Chapter Text
He did not take a full breath until they had safely entered hyperspace.
In the seat beside him, Satine was silent. Frighteningly silent. No teasing, no biting comments about his method of rescue or his facial hair.
How long had she been imprisoned? What had been done to her?
Their trajectory set, he pulled Satine to her feet and guided her to the back of the ship. The Twilight wasn’t built for luxury travel, but there was a better seating area in the rear. He wished he had something to offer her - a drink, at least. She looked like she needed one.
They sat on the upholstered bench, and he turned towards her, his knees bracketing hers. She raised her eyes, and he carefully studied her face for the first time since breaking into her prison. The only color in her face came from a few abrasions that marred her lovely skin. Unthinking, he brushed a thumb over one of them.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly.
A glint of wry humor passed over her features. “I imagine I will be eventually.” She was silent for a beat. Then, “Thank you for saving me.”
He offered her a small smile that she did not return. “You had to have known I would.”
A slight shake of her head. “I only hoped.”
His eyebrows furrowed of their own accord. “Satine,” he whispered, “you should have known.” He was deeply bothered by it. There was a time in their lives where she would have been absolutely certain he could come for her.
Her lips made a half-hearted attempt to turn up, but it was mostly a wasted effort.
He reminded himself that she had been through hell and this was not the time to argue with her. Instead, he touched her face again, smoothing one blonde tendril behind her ear.
“You should wear your hair down more often,” he said casually, trying to distract her. And himself, he supposed.
She came closer to a smile this time. “I will, just as soon as you shave that thing off your face. Although,” she went on, “I must say I do like the sight of you in Mandalorian armor.”
“I’ll allow beskar has its time and place,” he told her, “but I much prefer Jedi robes.” Which were currently folded neatly on the single berth.
He expected her to toss off a retort about his drab fashion. Indeed, he already had a reply waiting for what he assumed she would say.
Instead, nothing.
He was concerned again.
He left her for a moment to change back into the aforementioned robes, the beskar being carefully stowed in the closet. He didn’t particularly care about what happened to it, but he imagined Satine would lecture him about its history if he summarily tossed it into space.
Or perhaps not, he amended, emerging to find her with her head in her hands.
He could feel her pain. Deep, piercing. Layers and layers of it. She had been very afraid, though he knew she rarely showed fear to anyone. He knew her better.
Carefully, slowly, he settled beside her. Just as carefully, he wrapped his hands around her slender wrists, pulling her into his chest.
She came willingly, tucking her face into his neck, one hand pressed to his heart. He shifted, both arms around her, cheek resting on the top of her head. She was trembling, muscles clenching as she fought to control herself.
This was, he reflected, the second time he’d been with her in this situation. Where she’d lost everything, betrayed by those she’d had a right to expect loyalty from.
He hadn’t known her well enough to hold her then, that first night on the run, when she’d tried to hide her tears from him. She hated showing weakness to anyone.
She still did, but she made an exception for him. Perhaps it was because of their history, or perhaps it was because of the feelings still between them.
He knew it was a priceless gift - he had the ability to hurt her, and she still let her guard down around him.
Once upon a time, she had been an open book to him - only to him. And he had seen her with all of her walls down, held at her what was arguably her most vulnerable. She had given him her ultimate trust and her innocence, taking his in return.
His thoughts were straying into dangerous territory, so he followed his old master’s advice and kept himself focused on the present. It was only right, he reflected - why would he ruminate about the past when the woman herself was twined around him right now?
He felt a trickle of moisture on his neck, a stray tear she hadn’t quite managed to keep in check.
Gently, he cupped the back of her head, drawing her in until she was nearly in his lap. He didn’t normally permit himself to be so close to her, usually restraining himself to only holding her hands.
There was a good reason for that.
Here, now, with the scent of her hair in his nose, the warmth of her delicate body beneath his hands, chaos was warring in his head and his heart. It made it harder, so much harder, to remember why he shouldn’t be doing this.
But truly, what was he supposed to do? Go through all the trouble of defying the Council and breaking her out, only to let her cry by herself against the cold metal edges of a ship? Not hardly.
Her arms wound around his neck, and now she really was in his lap. He felt her take a deep breath against his shoulder, then another.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, “you’re safe.”
She shook her head fiercely. “I may be,” she choked out, “but my people aren’t.”
