Tangle 67/77 (PG-13) Anakin, Obi-Wan, others.
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fan fiction.
Author's note: Backstory and exposition disguised as a schmoop-fest. I feel sneaky. Be advised, only the last third of the chapter really advances the plot. There's unapologetic naked adoration first.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
He liked everything about her body.
Somehow when he’d thought about women before -- Padmé, his traitorous heart whispered, thudding against his ribs -- he had thought of softness. Ryn was lean and hard, austerely beautiful ... and he liked it. He traced the outline of her shoulder blades beneath light muscles with a soapy finger and felt his own body stir in response.
“I didn’t know you were this kind of beautiful,” he murmured, too awed to think about what he was saying.
Ryn craned her neck to look at him, soapsuds sliding down the sharp curve of her cheekbone. “What kind is that?”
Anakin trailed his fingers down her back, feeling strength and life and Ryn, so heady he could almost taste her. “Like a desert night.”
She gave him a puzzled frown, probably thinking she didn’t really resemble either sand or planetary rotations, but it wasn’t like that.
“You feel the same,” Anakin tried to explain. “Like looking at the stars.” Beauty so sharp it etched longing into his soul. “You know?”
Ryn shook her head, smiling faintly, and twisted to rest her hand over his heartbeat. “No, but I can feel what it means to you.” She glanced up at him from under sparkling-wet lashes. “Thank you.”
She turned back around and Anakin dragged himself partway back to reality -- away from reality, reality was this unmediated sweetness, experience not diminished by words -- and started lathering her hair.
Ryn had a lot of hair -- long and thick, the one wildly luxuriant thing about her -- so Anakin wasn’t surprised that washing it took a while. He was a little surprised by the tactile pleasure of the task. He didn’t quite know what to make of the way sexual tension relaxed into easy intimacy as he grew used to the silky-wet feel of her hair in his hands, the way it contrasted with the texture of her skin, a different kind of smoothness.
Her voice startled him when she spoke. “I’ve never been in here when the showers were empty,” she said softly. She traced one finger along a crack in the tile. “Usually there are people. Talking, laughing, making out a little.”
“Ew,” said Anakin, and Ryn twisted again, just enough to let him glimpse the angle of her eyebrow, cocked inquisitively.
“You think making out is gross?”
There was a land mine somewhere in this conversation; Anakin could feel it. Treading carefully, he said, “In public, yeah.”
He felt the shift when Ryn changed tactics; discarding whatever fight she’d been about to pick, she said instead, “I don’t understand the way you think about sex.” Her shoulders rose and fell in an exhalation that wasn’t quite a sigh. “I mean, I know you don’t want to get a girl pregnant, and I know you’ve ... witnessed some awful things. I know a lot about what you don’t want. But what would feel right to you?”
Anakin fought back a wince. He really couldn’t think of anything he’d like to discuss less, and yet he couldn’t exactly refuse: if there was anybody in the galaxy who had a right to ask him about this, it had to be Ryn.
“I’m not sure it’s ever right for a Jedi,” he said slowly -- meaning sex and hoping Ryn would know. “I mean, Master Obi-Wan talks about consensual pleasure, but ... I think there should be more.” In a lower voice he added, “Mom said there should be more.”
“Oh, Kaïnen,” Ryn said. He still didn’t know what that name meant, but he could feel the weight of her sympathy. “What did Shmi say?”
There was too much to tell, about love and family and the importance of taking care of each other. Anakin searched for a place to begin, got lost, and finally blurted, “Sex isn’t fair.”
“Huh?” said Ryn. She was facing away from him, but Anakin could hear her puzzled frown in her voice.
“Sex isn’t fair,” Anakin repeated. “A man can’t get pregnant, and most venereal diseases pose a greater health risk for women.” He was pretty sure he didn’t want to be discussing this with Ryn while naked, but her curiosity felt somehow urgent: this wasn’t Ryn just making conversation. It was important to her, for reasons he couldn’t begin to guess. “Mom always used to say that meant that men had a greater responsibility to ... take care of their partners. To make sure it was right.”
He pushed Ryn gently forward under the spray, to rinse the soap out of her hair. Probably she could have done that part by herself easily enough, but Anakin followed anyway.
“Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “So how does that work?”
