Fragments of the Galaxy

It was supposed to have been a simple bit of reconnaissance. That was all. But it had ended with them running through the ruined skeleton of a warehouse and finding themselves in a battle with a rather large nest of monsters that, as they had learned firsthand, died in an incredibly messy fashion. An explosive sort of fashion.

VIOLENTLY explosive. All over them.

Over HER.

Somehow she’d managed take the brunt of it. And what made it worse was that Obi-Wan had one splotch of the stuff on him. ONE. Siri wasn’t amused. AT ALL. She might have been, if there hadn’t been so much of it on her. She was soaked from head to toe in sticky, vaguely gelatinous monster goop that smelled of brimstone.

She stalked into Obi-Wan’s apartment, squishing with every step and leaving a repulsive, mucky trail behind her. It was his fault, she had decided, the least he could do was let her clean up at his place.

Siri sat sprawled in the farthest corner booth in the bar, fingers tapping impatiently along the rim of the untouched drink sitting in front of her. Obi-Wan had asked her to meet him there, and she had agreed without hesitation. There had been something in his voice… to anyone that didn’t know him, he would have sounded fine. But she DID know him, she knew him better than anyone, and to her he had sounded… devastated.

So she waited. And worried. Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.

The moment he arrived she knew she was right to worry. He strode through the bar, ignoring everyone and making a beeline straight for her. They’d always had the odd ability to do that, to find the other in a room no matter where they were. He reached her booth, picked up her drink and knocked it back in a single swallow before letting the now-empty glass thud back to the table to reach for her hand. Tangling his fingers tightly with hers he pulled her from the booth, towards the nearby store room.

Fuck. What had happened?

The moment the door to the store room closed behind them his hands were cupping her face and he was kissing her fervently, like he was fucking drowning and she kissed him back, because she didn’t know what had happened and it didn’t matter; he needed her. He broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, clutching her tightly and drawing her against him. He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes in anguish; he was shaking, fuck he was shaking, and she slid her arms under his leather jacket and held him tight.

“Qui-Gon is dead,” he murmured brokenly, and she felt her world shift. NO.

“What? Fuck, Obi-Wan, I…” I’m sorry seemed so fucking trite. Pointless. She cradled his face with her hands. “What do you need?”

“This. You.”

“Always.” They’d been something of an on-again/off-again couple, with on-again always seeming to happening whenever they were in the same place at the same time for any amount of time whatsoever, no matter how much they tried to avoid it, or deny it; hunting wasn’t exactly a business conducive to a serious relationship. Or any relationship at all, really.

But they always came back to each other.

Back pressed against the wall of an unused and untraveled alcove in the Temple, Obi-Wan’s body warm against her, with her hands tangled in his hair and his lips on hers, Siri was, for the first time since returning from her last mission, at ease. It was kriffing dangerous, a risk they knew they shouldn’t take, but the longer the war went on, the longer they fought, watching – SENSING – combatants and innocents alike hurt and dying, the more difficult it was to keep their distance. To suffer the physical and mental toll alone.

After experiencing so much death and sorrow... they NEEDED the few painfully brief moments’ of solace in each other’s arms that they could steal. She let herself get lost in the warmth of him, the taste of him, his presence surrounding her in the Force.

He was still alive, and so was she.

But the weight of the war, of what they knew of the future, was wearing on them both, and she missed him. Missed this. Missed his embrace, his company. Her quarters were too empty without him.

She deepened the kiss, pulling him closer.

It was only Obi-Wan’s softly spoken murmur of her name that kept Siri from acting rashly. The grip on her lightsaber was white knuckled under her leather glove, and she almost vibrated with tension, the desire to move, to attack, to hammer at Opress until he was defenceless.

Maul looked between the two of them, laughing humourlessly. “You shouldn’t have come, Kenobi.” His voice was mocking. “Your emotions betray you. Betray your attachment.”

