Part 2

“Yes,” she said, nodding.

Her own desire she could understand, explain away if she needed to later. What surprised her, however, was watching him lean forward. In that lingering moment before his lips met hers, she saw the mirth leave his face, his eyes quickly darkening to ocean blue. It was desire. But was it her long-held desire that she saw, as he sensed it? Or his own?

The question, as well as the possibility of an answer, evaporated in an instant, lost forever when Obi-Wan gently tested her full lips with his. It was strange at first, tentative but sweet, giving and not asking. She knew what she should do next, she wanted to kiss him, but she felt frozen. This was all so strange. Her mind buzzed with reminders – of all that led her here, of their current situation, of how this all should feel horrible and exploitative and shameful but actually felt really nice.

He sculpted her mouth with practiced ease, softly pressing, slowly pulling, drawing small sighs from her throat. He tilted his head, coaxing her to kiss him back, urging her to match his actions. So she began to push back against him, hesitantly at first but with grown intensity. Padmé shaped her mouth around his, marveling at the subtle way the short hair of his moustache and beard tickled her nose and lips.

She laughed lightly into his kiss, enjoying the sensation. His lips turned up around hers, sharing in her amusement. When she opened her eyes, pulling her head back from his, she delighted in the sexy smile he rewarded her with. The beard was the only thing that was really different about him. When they met again in her apartment – after so many years – she wasn’t sure she liked it on him. But now, having felt it delicately brush her skin, and seeing the way it set off the brightness in his eyes, it was really beginning to grow on her.

She reached forward, her fingers now itching to run through the short strands but . . .

The heavy chain clanked threateningly from above, immediately halting her movement and roughly tearing her – tearing them – from the sweet euphoria of their kiss.

Obi-Wan heard the clattering metal and watched Padmé’s entrancing brown eyes travel to the source of the sound. The blood drained down, turning her face pale. She was looking past him now, at the shadowed spectators above, the anxious tension radiating from her in slowly building waves.

“Padmé,” he said, trying to re-engage her attention, “Padmé look at me.”

Her gaze darted back to his, frantically searching for some kind of help, begging for understanding. “I’m trying,” she whispered, “I’m sorry. This is . . . a lot.”

The Jedi touched her face, summoning his power to bring her some measure of calm, when an idea struck him. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Then I want you to close your eyes. I want you to think of a place – anywhere but here – somewhere that you feel safe.”

She did as requested, her eyelids fluttering shut, long lashes resting on her skin. She was anxiously chewing her bottom lip. “Good. Now. You will soon sense a presence at the surface of your mind. Don’t be afraid and try not to resist. It will be me. Open your thoughts and just try to relax.”

What he was attempting was not easy. Jedi often used their power to manipulate certain truths of reality in beings with weak minds or wills. Those were just tricks of his trade, simple enough for a skilled Force-user. But the truth he wished to alter was no simple one, and the mind he was to manipulate was far from weak.

Obi-Wan put his hands on either side of her waist, palms flat upon the column at her back, and gently rested his forehead against hers. He surrounded her with his power, protecting her from the negative influences around them. He opened his senses up to hers, listening – feeling – trying to pull her thoughts apart and find a way inside. The images came to him slowly, trickling into his consciousness in pieces and without context. A young, smiling girl – Padmé – playing in grass. A family, girls in summer dresses, taking shade under a large tree. The smell of Spring rain, taste of fresh water falling in fat droplets on her tongue. The sound of rushing, roaring waterfalls in the distance – with the city of Theed watching on the horizon.

He thought he sensed Anakin there, too, smiling among her feelings, but it was gone in an instant. Perhaps their shared affection for his apprentice was tinting their increasingly shared consciousness. Obi-Wan dismissed it immediately, in favor of the larger picture that was forming. Even if it weren’t exact, perhaps it would be enough.

He used the power of his mind, the power the Force provided, to assemble the pieces she’d unknowingly given him. A grassy meadow on Naboo, edged by a large stream. Waterfalls crashing in the distance with the smell of the Spring’s first rain still lingering in the cool dusk air. They stood close, under the shade and protection of a large, strong tree. Padmé’s hands were bound by a chain held in place by a thick branch above. “Alright,” he whispered, hoping that she could hear him, “Open your eyes.”

Her eyes greeted the world around her with wonder, wide and bright, as if seeing its beauty for the first time. Obi-Wan released a quiet sigh, relieved. “Better?” he asked.

“It’s Naboo. But nowhere I ever remember being,” she said quietly, clearly struggling to believe the space they now occupied, “Are we . . .”

“Still on Geonosis?” he answered, anticipating the question, “Yes. Your perception’s simply changed.”

Padmé shook her head. “But how? I didn’t know Jedi could do that.”

“It’s . . . not easy,” he admitted, “But I was able to sense your feelings. And your mind is certainly willing to be elsewhere.”

She looked up, her innocent wonder quickly fading when she saw the chain. It rattled sharply when she tugged it. “I’m still tied up,” she said sadly.

