FLAWED 3/43 PG-13: Anakin, Obi-Wan, Siri, Ferus, Others
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.
Author's note: This chapter is shameless Ryn/Ani fluff, with a little Yoda philosophy and a dash of political intrigue tossed in for flavor. I make no apologies. Love it or hate it? Let me know! :)
CHAPTER THREE
Ryn wandered into the Kenobi-Skywalker quarters about half-past seven, humming softly to herself and carrying a bag of droid parts that Evinne had dropped off for Anakin.
“Master Kenobi, Anakin, hello!”
Obi-Wan stuck his head out of the kitchen to greet her. “Hello, Ryn. I was just clearing the table -- can I get you anything?”
As if they ever had any leftovers to speak of. Obi-Wan was tight with food -- or frugal, as he would say.
“No, I’m fine. I ate earlier, in the refec -- the mess,” she corrected herself. With Mater Yoda, who had clearly tried to be pleasant dinner company and not to lecture. She felt sure it had something to do with the scene in the training dojo earlier, but whatever Yoda had thought of that, he was keeping it well-hidden.
At the end, finally, he had alluded to it in a roundabout sort of way.
“At ease with the Younglings, you are,” he’d said as Ryn finished off her soup.
What was there to say to that? Ryn had hesitated with the spoon halfway to her mouth.
“LIke them, I sense you do, hm?”
Ryn had put down her spoon. They’re not Jedi yet. They haven’t learned detachment. “I think it’s in the nature of most beings to find young things appealing,” she suggested hesitantly. “It’s a deeply ingrained response.” Yoda had looked unconvinced, so Ryn had added, “It probably aids in the preservation of a species or something.”
“Scientific speculation, this is. Speaking of your feelings, we were.”
Oh. Right. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Master Yoda. I don’t go out of my way to meet the Younglings. I try to be polite when I do see them. It’s ... probably healthy, that they want to ask questions. I --”
More gently than usual, Yoda cut her off. “Accusing you of wrongdoing, I was not,” he’d said. “Curious, I am. If at home were you ... children of your own, would you have?”
Children. A family. Anakin’s children. But of all her hidden fantasies involving Anakin, that one had to be the most dangerous and the least possible. A sane woman wouldn’t even think about it, especially in front of Yoda.
Of course, we’ve pretty well proven by now that I’m an idiot.
“Probably not for a year or two yet,” she’d told the well-meaning bane of her existence. “I’d be -- I’d most likely be getting married sometime this year.”
Yoda had tipped his green head to one side. “Someone you have in mind? A mate?”
Anakin, Ryn thought again, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. “No, Master. But it would almost certainly be a political marriage.”
“Hmm.” Yoda had narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully. “A political marriage. Sound like denying yourself attachments, that does.” He poked her in the foot with his gimer stick under the table. “As does leaving your people to come here.”
Well ... maybe? “Master Yoda, I don’t think I understand where you are going with this.”
“Hmp.” Yoda rested his hands on the knot of his gimer stick. “For someone who does not agree with the Jedi way, a surprisingly good Jedi you make, hmm?”
Ryn had looked away, disconcerted. “I do believe in attachments, Master Yoda. I believe in love. I’m here because of love, because I care about the people I left behind. Because the galaxy may be at stake and I’m trying hard to love it, too. If I weren’t attached, I could just ... go my merry way. Let the Jedi take care of themselves, let the galaxy burn.” She met Yoda’s venerable gaze straight-on, ignoring the pitch in her stomach. “If I followed your Code, I wouldn’t be here.”
Yoda sighed. “Angry, you need not be. Trying to understand, I am.”
Ryn had felt her shoulders slump, abruptly ashamed. “I’m sorry, Master Yoda.”
To her surprise, Yoda had reached out and touched her white hand with his green, three-fingered one. “Speak of this later, we will. Rest tonight, you should.”
“Yes, Master Yoda,” Ryn had said mechanically, unable to forgive herself for botching what could have been a productive discussion.
Master Kenobi was watching her curiously now, and Ryn realized he’d said something she’d missed, busy with her wool-gathering. “Sorry, what?”
“I said you’re looking better. Filling out again.”
Oh. That would probably be because Anakin kept showing up with Vokara Che’s concentrated nutrient pills and insisting that she take them. And he’d taken to carrying the protein shake mixes in his utility belt and emptying them into her water. He’d even done it during the Senate hearings. Twice.
Anakin, you’re driving me crazy, she’d said, exasperated, the second time.
He’d ducked his head and looked up at her through his lashes, pleading shamelessly. Please, he’d begged her. I can’t rest until I know you’re better. Just drink a little. For me?
Skywalker, you manipulative bastard, she’d said. But she had drunk the shake anyway.
Anakin had looked smug.
So now she looked at his master and shrugged. “Anakin has taken to monitoring my calorie intake.”
