Obitine Week - Day One: Conversation
I Wished You’d Told Me Sooner
“You look just like her.”
Jolted from her reverie by the familiar voice, Satine glanced around to see Obi-Wan standing just behind her. She was at first shocked that she hadn’t heard him approach—but after her initial surprise faded, she recalled that this wasn’t out of the ordinary for him, She wasn’t certain if it was a Jedi skill or simply his own quirk, but he could be surprisingly light on his feet when he wanted to.
He looked down at her, then dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to intrude.”
She wondered at first if he was referring to his taking her by surprise. Then she remembered his words, what he’d said to first grab her attention, and she knew: Like her, Obi-Wan had been studying the tiny hologram in her hand, the image blue and wavering and yet unmistakable in the twilight.
It was a hologram of Satine’s mother, taken days before she had died.
Satine looked back at the holo, as if simply gazing at it could take her back to that time and place. “People often said I took more after than my father.”
“You have her eyes,” Obi-Wan commented softly.
“So I was told. I didn’t know her very long in this life—but you’re already aware of that.”
She looked up in time to catch him dip his head. “As I said, I don’t wish to intrude.”
“After three months of living hand-to-mouth together,” she said with a small smile, “I believe you hardly count as an intruder.”
A soft chuckle. “No, I suppose I don’t. I simply didn’t…” He paused, eyes searching the ground as if the words he sought could be found there. “I wasn’t certain if you’d rather be left alone while you’re thinking of your mother.”
“I think I’ve been alone with my thoughts enough tonight,” she replied, shaking her head. She patted the spot next to her. “Come. Sit.”
He hesitated, then again looked at the ground. “There’s something I need to tell you first—something I should have told you some time ago.”
She tilted her head to one side, bemused. “What about?”
Although his eyes remained where they were, Satine could detect a faint flush coloring his face. “About my behavior. A few weeks ago, when we…when I…”
Satine felt a flush warming her own face. She knew exactly what he was referring to.
A weeks ago, she had allowed herself to give into something stirring inside her and kiss him—tentatively at first, then more deeply when she saw he wanted this as much as her. She wasn’t sure how long it had lasted; all she could remember was the sudden, heady feeling she got as their kiss become more demanding. Then suddenly, as soon as the moment had begun, Obi-Wan had turned away, face unreadable. All he’d had to say to her was a muttered “I shouldn’t have done that” before he stalked off, leaving her confused and alone and on the verge of tears.
Before he could see how the memory had affected her—how it still stung like a fresh welt on her soul—Satine turned away, looking ostensibly at her lap. “If you’re here to lecture me about that…incident…I think I’d prefer to be alone again.”
“On the contrary…I wanted to apologize.”
Satine’s head all but snapped around to stare at him. “Apologize?”
“Yes, apologize.” There was reticent in his tone, a slight unease in his posture, but he was able to meet her gaze. “I shouldn’t have reacted as I did. It was inconsiderate, and it clearly hurt you. I should have been honest with you, rather than push you away—and for that, I am truly sorry.”
Satine found herself blinking again, and had to remind herself to keep her mouth from going agape. It wasn’t that she’d thought Obi-Wan too proud to apologize; after all, she’d seen him apologize to his Master, Qui-Gon, on a number of occasions. It was more that she hadn’t expected him to be so open, so vulnerable, with her. He had always been closed off with her, never letting her in much beyond a few unguarded conversations or their extended kiss, and to have him open up to her in this way—it was practically a miracle.
And she couldn’t, for the life of her, think of how to respond. All she could think of was something inane, like “thank you” or “apology accepted.” But those didn’t really seem to fit. Nothing did. So she just sat there, studying him, waiting for him to make the next move.
Thankfully, Obi-Wan didn’t hold her in suspense for too long. After only a moment or so of silence, he gestured toward where she was sitting, and when she nodded in response, he tentatively lowered himself next to her. She noted that he didn’t actually sit; rather, he was poised on one knee, close enough that their legs nearly brushed.
