Fic: ‘what he does’
Title: what he does
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: (PG)
Time Period: Between tPM & AotC.
Summary: What would he do?
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
In order:
when first they meet
goodbye, my friend
within the crowd
goodbye
an unspoken apology
This comes immediately after within the crowd; probably the same day.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Lucas; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by him.
_______________________
Doors open, words are spoken and the Handmaiden turns; he catches her wrist, turning her to him.
“Padmé,” he murmurs, conscious of the security nearby. The girl looks up and he sees a small smile. “Do not think you can fool a Jedi twice.”
“Is now when I should wave my hand and intone I’m not the Padmé you are looking for?”
His fingers slide from her wrist. “My hand was hidden.”
“I know how Jedi use mind tricks,” she retorts, the memory of now and yesteryear fresh.
She turns, away from him and toward the large living area; he can see how the windows have been used but the space feels stark, depressing. “You should lighten ...” a slight nod toward the grey walls. “It feels cold.”
She turns, gesturing to the nearest chair. “I’ve only just moved here. Changes have yet to be made.”
“Such as wall colour.”
“Such as wall colour,” she agrees. “Where is Anakin?”
He gathers the outer robe about him as he sits. “With Master Yoda,” he replies. “Learning,” a faint upquirk of the corners of his lips, “patience.”
“And how do his lessons progress?”
“Slowly.” He shakes his head. “I have faith Master Yoda will prevail where younger minds have not.”
“Is your mind among those?”
“How have you been, Padmé?” His arms are lost underneath the robe, his hands within the long sleeves.
She sits upright, her back nowhere near the back of the chair. “I am on Coruscant,” she answers, “serving my Queen.”
“Do you give yourself to your Queen?”
“I gave myself to my people. The Queen makes no such demand.”
An eyebrow arches itself as he looks at her; her, not the role she wears hidden behind Handmaiden robes. “You would not be Queen.”
“I serve where I must,” she says, a simple reply. “I am needed where I am.”
“And who tends to your needs, Senator?”
“Padmé,” she idly corrects, standing and turning her back to him. She folds her arms, rubbing her upper arm. “I serve the needs of my Queen and, through her, Naboo.”
That eyebrow remains arched. “You do not know how to be Padmé,” he observes.
She turns. “And you know how to be Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
“I am Jedi.”
“You were not always so,” she counters. “You were taught how to be.”
“As you were taught?”
“No,” she lightly chuckles. “I was raised in a village and learned how to be Padmé. I was not always Senator and Queen.”
“I have always been Jedi.”
She steps away from the chair she had sat upon and stands closer to him. “You were a baby given to the Jedi,” she challenges. “If you were not Jedi, you could have been something else. Something befitting Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
He studies her closely, listens to her words; this was why, he thinks, he detests politicians. “I am what I am,” he replies simply, standing. “Nothing more or less.”
She looks up, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, down her back. “And you are Jedi?”
“I am Jedi.”
“And if you were not Jedi, who would you be? What would you do?”
He pauses, his answer dying stillborn on his tongue. Who would he be, he muses. What would he do? The words tumble in his mind.
“What would you do?” She softly persists, reaching within his robe and unclipping his lightsabre from his belt. “What would you do if this,” she holds it between them, “did not rule your life?”
“I ---” Words fail, slipping away.
She drops the lightsabre; it rolls on the soft carpet. His eyes follow the movement, follow its path as it rolls and then stops. Slowly, he follows its trail back to her hand, along her arm and then, finally, he meets brown eyes which wait. “... you ...?”
He steps to her, her face between his hands and he lowers his lips. Soft, pliant under his, her lips part and he presses the gained advantage, his fingers slipping into her hair, his body leaning against hers. “This,” a whisper against her lips. “I would do this.”
Her arms wrap about his neck and pull him down to waiting lips.
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: (PG)
Time Period: Between tPM & AotC.
Summary: What would he do?
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
In order:
when first they meet
goodbye, my friend
within the crowd
goodbye
an unspoken apology
This comes immediately after within the crowd; probably the same day.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Lucas; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by him.
_______________________
Doors open, words are spoken and the Handmaiden turns; he catches her wrist, turning her to him.
“Padmé,” he murmurs, conscious of the security nearby. The girl looks up and he sees a small smile. “Do not think you can fool a Jedi twice.”
“Is now when I should wave my hand and intone I’m not the Padmé you are looking for?”
His fingers slide from her wrist. “My hand was hidden.”
“I know how Jedi use mind tricks,” she retorts, the memory of now and yesteryear fresh.
She turns, away from him and toward the large living area; he can see how the windows have been used but the space feels stark, depressing. “You should lighten ...” a slight nod toward the grey walls. “It feels cold.”
She turns, gesturing to the nearest chair. “I’ve only just moved here. Changes have yet to be made.”
“Such as wall colour.”
“Such as wall colour,” she agrees. “Where is Anakin?”
He gathers the outer robe about him as he sits. “With Master Yoda,” he replies. “Learning,” a faint upquirk of the corners of his lips, “patience.”
“And how do his lessons progress?”
“Slowly.” He shakes his head. “I have faith Master Yoda will prevail where younger minds have not.”
“Is your mind among those?”
“How have you been, Padmé?” His arms are lost underneath the robe, his hands within the long sleeves.
She sits upright, her back nowhere near the back of the chair. “I am on Coruscant,” she answers, “serving my Queen.”
“Do you give yourself to your Queen?”
“I gave myself to my people. The Queen makes no such demand.”
An eyebrow arches itself as he looks at her; her, not the role she wears hidden behind Handmaiden robes. “You would not be Queen.”
“I serve where I must,” she says, a simple reply. “I am needed where I am.”
“And who tends to your needs, Senator?”
“Padmé,” she idly corrects, standing and turning her back to him. She folds her arms, rubbing her upper arm. “I serve the needs of my Queen and, through her, Naboo.”
That eyebrow remains arched. “You do not know how to be Padmé,” he observes.
She turns. “And you know how to be Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
“I am Jedi.”
“You were not always so,” she counters. “You were taught how to be.”
“As you were taught?”
“No,” she lightly chuckles. “I was raised in a village and learned how to be Padmé. I was not always Senator and Queen.”
“I have always been Jedi.”
She steps away from the chair she had sat upon and stands closer to him. “You were a baby given to the Jedi,” she challenges. “If you were not Jedi, you could have been something else. Something befitting Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
He studies her closely, listens to her words; this was why, he thinks, he detests politicians. “I am what I am,” he replies simply, standing. “Nothing more or less.”
She looks up, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, down her back. “And you are Jedi?”
“I am Jedi.”
“And if you were not Jedi, who would you be? What would you do?”
He pauses, his answer dying stillborn on his tongue. Who would he be, he muses. What would he do? The words tumble in his mind.
“What would you do?” She softly persists, reaching within his robe and unclipping his lightsabre from his belt. “What would you do if this,” she holds it between them, “did not rule your life?”
“I ---” Words fail, slipping away.
She drops the lightsabre; it rolls on the soft carpet. His eyes follow the movement, follow its path as it rolls and then stops. Slowly, he follows its trail back to her hand, along her arm and then, finally, he meets brown eyes which wait. “... you ...?”
He steps to her, her face between his hands and he lowers his lips. Soft, pliant under his, her lips part and he presses the gained advantage, his fingers slipping into her hair, his body leaning against hers. “This,” a whisper against her lips. “I would do this.”
Her arms wrap about his neck and pull him down to waiting lips.