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As was usually true about formal events, Anakin wanted to go home almost immediately.
He knew he ought to be grateful for the downtime. It wasn’t often he was sent to a wedding reception instead of into dire straits, and it should’ve felt like a nice reprieve from it all instead of a waste of time. But it didn’t. It felt like an itchy suit and shoes that pinched in the back.
It felt like having to sit next to Obi-Wan all night when he could see Padmé across the ballroom in her open-back gown.
“Chin up, would you?” Obi-Wan’s voice dragged his attention back to the table. “It’s nearly dinner time—that’s bound to cheer you. I can practically hear your stomach growling.”
And that was true. “It wouldn’t be if you’d let me stop at the McDonald’s drive-thru after the ceremony.”
“And risk getting ketchup on your dress shirt?”
“Would’ve been worth it.”
Obi-Wan hummed a laugh, and Anakin pretended to return it. They were seated at Table 16, near the ballroom doors. Far enough away from the dance floor that they were practically in the dark, and close enough to the bar that Anakin kept having to shimmy his chair in for guests with fistfulls of drinks to slip by.
It was Riyo Chuchi’s wedding. That senator he and Obi-Wan had worked with a while ago on Orto Plutonia. She’d invited the entire Jedi Council, and as funny as it would be to see Master Yoda getting down on the dance floor, Anakin was glad that he and Obi-Wan were the only ones to show. At least he didn’t have to look too cheerful. Obi-Wan would chalk it up to discomfort and boredom, and that was best for everyone.
Anakin took a sip of his drink—water, so far, since he was trying to be on his best behavior—and then nearly spit it out when he looked up, and found Padmé standing right in front of him.
Well, actually, even worse—walking right by him.
She didn’t stop—just gave a brief wave, squeezed Obi-Wan on the shoulder as she passed on her way to the bar. “Enjoying the party?”
She asked Obi-Wan.
“Certainly,” Obi-Wan replied. And raised his glass as she kept walking, then took a gulp of champagne.
Now, Anakin really did need to visit the bar. For a lot of reasons.
He stood, pushed away from the table, and followed.
“Hey.”
He put a hand on her arm, and Padmé turned away from the bar line. “Anakin,” she said, “what are you doing?”
“Just getting a drink,” he replied, “isn’t that allowed?”
She straightened her back. “Well,” she said. “I suppose. But—”
“You ignored me back there.”
Padmé glanced over his shoulder, to where Obi-Wan was sitting at their table alone. “I was just trying to be polite. And…discreet. Anyway, I was saying hello to my friend.”
“You don’t have to be that discreet. Just because we’re talking doesn’t mean anything else. We don’t have to be so—”
“Ma’am? Do you want something?”
It was the bartender. The line had moved, and it was Padmé’s turn to order. She turned her back and rattled off her drink, and when it was in her hand, she walked away.
Anakin was alone.
He ordered something strong.
“Well, then,” Obi-Wan said as he sat down again. “You didn’t bring me anything?”
“Get it yourself. You could use the exercise.”
Anakin took a long swig and leaned back in his chair. He could feel Obi-Wan watching him. But he didn’t turn—the lights were dimming again anyway.
There was a spotlight on the dance floor, and the couple, Riyo and her new spouse, were out there dancing alone. Swaying in the light, just happy. The whole room was watching, but they may as well have been invisible. And everyone around them was drinking it in—other couples, holding hands, probably picturing themselves in their own moment like this.
The next dance, Riyo’s father stepped out into the light. Asked to dance with her. Anakin could see her eyes shine, damp and smiling. He was sure her father was picturing the first time he held her, and how he held her now.
And it was ridiculous, how fast the feeling came over him. Something in Anakin went dark for a moment, like a candle snuffing out, and before he could grab the lighter again, it took him over. He tore his eyes away from the newlyweds and reached for his drink, but his hand moved a little too hard and—
Obi-Wan’s glass of red wine went splashing onto both of them.
Anakin stood up so fast the chair almost tipped. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t—”
“It’s fine.” Obi-Wan was reaching for the napkin, tabbing at his suit. “But I guess we could’ve stopped for the ketchup after all, right? If you’d end up with a red-stained shirt anyway.”
Anakin knew he was supposed to laugh. He felt like an actor who knew his next line, but had fallen out of character. So instead, he just stood from the table. Mumbled something about getting cleaned off.
He pushed his way out the ballroom doors.
Outside, it was lighter. The cocktail hour had been in this foyer, and a few people still roamed between the standing tables. Anakin wished they would disappear—he could feel their whispers already, even at a formal event like this, of The Hero with No Fear, the Jedi general among them. For once, he didn’t want people to look at him. Or maybe, he did. But he wanted them to see something else.
He blew past them all, out of the reception hall altogether. And in the cold night air, wind seeping through his suit and chilly where the wine had stained, he tried to breathe.
“Well, hello,” said a voice. “I thought I was the only one who found this spot to brood.”
Anakin whirled. He recognized the voice, but didn’t pair it to a face until he saw her emerging from the darkness, from where she leaned against the side of the building. Her hair shone in the glare of the city lights.
“Satine?”
She was wearing an emerald green dress and tan shawl, her hair pulled back in a twist. He’d seen her from a distance at the ceremony—she’d waved at them on their way in—but he and Obi-Wan never actually got closer than that.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I told you,” Satine said, “brooding. Want a cigar?” Anakin must’ve looked shocked, because she laughed as she flicked on the lighter. “Sorry. I’m being a bad influence. Obi-Wan would be cross.”
