Work Text:
It was only facing away from him, staring out into the darkness of a Mandalorian night that Satine was finally able to ask, “Are you never frightened?”
There was a rustle of fabric as Obi-Wan rolled to face the back of her head. She could imagine with perfect clarity the slight furrow between his brows, the slight frown curving his lips. “What do you mean?”
Satine screwed her eyes shut. In a nearby village, Qui-Gon was being treated - in disguise - for a slug wound. Apparently, the bounty hunters tailing them had realised ahead of time that she was protected by Jedi and taken precautions.
Obi-Wan had thrown Qui-Gon her way and exchanged his lightsaber for a stolen blaster. He hadn’t even blinked.
“Just…” She sighed. “You never seem afraid. That’s all.”
“Oh.”
There was silence for a long time.
“I was afraid,” Satine confessed. “I am afraid.”
Another too-long beat of silence. “Me too.”
Satine turned to face him. He smiled, slightly.
“They had slugthrowers, Satine. Practically the number one feature of a Jedi youngling’s horror story.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“A weapon no Jedi can defend against? Of course we told stories.”
“Oh.”
He reached across the gap between their bed mats, taking her hand. “Why are you afraid?”
“Slugthrowers, mostly,” she said, smiling slightly, and he huffed a laugh. But when the laughter faded, there was nothing but the cold breeze and his hand in hers. “Obi’ka, cyare, I’m the duchess of a world at war with itself. My people threaten to destroy themselves. My defenders put themselves in danger every day.”
“We do it gladly,” he said.
“Which I find only increases my fear.”
“I suppose it wasn’t the most comforting thing I’ve ever said.”
“No,” she said. “It really wasn’t.”
“My apologies.”
“It’s alright.” She held his hand a little tighter. “I like that you tried.”