Ah.
There was little he could do about that situation, at least for now. When he returned, it would likely be a different story. Maul’s involvement certainly made the issue of Mandalore on of Jedi concern.
Though it should have been one already. After all, they were the galaxy’s peacekeepers. But that was neither here nor there…
He brushed his lips across the top of her head. He should care more about her people - but he was unable to lie to himself. The only Mandalorian he cared about was currently in his arms.
They were silent for a time, the only sound the mechanical humming of the Twilight. Gradually, Satine relaxed by degrees until she was limp, her head heavy on his shoulder.
With mild surprise, he realized she was asleep. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t strange at all. She had been in captivity for…he didn’t know. Having been held hostage a time or two himself, he knew prison cells didn’t lend themselves to restful nights.
And Satine wasn’t a Jedi, didn’t have his training. All she had was a core of durasteel and a will of the same. Eventually, however, it could be broken. He wondered how close she was to that point.
She knew she was safe, knew he would protect her with his last breath. If she was going to relax, now was the time.
He hadn’t held her while she slept in sixteen years. Not since that last night they’d spent together. It felt exactly the same now as it had then. She was just as slender and soft as he’d remembered.
True, they weren’t in the massive bed in her newly-restored chamber now, wrapped in silk sheets and each other, sated and peaceful. But he was glad he had a new memory to add to his collection, nevertheless.
He shifted, swinging a leg up onto the bench and easing backwards until his shoulders were braced against the wall. In her sleep, Satine followed his movements, her cheek pressed to his chest, arms around his waist.
Gently, he stroked her hair, willing her back to sleep.
The pulsing lights of hyperspace continued to flash by, lulling him into a sense of complacency. A stray thought crossed his mind - he wished time would stop. When they arrived at Coruscant, things would have to be different. The crisis that allowed him to hold her this way would pass. There would be legions of other people around, not this perfect bubble of solitude.
She slept for hours. Peacefully, he thought.
When she woke, she looked up at him with sleepy eyes full of confusion. He held her gaze as understanding - and sadness - set in.
“I thought it was a nightmare,” she whispered, hand touching her forehead.
“It was,” he told her, “but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
She sighed, turning in his arms until she could rest the back of her head on his chest. Absently, she toyed with his fingers, and he watched in fascination. A study of contrasts - his much larger hands, rougher and browner, entangled with her delicate ivory ones.
They used to sit like this often, once upon a time, Satine tucked up next to him beneath his cloak. During their time on the run, the nights spent in the wilderness, it was often the only way she could get warm. He was delighted to be of service, both then and now.
He should put himself away from her.
But he wasn’t sure he could make himself let her go.
And anyway, he reasoned, it wasn’t as if his attachment to her would vanish if he was standing five feet to the left. It wouldn’t magically grant him peace of mind or settle him.
Indeed, it was hard to argue with the way he felt right in this moment. It was peaceful. He was settled, her slight weight anchoring him.
If Anakin could see him now, could hear his thoughts, his former Padawan would never stop laughing.
Or maybe he wouldn’t. Obi-Wan had made a long and brilliant career of ignoring the relationship between the galaxy’s brightest star and the Senate’s most attractive member. Perhaps Anakin would know more about this particular kind of peace than he did.
And, perhaps, he would ask the younger man about it some time.
Satine, still holding his hands, drew his arms tighter around her. He obliged, kissing the top of her head once more.
“How much longer until we make it to Coruscant?” she asked quietly.
“We should come out of hyperspace in another hour or two,” he told her, lips in her hair still.
Why was it that he was able to maintain his Jedi vows around every single person in the galaxy except her? Was it just because he had broken them spectacularly with her earlier in life?
She sighed, settling back in his embrace. “I’m not looking forward to addressing the Senate,” she said eventually. “I’m sure most of them remember how…adamantly I opposed Republic help a short while ago.”
He nearly smiled. Satine had never been good at apologies. “Well, my dear, if it makes you feel any better, I doubt your opinion is going to have an impact on whether or not Galactic troops start mobilizing. This is no longer an internal matter. Not with Maul involved.”
She shivered, delicately, and he squeezed her once. They were going to have to talk about this sooner or later. He did not particularly want to hear it, did not want to picture what she had gone through, but it would be better for her if she didn’t bottle it all up.