“He’s always cross.”
“Yes, well. Maybe he needs a cigar too.”
“Is that why you’re brooding? Obi-Wan?”
Anakin thought for a moment that maybe he’d encountered a kindred spirit, someone else for whom this whole day was a sore spot, but Satine barked out a short laugh.
“No. Obi-Wan is fine. I came out here because certain guests never learned that it’s inappropriate to talk about politics at a wedding,” she replied. “The nerve of some people.”
“What did they say?”
“It doesn’t matter. I came out here to get myself together, so I could go back in and drink and dance without getting into any more trouble,” she said. “And I don’t need to think about Death Watch to do that.”
“Ah.”
She was leaning against the wall again, cigar in her left hand, her right pulling her shawl around her shoulders. Anakin was still standing in front of the double doors, light from the ballroom coating him.
He joined her, back against the wall, by her side.
“So,” Satine said. “What are you brooding about?”
“Who says I was brooding?”
“Well, let’s see. You have wine spilled all over yourself, the veins in your neck are protruding, and you’re standing outside in the cold at a wedding reception when you could be getting drunk and dancing to Mr. Brightside . Looks like brooding to me.”
Anakin opened his mouth. And he was so close to spitting out an excuse, a lie—that he and Obi-Wan had gotten into an argument. That he didn’t feel well. That he’d stepped outside just to take a comm.
But, even if he didn’t really have a reason to, he did trust Satine. Trusted her as Obi-Wan’s friend. But also his own. So he shook his head.
“It’s just hard to watch,” Anakin murmured. He pulled down on his suit, pretending to adjust it even if there was nothing to adjust. “That’s all.”
“What is?”
It felt ridiculous to say it out loud. “Them—dancing in front of everyone. In love. And she gets to dance with her father. And the whole room watches, and they’re happy for them, and they’re there.”
It was the last part that made his voice break—that they’re there. That the people Riyo loves came and watched her marry the love of her life, that they’d bear witness to it. That they’d be happy on her behalf, and dance together, and share in the joy.
He thought of Padmé turning away from him in the ballroom, scared to be found out, of their own secret wedding no one ever saw. He thought of the glances Obi-Wan gave him whenever they ventured a little too close to the truth, how they both so fervently ignored what was probably obvious. How his own family had opened the doors to his heart and took a look around, but never bothered to turn on the light and see what was inside. Like they didn’t want to. Like it was better if they all just stood in the dark room and pretended not to know.
“I think,” Anakin said, when he trusted himself to speak again. “I just want this. And I don’t know how to come to terms with the fact that I can’t have it.”
Satine looked at him. He forced himself to meet her eyes. “Can’t you?”
He wasn’t sure how much Satine already knew. If they were talking about the same thing. But it didn’t really matter. The answer was still the same.
“I could, I think,” Anakin said slowly. “Just maybe at the expense of everything else.”
“Maybe,” Satine said. And when he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, she offered a small smile. “Or maybe not. The universe is funny like that. We can’t actually know how things will unfold. Until they do.” She put out her cigar, snuffing the smoke. “So we have to just follow the light. See where it takes us. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet.”
‿︵‿︵‿︵‿
They both ventured back inside. Eventually. Satine went first, leaving him with a squeeze of the shoulder. Anakin stayed for a few moments alone, staring out at the stars above the city and the galaxies out there he knew he couldn’t see.
And for the rest of the wedding, he tried. He danced with the others, drank his wine, laughed in all the right places. He congratulated Riyo and raised a glass to the newlyweds, smiled at the tossing of the bouquet.
He and Obi-Wan left a little early. Obi-Wan, whose suit was still stained with Anakin’s wine. They hadn’t talked much the rest of the reception, but that was mostly because Anakin was in his own head. And when Anakin was in his own head, Obi-Wan was usually remarkably good at giving him the space to climb his way out.
They walked out of the ballroom together. Most of the guests were still dancing, so the foyer was empty and the music dull behind them. Obi-Wan led by a few steps, Anakin trailing behind so he couldn’t see his face. And maybe that’s what gave him the courage to ask.
“Did you ever think you’d get married?”
Obi-Wan’s pace faltered for a moment. “Where did that come from?”
“Nowhere. I just saw Satine tonight, and was…thinking. That’s all.”
Obi-Wan shook his head, smiled a little as they walked together out into the cold. He looked straight ahead. “I was nineteen years old and in love for the first time. Of course I did,” he said. “In the end, that isn’t what I was called to do. Where the Force would have me. But the thought, for a time, was there.”
Anakin absorbed this new information with silence. He should’ve dropped it there. This was already tip-toeing into dangerous territory, conversational landmines all around. But there was one more question he needed to ask.
“If you had,” he said slowly, “do you think Qui-Gon would’ve gone to the wedding?”
And that’s what got Obi-Wan to look at him—to stop at the edge of the sidewalk, just before they’d have stepped off to the curb toward the speeder—and find his face. His eyes.
Obi-Wan said, “Of course.”
Anakin’s throat went horribly, wonderfully tight. His eyes burned. Of course he would. Of course Obi-Wan would be there.
If Anakin left. If he decided that something within him—like Satine’s feeling of light, Obi-Wan’s calling, the Force—wanted him to go. To be with her.
Of course.
And that calling—the light—hadn't steered him wrong yet either.
They climbed into the speeder, side by side. In the dark, away from the streetlamps, Anakin could barely see Obi-Wan at all. But he knew he was there. Even in the dark, he sensed his heart beating.
Anakin switched the headlights on, and illuminated the sky.