Obi-Wan cringed. “Oh, dear. I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Good instinct.” She jerked her head toward the hallway that concealed the sleeping quarters. “I brought him some droid parts from Evinne. Shall I ...”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, by all means, go on back.”
Ryn nodded at Obi-Wan and headed for Anakin’s room. The door slid open before she could knock, and Ryn took a step inside and sank to the floor beside Anakin, setting her bag of parts down with a clank. “Evinne sent you goodies,” she said by way of explanation. “She also sends you this ...” She leaned over and kissed Anakin lightly on the cheek.
She meant it to be just a quick brush of the lips, a friendly kiss, really she did -- and she was sure that had been what Evinne intended -- only the line of his jaw was warm and sweet and smelled insanely good, and she froze, unable to tear herself away, as yearning welled beneath her skin and she felt herself go soft and aching inside.
Anakin turned his head so that his lips brushed hers as he spin a hushed breath: “Ryn, we can’t. It’s all wrong, we just can’t.”
“I know,” Ryn said; but she wasn’t moving, hovering so close his lips almost touched hers again when he spoke. Some part of her mind noticed that he wasn't saying I don't want to. She was afraid to think about what that meant, as though that hesitant something in the air between them might shatter if either of them looked at it wrong.
“I mean it, you’re killing me here, Obi-Wan is in the next room, we’ve talked about this before, we can’t.” He felt so warm, so close, like everything she wanted and he was right there ...
“I know,” Ryn breathed back; but she felt helpless to move.
Anakin pressed his lips together and pressed his forehead against hers, his breathing a little shaky. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Evinne needs to be more careful what she sends,” he muttered.
And that, finally, broke the tension that held them locked together. Ryn laughed shakily and pulled back, just an inch or so, to look up and meet his eyes. “Let’s hope the droid parts are safer.”
Anakin smiled, stretching across her to pick up the bag. “Well, at least I’ve never felt an inclination to kiss one before.”
Ryn’s breath caught. Her heartbeat fluttered like a caged bird against her ribs, pounding furiously as though trying to hammer its way out. It sounded like ... it couldn’t be ... but it sounded as though he were implying that he had felt an inclination to kiss her. That something that had been in the air seeped into her, like warmth from the sun, making her incandescent inside ...
A strange new sensation made her breathless, and it was so unfamiliar that at first Ryn couldn’t name it. It felt like air after drowning, like water in a desert, like the first dawn of light in a new world.
Anakin’s fingers brushed hers as he handed her some sort of tool. “Hang onto that for a second, will you?”
And then Ryn knew.
It felt like hope.
Author's note: This chapter is shameless Ryn/Ani fluff, with a little Yoda philosophy and a dash of political intrigue tossed in for flavor. I make no apologies. Love it or hate it? Let me know! :)
CHAPTER THREE
Ryn wandered into the Kenobi-Skywalker quarters about half-past seven, humming softly to herself and carrying a bag of droid parts that Evinne had dropped off for Anakin.
“Master Kenobi, Anakin, hello!”
Obi-Wan stuck his head out of the kitchen to greet her. “Hello, Ryn. I was just clearing the table -- can I get you anything?”
As if they ever had any leftovers to speak of. Obi-Wan was tight with food -- or frugal, as he would say.
“No, I’m fine. I ate earlier, in the refec -- the mess,” she corrected herself. With Mater Yoda, who had clearly tried to be pleasant dinner company and not to lecture. She felt sure it had something to do with the scene in the training dojo earlier, but whatever Yoda had thought of that, he was keeping it well-hidden.
At the end, finally, he had alluded to it in a roundabout sort of way.
“At ease with the Younglings, you are,” he’d said as Ryn finished off her soup.
What was there to say to that? Ryn had hesitated with the spoon halfway to her mouth.
“LIke them, I sense you do, hm?”
Ryn had put down her spoon. They’re not Jedi yet. They haven’t learned detachment. “I think it’s in the nature of most beings to find young things appealing,” she suggested hesitantly. “It’s a deeply ingrained response.” Yoda had looked unconvinced, so Ryn had added, “It probably aids in the preservation of a species or something.”
“Scientific speculation, this is. Speaking of your feelings, we were.”
Oh. Right. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Master Yoda. I don’t go out of my way to meet the Younglings. I try to be polite when I do see them. It’s ... probably healthy, that they want to ask questions. I --”
More gently than usual, Yoda cut her off. “Accusing you of wrongdoing, I was not,” he’d said. “Curious, I am. If at home were you ... children of your own, would you have?”
Children. A family. Anakin’s children. But of all her hidden fantasies involving Anakin, that one had to be the most dangerous and the least possible. A sane woman wouldn’t even think about it, especially in front of Yoda.
Of course, we’ve pretty well proven by now that I’m an idiot.
“Probably not for a year or two yet,” she’d told the well-meaning bane of her existence. “I’d be -- I’d most likely be getting married sometime this year.”
Yoda had tipped his green head to one side. “Someone you have in mind? A mate?”