“I can alter perception,” he offered, “Not change reality.”

“So the illusion is for me. They can still hear, still see—”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, breathing lightly against her full lips, wanting to silence her doubt. “Don’t focus on them, on the negative. Concentrate on me . . . On this.” He bridged the tiny gap, capturing her lips in one, swift motion. The breath she tried to take, a surprised inhale, was swallowed by his kiss. He wasn’t sweet this time, not light and gentle. His lips worked on hers intently, passionately, full of fueled purpose.

And she, at last able to free herself from unwelcome distraction and uncertainty, eagerly responded. Padmé kissed him back, meeting his intensity. She parted her lips under his, the tip of her tongue snaking past, testing his tongue, and enticing him to follow her back. And so he did, with an eager willingness that started him. The desire she’d begun to stoke started here – as a craving that only her kiss seemed able to satisfy. But soon, even that did not seem like enough.

What breath he could steal from her delectable mouth was thin, shared between them. No doubt she was becoming as lightheaded as he was. But he couldn’t afford to completely lose focus, not while he fought to maintain the mask he’d placed over her world. So he reluctantly pried himself away, taking a much needed breath as his reward. The lady was panting, her beautiful lips pink and swollen from so many kisses.

“May I touch you,” he asked, through heavy breaths.

She nodded shakily, her entire body now lightly trembling with the sudden spike in her adrenaline.

Lifting his arms, he rested his hands on hers, softly sliding his fingers down her arms – past her under-arms, her ribcage, and her waist. He smiled watching the shiver that spread through her body, rippling downward in tandem with his touch. The lady sighed, closing her eyes against the tantalizing sensation. He tried to suppress the small sense of excitement that tickled at his ego as he saw her, pleased with himself for eliciting such a reaction. Such pride was quite unbecoming of a Jedi, he knew, but he simply couldn’t help it.

Kiss me again.

His arms circled her waist, hands falling on the soft sway of her back and his lips granting her unspoken request. He pulled her body forward, to him, kissing her with abandon, stroking the curve of her spine and rubbing her shoulders. He wanted her to forget the “why” and the “how” of this and simply let it happen. He wanted none of it to matter, to either of them. Here, in this beautiful world they’d created, they were two lovers sharing in one another – no coercion, no bargains, and no one watching.

The clasp of her utility belt met his wandering fingers and he quickly undid it, throwing this first barrier to her aside (though the others might take some improvising). Her tight white shirt was then pulled free, hands quickly gliding beneath the suddenly offensive fabric. He met heated skin, fingers eagerly kneading her back. Even his lips were not content, breaking free from hers to traverse her jaw line and the statuesque column of her neck. Her pulse had grown quite rapid, indeed. He could taste the hard thudding of her strong heart in the veins his lips discovered.

All thoughts were quickly fleeing; any plan for seduction he may have had was giving way to pure instinct, his own nascent need driving him forward.

Padmé began to whimper, the beautiful, haunting sound of pure, helpless desire – its resonance all but lost amidst the roar of the waterfalls Obi-Wan had created for her. She tried to stop, tried to squash the shameful sounds before they emerged but she couldn’t. It wasn’t the act itself that she was ashamed of, both she and Obi-Wan had chosen this. But what she didn’t want, what she was afraid and embarrassed to have Dooku, his cohorts, and even her Jedi protector know was that she wanted this. She wanted Obi-Wan to kiss her, she wanted him to run his fingers over her breasts and down her thighs. She wanted to feel him inside her.

And there was no power in the universe, mortal or immortal, that could stop her body from betraying her. Not when he continued to kiss her like that. Not when she felt his strong, callused palms circling to her abdomen and up to her aching breasts. It responded to his exquisite torture eagerly, making her wonder just how the Jedi knew exactly where she wanted to be touched and precisely how she needed to be kissed. Could he read her mind – being this close to her consciousness? Or was he simply an excellent lover?

Fingertips gingerly rolled and pinched her already hardening nipples. There was a small jolt of pain followed by delicious pleasure. The small steady throbbing in her core grew in strength, wetness pooling at the apex of her thighs. He soothed the ache in her flesh with a soft squeeze, both hands at work shaping mounds to his lax grip. Her back arched, her body reaching for more of his touch.

It was wonderful, thrilling and erotic, and yet painfully frustrating. She was trapped and couldn’t touch him. She couldn’t undress him or pull his body to hers. She couldn’t run her fingers through his hair or rake them down his chest. What pleasure she received was generously given; she could take none for herself. It was maddening – to want something so badly and yet be so completely at the mercy of it. Padmé groaned, futilely pulling on the binders.

Suddenly, she heard a low chuckle echo through her mind. ‘I don’t know,’ an unmistakably sexy voice said, ‘I rather like you this way.’