“Wait,” she said, the tone of her voice suddenly different. “Who thought this was ever an internal matter?”
Blast. She had always been much smarter, much more observant than normal people.
“Ah. Well,” he began, “the Jedi council.”
He wasn’t quite sure how she would react to that.
“Wait,” she said again. “The Jedi council though the ruination of my planet, of its people, was an internal matter?”
“Yes.” The word was apologetic.
He knew her eyebrow was arched. “And yet they still sent a Jedi to save me?”
Busted, as Anakin would say. Usually accompanied by several curse words, often in Huttese.
He took a breath. “They didn’t precisely send me,” he admitted. “Rather the opposite of that.”
She sat up, his arms falling to her waist, and when she turned, her face was utterly indecipherable. “Am I to infer that you were specifically told to not come to Mandalore, Obi-Wan?”
He nodded.
The Force was telling him that the emotions that were washing over her were a tangled mess. Anger, surprise, contempt…and, from somewhere, a hint of…joy? “So you defied your council?”
He adopted what he hoped was a neutral expression. “It would appear so.”
“Why?”
Now that was the important question, wasn’t it? There were many things he could say, some of which were probably true. He could say he couldn’t leave innocent people under such threat, he could go on about neutrality among star systems and how important self-determination was and how he was a peacekeeper. But there was only one reason, and they both knew it.
“Because you needed me,” he said, very simply.
And it was simple.
She held his eyes, and he hid precisely nothing from her.
Slowly, making sure he knew exactly what she was doing, she reached up, taking his face in her hands and pressing their foreheads together.
He knew what was going to happen next.
And still, he didn’t move, except to allow his eyes to close.
Satine brushed her lips across his once, twice, with no more pressure than a whisper. When she came for a third pass, he declined to stay passive, fingers sliding into her hair, holding her in place.
He had not kissed her in sixteen years. But, Force, he remembered how to do it.
Abruptly, he was done. Done pretending he was in any way over this woman. Done pretending that she wasn’t at least as important to him as the Jedi Order.
But not done kissing her. Not by a long shot.
Gently at first, passion escalating as they both briefly fought for control. He won, but only because she let him.
And then he took his time.
He was not hurried often, and would not be with this. She opened her mouth at his demand, a quiet noise escaping as he swept his tongue over hers, fingers digging into his shoulders. He did it again, reveling in the shocks of pleasure that chased through his nerves.
Hers too, he hoped.
When she pulled back to gasp out a breath, he moved his lips to her jaw, her temple, her neck, trying to recall every place that used to make her shiver. As it turned out, most of them still did.
“I missed you so much,” she whispered once.
He found her mouth again. “I missed you too,” he breathed back in between kisses.
Both knew they were not only referring to the time between their most recent separation. He had missed her for years, missed her skin beneath his fingertips, how she smelled, the way she sharpened her wits against his.
His palms skimmed down her ribs, settling at her waist. Satine’s hands were already beneath the collar of his robes, tracing the lines of bone and muscle they found.
Her kisses took on a desperate edge, and he slowed them both down again, gentling his mouth, resisting her urgency. Eventually she complied, her tension relaxing, and he began lengthening the time between kisses, and the pressure, until their lips were meeting for just a moment, and with the force of butterfly wings.
They were going to be in new territory now.
Were they restarting their relationship? It certainly seemed so. Was now - right now - the time for it? Probably not.
Was he going to back away now, his arms around her, her taste on his tongue? No.
There was never going to be a perfect time. And they had waited long enough already.
The ship’s alarm system went off, informing him they were about to leave hyperspace. Satine sighed, a perfect echo of his thoughts, and he had to smile.
One more soft kiss, and he eased her off his lap, immediately missing the warmth. But the Twilight wouldn’t land itself.
Beneath them, Coruscant glittered, vast and infinite.
Satine was silent as they descended, watching the spires of the planet come closer and closer, one hand on his shoulder. He landed them carefully - or as carefully as was possible in this bucket of bolts that seemed to be disintegrating before his eyes.
He was a little surprised that Anakin wasn’t waiting on the landing platform, demanding to know what in blazes was going on. Just as the thought crossed his mind, he caught sight of dark gold curls and a black tabard moving at a high rate of speed in their general direction.