She moved to attack, then, despite her better sense, despite Obi-Wan; he wasn’t the brother she wanted, he wasn’t Opress, but he was in her way and he was using her to bait Obi-Wan. She should have listened, should have waited, should have kept her emotions in check, because Maul was expecting it. He was expecting her to move, to attack, and he lunged at her, flinging her backwards with the Force. Opress moved to intercept Obi-Wan, to prevent him from interfering.

She slammed into the wall, barely able to bring her lightsaber up in time to deflect his Darksaber.

The fight was vicious, and brutal, and it ended with Siri arched backwards by the grip Maul had on her throat with the Force, the blade of his Darksaber so close to her neck that it burned, blood from the injuries they’d inflicted on each other pattering onto the ground.

Her lightsaber lay where it had fallen from her hands when the Zabrak had Force choked her and knocked it from her grip.... it lay at Obi-Wan’s feet.

“And now the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us,*” Maul snarled, his grip on her throat tightening, and she couldn’t swallow the strangled, breathless gasp. “I never planned on killing you. But I will make you share my pain, Kenobi.*”





[* Dialogue taken from Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Season 5, episode 16 “Lawless”.]

Siri sat in the cockpit of her ship, staring absently into space.

It had been weeks.

Weeks since everything had gone kriffing sideways. Weeks since she nearly died on Mygeeto. Weeks since she felt Ki-Adi Mundi die, and so many other Jedi. The injuries she’d suffered escaping her clone troopers burned white hot... but it wasn’t the physical pain that bothered her. She would survive it; Jedi healing was quite impressive, and even more so when shifted. It was the loneliness that threatened to break her. Jedi weren’t solitary beings. They weren’t meant to be alone.

But the pack bond was all but silent, now. And it ached with the pain of losing so many. SHE ached with it. It hurt far worse than her injuries ever could. Despite that, she ran, letting the Force guide her, the faintest sense of... something, someONE through the pack bond. A presence she was as familiar with as her own soul.

Obi-Wan.

He was alive.

And THAT gave her hope. Although she didn’t dare breathe it aloud, acknowledge it, until she saw him, truly saw him for herself. She NEEDED to see him for herself. So she ignored the pain, ignored the aching loneliness where there used to be so much life, and piloted her ship towards that flicker of presence. Towards Obi-Wan.

Towards Tatooine.

Her approach that was probably more rapid than was entirely safe. But her ship was in the sort of shape that she’d rather land as quickly as possible. And the sooner she landed, the sooner she would find him.

Breathing a soft sigh of relief once she set down on the planet’s surface, she undid the harness strapping her in and struggled to stand. Force, she hurt. But she couldn’t stop. Not yet. She didn’t dare shift, either; her landing had been witnessed, and a large wolf disembarking would look incredibly suspicious with no one else onboard.

So she pulled the hood of her cloak up and limped slowly, carefully, down the landing ramp, keeping her head down and her cloak drawn around her as she blended easily into what she supposed would be considered a crowd on Tatooine.

It took a considerable amount of effort not to hurry. But she walked, winding her way towards her destination. There would be no stopping until she reached him.

The heat was exhausting, but she pressed on. She needed to see him. She just... needed HIM. Until his presence bloomed, warm and familiar in the Force, through their pack bond.

And she ran.

A huge wolf loped towards her and as soon as they were within distance she flung herself towards him, clutching at him, clinging to him. The movement made agony spike, sharp and blinding, and she muffled her keen of pain into his fur. He curled around her, and they stayed like that for a long moment, crumpled together in the sand.

He was alive. Force, he was alive.

Somehow, they dragged themselves up out of the sand, and started the long journey towards the small building on the horizon. They stayed close to each other, unconsciously, and she carded her fingers through his fur. The sorrow and horror and loss and home that rolled over her through the Force and their bond was intense, and undercut by a sharp, desperate pang of want that made her shiver. He pressed against her hip and looked up at her, vaguely apologetic. You have nothing to apologise for, she sent instantly, without hesitation, carding her fingers through his fur again. It was his turn to shiver, and he didn’t move from her side until they reached his home.

It was small, and minimal, with the main room serving as both living area and bedroom, the kitchen up a small step or two. But it was out of the sun, and it was safe.