Her brow furrowed, eyes snapping open and meeting his. The by now familiar twinkle in the blue-green depths mirrored the teasing tone of the words now floating gently upon her thoughts. She might have been incensed . . . if she weren’t so turned-on. He smiled rather wickedly against her lips, easily sensing her unspoken surprise – the Jedi need not have traversed her consciousness to see it written upon her face.

Obi-Wan kissed her once, deeply, then fell to his knees – as a suppliant before his queen. “May I remove your clothes?” he asked. She nodded shakily. Slowly he lifted one of her legs and then the other, easily slipping off her boots. Did you not imagine that I could sense your thoughts, Padmé.

Her leggings were pulled from her waist, and then slowly peeled down, off of her legs. Could I have created this illusion for you, for us, without knowing you . . .

Callused palms traversed the smooth skin of her thighs, just skimming the surface.

. . . without feeling your desire?

Gooseflesh rose in the wake of his touch and she bit her lips against the combination of sensations – internal and external. Padmé spread her legs, just a little, encouraging his fingers to travel higher. Looking down, she found her Jedi protector with his eyes closed, brow furrowed. He was lightly nuzzling her right knee, breathing deeply through his nose. His nostrils flared suddenly, as he caught the scent of her growing arousal. Part of her felt embarrassed but . . . another part very much wanted him to know the effect he was having on her, longing to make the same impression on him.

Quickly, he stood, his face once again the picture of the calm certainty she’d come to know and expect from him. But when he reached to his waist to undo his robes, she could see the light trembling of his normally steady hands. She could almost feel the effort Obi-Wan was expending to stay one step ahead of both of their physical needs.

The light, tan linen was quickly uncrossed, revealing the skin that lay hidden underneath. Padmé’s curious eyes saw the toned lines of his chest and abs, as well as the sparse dusting of reddish hair across the muscles – a narrow, almost imperceptible trail drawing her eyes downward. She bit her bottom lip, eyeing the generous bulge still concealed within his thin trousers. So she was having an effect on him after all. Perhaps she had more power here than she had at first imagined.

“Come here,” she whispered.

Padmé lifted her knee, hooking her leg around his hips and swiftly pulling his body flush with hers. A tiny gasp escaped her as she felt his hardened length now pressed between them, against her abdomen. She pushed herself into him, grinding against his erection and loving the strangled groan she heard rumble in his throat. ‘Too many clothes,’ she thought, irritated. But this time there was no witty retort or sarcastic comment in reply. His eyes were closed again, his expression almost pained. And when at last he looked at her again, there was a hot hunger in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

She’d seen something similar, in the way Anakin looked at her – as if he’d burn up all the stars in the universe just to be near her. But this was different. Obi-Wan’s eyes didn’t frighten or disconcert her. Obi-Wan’s eyes thrilled, they excited and surprised. The look he gave her now did not chill her blood . . . it only served to ignite it.

“May I—” he started.

“You don’t have to ask,” she finished between breaths, “Not anymore.”

He descended quickly, stoking the flames inside her with another fierce kiss. His tongue plundered her willing mouth, sliding easily in and around, fully disorienting what was left of her senses. Deft fingers simultaneously skirted the band of her thin panties, sneaking under and dipping into the generous wetness now coating her folds. She gasped, sudden shocks of pure pleasure – white hot – shooting through her limbs as he slipped in slow methodical circles around her clit. The pressure of his fingers, the intensity of his caress, quickly began to build. Wantonly, wholly involuntary, her hips began to rock – seeking more. But the friction wasn’t enough. Even now, her body was past the point of wanting, suddenly needing instead.

Did she dream of this? Dream of me touching her like this?

The words flitted across her mind, mingling with her own thoughts. The cerebral door that he’d opened between them clearly went both ways now. The veil between thought, desire, reality, and fantasy now totally blurred. He watched her intently as he touched her – gently rubbing, further spreading the wetness gathered there. Then he moved lower. Padmé sighed in relief, feeling his fingers mercifully testing her quivering entrance. He slowly circled her, gently pressing against and then, at last, inside. The digits glided within her, in and out, gently stretching her body for him. He searched the expression on her face, the movement of her body, perhaps looking for the answer to the questions on his mind.

Padmé parted her lips to speak, to reply. She wanted to call out, wanted to beg him for something – anything – to slake the growing hunger. But no words could form past the light moans and whimpers rising with increasing frequency from her throat.

With lust he watched her, noting the increased redness on her cheeks, rounding the curved fullness of her swollen lips. He could see her tight nipples poking into her shirt from underneath. The moaning that had begun when his fingers first circled her clit, the sharp rise of her chest as her lungs fought for oxygen through pleasure-fuelled pants, excited him. Obi-Wan felt more powerful here – watching her back arch and feeling her hips grind into his hand – than he ever had with a lightsaber.

There was something about her hands being bound. Something about the way her body was stretched, long limbs and supple curves. Something thrilling in being able to touch her, tease her to within a midichlorians’ width of pure ecstasy, without her being able to stop her. He would of course, if that’s what she wanted. But . . . he knew what she wanted. And he wanted very much to give it to her.

