Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Civilian clothes suited Satine and Obi-Wan in a particular way that most royalty or Jedi could not hope to achieve. Perhaps it was their familiarity with the style; after all, they spent so much time undercover together as teens, these clothes weren’t new. Or perhaps it was the way they both rolled with the punches, up for anything. 

Or, more likely (but hidden more carefully away,) it was their twin desires for a normal life. ‘Normal’ means many things, but embraced by the buzz of refrigerators, Obi-Wan and Satine could both see themselves coming there to pick up eggs or sugar. He held the door.

“Happy Republic Day!” The Jedi and the Duchess — although in the moment they were anybody else — were greeted by a spritely young human boy at the counter. He was dressed in a kitschy Jedi robe. Obi-Wan nodded and tugged his hat down a bit. He was easily recognizable here on Coruscant, especially with the holonews playing on the screen above the counter, alternating between war updates and special programs for the holiday. 

Satine nudged Obi-Wan as they took a cart. “You should compliment his coat,” she joked softly. She was a vision in her pale blue dress. Obi-Wan pushed the cart and Satine clutched the crook of his elbow.

He smiled and turned, keeping one hand on the cart. “Thank you, young one,” he called, even as they were halfway down the aisle. “I like your cloak.” 

The boy beamed. “Thanks, mister!”

Satine leaned in as they walked to the back of the store. 

Obi-Wan commented, “He reminds me of Anakin, when he was still young.”

Satine raised her eyebrows, thinking of the arrogant young man. “It’s quite hard for me to imagine that.” 

Obi-Wan tilted hs head in response, a nostalgic and somewhat pensive look coming over his face. Then he shook it off.

“The boy reminds me of my nephew,” Satine said. “Korkie.” He was nearly 16 and no matter how many years passed, it hurt to lie so smoothly about his parentage. Especially to Obi-Wan. Satine wondered sometimes if she should tell either of them the truth. The idea made her laugh as she meandered around the display racks. Honestly, it was a wonder they hadn’t figured it out yet, what with Korkie’s distinct strawberry-blond hair and tendency to overthink. 

She laughed again, and saw Obi-Wan giving her a sideways look, a gentle smile gracing his face. He teased, “Dare I ask?”

“No.”

“Well, then.”

Nestled in a corner between freezers, Satine fished the shopping list from her pocket and uncrumpled it. Padme’s loopy handwriting detailed the ingredients for cake. The dinner was an attempt to celebrate the anniversary of the Republic’s founding — nobody was quite sure how long it had been, but with the war, any party was worth having. And if that party happened to be a get-together with her friends, all the better. 

“Eggs,” Obi-Wan announced. He stepped away from the cart, but Satine saw them first and slithered past, reaching the freezer first. The look she received was entirely unimpressed as she placed the eggs in the cart. 

“What’s next?” she asked innocently. 

“I remember when you raced me around that market on Kalevala.” He looked up from the list. “I sprained my ankle.”

“Rematch, then?” Satine leaned in, bracing herself on the cart. She held Obi-Wan’s gaze solidly until his lips twitched and he gave in. 

“Sugar,” he said. They both took a minute to look around, then Obi-Wan saw it, sidestepping the cart and swiftly crossing the store. Her feet falling in soft patters, Satine walked as fast as she could without running and ducked under his arm, snatching it off the shelf. “Kriffing hell, Satine,” he laughed, in an easy way she hadn’t heard in years. “Are you trying to make me sprain my ankle again?”

“Maybe.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face and plopped the sugar in the cart. Then, eyes narrowed in competition, she turned back and waited for Obi to read the next item.

Neither of them quite ran , they were a little too dignified and simply too old for that. Nevertheless, the shopping went faster than it would have. It came down to the vanilla. Neither of them could find it, and they were more or less tied. 

They saw it at the same time, but Obi-Wan held out a hand to stop Satine. He stretched out a hand, and the vanilla bottle went flying across the store, right into his hand. She stared.

