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Obi-Wan’s arms are shaking as the midwife finally places his newborn son in them. The pain in his lower abdomen has numbed a little, but every time he moves it stabs at him anew. Though it is without doubt worth it to feel the small weight of another child resting against his chest. The boy is beautiful, so small and fragile though it is clear that boy has lungs on him. If the way he wails and fusses is any indication, he might very well inherit his sire's temper. Obi-Wan smiles, tearstained from the pain of childbirth, as he presses his lips to his son's forehead.
He is helped back into bed to lie down and rest, when the doors to his chamber are opened and Padmé, the queen's lady in waiting, enters.
She attempts a smile but it falls quickly, and Obi-Wan knows that he won't like whatever news she has for him.
"The queen wants to see the baby," she says, and she very much looks as if she is chewing on glass. "I'm sorry, but it cannot wait."
Obi-Wan has to bite the inside of his cheeks not to let the bitter words forming on his tongue spill out. This is not Padmé’s fault, if anything it is probably his own.
He nods solemnly, before he moves to stand up. The midwife and Padmé both try to stop him, but he merely shakes his head at their effort.
"I will see her myself," he says.
He won't have the queen poke and prod at his son in his absence. It is his child and if he has to, he will fight for him with the ferocity of a shewolf.
"Obi-Wan, please…" Padmé tries, but she must know it is useless. This is politics, and she knows it. She also knows that Obi-Wan will not skirt his responsibilities. He never has. Well, never intentionally.
With his son in his arms his maids begin to dress him. His legs are unsteady beneath him, and he feels like collapsing but he won't let anyone else hold his child.
Not even his husband, once he enters the chamber. Bail’s congratulations quickly dies on his tongue when he sees Obi-Wan dressed in formal robes, stumbling to the door on weak legs.
"You should rest," Bail tells him and it takes every ounce of Obi-Wan’s self-control not to roll his eyes.
"She wants to see him," Obi-Wan bites out between clenched teeth.
"Now? Can it not wait?"
"Apparently not."
Bail gives him a sympathetic look. "Let me take him."
Obi-Wan shakes his head, suppressing the growl that threatens to rise in his throat. He tucks his son closer to his chest. No one will take him from him.
"Then take my arm at least," Bail insists.
There is not a single doubt in his heart that Bail cares for him, that the beta might even love him, but it is the care and the love of a friend. Obi-Wan knows about Breha, he knew about her even before he married Bail and he has never once begrudged him his affection. It had been their agreement from the start; Bail would not have to give up his love if Obi-Wan was allowed his indiscretions.
It is perhaps only reasonable that marriage based on deceit would come under scrutiny eventually.
Obi-Wan allows Bail to wrap an arm around him, taking some of his weight. Though he can’t lean against him too much, he won’t allow the queen the satisfaction. Nor the rest of the court who are gathering around them like vultures as soon as they start down the corridor, ready to strike at any sign of weakness.
They soon come upon the stairs, and dread fills Obi-Wan’s chest. He aches all over, his abdomen strains and the pain between his thighs makes him want to sink to his knees. How is he to brave these stairs?
He shudders, suppressing the whine that threatens to rise in his throat and forces Bail to take more of his weight as he takes the first step.
“Just walk,” he snarls when Bail tries to protest.
They reach the middle of the staircase before Obi-Wan is forced to stop, pain ripples through him so badly he can’t breathe. He wants to cry.
Bail’s frustration lies heavy between them and though his scent is mild and otherwise nondescript, Obi-Wan can’t stomach it.
“We will go back. She can visit you.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head. Satine will never bow to that. Her will is sharper than steel, as it has always been. Once, Obi-Wan adored her for it, now… Well, now he thinks he might just despise her a little. But she is queen, her will is law.
“Only if you wish to carry me back,” Obi-Wan bites back.
To his credit, Bail hesitates, but soon he is shaking his head. His arm is back to support Obi-Wan the rest of the way.