It wasn’t simply about the control he had to please her, though. It was about the simple beauty of her trust – of her trust in him to respect her, even here. That she gave it so willingly, to save his life, only made him want her more.

No liquor in the universe could make him more intoxicated than this, than her. Her body responded so perfectly, so beautifully to his presence, to his touch. He could sense her growing pleasure as if it were his own, and so it was. This was a dangerous game, entering her consciousness, inhabiting it from within while existing with her without. It was connecting him to her in a way that he never imagined possible, light-years beyond the physical intimacy they were about to share. Would he ever feel the same, he wondered, without her thoughts there alongside his?

“So beautiful,” he whispered against her trembling lips, the desperation in his own voice as he spoke the words unnerving him greatly. She felt something too, by the way her wonderfully warm sex clenched around his still moving fingers when he spoke. He’d tried so hard to remain controlled, using his rather large wellspring of calming meditative knowledge to fight his growing need. But Padmé Amidala was a most remarkable woman and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the intensity of his unexpected attraction to her.

She looked at him with sultry, seductive eyes. The lights in the room – soft orange and yellow – suddenly caught the warm honeyed maple burning within her rich brown. Padmé leaned forward, reaching with her long neck to kiss him. It was a desperate, almost frenzied thing, fuelled by the tension he had expertly built inside her. Thought it hadn’t been difficult – hearing the echoes of her thoughts and desires – it had been thoroughly enjoyable.

Full lips fit to bruise, she pressed them against his again and again. She moaned, tiny cries of need, as she kissed him, her mouth passing his jaw line and down to the tendons of his neck. His heart-rate spiked, pounding in his ears, his neglected erection throbbing in time with his rising pulse. Her tongue tasted his Adam’s Apple and the hollow of his throat. Her teeth nipped at his ear. Her lips suckled on his collarbone. Her mouth played upon his skin, every place she could reach from her confined position, her boiling excitement making him tremble. Please . . . Obi-Wan.

Her silent plea hit his synapses like a blaster bolt. For all the control he possessed, denying her – denying himself – any longer was a losing battle.

The Jedi quickly removed his fingers from her core (ignoring the small whine of disappointment he heard against his neck). He then removed himself from the confines of his suddenly tight and all-too-abrasive pants. His thumbs hooked the band, pulling it up and over, careful not to rub the sensitive flesh too much in his haste. Finally he spread the nectar he’d collected from her body on his aching erection, the shock of pleasure it brought making his entire body tense. His resolve was crumbling fast.

Obi-Wan moved them backward, pressing her back securely against the stone column. The dense fog placed over his mind by the flurry of her passionate kisses at last lifted, his purpose was now clear. He was driven by a renewed sense of urgency, a carnal need as instinctual as breathing. He needed to be inside her. His body needed hers.

With one hand he lifted her leg, parting her thighs, and with the other he pulled the small bit of cloth covering her sex to the side, revealing her to him. Gently, he pressed the tip against her, the deliriously satisfying sensation ripping the air from his lungs in an instant. He watched her eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering shut, as he neared her entrance. He pushed further still, wanting more, wanting to give her more but suddenly there was resistance. Her body narrowed, not enough to stop him, but enough to give him pause. Difficult indeed when his body was screaming at him to simply plunge forward bury himself completely inside her.

He wondered how long it had been for her. She had felt snug but he thought he’d prepared her . . .

Padmé kissed him sweetly. The angle. It’s wrong.

The surprising whisper of her thoughts silenced his own. She pulled on her cuffs, on the chain, lifting her feet from the ground. Her legs wrapped around his waist, feet locking behind his back. This change of position shifted the trajectory of her hips, opening her body. A mournful moan bubbled from his throat as he instantly slid inside. So perfect, too perfect, to be so completely surrounded by her.

Obi-Wan rested his forehead against hers, supporting her weight by cradling her backside. “Alright?” he asked in a breath, the ability to form coherent Basic suddenly gone.

“Hurts a little,” she admitted quietly, “But I’m okay.” You feel wonderful.

Satisfied by her answer he at last began to move. His cock slid out and slowly pushed back in, her body now easily accepting him. The pace he set was slow and even, the coil inside him, as he worked inside her, already beginning to tighten. He closed his eyes, quietly relishing – worshipping – the silken embrace of her tight body. The pressure would build, and build quickly if he weren’t careful. His pleasure was inevitable, but hers was not. And he so wanted to feel her cum.

It had hurt at first, her tissue stretching as it hadn’t for some time. But the pain quickly subsided, not simply by tilting her hips up to him, but when he started to move . . . When he began to thrust, deep – so wonderfully deep – inside her, all thoughts of pain vanished. Every inch of him was exquisite, torturous bliss, rubbing against her slick walls again and again. The rhythm he set was both stimulating and infuriating, each thrust hard enough to feel incredible but increasingly inadequate for what her body craved.