He caught her sleeve between his teeth and dragged her towards the only bed. She shook her head, digging in her heels. “I won’t kick you out of your bed, Obi-Wan.” She’d seen that answering look on his face, both human and wolf, a thousand times before, and he only pulled harder on her sleeve. Still gently, but insistent and refusing to back down. “Fine,” she sighed, letting him pull her the rest of the way.

It was a surprisingly comfortable bed, and the moment she sank down on it she was fairly certain she wouldn’t be getting back up for quite some time. He nudged her good shoulder with his nose, and she lay back. It was only when he joined her that some of the tension eased out of her, and she curled up against him, arm flung around him as she breathed in the scent of him.

He was home. He’d always been home.

Finally, she slept.

Siri woke to a now-human-shaped Obi-Wan entwined with her, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. Despite herself, she traced the lines of his face with an unsteady finger; he blinked blearily at her, stirred awake by her touch. Her eyes were drawn to the thick bandages wrapped around his neck, her fingers moving unconsciously to brush the edges of it. There was only one thing those bandages could mean. One creature that would attack in such a fashion. SITH. “Oh, Obi-Wan,” she breathed softly, feeling him tense against her. He watched her warily, something akin to fear in his eyes. Did he think she would run from him? Force, she could sooner run from herself. She cradled his cheek with her hand, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

Then his cheek.

Then the bandages on his neck, feather-light. He exhaled raggedly, bringing a hand up to touch her lips, before sliding into her hair. “Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.” You’re stuck with me. She kissed him again, because their Order had been razed to the ground, their fellow Jedi slaughtered where they stood... and all the reasons why they’d given each other up seemed kriffing pointless, now.

He kissed her like he needed her to breathe, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close. It was her turn to tuck her nose into the crook of his neck, pressed as tightly against him as she could, letting the warmth of him, the scent of him, lull her back to sleep. But she didn’t drift off until he did.

The demon sat on the hood of her stolen truck, taking a long, distracted drag off the cigarette that she’d taken from the former driver. She was waiting. And normally she was patient about these things; it wasn’t like she didn’t have all the time in the fucking world, after all. But not today. Her brow furrowed, and she pressed borrowed fingers against her equally borrowed temple. “Shut UP,” she hissed, black eyes flashing. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Her host was fighting her. Again. STILL. Not that she wasn’t used to some kind of fight from the poor fucks whose headspace she used, but this one wouldn’t. Fucking. GIVE. UP. And it was pissing her off. None of her hosts’ had lasted this long. Or fought this HARD. Didn’t it just fucking figure that she had to go and choose the stubborn one. No matter. This body was hers in every way that counted, and her host would be broken, defeated, subsumed soon enough.

Until then, she would just have to cause her as much fucking pain and heartbreak as she could. And she knew just the way to do it.

There he is. Watch and enjoy, poppet. She hopped off the hood, crossing the distance between them unnoticed and slipping behind her prey. “Hello lover,” the demon wearing Siri’s face purred in Obi-Wan’s ear, dragging her tongue up the side of his face.

It was agony.

So much had changed since her death; her almost death. Going to the Land of Make Believe, to Univille, the Warehouse, had changed everything. Had changed them most of all. They had exchanged vows, she’d taken his NAME, wore his ring as he wore hers... lived together as husband and wife, with every intention of spending the rest of their lives together.

And now they were back. Returned to their galaxy at the moment they were removed, memories intact. Force bonds intact. To an Order that still found attachments dangerous. WRONG.

Too much had changed; she could not conceive of setting aside her feelings for him, giving him up. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. And, much to her relief... he felt the same way. So they... pretended. Hid what they felt in the Force, behaved as they had before their journey to another world. It hurt, FORCE, how it hurt, keeping her distance from him. She’d grown far too accustomed to his presence at her side. In her bed. Doing silly little things like curling up together on a porch bench enjoying a beautiful summer morning.

She’d never known longing quite like this.

They stole moments, when they could. With the ability to hide their presence, their emotions, in the Force, it made matters just a little bit easier. But FINDING moments to steal, in the Temple, with the war, their missions, was difficult. They were separated far too often. For far too long.

