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padmeonpaper2009-05-02 03:04 pm
padme_kenobi) wrote in padmeonpaper2009-05-02 03:04 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: "To Ignite the Stars" (Star Wars, Obi-Wan/Padmé, 4/?)
Title: Silence Explained
Author:padme_kenobi
Previous Chapters: Can be read here.
Characters/Pairings: Obi-Wan, Padmé
Word Count: 2,889
Rating: NC-17 for an intimate scene towards the end
Summary: The letter was Padmé. He was closer to her now, and that closeness was something he could not regret.
Author's Notes: Have you ever had the experience of looking back on something you've written and going, "WHOA! How in the name of all that's good in this world did I crank that out?!" That's pretty much the experience I had with this chapter. In my opinion it's definitely one of the better pieces I've written in all the time I've been doing fanfiction. I felt like I was right inside Obi-Wan's head, thinking as he thought and feeling as he felt. That's a pretty powerful experience for a writer to have, and I love it when it happens. But I'm really pleased with where this ended up going.
Dear Obi-Wan,
I am glad that after two years we are finally able to resume contact with one another. It’s very difficult when old friends fall out of touch. I suppose I should be used to this by now, given my line of work – politicians do not have many real friends; most are either hangers-on or campaign contributors – but somehow, I’m not. Your friendship has been a constant, a comforting constant, ever since Naboo.
The perfume she used that morning was still on the letter. Obi-Wan raised the flimsiplast to his nose and inhaled deeply. Nubian roses, lakes, waterfalls, but most of all that indefinable scent that said Padmé. The scent that had met his nostrils ten years ago, when she had comforted him after the cremation. The scent that still lingered, vaguely, on every one of the letters she had sent him since then. Sometimes, when Anakin was in lessons or otherwise occupied, Obi-Wan would remove Padmé’s letters from the locked drawer and carry them to his bed or an armchair, and reread them. It was Anakin catching him at this one day that led him to declare that Obi-Wan and Padmé must be writing love letters to one another.
They always wrote on flimsiplast. Of course, there were many other forms of communication available to them, many more technological and instantaneous. But it was dangerous for a Senator and a Jedi to be perceived as anything but distant friends, and frequent communications over comlink and holoweb would only have encouraged idle gossip. So Padmé would write, on her official Senatorial stationery, to Obi-Wan using blue ink. He would take the parchment provided to Jedi and a writing stick, and scribble a note back. Letters were carried on the huge transports that snaked through the space lanes, such that a missive often took several weeks to arrive. But Obi-Wan didn’t mind. Anticipating a letter to arrive from Padmé was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself.
I cannot possibly describe to you in words how much I appreciate your arriving at my room last night to offer support. It’s a strange thing, but unless you have seen a person grieve, you often cannot bear to grieve in front of them. This was the case for me yesterday. I’m always surrounded by people, and many of them were queuing up to offer assistance after the explosion. But somehow, I couldn’t confess my true thoughts and feelings to anyone except you. Not even Anakin, and I’ve known him almost as long. Not my handmaidens, who are well-intentioned but whom I seldom like to burden with my problems. Certainly not Captain Typho. He is very kind, and he has my best interests at heart, but he is a security officer, and thinks with such a mind.
Two years ago, however, the letters had mysteriously stopped. Before he read Padmé’s latest letter, the one she had given to him in the airtaxi, Obi-Wan was not sure why. At first he had believed it to be a problem with delivery – perhaps the letters were getting lost or were not being redirected to where they needed to go. But whenever this had happened in the past, Padmé’s letters had eventually found their way to him. This time, there was nothing. And so, after a month of waiting, he was forced to conclude that no more would be sent. He wrote a few letters himself, addressed them to her and sent them off. But he might as well have been writing to a ghost, for all the response he received.