‘Faster,’ she thought desperately. He’d played her body so perfectly, read all the desires long-hidden within her mind, ‘Please please read this one.’

The grip he held on her backside tightened, holding her securely in place against the tree. And, instantly, the pace he’d set began to change. Not only did the speed – the force – of his thrusts increase, but the angle changed too. He was thrusting up now, up and in, reaching something inside her that she never knew was there. She began to buck her hips up and down, trying to meet his motion, chasing this new sensation. The pleasure, the sheer, erotic satisfaction it brought, each time he hit that spot . . . it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Is that where you like it?

‘Yes!’ her body cried, ‘Please. More.’ And with every plunge, the need simply increased.

She was growing breathless, panting with the exertion of throwing her hips forward to meet his cock and with the adrenaline-fuelled bliss he gave. She was moaning, chanting his name in her mind like a spiritual mantra. Her heart was pounding in her chest, so vigorously that she thought her ribs might crack under the strain. And it was the same for him, she could hear the strangled groans struggling for some semblance of control, could feel his hot breath in strong puffs against her parted lips.

Padmé.

Her name echoed through her, Obi-Wan’s eyes looking at her in wonder.

How can this be? How can she be so perfect?

Padmé knew what he wanted, his desires suddenly her own. He liked it when she moaned her pleasure and so she did it again, saying his name like a surprised plea. He liked the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest, so she arched her back, rubbing pebbled nipples against him. He loved the feel of her lips, so she kissed him again – frantically pulling at his mouth and neck, her tongue tasting the sweat lightly coating the hollow of his throat. And the deliriously wonderful feel of her honeyed sex – Force help me. So she clenched around him, tightening her walls and increasing the luscious friction for both of them as he continued to move.

But his powerful thrusts began to grow erratic, the steady rhythm faltering. Padmé tilted her head back, resting against the unforgiving tree. Every moment of this, of being with him, was a fantasy made real; a dream she’d never imagined possible. And she was drowning fast – they were drowning.

No air!

There was so much to feel. Too much to feel – physical and emotional, pleasure and pain. Close now. So damned close. Her climax just out of reach. And, looking at his handsome face, seeing the tension in his jaw and the ecstasy at war with control in his eyes . . . she knew the end was near for him too.

When it came, the moment seemed to last an eternity – mounting pressure breaking at last like a wave upon sand. The liquid rapture rolled through her limbs, her legs trembling uncontrollably on either side of his waist. She heard her name, unsure whether it was a word spoken aloud or a thought set adrift in her mind. Then, there was a short, mournful cry that seemed to exclaim both “finally” and “not yet.” And with one last thrust of his hips, control lost to ecstasy. Her lover erupted, spilling himself against her quivering insides. Her sex continued to flutter around him, clutching at him in desperation, drawing out every last drop he had to give.

~~

Lingering in the shadows, watching from the observation level, Count Dooku smiled. He had witnessed their erotic display with great interest, pleased with the lengths to which Kenobi was willing to go to make the lovely senator comfortable (and intensely satisfied). Not only was the mental power he utilized impressive but – as the Count had suspected – Obi-Wan genuinely cared for her. It was obvious. Just how far that affection ran however he wasn’t sure, but – as evidenced here – such emotional attachment may be something that could be exploited in the future. That was the point of this little test after all, to see if the young Jedi could be turned – despite the man’s earlier protestations.

As for the senator, she’d served her purpose beautifully, and beyond all expectation, in fact. She was firmly rooted in Kenobi’s head now, if not his heart. Her death would simply serve as another tool for Dooku to use to weaken Obi-Wan’s will. It would also cement his crucial alliance with the Trade Federation. Looking to his left, he saw Nute Gunray impatiently tapping his foot – waiting for the spectacle to end and the killing to begin. Things could not have worked out more perfectly if he’d planned them, and he quietly thanked the Force for bringing Padmé Amidala to Geonosis.

A pity about Skywalker, though. Now that little wrinkle he did not expect. Letting the boy go had been a gamble, but a worthwhile one. Senator Amidala had been right, Skywalker’s presence was not necessary and by releasing him, Dooku gained a small amount of trust – allowing Obi-Wan and Lady Amidala to hold up their end of the bargain unfettered. No doubt the apprentice had reported back to the Council by now and all the forces the Jedi could muster would be making their way to Geonosis to stop him.

If only they knew how far Lord Sidious’ plan had proceeded already – how set they all were on the path to Galactic War. No matter, they would find out soon enough.

The Count’s attention turned again to the lovers. The Lady looked to be in quite the daze, her eyes glazed and dreamy, her limbs wobbly and weak. Her Jedi moved to kneel before her again. With gentle care, he replaced her discarded leggings. He replaced her boots and utility belt. Dooku couldn’t see the man’s expression – situated as he was at the Jedi’s back – but his regret and guilt were palpable to anyone with an ounce of Force sensitivity.