But they were Jedi, and they did what they must. They knew what was coming, now; maybe they could change it. Keep Anakin from Falling to the Dark Side. From becoming Vader. Keep Sidious from becoming Emperor. Whatever happened, she would be at Obi-Wan’s side this time. He wouldn’t go through it alone.

Duty didn’t make it any less painfully lonely, lying in bed in her quarters at the Temple, without him by her side. He was her husband... and she had to continually pretend that he was nothing more than a friend. And an often frustrating one at that; which he was, of course. Marriage hadn’t changed that. He could still frustrate her more than anyone in the galaxy. But he was so much more to her, as well.

And no one could ever know.

Which was why her next mission was a welcome one. A two Jedi team was being sent to a planet to investigate reports of a Separatist plot to take over the shipyards there. It was a deep space mission, and she was one of the Jedi assigned to investigate. The other... was Obi-Wan.

It was a long flight. They would be alone.

With no need to hide.

Siri never minded being assigned a mission with Obi-Wan. They weren’t always given the opportunity to work together on missions, so when it did occur she enjoyed it thoroughly. They’d been right; they did make a very good team. She trusted no one at her back more than him.

And their attachment, their relationship, never got in the way of what needed doing. They were professional, kept their personal matters private. Every so often, however, there were instances unrelated to the mission at hand that she was... more aware of than she meant to be. More aware of than she should be.

She’d known that there was a history between the two of them. When he was a Padawan he’d been assigned with Master Qui-Gon to protect her from the insurgents threatening her planet. But it became very obvious when they first arrived on Mandalore that Duchess Kryze was incredibly attracted to him. Possibly even loved him.

She wasn’t jealous. She didn’t doubt his feelings for her, or the strength of their relationship. They’d been together a very long time, now. Since they were Padawans. And she could never doubt him. The only time there had been doubts of any kind were when she had left the Order to go undercover with Krayn. She hadn’t been able to tell him of her orders. To tell him that she would have to leave.

Leave the Order.

Leave him.

There had been doubts, then. Her heart had broken, as she shouted at Adi and stormed out of the Temple. And it had broken further, when, two years after her leaving Krayn’s band of slavers crossed paths with a Jedi and his Padawan.

Obi-Wan. And Anakin.

The things he’d said to her, that they’d said to each other, had hurt in a way she couldn’t put into words.

That was the only time she’d doubted. But they’d found their way back to each other. He had her heart, and she had his. Forever. They’d gotten married, almost as soon as Anakin had been knighted. And unless it was required for an undercover mission, the simple silver band he’d given her on their wedding day didn’t leave her finger. She was wearing it now, the silver catching the light of the sun and glinting faintly.

It didn’t make watching the two of them any easier, sometimes. Watching the woman curl her hand around his arm, watching her press close to him when she thought no one was looking. She couldn’t help the sharpness of her tongue, sometimes; it didn’t affect the mission, however. Obi-Wan was the Negotiator. He handled the... personable aspect of things. He’d always been more patient than she was. So she would handle other aspects. Gathering information. Listening to whispers. She could blend in well enough with the Mandalorians if she changed out of her unisuit and left her cloak and lightsaber behind. It would involve the proper style of clothing and hair, but that was an easy enough matter to take care of.

Until then... she would simply have to watch Duchess Kryze throw herself at her husband.

Once they were on the ship Siri withdrew to quarters, choosing a room that was as far as she could possibly manage from Anakin. From Obi-Wan. Krayn was dead. And while a sentient beings death never brought joy or elation, she couldn’t help but feel that his... had been an unavoidable one. It was over. After years... it was finally over. She no longer had to be Zora. She could let the persona go, release who she’d had to become to go undercover with Krayn’s organization.

No matter what she had done.

What she had had to do.

Her stomach turned, and she ran to the refresher, losing what little she’d eaten in the past seventy two hours. She felt... besmirched, filthy and unclean and as far from a Jedi as one person could possibly be. She’d done her job. She cut ties with the Order, let them say that she betrayed them, turned traitor, wormed her way into Krayn’s organization, until she was his right hand.