“I’m not one to justify my mistakes,” he said, smiling ruefully. “But, well—I believe I do owe you an explanation of why I reacted the way I did. Contrary to how I may have made you feel, it wasn’t the kiss itself or anything you’d done that made me act in the way I did.” His gaze dropped a moment as he cleared his throat. “In fact, I rather liked it when you kissed me. And I realized a part of me had been wanting you to kiss me for some time—and that scared me.”
“Scared you?” She echoed, a hint of incredulity in her tone.
“Yes, scared. And for some time, I’ve been wondering why that was—why was I frightened of reciprocating a kiss, when I’ve had so many encounters with death? Then I had a dream from when I was younger, a memory of when I was just a youngling, and I had a realization: I’m afraid of one and not the other because death still permits me to be a Jedi.”
He paused briefly, gaze dropping to where their bodies almost touched. Satine thought for a moment that he might touch her—and, to her surprise, she found she wanted him to. She wanted to feel his hand brush her thigh, wanted his touch to send shivers up her spine…but it wasn’t to be. He only leaned closer, his eyes full of both regret and reticence.
“I’ve never told anyone this before,” Obi-Wan said, voice sounding suddenly small, “but my dream from the other night..it was of my only memory of my parents, back when the Jedi came to take me to the Temple. Both my parents were there, and they were looking at me with such sadness and pride, like they were grieving losing me to the Order but proud that I’d been granted such an honor. And I think at some point in my childhood, I began to feel as though I needed to be the perfect Jedi in order to outweigh their grief with pride—a pride in what I had become.”
He stopped again, cleared his throat, then went on. “Only there was a time when there was a very real possibility that I may never be a Jedi. I was a fairly dysregulated child, quick to anger and to lash out at others, which are precisely the opposite of what a prospective Master would look for in a student. In fact, I wasn’t selected as a padawan until after I’d passed the age at which a youngling must be chosen by a master. I was so close to never becoming a Jedi—never making my parents proud and their sacrifice worth it. And that…well, that terrified me, as much as our kiss did: because wanting you to kiss me was just as likely to result in my never being a Jedi as when I was overlooked as a youngling.”
Satine glanced down again at where their legs almost touched. “I was under the impression that padawans were permitted to have physical relationships before they became full Jedi.”
“That is true,” he confirmed, “but I’ve never been one to consider having a physical relationship with someone without having some sort of emotional connection first.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “The first person I ever considered kissing was a friend I’d known for quite some time—although even then I never acted on that desire. And I think it’s because I feared I’d always want something…more.”
Slowly, Satine met his gaze, struck by the rawness in both his voice and expression. She could see it now—see why he felt the way he did. See why he described his relatively innocent desire as frightening, why he was more comfortable with death than reciprocating someone’s affection.
“You were afraid of falling in love,” she said simply.
He nodded, looking away. “It would be the one thing that could overcome my resolve to be a Jedi—to make my parents proud and atone for the fact that they gave up their first child. And, as a result, I’ve tried averting romantic love at all costs. But, well…” He met her gaze slowly, tentatively. “I’m afraid that when it comes to you, it might already be too late.”
Satine gazed back at him, hardly daring to breathe. She wanted to tell herself that she had misheard him, or that she had simply imagined it. But as she sat there, really letting herself look into his eyes for first time, she knew she hadn’t misunderstood. The truth of it, of what he’d dared lay open to her, was right there in his gaze.
The gravity of that truth seemed to distort time around her, to both stretch it and compress it. It was hard to tell if she’d been sitting there for an hour or five seconds—both seemed easily plausible, but equally fantastical as well. It wasn’t until something shifted in Obi-Wan’s gaze, when his vulnerability shifted into embarrassment, that she realized they must’ve been gazing at one another far longer than she realized. Or at least longer than was socially acceptable.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, gaze flitting away as he moved to stand. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I—“
She stopped him by placing a hand on his knee. “You have nothing to be sorry for. At least not for what you’ve said just now—not for telling the truth. I only wish…”
He suddenly seemed so young, so uncertain. “What?”
She allowed herself a smile as her eyes began to mist. “I only wish you’d told me sooner.”