After ordering the Geonosian guards down to the bottom level, to release Amidala and escort the pair to their holding chamber, Dooku excused himself to his new allies and left to greet his captives.

~~

Padmé – ‘No. “Senator Amidala,”’ he reminded himself – hadn’t spoken a word since the illusion he’d crafted for her faded. Obi-Wan quietly collected her belongings, carefully re-dressing her article by article. The movements she made were small and tired, struggling to lift her legs to help him with her pants and boots. He stood from his kneeled position, her utility belt in his hands, and walked up to her. He slid the band around her waist locking eyes with her as he pulled back. There was a reconciled sadness that he saw there, a strange regret. Part of him wanted to ask her about it, but the other . . . was leery of hearing what she had to say. How strange to no longer be able to instantly sense her thoughts or feel what she was feeling. It was almost lonely.

The door to the observation room slid open, the insectoid form of the Geonosian guards casting long, menacing shadows on the dirt floor at Obi-Wan’s feet. They chirped and clicked orders that neither of the humans could understand, separating Obi-Wan from Padmé while they at last unlocked her binders. Long since numb and devoid of proper circulation, her arms fell heavy and limp at her sides. Weak from fatigue and unprepared to support her full weight, she stumbled. Her back hit the column hard, knees beginning to buckle – though she valiantly remained upright.

The jailors urged her forward brandishing their weapons in an attempt to herd the woman toward the entrance. “Let me help her,” Obi-Wan said, addressing the nearest guard – the taller of the two. The Geonosian turned, his hard face signaling his obvious unwillingness to grant requests. Fixing the alien with a steady gaze, the Jedi repeated his words slowly, adding a subtle wave of his fingers before his face.

Allowed to pass without further incident, he quickly moved to Padmé’s side. “Are you alright,” he asked quietly. He reached out, gently massaging her arms to stimulate renewed blood-flow.

She massaged her wrists too, where the cuffs used to be, looking very tired. “I’m fine. My arms ache. And I’m a bit weak. Think I may be dehydrated.”

“Could be,” he nodded, “And this climate doesn’t help. Can you walk?”

“I think so. I can certainly try.” A few unsteady steps told him that she was being less than forthright, though she did try.

“Stop,” he said, blocking her path, “Put your arms around my neck.”

The Senator raised a stubborn eyebrow, resisting his help. She understandably wished to leave this place on her own two feet. But, considering the circumstances, his arms would have to do. “Please, Padmé,” he urged.

At last she relented, standing close. She lifted her arms with a wince but had no strength to pull. “That’s alright,” he whispered, “I’ve got you.” He bent down, scooping her legs out from under her and lifted her from the floor. Holding her body securely to his chest, he detected a light floral scent on her hair – roses perhaps. Lovely. Strange that he didn’t notice it earlier.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his neck.

“Don’t be,” he answered.

Obi-Wan walked, with Padmé, following the Geonosians out the door and into the corridor beyond. There was a familiar presence nearby, approaching them from the opposite direction. “I’m surprised at you, Master Kenobi,” Dooku said at his back, his deep voice positively dripping with amusement, “To demean yourself so publically. What would the Council say?”

He felt his spine stiffen. He knew that the man wanted him to turn, wanted him to see the victory on his face. Obi-Wan chose not to. “The Council,” he replied, his eyes drifting down to the lady in his arms, “would say that I did what was necessary . . . I would not let her die over something so trivial as sex.”

There was a weighty pause. “Was it ‘trivial,’ Obi-Wan,” the man asked, his tone suggesting that he already knew the answer. The taller guard clicked, growling low, and prodded him in the back to move.

The corridors they traversed were short but wildly intricate, ascending and descending, winding and turning, all but impossible to chart by sight and memory alone. What was clear was that he and Padmé were being taken from the lower prison levels to another part of the deceptively large, hollowed-out, Geonosian hive. The faces they past were all insectoid, regarding the humans with quiet curiosity as they worked at their various tasks – some on multi-jointed legs, others in air on leathery, iridescent wings.

When they finally stopped, they were pushed into a small room, a kind of residential space or guest quarters. As soon as he and Padmé cleared the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them, locking with an audible “click.” It was strange, in tones of earthen and sparse but for the furniture and amenities designed for alien hands and legs. The window shutters, he noted, were placed high – out of reach for any beings without wings. But thankfully, Obi-Wan also saw a basin filled with fresh water, clean towels, and two cups. And there was a bed, little more than a plush cot really, but with a pillow and a heat regulating blanket – just as Dooku had promised.

He laid the senator down gently and then set about getting her some water. “Our final stop,” he heard her say, addressing the room they now occupied.

Taking his seat on the bed at her side, he offered her a cup which she readily accepted. “Not if I can help it,” he said, “Not if Anakin reached our forces.”

Padmé drank the water down in a few large gulps and placed the empty cup on the floor. She looked at him as if she wished to speak but said nothing, instead rolling to her side away from him. “You were stalling for time,” she said quietly, “Hoping the Council would get here before they killed me.”