He can’t help the bitterness that curls in his throat.
Anakin would have carried him.
Sir Maul is guarding the door to the queen’s chamber. He sneers openly at them as they pass. Why Satine has come to put her trust in that snake, Obi-Wan will never understand.
Satine is standing by the window. Her silhouette is haloed by the warm light of midday. Her blonde hair falls in soft curtains down her back, and she is as beautiful as the first time he saw her. The queen is one of those lucky few who hasn’t been weighed down by age, but rather the opposite: age becomes her. She has only grown sharper with experience, brighter with knowledge. A small part of Obi-Wan will always admire her despite himself.
She turns slowly as she realizes that she has company. Her mouth falls open at the sight of Obi-Wan, and what a sight he must make. Drenched in sweat, shivering from pain, clutching his child to him as if the boy was a raft on a stormy ocean. He fears that the boy is in fact the ocean, but Obi-Wan is more than willing to drown for him.
Regret passes quickly over Satine’s features, before she manages to rear the expression in and her pale eyes fall upon him with the same scrutiny as one inspects a horse.
“You should sit down,” she says before turning to one of her maids. “Fetch him a cushion.”
Obi-Wan’s pride tells him to reject the offer, but when Bail starts to lead him towards the seat he can’t find it within himself to object. He sinks down on the cushioned sofa with a small sigh of relief, certain that he would have passed out should he have been forced to stand.
“May I?” Satine asks, her hands reaching out for his son.
Obi-Wan wants to protest, instincts make him clench his hands harder around the boy, but then he reminds himself that she is after all the queen. As much as he wants to, he can’t deny her. Heart beating loudly in his ears, he hands the boy over. Her arms are steady when she lifts him up into the light in the guise of admiring him, though Obi-Wan knows she is inspecting every line of his tiny features.
It isn’t hate, but it sometimes feels like it, that makes her treat Obi-Wan the way she does. On more than one occasion he has wanted to remind her that she was in fact the one breaking his heart and not the other way around. The king asked for her hand and she gave it, claiming it was her duty to the kingdom, leaving Obi-Wan behind to pick up the pieces. She had done her duty, she had given the king two healthy sons and she had hated every minute of it but she had remained loyal to him. To her vows and to the crown.
A loyalty she is happy to brag about, especially where Obi-Wan’s ears may be forced to overhear her.
When she goes to give back the child, she doesn’t place him in Obi-Wan’s arms but in Bail’s. His husband adjusts his grip with the unease of a man not used to holding small children.
Her voice is low when she leans in, staring deep into Bail’s brown eyes. “Perhaps his eyes will darken with time.”
Obi-Wan can see the way Bail tenses up, feels the dread deep in his own chest, but before either can answer, Satine asks whether they have decided on a name yet. They have not discussed it though Obi-Wan has already decided what he wants it to be.
“Cal,” Bail says, suddenly faster than his husband. He is not even glancing at Obi-Wan.
“Cal?” Satine asks, her gaze cutting to Obi-Wan, clearly studying his reaction.
He wants to protest. The boy’s name should be Qui-Gon, after his adoptive father. Had it been a girl, he had wanted to name her Shmi. Instead he keeps quiet and nods. He can’t protest, especially not in front of the queen.
“A family name?” she asks, her gaze directed back to Bail.
“Yes, my grandfather’s.”
It seems to satisfy her well enough, though her pale, sharp eyes will never stop searching for their missteps. It will follow them like hawks until they either leave the court or die by its rules.
They are finally allowed to leave, and Obi-Wan struggles back to his feet, before he moves over to take his son back from Bail.
As they step out of the queen’s chambers, Sir Maul leers at them.
“Congratulations, Lord Organa, your efforts have borne fruit once again,” he says, before his grin breaks into cruel laughter.
Bail tenses beside him, and all Obi-Wan can do is urge him to keep moving.