For many days after realizing he wouldn’t be getting another letter from Padmé, Obi-Wan sank within himself. He did not eat. He could not sleep. He performed his regular duties and responsibilities in a robot-like state, with little real interaction with the outside world. Many on the Jedi Council grew concerned about him. They believed he was slipping into a depression. Even Anakin could not penetrate the walls Obi-Wan built up around himself. The Council ordered that he meet regularly with the Healers in the medical ward, but even they could not discover a reason for his sudden withdrawal. Not a physical reason, at any rate. Obi-Wan was grieving the loss of a cherished friendship, but he eventually came to realize that he was also grieving the loss of love.
Part of my reason in writing this to you was to thank you for helping me last night. That being done, I suppose I must now move on to that which I have difficulty discussing, even more difficulty than I did my grief. I want to explain to you why my letters stopped two years ago. I’m sure that hurt you very much. Don’t even try to deny it, Obi-Wan. I know the way you think. How? Because I had the precise same thoughts, and I still do.
Put simply, I was forced to stop. It was not my wish to do so, for you were and always will be my best friend. The trouble was that, as we wrote each other through these past ten years, I slowly realized that my feelings of friendship were deepening into something more. Something like love. This wasn’t logical, since I had other men lusting after me back on Naboo. One of them even asked for my hand in marriage. But I could not accept, because somehow I had it in my head that you would be disappointed, and that it would wound you deeply. I realize this to be a ridiculous notion, since we never talked of such things in our letters, but nevertheless, it’s the truth.
Somehow my mother and father got wind of my newfound feelings – I suspect an ex-friend of mine of telling them, after I had confessed to her – and they were very angry. They brought up the obvious point that you are a Jedi, and I a Senator, and therefore a potential match between us would be utterly impossible. I KNEW this, Obi-Wan. I know of the Jedi Code, of course, and of its restrictions on attachment and romantic love. I promise you that I had tried as hard as I could to suppress these feelings. It just wasn’t working. Informed of all this, my parents decided they needed to try more drastic measures. They sent me to a special doctor on Naboo, a doctor who made claims that she cured “the mind, rather than the physical body,” and could therefore rid her patients of inappropriate attraction.
I know what you must be thinking. Why did I not defy my parents, refuse to go to this “doctor,” and carry on with my life? I was, after all, past the legal age of adulthood by that time. The trouble is, you don’t realize what a big influence family has in Nubian society. Even after children leave the family home and begin to construct their own lives, they are still subject to the whims and desires of their parents. So my parents continued to direct my life, albeit from a distance. And they insisted, of course, upon my seeing this “doctor.” I had no choice. She told me that the best way to cleanse myself of inappropriate attraction was to cut off all contact with the person in question. My parents backed her up, even though there isn’t any evidence to prove such a method actually works. But they seem to think that they can control who I fall in love with. They did the same when I was thirteen and in love with Ian Lago. So I suppose I should not be surprised.
Before she stopped writing to him, Obi-Wan would never have classified his feelings towards Padmé as being those of love. But, during the extra meditations the Healers recommended, the realization came to him. What he felt for her was love. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, be one with her. And the prospect terrified him. The foundation of the Jedi Code was based upon the principle of non-attachment. Jedi were not allowed to marry or to engage in romantic relationships. Obi-Wan supposed he could have left the Order to be with Padmé, but that scared him almost as much as his love did. All he had ever been was a Jedi, and this life was the only one he knew. He couldn’t give it up, not even for love.
So he pushed his feelings down, buried them so far below the surface and locked them away so that no one but himself could access them, not even Anakin. Especially not Anakin. For Obi-Wan was not blind to his Padawan’s increasing feelings for Padmé, even as he grappled with his own. He could not deny the light that sprang into Anakin’s eyes whenever anyone mentioned her name. When Anakin was still young, he would often ask Obi-Wan, “What do you think Padmé’s doing right now?” or “Wasn’t Naboo a beautiful place?” As he grew older, those questions tapered off, to be replaced by more mature feelings for her. Feelings that coincided with Anakin’s newfound discovery of his physical, sexual self. Many a night, Obi-Wan endured poorly-shielded arousal and a variety of intriguing sounds emanating from Anakin’s bed. It was difficult, not just due to obvious privacy issues, but due to the fact that Obi-Wan longed to engage in similar activities while thinking of Padmé.