“That won’t happen.”

“You don’t believe that,” she cut in quickly, her voice decisive and devoid of emotion, “And I know better. So you don’t have to spare me. But if you can be spared – your life, I mean – then . . . all this was worth it. That’s why I came to Geonosis, after all.”

Obi-Wan looked at her back, at the light, even rise and fall as she breathed. “You ca— . . . You came to save me from Dooku. Anakin didn’t bring you. You brought him. But why? Senator, you had to know that by coming here you were giving them exactly what they wanted.”

“Back to titles already are we?” she sighed sadly, her assured voice masking the tear he did not see, “I had to try. You wouldn’t even be on Geonosis if it weren’t because you were trying to protect me. So I thought I’d use what influence I’ve garnered in the Senate to negotiate for your release. And, if that didn’t work, then I’d . . . stall for time and wait for the Council. I couldn’t leave you here alone. Not with help so far away.”

He couldn’t help but smile, his gratitude for her selfless gesture pushing past his mild irritation at what seemed like naiveté. Though, this being Padmé Amidala, she no doubt knew precisely what she was doing. And, however futile the act, it had come from a place of kindness – of concern – for him.

“Obi-Wan?” she asked, her voice sounding heavy with fatigue.

“I’m here.”

She hesitated. “I just . . . wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For looking out for me. For what happened today. You were . . . very kind.”

The Jedi raised an eyebrow. “Did you not think that I would be?”

“No, it’s not that. I just . . .” Padmé looked over her shoulder at him, but only for a brief moment, “It isn’t lost on me how differently this situation could have played out, if you were someone else. They could have done anything they wanted with me.”

He bowed his head low, quite humbled by her acknowledgement. There was also a small chill that he pushed back at the thought of the alternatives she was suggesting. He felt quite unsure of how best to respond. “Try to rest,” he suggested, “Should our forces arrive or the Geonosians return, we’ll need to be ready.”

She scoffed. “I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

Obi-Wan reached back. He rested a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “Relax,” he said, his power flowing from him and softly cascading over her, “Sleep.”

Her shoulders immediately began to slump. She rolled to her back, fixing him with a pointed (though increasingly drowsy) look. “That’s a . . . dirty trick . . . Jedi,” she managed, missing the teasing smirk he gave as sleep claimed her moments later. He watched her for a time, he wasn’t sure how long, grateful to see the tension in her lovely face now eased. And he marveled at the series of events that had led them both to this moment. More than simple chance, surely; the will of the Force was ever-present, though it often remained a mystery.

But what he was sure of, the one thing he knew for certain as he sat there watching her sleep, was that if Padmé Amidala, his friend, were to die under his protection, having sacrificed her personal dignity and sterling reputation to save his life? Jedi or not – philosophy of attachment or not – it would be very difficult to forget . . . or to forgive himself. ‘Not after all I’ve shared with her, and she with me.’

He would be one with the Force long before that happened though. If Dooku were to try and have her killed, which seemed likely, they would have to kill him as well. Regardless of any promise or deal, regardless of Padmé’s personal wishes, there was no way Obi-Wan would leave her to that fate alone. He would face the might of the Geonosian hive and Dooku as well if he must, but they weren’t giving up without a fight.

How much of this had Dooku already guessed, he wondered? Did the Count know that Obi-Wan would come to Geonosis seeking answers and that Padmé would follow? Did he know that she was a friend? Someone he shared important parts of his past with? Was all of this – the interrogation, the chains, the “entertainment” in the menagerie – just a test of Jedi attachment? Perhaps Dooku wished to see just how far he would go to protect her. It certainly seemed logical considering the effort the man had made before to get Obi-Wan to join him. And then that comment in the hallway about sex not being trivial. ‘No,’ he reminded himself, ‘Not just sex. Sex with . . .’

He reached for her, eyes suddenly drawn to a rebellious strand of hair that had broken free of the others and now framed the curve of her face. He’d intended to put it back, tuck it safely behind her ear, but a large rumble stilled his hand. The violent sound broke the silence in the room, echoing throughout the larger structure. The floor shook with the force of heavy artillery, the energy of the Force – of his Jedi brothers and sisters quickly closing in.

Chaos immediately followed, he could hear it filtering down to their level (whichever one that was). The sounds of scurrying feet, fluttering wings, and frantic chittering reached the other side of their door. Padmé woke with the sounds of the blasts, their intensity growing louder, and closer. She got to her feet, powering through her fatigue and picked up the metal basin nearby. “What are you—,” he began, watching her dump the water to the floor.

“Should be heavy enough to hurt,” she answered, “If I can manage to swing it with enough force.” She carried her newly improvised weapon with her to his side. “Looks like the Council made it after all. What do we do now, Master Kenobi?”

“Now, Senator,” he said, jogging to the door. He reached out with his power, disengaging the lock and handily dispatching the two distracted guards. “Now, we get us both out of here.”

~~

Epilogue:

“I must go.”