Anakin, Ryn thought again, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. “No, Master. But it would almost certainly be a political marriage.”
“Hmm.” Yoda had narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully. “A political marriage. Sound like denying yourself attachments, that does.” He poked her in the foot with his gimer stick under the table. “As does leaving your people to come here.”
Well ... maybe? “Master Yoda, I don’t think I understand where you are going with this.”
“Hmp.” Yoda rested his hands on the knot of his gimer stick. “For someone who does not agree with the Jedi way, a surprisingly good Jedi you make, hmm?”
Ryn had looked away, disconcerted. “I do believe in attachments, Master Yoda. I believe in love. I’m here because of love, because I care about the people I left behind. Because the galaxy may be at stake and I’m trying hard to love it, too. If I weren’t attached, I could just ... go my merry way. Let the Jedi take care of themselves, let the galaxy burn.” She met Yoda’s venerable gaze straight-on, ignoring the pitch in her stomach. “If I followed your Code, I wouldn’t be here.”
Yoda sighed. “Angry, you need not be. Trying to understand, I am.”
Ryn had felt her shoulders slump, abruptly ashamed. “I’m sorry, Master Yoda.”
To her surprise, Yoda had reached out and touched her white hand with his green, three-fingered one. “Speak of this later, we will. Rest tonight, you should.”
“Yes, Master Yoda,” Ryn had said mechanically, unable to forgive herself for botching what could have been a productive discussion.
Master Kenobi was watching her curiously now, and Ryn realized he’d said something she’d missed, busy with her wool-gathering. “Sorry, what?”
“I said you’re looking better. Filling out again.”
Oh. That would probably be because Anakin kept showing up with Vokara Che’s concentrated nutrient pills and insisting that she take them. And he’d taken to carrying the protein shake mixes in his utility belt and emptying them into her water. He’d even done it during the Senate hearings. Twice.
Anakin, you’re driving me crazy, she’d said, exasperated, the second time.
He’d ducked his head and looked up at her through his lashes, pleading shamelessly. Please, he’d begged her. I can’t rest until I know you’re better. Just drink a little. For me?
Skywalker, you manipulative bastard, she’d said. But she had drunk the shake anyway.
Anakin had looked smug.
So now she looked at his master and shrugged. “Anakin has taken to monitoring my calorie intake.”
Obi-Wan cringed. “Oh, dear. I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Good instinct.” She jerked her head toward the hallway that concealed the sleeping quarters. “I brought him some droid parts from Evinne. Shall I ...”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, by all means, go on back.”
Ryn nodded at Obi-Wan and headed for Anakin’s room. The door slid open before she could knock, and Ryn took a step inside and sank to the floor beside Anakin, setting her bag of parts down with a clank. “Evinne sent you goodies,” she said by way of explanation. “She also sends you this ...” She leaned over and kissed Anakin lightly on the cheek.
She meant it to be just a quick brush of the lips, a friendly kiss, really she did -- and she was sure that had been what Evinne intended -- only the line of his jaw was warm and sweet and smelled insanely good, and she froze, unable to tear herself away, as yearning welled beneath her skin and she felt herself go soft and aching inside.
Anakin turned his head so that his lips brushed hers as he spin a hushed breath: “Ryn, we can’t. It’s all wrong, we just can’t.”
“I know,” Ryn said; but she wasn’t moving, hovering so close his lips almost touched hers again when he spoke. Some part of her mind noticed that he wasn't saying I don't want to. She was afraid to think about what that meant, as though that hesitant something in the air between them might shatter if either of them looked at it wrong.
“I mean it, you’re killing me here, Obi-Wan is in the next room, we’ve talked about this before, we can’t.” He felt so warm, so close, like everything she wanted and he was right there ...
“I know,” Ryn breathed back; but she felt helpless to move.
Anakin pressed his lips together and pressed his forehead against hers, his breathing a little shaky. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Evinne needs to be more careful what she sends,” he muttered.
And that, finally, broke the tension that held them locked together. Ryn laughed shakily and pulled back, just an inch or so, to look up and meet his eyes. “Let’s hope the droid parts are safer.”
Anakin smiled, stretching across her to pick up the bag. “Well, at least I’ve never felt an inclination to kiss one before.”
Ryn’s breath caught. Her heartbeat fluttered like a caged bird against her ribs, pounding furiously as though trying to hammer its way out. It sounded like ... it couldn’t be ... but it sounded as though he were implying that he had felt an inclination to kiss her. That something that had been in the air seeped into her, like warmth from the sun, making her incandescent inside ...
A strange new sensation made her breathless, and it was so unfamiliar that at first Ryn couldn’t name it. It felt like air after drowning, like water in a desert, like the first dawn of light in a new world.
Anakin’s fingers brushed hers as he handed her some sort of tool. “Hang onto that for a second, will you?”
And then Ryn knew.
It felt like hope.