Obi-Wan did as much as he could to suppress his love. He began to meditate several times a day instead of just one or two, practicing and honing the art of releasing inappropriate feelings into the Force. He locked Padmé’s letters away in a drawer, and took them out to look at them only once a month. He paid more attention to Anakin, went on more missions, became more involved in the mundane, day-to-day work of the Temple. Those on the Jedi Council applauded him for his ability to rebound after such a difficult period, and held him up as an example to others of the dedicated, practiced Jedi. But Obi-Wan knew that however much he attempted to suppress his feelings for Padmé, however much arousal he released into the Force, however strictly he stuck to his meditation schedule, those feelings would always lurk just beneath the surface. He could never rid himself of them entirely; he could only see to it that they did not take control of him.
I was no longer allowed to write to you. If I tried – and I did, many times – my parents or someone else would invariably intercept the letter, and prevent it from reaching its desired destination. I wish I’d had the courage to stand up to them. But I was still young, Obi-Wan, and the depth and impropriety of my own feelings frightened me. Sometimes, when something frightens you, you can do nothing but attempt to let it go. And so I did. I’m sure the Jedi would have been proud of me. Outwardly, I appeared the very image of the dedicated, dutiful Senator. I enjoyed my work, and I still do. There are few pursuits more fulfilling in this life than that of assisting others. You, as a Jedi, will doubtless be able to relate to this. I never spoke of you around my family again, and so naturally I’m sure they assumed the “doctor” had worked and I had let go of my attraction.
And that brings me to the truth of all this. Being around you again has reawakened that attraction. It has lain dormant for many years – dormant, but not extinct. When you came to comfort me last night, I understand that you were likely only coming out of friendship. I will also understand if you do not share my feelings; in fact, I will not be at all surprised. But I needed to tell you that my love for you has not gone away, will likely never go away. I have tried my utmost to make it depart, and it will not. Of course, I won’t interfere with your career as a Jedi, any more than I would expect you to interfere with mine as a Senator. I understand that we are, by the very nature of what we do, incompatible.
So I will love you from a distance. And perhaps, in time, I will find another man whom I am able to love as deeply as I love you. I doubt this, but none of us knows what the future holds, right? Regardless of whether I do, regardless of whether I eventually marry or have children or where my life path should lead me, I want you to know that I will always love you. Should you ever doubt that anyone cares for you, should you ever think that I don’t wish you to be my friend, should you ever feel lonely or despairing, I want you to remember these words. I want you to remember that at this time, there existed someone who loved you. Who will always love you, and who will carry that love with her.
Yours,
Padmé
Never had Obi-Wan’s hidden feelings blazed as they did now. Never had he felt so disconnected from his surroundings, so involved in words scribbled on a simple piece of flimsiplast. The speeder he sat in was pulled over to the side of the air traffic lane, and around him, traffic buzzed incessantly. But his mind was so distant that all the activity might as well have been occurring in another galaxy.
The letter represented vindication. Padmé loved him! How that simple phrase alone could excite him. But there was more, there was the explanation provided, and he believed it, he believed every word of it. There was pain in the letter, too – clearly it had cost Padmé a great deal to go along with her parents’ wishes and hide her attraction for those years. His heart ached for her, he longed to embrace her and kiss her and tell her that it would be all right, that he loved her too, that he could understand perfectly what it was to be required to bury one’s feelings. But she wasn’t on Coruscant; instead, she was on a transport speeding towards Naboo with Anakin.
Obi-Wan’s eyes glanced across the head of the flimsiplast. It, like every other letter she had written him, was penned on her official stationery. FROM THE DESK OF PADME AMIDALA was printed across the top, and there was a small holopicture of her, regal in bearing with a very formal gaze fixed upon the reader. Him.