“I don’t know,” Anakin admitted. “I mean, I’m not sure. When I was a kid, I thought it meant ... not having sex. Never asking another being to go through that. But Mom said that wasn’t it, that love made it right.” He sighed, watching the soap suds swirl away. “I guess maybe she was going to tell me more when I was older. But then I ... left ... and Master Obi-Wan ... sees things differently.”
“It’s the way he was raised,” Ryn said, plainly trying hard to be fair. “I’m sure he’s a considerate partner.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Anakin raked his fingers through her hair, trying to remove the last of the soap, and wondered how she ever managed to wash it on her own. “It’s just ... the Jedi don’t really have to live with the consequences of their actions, you know? They just move on to the next mission. I don’t think you should have sex unless you’re ready to take responsibility for your actions.” He trailed his fingers down her back one last time, marveling once again at the miracle of the way she was made, all that strength and vitality in such a deceptively fragile package.
Ryn was silent for so long he thought she’d abandoned the conversation. Anakin was about to go back to his own spigot and shut off the water -- he was long since clean anyway -- when she spoke.
“You’re a good person, Anakin.”
Anakin wasn’t quite sure how to take that, in light of the discussion they’d just been having. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat, and finally managed to say, “Thanks.”
Ryn didn’t look at him as she shut off the taps. “Does taking responsibility mean you have to get married?”
Anakin watched her move. “I’m not sure,” he said cautiously. “Maybe not.” That was one of the parts Shmi hadn’t gotten around to explaining, but he figured Ryn could probably work that out for herself.
She finally did look at him, then. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Anakin wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, either. If Ryn was thinking about sex, the potential for even more awkward conversations in his very near future was ... significant. “What do you mean?” he asked warily, stepping backward to cut off his own shower.
Ryn hesitated, just for a second. “I frightened you, that morning in my bedroom.”
Anakin felt a stab of guilt, mixed with a despairing sense of here-we-go-again. “I told you,” he said. “I was only afraid of hurting you.”
Ryn managed a small smile as she trekked over to the counter for her towel. “I know,” she said, tossing him his. “But it’s not an explanation I could have come up with on my own.” She used the towel to squeeze some of the water out of her hair, not very effectively. “I was getting dressed to go and turn myself in when the attack came.”
“What?” Anakin exclaimed, as shocked as if the water had suddenly run cold. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t turn myself in for committing a heinous crime?” Ryn asked. “Of course I would. Keeping it secret would not only have been unfair to you, but also might have jeopardized the peace process. I fully expected to be sent home and executed for my failure.”
“Executed?” Anakin gasped. She might as well have punched him in the gut. “But, Ryn, that’s ... barbaric.”
Ryn gave him a wry little smile. “We’re out in the Unknown Regions,” she pointed out. “If we aren’t barbarians, who is?”
Anakin decided this was beside the point. “But you can’t really believe ...” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence.
“That’s my point,” Ryn said, giving up on her hair to tackle her sparkling-wet skin. Anakin tried not to watch all the places where the water trailed into rivulets and followed her curves. “I did believe it. What else could I think? I didn’t know any of this stuff about your mother, or love, or a sense of responsibility.”
“Oh,” said Anakin stupidly. He remembered her hunkering at the edge of the bed, clutching the covers and begging him to please just wait, hearing the tears in her voice as he tore for the the shower, the agony of rejection he’d left behind. “I’m ... really sorry. I mean, I was always sorry, but ... I didn’t know you thought ... I ... it wasn’t like that. I was never ... you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ryn shook her head at him. “I don’t need you to be sorry,” she said. “I just need you to tell me what you’re thinking. Especially when it’s hard, like this.” She wadded her towel and tossed it into a bin, then leaned one naked hip against the counter and met his eyes. Anakin tried not to think about the water collecting ... down there, and kept his eyes on her face. “I’ve heard some friends actually talk to each other,” she pointed out. “In words, even.”
Anakin frowned at her, which was hard because his eyes were so wide from trying to take her in. “Words aren’t my thing.” Obi-Wan’s exasperated comments on his diplomatic skills were proof of that.
“Oh, please,” Ryn said, unimpressed. “Basic isn’t even my native language, but at least I’m trying.”
Anakin tossed his own towel away and dragged on the robe she’d handed him in the hallway because he could still hear their clothes thumping around in the ‘fresher. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Ryn was his safe place. She wasn’t supposed to be frustrating and demanding and ...