“I know. You’ll be needed at the front – when there is a front. And I should head back to Naboo. At least for a while.”

“Padmé . . . Padmé? Are you okay?”

She blinked twice, her vision clearing. “I’m sorry, Ani. I must have been day-dreaming.”

The young man’s face fell, his wounded expression making her heart ache. “You’ve been doing that a lot the last few days,” he said, “I was hoping since it’s my last night on Naboo, that we could talk.”

“Anakin will take you,” he nodded, agreeing, “The Council’s asked that I remain.”

She took a step forward but no farther, suddenly leery of getting too close. “I see,” she said, “Well . . . whatever they think is best.”

Her gaze avoided the hopeful twinkle in his bright blue eyes. “I didn’t think there was anything left to say.”

“But I love you,” the Padawan pressed, “And you said you had feelings for me. You—”

“Ani, stop,” Padmé interrupted. But the young man wouldn’t listen.

“Something’s wrong,” he continued, “You haven’t been the same since Geonosis.”

He crossed his arms, folding them within the cloth of his robes, but made no move to go.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s . . . complicated,” she offered as a feeble explanation.

Anakin covered her trembling hands with his remaining human one. “Please. What happened there? Did they hurt you? You can tell me, Padmé. I want to help if I can.”

Padmé smiled at the young man, blinking back tears. “You can’t,” she said, squeezing his hand. ‘He couldn’t understand. It would kill him to know the truth.’

“Padmé what I felt with you . . . I never imagined possible. Even now I can’t quite wrap my thoughts around what we shared, or why it’s affected me so.”

She hung her head, staring pointedly at her feet, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “It wasn’t so for you,” he answered for her, drawing a false conclusion from her reaction.

“I was ashamed.”

“Why?”

Hot, angry tears stung her eyes. “Because it was the same for me. Because I shouldn’t have wanted it but I did. I liked being chained to that pillar while you . . . After a while I didn’t even care that they were watching.”

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed,” he said quietly, “Not of that. I wanted you to like it.”

Anakin looked at her, desperately searching her face for the answers she could not bear to give. “Marry me. Please. We can do it now, here on Naboo. And no one would know.”

“I know what I must do,” he said, “I know what’s right. But after all that’s happened between us . . . I confess that I’m finding it very difficult to leave.”

She took another step forward, “And I don’t want you to go. Even though I know you must.”

“Padmé,” he said sadly, blue-green eyes filled with regret.

She raised her hand, caressing the cheek of the young boy she still cared for. “The Republic needs you. And it needs you focused . . . unattached. It needs me too. My planet. My people. Ani, if the war spreads – and it will – you and I will be fighting on the two most important fronts.”

“But Padmé, we—”

“Anakin? I do love you. I always will. But . . . not the way you want me to.”

“I can’t be with you, not as you deserve. Being a Jedi it’s my life – it’s who I am. And now, with what’s about to happen with the Separatists, I’ll be needed. We both will.”

Who did he wish to convince? Her or himself?

She met his eyes again, surprised to see the turmoil that lay there. Pushing down the bundle of nerves in her stomach, Padmé took small, hesitant steps to stand before him. “I would never want you to be anything less than who you are, Obi-Wan. I could never . . . care for someone who would be so quick to throw that away. And I would never ask you to.”

The Jedi looked at her almost in awe. “Forgive me. Of course you wouldn’t.” He tenderly touched her face, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb. “But if I don’t leave you now, you may not have to ask.”

The next morning, as the Padawan boarded his Jedi Starfighter and left for Coruscant, Padmé felt strangely content. Anakin had gone to meet with the Jedi Council, hopefully firmly set on his path to becoming the great Jedi she knew he could be. And she had a renewed sense of purpose – in protecting the interests of her people and working for peace in the Senate. She was free to forge whatever path she wished . . . save for one.

She had to remind herself to breathe – in and out. His words came as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant she wasn’t sure. Was it better to care for someone, to wonder “what if,” and never know their heart? Or was it better to be cared for in return, stopped just short of a love that never was and never could be?

So strange to be happy and yet sad at the same time, and for the same reason.

“In another lifetime,” he said quietly, “Perhaps things would have been different.”

“Just our luck, dear friend.”

They smiled at one another, each feeling a twinge of pain at parting, each knowing their fates were already written. “Fair journey, Senator. I’ll probably be gone by the time you arrive back on Coruscant.”

“I hope not, Master Kenobi. But if so, be safe. And thank you again . . . for everything.”

“I was the fortunate one. Thank you for giving me your trust. And for sharing so much with me.” Obi-Wan took her hand in both of his and bent low, placing a tender lingering kiss on the back.

That particular path – that other lifetime – lay just out of reach now. But life and the will of the Force were funny and fickle things. No endings were final. Some endings were simply beginnings to new stories – new paths suddenly and inexplicably opened. So might this one be.

But she hadn’t the time to ponder that now. She had work to do.

The Republic had a war to win.