Obi-Wan imagined she was there with him. Sitting next to him, watching him, with that gentle smile she so often wore. And finally, he could stand it no longer. His hand ventured downwards, and it found the drawstring closing his pants, and it untied that drawstring. With a moan of longing, he gave in to the urge that had plagued him for two years. He fixed his eyes upon the holopic of Padmé, and he began to stroke himself.
“Your friendship has been a constant …” She was sitting there, reaching over, kissing him, he could not tell where his lips ended and hers began … “The trouble was that, as we wrote each other through these past ten years, I slowly realized that my feelings of friendship were deepening into something more. Something like love …” … she bent down, kissing his chest, her tongue pausing to swirl lightly around his nipples and dip into his belly button … “Being around you again has reawakened that attraction …” … she had reached his cock, she was kissing him fiercely, he was moaning with pleasure … “… I want you to know that I will always love you. Should you ever doubt that anyone cares for you, should you ever think that I don’t wish you to be my friend, should you ever feel lonely or despairing, I want you to remember these words …” … he, she, they were going faster, he could feel his release building inside of him, he gazed directly into her eyes … “I want you to remember that at this time, there existed someone who loved you. Who will always love you, and who will carry that love with her.”
And Obi-Wan climaxed, gasping her name with a desperate sigh, and in that instant, the illusion was gone. He was panting, his lap and the seat underneath him were wet, the flimsiplast was shaking in his hands … but he felt exhilarated, excited, alive. For the first time in a long while, Obi-Wan was at peace. The sort of peace he had not experienced since Qui-Gon’s death. Blinking slowly, he read the letter once more, wet his lips, then tugged his pants upwards.
He had a duty to perform. He needed to discover who wanted Padmé dead. And Obi-Wan Kenobi would do that duty, to the best of his abilities. He would do it, though, with the added knowledge that his feelings for her were mutual. In the days and weeks ahead, he would carry the flimsiplast in his pocket, taking it out and examining it whenever he had the chance. Soon, he would commit the words written there to memory.
The letter was Padmé. He was closer to her now, and that closeness was something he could not regret.
Author:
padme_kenobiPrevious Chapters: Can be read here.
Characters/Pairings: Obi-Wan, Padmé
Word Count: 2,889
Rating: NC-17 for an intimate scene towards the end
Summary: The letter was Padmé. He was closer to her now, and that closeness was something he could not regret.
Author's Notes: Have you ever had the experience of looking back on something you've written and going, "WHOA! How in the name of all that's good in this world did I crank that out?!" That's pretty much the experience I had with this chapter. In my opinion it's definitely one of the better pieces I've written in all the time I've been doing fanfiction. I felt like I was right inside Obi-Wan's head, thinking as he thought and feeling as he felt. That's a pretty powerful experience for a writer to have, and I love it when it happens. But I'm really pleased with where this ended up going.
Dear Obi-Wan,
I am glad that after two years we are finally able to resume contact with one another. It’s very difficult when old friends fall out of touch. I suppose I should be used to this by now, given my line of work – politicians do not have many real friends; most are either hangers-on or campaign contributors – but somehow, I’m not. Your friendship has been a constant, a comforting constant, ever since Naboo.
The perfume she used that morning was still on the letter. Obi-Wan raised the flimsiplast to his nose and inhaled deeply. Nubian roses, lakes, waterfalls, but most of all that indefinable scent that said Padmé. The scent that had met his nostrils ten years ago, when she had comforted him after the cremation. The scent that still lingered, vaguely, on every one of the letters she had sent him since then. Sometimes, when Anakin was in lessons or otherwise occupied, Obi-Wan would remove Padmé’s letters from the locked drawer and carry them to his bed or an armchair, and reread them. It was Anakin catching him at this one day that led him to declare that Obi-Wan and Padmé must be writing love letters to one another.