“You cheated,” she decided. He whirled around, a big grin on his face. “And isn’t that frivolous use of the Force ?”

“Well—”

“I heard that particular platitude enough to know what it means,” she told him, faux haughty. Behind him, she noticed the little boy at the counter, gawking shamelessly at the ginger Jedi. 

“Is there anything else we need?” Obi-Wan looked a bit disappointed, perusably upset that Satine hadn’t appreciated his attempt at showing off. She conceded, and shook her head, walking towards him with a smile.

“No, no, we’re good.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, relishing his hazy scent of smoke and tea. Although she pulled away quickly, the latter smell lingered. 

Obi-Wan looped an arm around her hips. “Shall we get going?”

“That smell,” Satine mused, and allowed herself to be led back towards the cart. 

“Oh, I assure you, Duchess. I showered before you got here.”

“Not that, di’kut ,” she laughed, and smacked his arm, spinning out of his hold. “The tea. You smell like tea. It’s familiar.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan seemed mildly disconcerted as he put the vanilla in the cart and set the wheels in motion, steering it towards the front of the store. By now, the clear Coruscant day had tumbled into early evening, bathing the city in blush and orange. “Yes. Sapir tea. It was Qui-Gon’s favorite.” 

“You developed a taste for it, as well.” Satine smiled. “That’s very nice.” 

“I have plenty back at the Temple,” Obi-Wan promised. “I would try to stop before dinner, but we’re a bit late as is…” 

The little cashier scrambled to get working as the pair loaded their haul on the counter. He was utterly raptured by Obi-Wan, glancing at him between scanning. He had pulled his cloak hood up over his head and wiggled his fingers slightly as he worked. He really did remind Satine of Korkie. 

Something stuck in her throat, and she swallowed. Obi-Wan wanted her to stay. It would be cruel of her to keep him waiting, expectant. He always found a way to invite her to stay, just one more day, just one more night.

“Oh, Ben, I’m sorry. I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Satine breathed, turning to face him full-on. She couldn’t stay any longer. “I have many responsibilities back home. This has been so nice, of course,” she rushed to add. 

Obi-Wan nodded, like he might have expected it, and merely smiled, just a bit let down. “Of course,” he echoed. He lightly touched her arm. The boy had since finished scanning, and watched their touch with wide eyes, as though expecting the Force to work its magic even now. 

“It’s free, mister,” the boy squeaked, before the Jedi or the Duchess could reach for their credits. “Happy Republic Day.”

“Oh, no, no,” Obi-Wan said immediately. “I couldn’t—”

“No charge,” the boy insisted. His eyes flicked to Satine, who winked and nudged her companion’s arm. 

Obi-Wan’s expression flickered, and he relented. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Happy Republic Day.”

He still dropped a couple credits in the tip jar.

They took their bags and stepped out into the mild air. Obi-Wan stood, for a moment, breathing in with his eyes tilted up towards the traffic lanes; and above them, the warships, hovering high over the city. The fighting had not yet reached Coruscant, and Satine knew how hard everyone worked to keep the fighting away. There would be a reckoning when it got to the core worlds. 

“Are your men up there?” Satine asked quietly, following the general’s gaze.

“Some,” was the reply. A beat of silence, then: “I hope you’re not staying for the dinner on my account. If you have things to do—”

“Hush,” she said instantly, slapping his arm on instinct. “Qui-Gon would be upset that you still have your damned insecure streak. Of course I want to be here.” 

A breath of wind blew against them. Obi-Wan lost his hat to the gale, and watched it knock against the sidewalk, bouncing down the path. A strand of hair fell into his face. “Satine,” he said, low. “The fighting is going to get bad.” 

“I know.”

“It already has.” He inhaled. One, two, three, then he exhaled. “Mandalore must remain neutral, you— you can’t be mixed up with this.” 

“We will,” she promised lightly. “You musn’t worry about me.” Satine rubbed his shoulder soothingly, smoothing circles with her thumb. “It’s going to be alright, dear. Shall we go to Padme’s now?”