When they get back to Obi-Wan’s chamber, the high notes of children’s laughter reaches them through the door. Obi-Wan’s heart melts a little at the scene that plays out before them once Bail opens the door to let him enter. Sitting on the floor is Leia and Luke playing with toy soldiers that they were given on their latest nameday. The gifter himself sits on the floor playing along with them, even though it must have been uncomfortable to lower himself to the floor in the heavy armor that adorns him.
When Anakin catches sight of him, his lips break out into a brilliant smile and despite the heavy armor he rises quickly to his feet. He is young and fit. All lean, wiry muscles. He is part of the king's personal guard and even the smallest of his movements catches Obi-Wan’s attention. The bright blue of his eyes never fail to leave Obi-Wan just a little breathless.
“I thought it best to escort them back myself,” he says in explanation to his presence even though he surely must know that Obi-Wan would never begrudge him this. Then his eyes fall on the child cradled in Obi-Wan’s arms and he moves before he can stop himself. Only once he is half-way across the room does he remember himself, and comes to an abrupt halt that must feel as unnatural as it looks.
“I…” he stammers wordlessly, and Obi-Wan takes pity on him.
He doesn’t care about Bail watching them. He knows the man can be discreet, what is worse is his own children, glancing up at them with curious eyes. For all their good intentions, children do not always know what they can never be allowed to talk about.
“Do you wish to hold him?” Obi-Wan asks, and Anakin’s sharp, blue eyes go soft in a second. Their hands brush when Anakin takes the boy into his arms, and Obi-Wan feels his heart beat just a little faster. Anakin’s grip is sure, steady, experienced. His eyes scan the boy quickly, and with a finger he strokes lightly over the peachfuzz of red hair covering the boy’s head.
Obi-Wan waits with bated breath. This is the only judgment that matters. After an agonizingly long moment that can’t have been more than a few seconds, Anakin finally looks back up at him, practically beaming. His scent radiating pleases alpha and it is so heady that Obi-Wan sways slightly towards him.
“He is perfect,” he says. “What will you name him, O– My lord?”
Obi-Wan glances back at Bail, who clears his throat but finally steps forward.
“Cal,” he says.
The confusion on Anakin’s face is immediate, but when he opens his mouth to protest Obi-Wan stops him with a light touch to the arm.
“It is a family name,” he explains, nodding at Bail, who nods back quickly.
He can still see the anger swirling in Anakin’s eyes, and his scent has gone sour with displeasure, but Obi-Wan needs him not to argue for once in his life.
Their son is still cradled in Anakin’s arms, this is the best he can give him for now.
He turns his attention to the twins.
“Do you want to meet your baby brother?” he asks them, and this is Anakin’s cue to hand the baby back to him. He can see the slight clenching of Anakin’s jaw, but in the end, the alpha relents. Obi-Wan takes the boy and moves over to the nearest armchair and sinks down in it, as Luke and Leia crowd around him. Their excitement palpable in the air around them, their milky scents sweet with joy and eyes shining bright with curiosity.
“He is so small,” Luke says, peering down at his baby brother with a soft smile. Just six years old but he is already fascinated by babies. Padmé once said that it might be due to his designation, even though she, an omega herself, has never once been interested in having children of her own.
Meanwhile Leia’s face scrunches up in something bordering on disgust. “Why is he all wrinkly?”
If Obi-Wan should suggest that she hold her new brother she would probably squeal like a pig, as if he had asked her to hold a bucket of worms. She is an alpha like her sire, perhaps there is some merit to the whole designation thing after all. Obi-Wan glances up at Anakin, whose body is vibrating with the tension of holding himself back. No, Obi-Wan thinks, Anakin would die to get to hold his son once more. It has nothing to do with designation.
“You looked like that too once,” Bail says, stepping forth to place one hand on Leia’s shoulder and the other on Luke’s.
A low growl starts in the depths of Anakin’s chest and Obi-Wan pins him with a sharp look, willing him to not make a scene. Anakin huffs, raises his chin to look up into the ceiling before he turns his gaze away. It pains them both. Their instincts are so wired. The urge to protect, to bond, every behavior that should come natural to a pack. But they know they must deny it.