They always wrote on flimsiplast. Of course, there were many other forms of communication available to them, many more technological and instantaneous. But it was dangerous for a Senator and a Jedi to be perceived as anything but distant friends, and frequent communications over comlink and holoweb would only have encouraged idle gossip. So Padmé would write, on her official Senatorial stationery, to Obi-Wan using blue ink. He would take the parchment provided to Jedi and a writing stick, and scribble a note back. Letters were carried on the huge transports that snaked through the space lanes, such that a missive often took several weeks to arrive. But Obi-Wan didn’t mind. Anticipating a letter to arrive from Padmé was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself.
I cannot possibly describe to you in words how much I appreciate your arriving at my room last night to offer support. It’s a strange thing, but unless you have seen a person grieve, you often cannot bear to grieve in front of them. This was the case for me yesterday. I’m always surrounded by people, and many of them were queuing up to offer assistance after the explosion. But somehow, I couldn’t confess my true thoughts and feelings to anyone except you. Not even Anakin, and I’ve known him almost as long. Not my handmaidens, who are well-intentioned but whom I seldom like to burden with my problems. Certainly not Captain Typho. He is very kind, and he has my best interests at heart, but he is a security officer, and thinks with such a mind.
Two years ago, however, the letters had mysteriously stopped. Before he read Padmé’s latest letter, the one she had given to him in the airtaxi, Obi-Wan was not sure why. At first he had believed it to be a problem with delivery – perhaps the letters were getting lost or were not being redirected to where they needed to go. But whenever this had happened in the past, Padmé’s letters had eventually found their way to him. This time, there was nothing. And so, after a month of waiting, he was forced to conclude that no more would be sent. He wrote a few letters himself, addressed them to her and sent them off. But he might as well have been writing to a ghost, for all the response he received.
For many days after realizing he wouldn’t be getting another letter from Padmé, Obi-Wan sank within himself. He did not eat. He could not sleep. He performed his regular duties and responsibilities in a robot-like state, with little real interaction with the outside world. Many on the Jedi Council grew concerned about him. They believed he was slipping into a depression. Even Anakin could not penetrate the walls Obi-Wan built up around himself. The Council ordered that he meet regularly with the Healers in the medical ward, but even they could not discover a reason for his sudden withdrawal. Not a physical reason, at any rate. Obi-Wan was grieving the loss of a cherished friendship, but he eventually came to realize that he was also grieving the loss of love.
Part of my reason in writing this to you was to thank you for helping me last night. That being done, I suppose I must now move on to that which I have difficulty discussing, even more difficulty than I did my grief. I want to explain to you why my letters stopped two years ago. I’m sure that hurt you very much. Don’t even try to deny it, Obi-Wan. I know the way you think. How? Because I had the precise same thoughts, and I still do.
Put simply, I was forced to stop. It was not my wish to do so, for you were and always will be my best friend. The trouble was that, as we wrote each other through these past ten years, I slowly realized that my feelings of friendship were deepening into something more. Something like love. This wasn’t logical, since I had other men lusting after me back on Naboo. One of them even asked for my hand in marriage. But I could not accept, because somehow I had it in my head that you would be disappointed, and that it would wound you deeply. I realize this to be a ridiculous notion, since we never talked of such things in our letters, but nevertheless, it’s the truth.
Somehow my mother and father got wind of my newfound feelings – I suspect an ex-friend of mine of telling them, after I had confessed to her – and they were very angry. They brought up the obvious point that you are a Jedi, and I a Senator, and therefore a potential match between us would be utterly impossible. I KNEW this, Obi-Wan. I know of the Jedi Code, of course, and of its restrictions on attachment and romantic love. I promise you that I had tried as hard as I could to suppress these feelings. It just wasn’t working. Informed of all this, my parents decided they needed to try more drastic measures. They sent me to a special doctor on Naboo, a doctor who made claims that she cured “the mind, rather than the physical body,” and could therefore rid her patients of inappropriate attraction.