As if flicking a switch, Obi-Wan straightened. “Yes. Absolutely. My apologies.”

A gust of wind buffed them, thrashing Satine’s hair around her face, and his eyes lit up. “Satine,” he said suddenly. “Reach into my jacket pocket. I forgot, I found something for you.”

She did as she was asked, and retrieved a feather-light, pale blue scarf. He shifted the bags in his arms to reach out. His nimble fingers tied it under her chin, while holding steady eye contact, searching for approval and forgiveness in her gaze. 

She went more tactile with her acceptance and kissed him again, this time on the lips, and decided she never wanted to change out of civilian clothes again.

Chapter Text

The walk to Padme’s was brisk, but that didn’t stop the outdoor celebrations. They passed through a residential district; outside of one building, teenageers set up a projector, playing holiday holonet specials. Camped out on rickety folding chairs, a small group had gathered to hear the briefing of the most recent mission. Obi-Wan paused to watch, then tugged Satine along.

The door to Padme’s apartment seemed to open on its own when Satine and Obi-Wan made it up the elevator. Anakin was there, as loud and enthusiastic was ever, and took the bags of food even while teasing them for their lateness. 

The first thing Satine noticed was the amazing smell of dinner that floated in from the kitchen. Then it was the soft music, a guitar lilting, dim compared to lively voices in the living room. She shut the door behind her.

Obi-Wan was ushered in by his former padawan. He shook his arms around his head, trying in vain to field Anakin’s teasing grabs at his hair. Ahsoka was plopped on the sofa, leaning forward as she played a video game with two clones. Rex and Ahsoka were yelling, while Cody had his face screwed up in concentration. He beat them in the racing game and tossed his controller in the air, a small smile on his face. 

“Hi, Duchess Satine!” Ahsoka noticed her arrival and jumped up, playfully smacking the winning clone as she came over. They embraced. “How was your trip from Mandalore? Master Kenobi said you arrived yesterday morning.”

“Oh, it was fine,” Satine replied, a bit flippantly. “As quick as can be when you’re coming from a neutral planet. You know how the republic is with security codes.”

“Please, have we started with the politics already?” Padme glided in, a big smile on her face as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Come, Satine. Thanks for getting the cake ingredients.”

“It was no problem,” Satine promised, and followed her friend into the kitchen. It was quieter in there, with nothing but the music and faint hum of the oven. “Everything smells amazing, Padme. Thank you for inviting me.” 

“We’re all glad to have you here.”

“You’re doing well?”

Padme’s hand flickered briefly to her stomach, and Satine pursed her lips, but said nothing. 

“As well as I can be,” was the easy answer. She turned to the cake ingredients, brown curls trembling. 

“Of course.” Satine perched herself on a barstool.

“Satine!” Ahsoka came barreling into the kitchen. “Duchess, will you come play a round of games with us? I want to see you beat Skyguy.”

That was how Satine found herself smushed between Obi-Wan and Ahsoka on the floor, their backs pressed up against the couch. Anakin was perched above them, yelling as their animated cars went around the track. 

“Left! LEFT, kriff, I said left!” he shouted, jerking aggressively to the right.

“It’s not mirrored!” Ahsoka’s whole body trembled with giggles. “It’s not mirrored, Master. You have to go to the left— ”

Obi-Wan didn’t say much, but kept his hand on Satine’s forearm, and gave a squeeze when she did well. Cody sat on his left and put his hand on Satine’s shoulder, his voice deep and slow and focused as he coached her. 

“Shift to the right,” he instructed. “Just a little. That’s it.” 

On the couch to their right, chaos reigned. “General, that’s not the path,” Captain Rex tried.

“I know! How do I get back on?”

Ahsoka hopped up on the couch and went to pry the controller from Anakin’s hands. He pulled away instantly and shoved her back to the ground. She fell into Obi-Wan’s lap, laughing so hard it was silent. 

“ARGH!” Anakin made a wild, dramatic, aborted move with the controller. “I know how to play!”

