the chance to again. Obi-Wan stood up and fled towards his hut, leaving the still-broken vaporator and impossible dreams behind him.
His hood fell from his shoulders as he walked, but he didn’t bother replacing it. The night air was cool, a pleasant contrast to the burning heat throughout the day. He glanced at the stars.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a melodic voice said next to him. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let out a breath. Not her, too, he thought. But indeed, when he turned his head, he saw Satine walking next to him, head tilted up at the sky.
“Do you remember when we used to do this, Obi-Wan? It seems so long ago, now.” Yes, yes it does, he agreed silently. She looked at him, and gave him that smile that enamored him so long ago. “We used to dance, too,” she said. Obi-wan couldn’t bring himself to look away from her face. He missed her, so much. A traitorous tear slipped down his cheek. “Oh, Obi,” she said, moving closer. “What’s the matter?”
Her hand came up to his cheek, but it wasn’t truly there. It was nothing more than a featherlight touch, a cruel whisper of what should have been.
“Would you like to dance, Obi-Wan?” she asked. He simply stared in her eyes, enjoying the illusion while it lasted. Satine removed her hand from his cheek, instead holding it out in invitation for him to take. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t give into this fantasy, but oh how he wished to. Just once, Obi-Wan thought. I will allow myself to dream, just this once. He slowly extended his hand, reaching to take hers.
But as soon as he touched her hand, Satine’s form vanished and his hand grasped at nothing. His hand fell to his side, and he felt his knees hit the ground.
His cries were the only sound for miles across the desert wasteland.