I know what you must be thinking. Why did I not defy my parents, refuse to go to this “doctor,” and carry on with my life? I was, after all, past the legal age of adulthood by that time. The trouble is, you don’t realize what a big influence family has in Nubian society. Even after children leave the family home and begin to construct their own lives, they are still subject to the whims and desires of their parents. So my parents continued to direct my life, albeit from a distance. And they insisted, of course, upon my seeing this “doctor.” I had no choice. She told me that the best way to cleanse myself of inappropriate attraction was to cut off all contact with the person in question. My parents backed her up, even though there isn’t any evidence to prove such a method actually works. But they seem to think that they can control who I fall in love with. They did the same when I was thirteen and in love with Ian Lago. So I suppose I should not be surprised.
Before she stopped writing to him, Obi-Wan would never have classified his feelings towards Padmé as being those of love. But, during the extra meditations the Healers recommended, the realization came to him. What he felt for her was love. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, be one with her. And the prospect terrified him. The foundation of the Jedi Code was based upon the principle of non-attachment. Jedi were not allowed to marry or to engage in romantic relationships. Obi-Wan supposed he could have left the Order to be with Padmé, but that scared him almost as much as his love did. All he had ever been was a Jedi, and this life was the only one he knew. He couldn’t give it up, not even for love.
So he pushed his feelings down, buried them so far below the surface and locked them away so that no one but himself could access them, not even Anakin. Especially not Anakin. For Obi-Wan was not blind to his Padawan’s increasing feelings for Padmé, even as he grappled with his own. He could not deny the light that sprang into Anakin’s eyes whenever anyone mentioned her name. When Anakin was still young, he would often ask Obi-Wan, “What do you think Padmé’s doing right now?” or “Wasn’t Naboo a beautiful place?” As he grew older, those questions tapered off, to be replaced by more mature feelings for her. Feelings that coincided with Anakin’s newfound discovery of his physical, sexual self. Many a night, Obi-Wan endured poorly-shielded arousal and a variety of intriguing sounds emanating from Anakin’s bed. It was difficult, not just due to obvious privacy issues, but due to the fact that Obi-Wan longed to engage in similar activities while thinking of Padmé.
Obi-Wan did as much as he could to suppress his love. He began to meditate several times a day instead of just one or two, practicing and honing the art of releasing inappropriate feelings into the Force. He locked Padmé’s letters away in a drawer, and took them out to look at them only once a month. He paid more attention to Anakin, went on more missions, became more involved in the mundane, day-to-day work of the Temple. Those on the Jedi Council applauded him for his ability to rebound after such a difficult period, and held him up as an example to others of the dedicated, practiced Jedi. But Obi-Wan knew that however much he attempted to suppress his feelings for Padmé, however much arousal he released into the Force, however strictly he stuck to his meditation schedule, those feelings would always lurk just beneath the surface. He could never rid himself of them entirely; he could only see to it that they did not take control of him.
I was no longer allowed to write to you. If I tried – and I did, many times – my parents or someone else would invariably intercept the letter, and prevent it from reaching its desired destination. I wish I’d had the courage to stand up to them. But I was still young, Obi-Wan, and the depth and impropriety of my own feelings frightened me. Sometimes, when something frightens you, you can do nothing but attempt to let it go. And so I did. I’m sure the Jedi would have been proud of me. Outwardly, I appeared the very image of the dedicated, dutiful Senator. I enjoyed my work, and I still do. There are few pursuits more fulfilling in this life than that of assisting others. You, as a Jedi, will doubtless be able to relate to this. I never spoke of you around my family again, and so naturally I’m sure they assumed the “doctor” had worked and I had let go of my attraction.
And that brings me to the truth of all this. Being around you again has reawakened that attraction. It has lain dormant for many years – dormant, but not extinct. When you came to comfort me last night, I understand that you were likely only coming out of friendship. I will also understand if you do not share my feelings; in fact, I will not be at all surprised. But I needed to tell you that my love for you has not gone away, will likely never go away. I have tried my utmost to make it depart, and it will not. Of course, I won’t interfere with your career as a Jedi, any more than I would expect you to interfere with mine as a Senator. I understand that we are, by the very nature of what we do, incompatible.