Ah. That was going to be a fun conversation.
He stood, ushering Satine towards the still-sealed door, hand on the small of her back.
“You know,” she finally commented, standing quietly next to him as they waited for the ramp to fully extend, “I believe I’ve changed my mind.”
He stared, nonplussed. “About what?”
She smiled, suddenly mischievous. “I think perhaps I like the beard after all.”
He laughed, just once, then held out an arm to her. She took it, her humor visibly fading as they walked to the edge of the ship. She had much to face in the coming hours.
But she needn’t face all of it - or any of it - alone.
He hoped she found comfort in that.
“Satine,” he murmured, and she looked up at him. He couldn’t help it - he kissed her again. Perhaps it was reassurance that he didn’t regret what had just happened, that he was intending to move forward with her in his life. Or perhaps he just needed to be connected to her again. “It will be alright.”
For just a moment, her expression was utterly vulnerable, and his heart broke a little at the sorrow he saw in her eyes. “Stay with me?”
He didn’t know if she was talking about the next day or the next lifetime. Either way, his answer was the same.
“I will.”
Daylight touched them, their solitude over.
Anakin’s voice reached them almost immediately. “Obi-Wan! What in the hell is going on? I knew you were summoned by Master Yoda and then the next thing I knew, the Twilight was gone, and the Council is pissed and -“ His protogee’s voice cut off in mid-sentence as he took in just who was walking down the ramp.
Even under the circumstances, Obi-Wan could treasure the expression on Anakin’s face. It wasn’t often the young man was speechless, and rarer still when Obi-Wan was the cause.
“There was a bit of a situation I needed to take care of,” he told his former apprentice. “On a related note, Mandalore is currently under the control of Darth Maul.” He kept his voice light, casual.
To Anakin’s credit, he recovered quickly, years of training allowing him to process information rapidly. “That is…not good.” The understatement that ate Coruscant. “But I’m very glad to see you, my lady,” he said to Satine. “Very glad you’re safe.”
Satine found a smile. “Thank you, Master Skywalker.”
Anakin fell into step beside them as they walked towards the shuttle that was waiting to take them to the Senate building. “Do you have a place to stay?” He took in her appearance. “I’m sure Padme would be happy to help with whatever you need. So would I, of course,” he added quickly. “But there are obviously things she’s eminently more qualified for.”
“I think I would appreciate that,” Satine said, “but please don’t go to any trouble.”
Anakin grinned. “Not at all, my lady.” He looked at Obi-Wan. “Do you want me to alert the Council about the developments on Mandalore? If you’re taking Satine to the chancellor, they may want to be there.”
Yes, and Anakin may have had a habit of disobeying orders. Or Jar Jar Binks may have been a walking, talking threat to any being within ten meters of him.
He nodded. “That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “We’ll meet you there.”
The younger man nodded, then touched his shoulder as he made to change direction. “The next time you need to go on a rescue mission to a hostile planet, don’t forget to take me.”
Anakin’s way of saying all was forgiven and that they were still on the same side.
“I won’t,” Obi-Wan promised, turning his attention back to Satine as Anakin departed. “Ready for this?” he asked, gesturing at the shuttle.
She sighed, very deeply. “No, but I daresay my story won’t improve with waiting.”
“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he promised, bringing his other hand up to cover hers.
They stepped aboard, and as he watched, Satine visibly straightened her shoulders, a lifetime of leadership settling around her.
She was remarkable, truly.
By the time they landed at the chancellor’s private entrance to the Senate building, they were no longer Satine and Obi-Wan, former and possibly future lovers, newly back from a life-threatening situation, with the world falling to pieces around them.
They were the Duchess of Mandalore and her Jedi protector.
She let go of his arm as they walked forward, and his heart swelled with pride.
This was his duchess. The one who fought through fear and pain and grief, and who would never bow down to her enemies. Once, a long time ago, he’d thought it wasn’t possible to love her more than he already did.
He had been wrong. What he felt for her as a man far outstripped what he did as a boy.
He did not know, could not see, what the future held. But he was certain - utterly certain - that he would be at her side.
They were shown into Palpatine’s office, and he willed that knowledge in her direction.
I am with you.
It was time to be the man she had needed all those years ago. The one who helped put a world back together. The one who actually kept the peace.
The one who stayed.
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