Standing right there, patiently waiting for him.
Oh. Anakin swallowed. “You should put some clothes on,” he said roughly. “It’s cold in here.”
Ryn picked up her robe, defeat writing itself into the lines of her body, and belted it on without looking at him.
Anakin tightened the belt on his own robe carefully and cleared his throat. “I didn’t ... I didn’t mean it like that,” he tried. “I just ... you wanted to talk, and I ... can’t, with you standing there naked.”
“Why not?” Ryn demanded truculently.
“I forget how,” Anakin blurted, and then cringed at how stupid that sounded.
But it turned out to be the right thing to say after all, maybe because Ryn could tell it was the truth. She shot him one guarded look from under her ridiculous lashes, bit her lip hard, and then said, “Okay.”
Anakin wasn’t sure what kind of answer he’d been expecting, but this one was pretty opaque. He sized her up carefully, resisted the urge to probe her with the Force, and repeated cautiously, “‘Okay’?”
Ryn’s shoulders hunched defensively. “What do you want me to say? I don’t get it, but if this is what you need, then ... okay.”
Anakin stifled a sigh. The new Ryn was a lot more difficult than the old one. But he thought she might be marginally happier and saner, and she was finally asking for something for herself, instead of giving ground before everyone’s needs but her own, so ... those were good things. It was good that she was standing up for herself a little.
So Anakin hoisted himself up to sit cross-legged on the counter, folding his robe so his junk didn’t flash everywhere. “Okay,” he decided, consciously echoing her, and patted the spot next to him. “Thanks. Now what did you want to talk about?”
Ryn climbed gingerly onto the counter and tucked her feet beneath the hem of her robe. “Tell me about your mother.”
Anakin shifted. “Mom? But why?”
Ryn traced a design on the countertop with one finger. “Because she taught you to love,” she answered softly. “And because she must have loved you very much.” Her voice broke on a sob at the end and she gasped, “I don’t know what that’s like.”
“Ryn?” Anakin asked, alarmed.
His best friend shook her head and reached for his hand. “It’s okay,” she said, a little shakily. “It’s just ... my parents didn’t want me, you know? The kids were like ... cadets ... to them. They tried to train us well, but they weren’t ... affectionate. And I was the last, kind of an afterthought. In the way.” She took a steadying breath, caught her lower lip between her teeth, and glanced furtively up at him. “Did you know you were the first person to ever say you loved me?”
“I -- what? No.” But a lot of things made more sense now. He was grateful for Ryn’s friendship, but he had never understood why she’d been so ready to love him in the beginning, when he’d been hardly more than polite to her. He’d been taken aback by the sheer overwhelming force of her devotion, her almost fanatic fear of losing him, the hesitant way she responded to his friendly gestures of affection. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know that.” Ryn’s words gave a whole new meaning to first love.
“It’s okay,” she said again. “I mean, I understand it better all the time. They weren’t a love match, so it’s no wonder they didn’t particularly want to have kids together.” She pushed damp hair back from her face. “By the time I was born, my father was spending most of his time here on Fjornel, with his mistress.” She looked down at her hands. “I guess you think that’s awful.”
Well, yeah. Pretty much. “It’s not my place to judge your family.”
Ryn snorted. “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
Yeah, okay. He obviously didn’t have Obi-Wan’s gift for projecting an aura of neutrality. “Hey, it’s your family,” he said, giving up on that tactic. “I just think there’s something wrong with anyone who could not love you.”
Ryn half-smiled. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
Because obviously he couldn’t be serious about loving her. Anakin said, “Only a little. I mean ... parents should love their kids. And I doubt you were a really bad kid.”
Ryn pulled at her robe. “I think I was too young when they died to be much of anything yet.”
The loss behind her words made his chest hurt in sympathy. “And Kit never ...?”
Ryn winced, remembering. “When the aide brought me to Kit -- up here, actually, he was working on defenses for the Dome -- he took one look at me and said, 'Oh, fuck.' That’s pretty much been the story of our relationship ever since.”
Oh, Ryn. Anakin shifted closer and put his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll find him.”
Ryn settled into his embrace, the dampness from her hair soaking into his robe. “I hope so,” she said. “But I think you were going to tell me about your mother.”
Over the sound of the clothes ‘fresher, Anakin began to talk.