So I will love you from a distance. And perhaps, in time, I will find another man whom I am able to love as deeply as I love you. I doubt this, but none of us knows what the future holds, right? Regardless of whether I do, regardless of whether I eventually marry or have children or where my life path should lead me, I want you to know that I will always love you. Should you ever doubt that anyone cares for you, should you ever think that I don’t wish you to be my friend, should you ever feel lonely or despairing, I want you to remember these words. I want you to remember that at this time, there existed someone who loved you. Who will always love you, and who will carry that love with her.
Yours,
Padmé
Never had Obi-Wan’s hidden feelings blazed as they did now. Never had he felt so disconnected from his surroundings, so involved in words scribbled on a simple piece of flimsiplast. The speeder he sat in was pulled over to the side of the air traffic lane, and around him, traffic buzzed incessantly. But his mind was so distant that all the activity might as well have been occurring in another galaxy.
The letter represented vindication. Padmé loved him! How that simple phrase alone could excite him. But there was more, there was the explanation provided, and he believed it, he believed every word of it. There was pain in the letter, too – clearly it had cost Padmé a great deal to go along with her parents’ wishes and hide her attraction for those years. His heart ached for her, he longed to embrace her and kiss her and tell her that it would be all right, that he loved her too, that he could understand perfectly what it was to be required to bury one’s feelings. But she wasn’t on Coruscant; instead, she was on a transport speeding towards Naboo with Anakin.
Obi-Wan’s eyes glanced across the head of the flimsiplast. It, like every other letter she had written him, was penned on her official stationery. FROM THE DESK OF PADME AMIDALA was printed across the top, and there was a small holopicture of her, regal in bearing with a very formal gaze fixed upon the reader. Him.
Obi-Wan imagined she was there with him. Sitting next to him, watching him, with that gentle smile she so often wore. And finally, he could stand it no longer. His hand ventured downwards, and it found the drawstring closing his pants, and it untied that drawstring. With a moan of longing, he gave in to the urge that had plagued him for two years. He fixed his eyes upon the holopic of Padmé, and he began to stroke himself.
“Your friendship has been a constant …” She was sitting there, reaching over, kissing him, he could not tell where his lips ended and hers began … “The trouble was that, as we wrote each other through these past ten years, I slowly realized that my feelings of friendship were deepening into something more. Something like love …” … she bent down, kissing his chest, her tongue pausing to swirl lightly around his nipples and dip into his belly button … “Being around you again has reawakened that attraction …” … she had reached his cock, she was kissing him fiercely, he was moaning with pleasure … “… I want you to know that I will always love you. Should you ever doubt that anyone cares for you, should you ever think that I don’t wish you to be my friend, should you ever feel lonely or despairing, I want you to remember these words …” … he, she, they were going faster, he could feel his release building inside of him, he gazed directly into her eyes … “I want you to remember that at this time, there existed someone who loved you. Who will always love you, and who will carry that love with her.”
And Obi-Wan climaxed, gasping her name with a desperate sigh, and in that instant, the illusion was gone. He was panting, his lap and the seat underneath him were wet, the flimsiplast was shaking in his hands … but he felt exhilarated, excited, alive. For the first time in a long while, Obi-Wan was at peace. The sort of peace he had not experienced since Qui-Gon’s death. Blinking slowly, he read the letter once more, wet his lips, then tugged his pants upwards.
He had a duty to perform. He needed to discover who wanted Padmé dead. And Obi-Wan Kenobi would do that duty, to the best of his abilities. He would do it, though, with the added knowledge that his feelings for her were mutual. In the days and weeks ahead, he would carry the flimsiplast in his pocket, taking it out and examining it whenever he had the chance. Soon, he would commit the words written there to memory.
The letter was Padmé. He was closer to her now, and that closeness was something he could not regret.