And now it was over.

But it wasn’t.

Three years.

Three years she’d been undercover with Krayn. She hadn’t been allowed to tell Obi-Wan when she left. And the Order didn’t bother to inform him. She’d had to let him think she’d deserted the Order. Deserted him. It had broken her heart to leave, and broken it further to know that he thought that of her. She had kept her love for him, and the heartbreak, and how much she missed him locked away, buried so deep she could barely find it...

Until the day she saw him again.

Force, why did it have to be him? Of any pair of Master and Padawan that could have crossed her path... why did it have to be them? And now, her mission was over, and she was trapped on a ship with them, as they returned to Coruscant.

Returned home.

Only she wasn’t sure she belonged there, anymore. Not with what she’d done, what she’d HAD to do, in order to maintain her cover. She didn’t know where she fit, anymore.

She hid it best she could, under sarcasm, a brittle sort of gaiety and sharp words. Irritation disguised a multitude of emotions. And she had taught herself much, during her time with Krayn. Hiding what she felt in the Force was only part of that. It was the only way she thought she might keep herself together during this trip.

Legs unsteady, she all but collapsed onto her bed, suddenly having trouble breathing. She fumbled for a pillow, curling up around it and burying her face in it as she struggled against the unexpected panic attack. She was safe here, now. She didn’t have to constantly guard herself, to watch her back every moment of every day.

She was safe.

It had been so long since she’d truly been safe that she couldn’t accept it so easily, couldn’t relax her guard. Not with everything else that had happened. She wanted this trip to be over. To learn from the Council what would come of her, and move on.

Learn how to accept what had happened between her and Obi-Wan.

Still struggling to breathe, she closed her eyes and clutched the pillow harder, as the loss of him, of missing him, filled her chest so tightly she ached with it.

Where did she go from here?

Siri hurt. Oh Force, how she hurt. Magus’ blasterfire, the ship crash... she wasn’t in very good shape. She would have huffed a laugh had she the energy to spare. She was dying. There was a weakness settling in, a cold numbness creeping over her. No. Not now. Not like this. She refused to accept it; she would become one with the Force in due time. But not now. She couldn’t... she WOULDN’T leave him. The Order, as well. But mostly him. She would fight with whatever strength she had left. It was all she could do. She sensed Obi-Wan before she felt him, his anguish and worry filling the Force and pouring through their bond, as he landed on his knees at her side, fingers reaching out to brush her hair before settling to press against her neck.

Swallowing a cry of pain, she shifted, turning slightly so she could look at him. The expression on his face was heart breaking. She reached up with a trembling, unsteady hand to caress his cheek, and he covered her hand with his, pressed a kiss to her palm, uncaring of who saw. He reached out to her, wrapping her tightly in the Force, clinging to her as much as he could; they’d agreed, long ago, that that would be their embrace when on a mission. Physically doing so was kept to when they were alone, or in her quarters. She echoed it, reaching out to him and curling the Force around him as much as she could manage. It was difficult; she felt... unsteady.

“Magus –”

“Padmé has him covered. We’re safe for the moment.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “Rest. You’re going to be all right. I’ll get bacta.”

“Don’t leave me.” For a moment she was terrified, that he’d leave and she would die alone, unable to tell him all that needed to be said. “I wanted to say - ”

“No,” he told her hoarsely. “You’re not dying. You can’t.” Taking her face in his hands, he bent down and kissed her, fervently, desperately; she felt love and anguish and strength pouring into her, as he gave her all he could. “I’m going to get bacta, and you’re going to be fine. Please.”

When he pulled away there were tears dampening her cheeks, and she nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, Obi-Wan.” He kissed her again, and a third time, before rising to his feet and all but DASHING out of the wreckage of Magus’ ship. She was getting colder, but she fought it, clutching onto the warmth Obi-Wan had shared with her, his strength. She would not leave him.

