4They got back to the palace in one piece.
Satine had ordered her guards to take care of Vizsla's estate, and then she had been ushered back on the ship, back to Mandalore. And the trip back had been a quiet one. At last worn down from the excitements—if one could call nearly dying multiple times—of the day, neither Obi-Wan nor Satine had much to say, at least not until they finally reached the palace.
And then Satine had offered to walk Obi-Wan to the guest rooms. Or, at least, she had offered to walk Obi-Wan with the company of her guards, who now stood with extra tension behind her.
Obi-Wan had accepted the offer, and they had quietly winded through the blue halls.
Satine wasn't quite sure how to piece together what happened next: just that Satine had told her guards to wait outside the doors as Obi-Wan and she walked into the guest quarters. The doors had slid shut behind them, and they had both stood in a relieved silence.
It was dark in that room, the only source of light being the moonbeams streaming through the curtained windows. And even then, the moonbeams only lit up a rectangle of the room, stopping short at Satine and Obi-Wan's feet.
Satine let out a breath. Her first breath in a long, long while.
"I'm glad," she said at last, her voice little more than a whisper, "that you were there."
She felt Obi-Wan turn to her—just barely, just slightly, but she could feel his gaze on her as she continued, "It is…good. To have a friend in these times." She forced herself to turn to Obi-Wan, to meet that clear gaze of his.
It was strange, Satine realized. That it had been so long since Satine had last seen those eyes, last met that gaze. The last time was years and years ago, back when Obi-Wan's hair was much shorter, back when he had a little braid to signify his Padawan status. He had grown much in the last decade: a beard, Satine had been surprised to find. Longer locks of auburn hair. A steadier gait, an even steadier voice.
But despite all that, his eyes were still clear. A bit older, yes—and much, much sadder, one that spoke of losses from that wretched war.
But she still recognized them—recognized the eyes that focused on her with a gentleness that Satine had known and memorized all those years ago.
"Satine," Obi-Wan started, then stopped. His voice was soft—so soft, just soft enough for only them. "You must know that whatever becomes of the next few days…" His voice drifted, and Satine's heart sank. The next few days. She would know what would become of the next few days. An arrival to Coruscant, an explanation owed to the Senate that Mandalore would remain untouched by the war. She would be fighting a side slanted away from Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan must know it too. The sad look in his eyes was enough for Satine to know that he knew.
"You must know…" Obi-Wan began again. "That whatever becomes of the next few days, I also consider you to be…" Satine's chest ached. He was close. They were both close. Obi-Wan's eyes flicked from her eyes, down her face. To her lips, she realized with a small, shamed thrill. "My friend," Obi-Wan finished, his voice hoarse.
Satine swallowed. Nodded.
She understood.
There would be absolute hell to pay in the next few days.
Satine wasn't quite sure if she would be able to take it. But she would. For her people, she would have to, even if it meant breaking her own heart once more.
"I'm glad," Satine whispered. She forced a smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
And Obi-Wan smiled back—really nothing more than a flitting twitch of his lips that turned sad, wistful too.
"I…" Satine let her voice drift. And then, swallowing hard again, she reached down. Took Obi-Wan's hand into hers. He had taken off his gloves at some point, and now Satine found herself feeling actual skin—his callused palms. More callused, more scarred than the last time she had held those hands of his.
They were warm. Obi-Wan's hands were warm.
Satine forced herself to look up at Obi-Wan fully. "I am glad," she repeated for the last time. It would have to be the last time. "That we had the time that we did."
"As am I," Obi-Wan replied. He bowed his head down towards their clasped hands and, even though Satine's heart cracked, she let Obi-Wan lift her hand to his lips, let him kiss her knuckles. And though the kiss was brief, gentle, Satine could still feel the warmth of his lips even after he lifted his head again.
Satine found her voice. "I should go," she said at last, dropping her hand. "I will see you tomorrow morning." She took a step back and, after a too-long second, she added, "Master Kenobi."
A pained look flitted across Obi-Wan's face—but then it was gone, and he, too, stepped back. "Good night," he replied. "Duchess."
Satine forced a smile, willing the heat in her eyes to retreat. Retreat—a soldier's term.
But then she was turning around, walking out of the room. She let the doors slide behind her, let the guards lead her back to her own rooms. As she undressed herself and got ready to go to bed, she told herself that tomorrow morning would be different. Tomorrow morning, she would wipe away the nostalgia of days long since passed. Tomorrow morning, she would become Duchess Kryze, with only the goal of her people and peace in mind. Tomorrow morning, she would don on that face of the unwavering politician, and she knew that across the palace, Obi-Wan was planning to do the same.
They both had their roles to play.
But tonight, as Satine sank into her bed, she brought her hand back to her lips. She could still feel Obi-Wan there, right where his hand, his lips had been. For just tonight, she would let that touch linger there.
She would be ready in the morning.
A/N: Written for Obitine Week Day 5, Behind Closed Doors.
As always, reviews/favorites are greatly appreciated!