“Clearly you don’t,” was Padme’s input, called from the other room.  

Anakin practically threw his controller across the room when Satine won. Ahsoka bowled her over in a wrestle-hug combination. Cody punched Rex in the shoulder. Obi-Wan let his head fall back against the sofa and watched with equal (quieter) glee.

“How was that?” Satine teased. “Does that live up to your standards of video-gaming?”

Obi-Wan didn’t respond in words, but the incredulous look in his blue eyes told her everything and the way his mouth split in a grin made her seriously question how she was going to leave this time.

Before she had a chance to process that thought, Ahsoka leapt to her feet: “Duchess, Duchess, you have to play Master Kenobi! He was going to play the victor!” 

She beat him, too. Even if he let her win, it still felt good to wave the controller in his face.

Everyone was worn out from their collective adrenaline high, but when Padme floated in with the elaborate plates of food, Ahsoka and Anakin literally sprinted to the table. The table shook as they threw themselves in their chairs, with Anakin at the head, Ahsoka at his right hand. The others were a bit slower getting to their seats, but eventually they made it: Obi-Wan at Anakin’s left hand, then Satine, Padme at the other head, Cody to her left, and Rex. 

There was every type of food imaginable. Satine had grown accustomed to Mandalorian cuisine and having so many options was a dream. Obi-Wan smiled as she piled her plate high, and every so often, he would reach over and steal a bite of koja bread off her plate. 

“Only you’re allowed to steal my food,” Satine muttered, and lightly poked him with her fork.

The conversation was lazy, easy. They competed to see who knew the most languages (Obi-Wan won with 15, followed closely by Cody and Rex, who had been taught 10 on Kamino). Ahsoka and Anakin wanted to have a speed-eating contest (were stopped by Padme and Obi-Wan). Everyone ate enough food to last themselves a week (after eating so many rations, the soldiers nearly split their pants).

They mostly strayed from politics, although there was one debate, of the best ice cream flavor. Obi-Wan vs Padme. They took up their positions at each head of the table and debated the matter like it was life or death. The spectators crowned Padme the victor, but Satine thought it was too close to call. 

In between dinner and dessert was karaoke time. It was something Satine never thought she’d witness. Anakin jumped up and brushed his hands together to clear them of food residue.

“Padme,” he said, trying to be angelic. “Could we move the speaker in the living room?”

Padme gave him a questioning look. “Sure, Ani, but as long as you move it back.”

He grinned wickedly, and within an instant, he set it up on the windowsill. The plug found its way to the socket seemingly of its own accord, and the music was cranked up to 11.

“Prepare yourself,” Obi-Wan advised, a twinkle in his eyes. 

Back to back, Anakin and Ahsoka sang at the top of their collective lungs, shimmying against each other. Padme paused clearing the table, just staring, her expression a mix between exasperation and adoration. Rex clapped along to the beat. Obi-Wan thought he was being surreptitious as he recorded. 

Next up was Cody and Rex, who picked a balad absolutely nobody knew, yet Ahsoka still hyped them up, whooping and clapping. Then it was Anakin again, who pulled Obi-Wan up with him, and didn’t let him go throughout the whole song. Satine recorded this time. They ended up setting the camera in the back of the room. 

Dessert was a lovely way to end the night. They had ice cream and sweet koja bread and traditional Nubian pastries. Obi-Wan and Anakin fell asleep on the couch, Ahsoka curled across their laps. The clones took her home.

For the rest of the night it was — in a sense — the original four: the politicians and their Jedi.

Chapter Text

One couldn’t see the stars on Coruscant. It was something Satine hoped to change as she rebuilt Mandalore. Soon enough, she realized that the dome around Sundari could do anything she wanted, and every night there was a magnificent sunset and soft smattering of stars across the sky.

Especially today, there was nothing above her but deep, navy blue. Satine sipped her champagne and stood on the balcony. Inside, she could hear the holonews, the volume low and humming. Padme puttered around, sweeping up. Satine turned and came back inside. 