He returned quickly, dropping to his knees beside her once more, tending to her injuries with steady hands. He was still worried, she could FEEL it, but outwardly there was no sign. “I love you,” she whispered softly, as unconsciousness stole her away.

*****

Awareness came back to Siri slowly, like she was surfacing from the bottom of an incredibly deep lake. She was groggy, and confused, and felt a little like she was floating. She was exhausted... and there was no more pain, no more white hot aching in her ribs, in her hips, no more burning agony in her chest, so intense that it made it hard for her to breathe. That was... wrong, somehow. She... she should...

Memory rushed back in, and her eyes flew open. She was in a bacta tank. Which explained the floating sensation. And how she was still alive. Almost frantic (but not frantic, Jedi were never frantic), she pounded on the glass. Obi-Wan. Talesan. Their mission.

What happened?

Were they all right?

Had the mission succeeded?

She could see blurred figures outside the tank, but she didn’t know who they were; all she knew was that they weren’t Force sensitive. She reached out in the Force, seeking Obi-Wan desperately even as she pounded harder on the glass. She needed out of this tank. She needed to know what happened. Obi-Wan. He was there, she could feel him in the Force, and through their bond, bright and warm and familiar. And he could tell her what happened. How long she’d been unconscious.

She needed out of this kriffing tank.

She needed to see him. Most important of all, she needed to see him.

He probably heard her in the Force before anything else, and the moment she felt him draw nearer she stilled slightly, her hand pressed against the glass of the tank, closing her eyes and focusing on his familiar presence. She was still restless, still itched to get out of the tank... but she could wait a few more moments. He was there... she could wait a little longer.

There was a gentle tug on the breathing mask she wore, and she blinked open her eyes and looked up, at the round hatch in the top of the tank. There was the silhouette of a humanoid figure, and she was kicking her legs and making her way to the surface almost as soon as she saw them. She shoved off the breathing mask and hauled herself out of the tank. She would need clothes; she was clad in the standard white camisole and briefs required for bacta immersion, and she wasn’t sure where the unisuit and cloak she’d worn on the mission had ended up. Or any of her gear. But that could wait a moment or two. She could wait a moment or two.

She brushed bacta-sodden hair off her face as a tech dropped a grate into place over the hatch, and another used a water spray to wash the bacta residue off of her and back into the tank. She was going to be smelling and tasting bacta for weeks... but it was better than the alternative. Had very nearly been the alternative. She shivered.

As soon as they handed her a towel she was taking it, drying off as she turned to Obi-Wan. Only when she saw him for herself, not just the sense of him in the Force, through their bond but the SIGHT of him, did the tension that she’d been feeling since regaining consciousness ease a little, her relief sharp and intense.

“I told you, you weren’t dying,” he told her quietly, his posture as stiff and formal as his tone. There were too many people around for him to be anything but, but his desperate relief was resonating in the Force, as he reached out to her and wrapped her in it tightly. And she reached back, holding onto him just as tightly.

“And you were right.” There was a touch of teasing to her voice, underlined with a note of seriousness made all the more noticeable by her actually admitting that he was right. She shivered again; he had been close, so close to being wrong.

"All of your clothes have been cleaned and repaired. They're in your quarters." He stepped aside so she could pass. "This way." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. The stiff posture and formal tone in front of others was so very... him, and the rush of warm fondness that followed was enough to chance away the lingering cold of the realisation of just how close she had come to becoming one with the Force. His sweeping gesture made her smile; the soft, genuine smile of hers that was so much rarer than any of her others. The smile that was just for him.

She was all too glad to be leaving the medical bay behind for the time being. And his words answered one of her questions. The other... could wait until later. She nodded, slipping past him silently on bare feet with little care that she was going to be walking through the corridors in little more clothing than she’d worn as Valadon. As she passed him he slipped out of his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her skin as he withdrew.

He walked quietly at her side, the stiff, formal pose of a Jedi in public.

The doors to her quarters opened and he led her inside. The moment the door slid shut behind her she was moving, letting his cloak fall off her shoulders and flinging herself at him, kissing him fervently. Returning the kiss just as desperately, his arms curled tightly around her waist and he lifted her up off the ground. She reacted instinctively, wrapping long legs around his hips as he carried her to the bed, all without breaking the kiss.