Bail meets Obi-Wan’s eyes, and there is so much sympathy and sorrow in his gaze. He clears his throat, before he turns a mild smile on the twins.
“How about we go and see if we can find some lunch for your mother?” he asks them, and for once the twins don't protest, not even Leia, who hasn’t really wanted to leave Obi-Wan’s side since he began showing. Obi-Wan had found it adorable in the beginning, but towards the end it had started to become annoying when she wouldn’t even let him go to the toilet alone. Anakin had certainly found it tiresome too, when it hindered him from spending time with Obi-Wan. In the end Bail had been the most patient with her, but then again he had always had a soft spot for her.
Bail loves them both, he truly does, but he favors Leia just a little more, recognizing her sharp wit and talent for tactics. Perhaps it doesn’t matter if he does, because Anakin favors Luke’s milder manners a little more than Leia’s temper, as he mirrors his own a little too closely. Though, Obi-Wan holds no doubt in his heart that Anakin loves them both. He loves them both with such passion that he would be willing to risk everything for them, and that is what truly terrifies Obi-Wan.
As soon as the door closes behind Bail and the twins, Anakin dives upon him. He kneels in front of him, his arms reaching out to wrap around Obi-Wan, his lips pressing kisses over his cheek, his jaw, down his throat.
“Why didn’t you ask him to leave earlier?”
Obi-Wan suppresses a sigh. “He is my husband.”
A low growl emitted from the depths of Anakin’s chest. “I’ve asked you not to call him that when we’re alone.”
Obi-Wan has known, since the first moment he met Anakin, when the man was but a boy, full of rage and grief, that his self-righteousness would get him killed. But how do you smooth the jagged edges, how do you calm the roaring sea, when it is the wildness of nature that you love?
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes instead, meeting Anakin’s lips in a sweet kiss, before he lets Anakin take their son from him. He rises to his feet, only to settle in the chair beside Obi-Wan, all the while humming a low tune to soothe the baby into sleep.
“You know I don’t like living like this anymore than you do,” Obi-Wan says.
“I know,” Anakin says. “It’s just… I love you so much and I wish I didn’t need to hide it.”
Obi-Wan’s heart breaks a little with every word. “You swore yourself to a life of no attachment, they could have you killed for less.”
“I know, I know.” Anakin sighs and the silence stretches heavy between them.
Tears sting his eyes. “The queen knows.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Anakin says, and the nonchalance in his voice is jarring. “The king favors me.”
“Like he favored Count Dooku?”
Anakin’s eyes meet his, then he loosens one of his hands from the grip he has on their baby, and reaches over to brush away the tears trailing down Obi-Wan’s cheek with a tender touch. There is so much sadness in his eyes that it punches the breath out of Obi-Wan’s lungs, and it makes him want to cry anew. Anakin gives him a broken smile as he grabs the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and leans over to press a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead.
“Let’s not talk about it now,” he murmurs, lips trailing a gentle pattern down the side of his face, until he presses them sweetly against the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth before he pulls back. “We have another son. This should be a happy moment.”
Obi-Wan forces himself to smile, meeting Anakin’s devoted eyes, feeling just as helpless with love as he was the first time he allowed Anakin into his bed.
“You’re right,” he whispers. “This is a happy moment.”
Their son gurgles, breaking the heavy tension hanging in the air. Anakin breaks out in laughter, leaning over the boy to scent him.
“My treasure,” he murmurs, before he pulls back to gaze at Obi-Wan. “My heart.”
Obi-Wan cups his cheek. He loves this man more than he is allowed. More than is sensible. More than he can sometimes stomach.
“My love,” he whispers, pouring his heart into it, his entire soul into it and he holds on, when logic tells him to let go. He holds onto the sinking ship, because he’d rather drown wrapped in the arms of the man he loves than live in the absence of him.