The Jedi And The Warrior

The Calm Before The Storm

As the long days dragged on, they settled into something akin to contentment.

For the first time since they were children, they had been given the luxury of time. And how they used that time was now up to them.

Healing seemed the obvious choice, but healing is a task never truly finished, so it was fitting that they now had all the time in the world.

And even if the past was a stain upon her consciousness that could never be wiped clean, Flyra was happier in the passing months than she had been in a long time. Perhaps happier than she'd ever been. She hoped the same could be said of Obi-Wan.

He seemed happy, if still captured by torments of guilt and cycles of what could have been. She wished there was a way she could convince him that it was not his fault, but he always found new ways to explain why he was to blame.

But when he smiled at her these days, it reached his eyes, and was warm with affection. And it struck her stupid, when she saw it and realised it was for her.

She sometimes wondered what grudge the galaxy had against the two of them.

As if they hadn't suffered enough, lost enough, it now saw fit to give them this snatch of happiness so tainted by loss and trauma that it could never be such as they deserved.

Perhaps that was the beauty of it, the more optimistic side of her argued. They could never have been so happy together, if it were not for all that they had endured.

But she'd still fight all of the Force and the galaxy combined, for what it had done to her. For what it had done to him.

"The moisturiser's broken again," Obi-Wan said, wandering into the cave as the sun reached noon.

She sighed, straightening up from where she'd been skinning the desert rabbit she'd brought home earlier. "I think there was a new shipment into town yesterday," she said, resting a hand on her hip. "We could go into the market this evening, I'm sure they'd have a moisturiser."

Obi-Wan shook his head, sinking down onto his bedroll. He dragged a hand through his beard. "It's too risky," he said. "Last time someone else recognised me, it's only a matter of time before one of them reports us."

Flyra's mouth tightened. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, and she understood his concern, she really did, but their supplies were running dangerously low.

"That wouldn't be a problem if I went alone," she pointed out, and when he opened his mouth to protest, she added, "Or if you came with me but stayed on the outskirts."

He looked at her, his blue eyes troubled. "I'd be seen," he said. "I can't hide myself indefinitely, and there's something distinctly unnerving about a hooded figure lurking at the outskirts of the market. They're suspicious of anyone these days."

She allowed herself a smile, but said, "You could hide yourself, if you really wanted to."

She didn't often bring up his refusal to use the Force, and by the stab of genuine fear that flickered in his eyes, she immediately regretted it.

"That's... not how it works," he said, and she wasn't sure if he meant the Force or his own mind.

She let it slide. "Then I go alone. I can buy other supplies too. We're running low on fresh water, and your shoes are frightening."

She gestured to the pair of boots that had now frayed so completely at the toe that she could see his feet. He laughed through his nose, but stood up and crossed his arms.

"I can't just watch you walk into danger alone," he told her. "Not again, Flyra."

She shook her head. "I'll be all right," she insisted. "I'm not some helpless maiden in a tower that needs rescuing."

"I didn't say you were." He took a step towards her. "I just... want you to be safe."

Flyra bit her lip. "Well, neither of us will be if we don't stock up."

But he was shaking his head, just a trace of frustration tightening his body. "It's too risky, Flyra," he insisted. "I'm not going to lose you again, I'm not taking any chances with you. Or... or whatever it is we've managed to build."

Flyra crossed her arms. "Then what? We wait for some kindly tradesman to come wandering past the middle of the desert?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe," he said. "I'm sure we can think of a better solution. I won't let you risk your neck."

Perhaps he realised what he'd said, because his face paled.

"Let me?" she repeated quietly. A cold hand of fear had wrapped itself around her spine. "It's not for you to decide what I do or do not risk." She glanced around her, at the sandy walls of the cave tinged with darkness as evening drew on. The shadows had lengthened, grasping those high walls. Her throat became clogged, and she began backing away from him, lifting her hands in front of her face. "You can't... you can't keep me in here. You can't shut me away."

He made a move towards her, hands outstretched as though to grasp her own, but it was a quick movement, caught out of the corner of her eye, and she recoiled, throwing up a hand to defend her face.

He went immediately still, and backed away a step. Fool, Flyra told herself, but when she looked at him, his face was stricken with guilt and horror.

"Darling," he whispered, and the step he took towards her was akin to a move he might make in approaching a startled fawn. "I'm so sorry."

Her throat flickered with her swallow, and she drew her arms around herself, a habit she'd developed to keep herself from crying in front of Malco. Obi-Wan moved towards her, peeled her arms apart and took her hands in his. His grip was infinitely gentle.

"Look at me," he murmured, and she found herself doing as he asked like an obedient doll. She half-expected to find the hard, flinty ice of Malco's eyes when she looked up at him, to find steel and subjugation.

But in Obi-Wan's eyes — oh, there was no steel there. Just plain honesty and sadness, and desperate apology.

"Please know," he murmured, "that I would never, ever hurt you, my darling. No matter how scared or upset I become, I will never lay a hand upon you."

She was shaking, she realised, as she stared up at him.

"Do you hear me?" he breathed, lifting a hand to brush back the hair from her temple.

She nodded. "I know," she whispered, and at last the tears tumbled from the rim of her lashes. "I know, I know that." She reached up to cup his cheek, his skin so smooth and warm. "Obi-Wan, I love you. I trust you. I am so — so unspeakably grateful for... for you, for everything you are, I..." But she had to stop, choking on her own sob. "I don't deserve it, not one piece of it."

She expected him to tell her she was wrong, to explain to her why she was wrong in that calmly articulate way of his, but perhaps he knew that no amount of words, however beautifully crafted, could ever convince her of such a fact. Perhaps he knew that she could never grasp or understand the depth to which his love for her ran, or believe that she was as worthy of it in his eyes as the most noble and generous of Jedi.

Perhaps he knew that no words could communicate it, no matter how long he considered them, no matter how perfect his choice. Still his love would remain unarticulated, unexplained, like the moment a gust takes a cloud and chases it away from the sun, like gems dropped into a cold cave to touch it with softest fire.

So instead Obi-Wan pulled her into him, nestling her against his body, holding her so tight that she could have stayed there forever, stayed there and let the world pass by, suns rising and setting while tragedies and celebrations and inconsequences fluttered by.

All sorrows could be borne if they were put into a story.

And so together they would bear this sorrow, weaving it all into one story, this story — their story, one that had not yet ended but here, now...

Then, in that moment, it was a good story. Right then, the forces that had brought them to that cave on that desolate planet were welcomed because they could be held in one another's arms. In that moment, they were just two aimless lovers, not fated for anything, two players upon a stage whose story was but one vein in the wide endless tapestry of tales and sorrows.

Caught in a moment of peace, amongst the storm of their merciless fates.