He laid her on the bed and climbed onto it, his body warm above hers. His fingers were ghosting over her skin, as though he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching her. And she didn’t want him to. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Force, I almost lost you,” he breathed. Fingertips gently touched the scar on her chest, from where Magus had shot her, and the agony in his eyes very nearly took her breath away.

He bent his head and brushed his lips against her skin, against the scar, and she shivered, tangling her fingers in his hair and drawing him to her for a soul wrenching kiss. He moaned against her lips, pulling her closer, and she began fumbling at his robes. He began pressing kisses to the line of her neck and she arched up against him with a gasp. There was still too much clothing in the way, and she was far too impatient. She grabbed fistfuls of his robes and he broke away from her just far enough for her pull his tabard and over-tunic over his head and fling it across the room. He yanked off his under tunic and returned his attention to her neck, her jaw, as he grabbed a hold of the hem of her camisole; she paused just long enough in her fumbling at his trousers for him to pull it over her head and fling it across the room. His hands moved immediately to the last article of clothing she was wearing, and tugged the white briefs down her hips. She lifted her hips off the bed to allow him to slip them off her and join the rest of their clothing. He was still far too clothed, and she attacked the fastenings to his trousers, until she could push them down. He withdrew just far enough to struggle out of them, and then he was setting over her again, pushing inside her. She arched up against him again at the feel of him with a moan, her legs curling around him and pulling him closer. He moaned, burying his face into her neck for a long moment.

“I love you, Obi-Wan,” she told him softly, turning her head and murmuring the words into his ear as she rolled her hips. Kissing her, hard, he answered the rolls of her hips in kind, making her gasp and curl her arms around him tighter. He pulled her upright, curling his arms around her waist again. The change of angle made him brush over something just right, and she buried her head in the crook of his neck with a groan.

He thrust into her, and she moved with him, rising up into him, rolling her hips in time with his thrusts. There was a franticness to their actions, driven by the desperate need to reassure each other than she was all right. That she was still with him. That they were all right. Tension coiled tighter and tighter within her, within him; the intensity was almost mind-blowing with the loss of separation, of being unable to sort out what was her and what was him. There was nothing else like it. She was breathless, panting, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter, she was so close -

His arms tighten around her as his release rippled through him, groaning her name. His release washed over her as well, and that coil of arousal, of tension that had been building, winding tighter and tighter within her, finally snapped. She cried out, arching up against him as waves of pleasure surged over her, through her, intense and overwhelming, stealing her breath away in a ragged cry of his name.

Their first time lying together after her emergence from the bacta tank might have been almost frantic. But the second, and the third, and the fourth weren’t. They took their time, losing themselves in each other as they so often did given a night to themselves. By the time they finally fell back, exhausted, their skin glistening with sweat from their exertions, there was a love bite or three beginning to show on his neck and collar bone, her skin bore evidence of close, prolonged contact with his beard and a love bite or two of her own.

They lay intertwined for a long moment, once they were breathless and spent, before he reluctantly withdrew from her (sending another rippling eddy of pleasure through her as he did so) and pulled her close, cupping her face gently with his hand. His eyes were no longer as haunted, but she had a feeling that neither of them was letting the other out of their sight for several days more. She pressed forward, kissing him gently, pouring everything she felt for him into that one simple gesture.

“Marry me,” he murmured breathlessly against her lips, once they finally broke apart. “I mean, we’ll have to wait, until Anakin’s knighted, but after, if you –” She interrupted him with another kiss, this one just as feelings-laden but far more fervent, rolling them so he was underneath her.

“Siri Kenobi... I think I like the sound of that,” she told him. He raised an eyebrow up at her.

“Is that a yes, then?”

She made a face at him. “Yes,” there was no hesitation in her answer, no hesitation in the brilliant, crooked, happy smile she gave him. “I will absolutely kriffing marry you, Obi-Wan.” His answering smile was the one that always warmed her right down to her toes, and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Good.”