“Need anything else?” Padme asked.

Satine shook her head. “Oh, no, thank you.” The chrono on the wall read 2300. “I may be heading out soon.”

“We have a guest room if you’d like to stay over.” Padme stopped sweeping, looking a little out of breath. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” she assured breathlessly, and resumed sweeping. “It’s been a long night.”

Satine fiddled with her champagne glass and sat at the table, watching her friend. “Have you told him yet?”

Padme stopped again, her lips a thin line, and rested a hand over her stomach. “Is it that obvious?”

“It is for me.” Satine cast a glance back towards the boys. Anakin wouldn’t notice, he was far too busy and oblivious at best. Obi-Wan, however, would probably pick up on her tiredness, and figure it out from there. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tone dipping low and soothing. “He won’t know. Until you tell him.” 

“It’s just…” Padme sighed. “The war effects him so much. I’m not sure he quite has the time to be a father.” Then, trying to change the subject: “Have you given any more thought to staying here on Coruscant?”

Instinctively, Satine looked back towards the couch, relieved to see that Obi-Wan was still asleep. She often considered using her senatorial office more, and after a night like this, she didn’t know how she could leave. 

How did he do it? Go back to living the confining, dangerous life he lived? Why was she the one who had to walk away, every time? Or, more often, why was she the one who had to send him away?

“Thank you for the wonderful evening, Padme,” Satine heard herself saying. “I must be going.”

She placed her drink on the table, only a few drops left in the glass, sticking to the inside like liquid gold. She went over to the couch and lightly cupped Obi-Wan’s face. Even unconscious, he leaned in, his cheek cool.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, not wanting to wake him. She pulled away and his lips curved down, everslight.

Satine ducked out of the apartment with hardly another word, hating the caginess in her chest and how badly she needed to leave. She stood outside the door a moment to compose herself, and felt like stomping her foot like a child. 

Damn that boy. Damn how she loved him. 

She heard his voice on the other side of the door, drowsy and confused: “Padme?”

“Obi-Wan! Would you like me to show you where the guest room is?”

A beat. “Oh, well, um. That’s okay, I’ve stayed quite long enough, but did Satine leave?”

“Yes, she just left.”

“Ah. Thank you, Padme, for the dinner. If I might ask for one more favor?” 

“Anything, Master Kenobi.” 

“I was going to bring Satine some tea tomorrow, but it seems she forgot, and well… I don’t wish to bother her. Can I drop it off here, and would you send it?”

There was a resounding silence. Satine felt her eyes growing blurry as she stared at her feet. Damn him. Damn him. How dare he be so thoughtful? 

“Yes, I can do that. You look tired, though, are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay the night?” 

“No, that… that wouldn’t be proper. I must be going.”

Padme laughed. “If you insist. I have your robes here, let me go get them.”

The strangle in her chest suddenly became too much to bare, and she gasped silently, guilt and longing and love seeping into her very bones. Gods, what am I doing? Satine swallowed hard and pushed open the door. Both people turned to her, and she feigned surprise and finding them here.

“Oh, Master Kenobi, Padme. I wanted to ask about that tea, Obi-Wan, the one that Qui-Gon liked?”

They met gazes. He blinked, and reached up as if to tug on his padawan braid. It wasn’t there, hadn’t been there for a decade at least, yet…

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, recovering quickly. “Yes. I have some at the Temple.” 

“That’s not too far from here,” Padme pointed out, her eyes twinkling at Satine. “And besides, you shouldn’t be walking alone at night. Obi-Wan can take you back to your apartment.”

“That sounds lovely.” Satine smiled, and took his arm, inhaling the same familiar smell he always had; comforting and cosmic. 

When they exited, it was as though they were any other young couple. Young, in love, visiting family friends for the holiday. No, there was no way they were a Duchess and a Jedi, not dressed so unassuming and plain and normal. 

Of course, ‘normal’ means so many things… but as Satine and Obi-Wan wove through the midnight streets, they both found that if this were normal, they wouldn’t mind at all.