Title:  Batter My Heart

Author: Jedi Rita

Rated: PG-13 to R, for one not-very-explicit sex scene

Pairing: Bail/Obi-Wan

Summary:  Ten years after beginning his exile on Tatooine, Obi-Wan visits Bail and Leia on Alderaan and deals with his inner demons.

Warnings: 180 proof, VSOP grade angst.  Have a bottle of Pepto handy, because this one will give you bleeding ulcers. I strongly recommend that immediately upon finishing this story, you read "Beyond This Crude Matter" by Aeshna.  It's the only way I personally can bear the ending!

Disclaimer:  I am just a Jedi Padawan.  I own nothing.  All that I have belongs to my Master George: my money, my action figures, my dreams and fantasies.  In return he gives me wisdom, many lessons in patience and humility, and the best galaxy in the universe to play in.  All hail Master George!

Explanations:  "Ben."  Well, we all have our explanations, don't we?  Mine comes from an early draft of Star Wars in which the Jedi were called the "Jedi Bendu."  I supplied its meaning as an archaic term of respect for the Jedi, meaning "honored" or "loved."

A thranta is a gigantic flying beastie sort of like a manta ray, native to Alderaan.  I found it in the Star Wars Encyclopedia.

******

For I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

                                    --John Donne

Day One

He stood silently at a corner of the busy intersection, vehicles whizzing by on the street, people bustling along the walkways, all rushing to get home after a long day of work.  He had not been in the presence of so many people in ten years, and in ten years he had never felt so alone.

It was overwhelming: the frenetic activity, the cacophony of noise, the jostling crowds, the glaring technology.  For a moment he felt anxiety rise within him.  Closing his eyes he let it well up until it overflowed and drained gently out of him, leaving him once more with a feeling, if not of peace, at least of calm, and a little chagrin.  This was ridiculous.  He, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight and General, had been raised on a city planet.  Could a mere ten years in exile on a barren world leave him so ill-equipped to return to civilization?  He refused to let this city conquer him.  He could handle this.

All the same, he decided to walk to his destination rather than take the public transport.

He set out down the street at the same even pace he used to wander the dunes and canyons around his home, his footsteps brisk but not hasty, unlike the beings shouldering past each other around him.  No one noticed him, despite the fact that in his worn desert robes he stood out in the fashionable Alderaani crowd like a mud-colored Gungan in the colorful city of Theed.  Idly he ran his hand over his beard, once more surprised at the lack of grit.  He had forgotten what it was like not to have sand constantly in his eyes, ears, nostrils, and hair.  His clothes, while old, were cleaner than they had been in years.  Without the ever-present raspy sand, the rough fabric felt like silk on his skin.  I should take a shower more often, he smiled to himself.  But in truth there was no place on Tatooine where he could afford one.  What a sensual delight it had been to indulge in a shower in his tiny rented room, to let the water freely flow over him, streaming through his hair, soaking into his skin, washing off layers of grime that he had begun to think of as part of his body.  He had spent half an hour in that shower, and despite Alderaan's abundance of water, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty about the extravagance.  Nevertheless, he felt ten years younger and at least ten kilos lighter.

Followed it up with a haircut and trim for his beard, but he didn't even consider buying new clothes.  What would be the point?  He wouldn't wear them on Tatooine, so he saw no need to waste his budget on such wanton luxury.  It had taken him three years to save up the money for this trip, and he still wasn't sure if it had been a good idea.  He didn't really know why he was here.  To check in on the state of the galaxy?  To learn what the Emperor was up to?  To follow up on the child's progress?  To see Bail?  Even all these reasons together could not justify the risk he was taking.  He had a responsibility to remain in hiding, to protect the boy, to safeguard if not his own life, then the knowledge he carried as one of the last of the Jedi.  He could not risk capture.  So he had kept telling himself for the past three years, but in the end he could not deny the urge to get off world, to visit the one person in the entire galaxy whom he could trust not to betray him, the only person in the galaxy who might actually be pleased to see him.

Darkness had begun to fall as Obi-Wan turned onto the street of his destination.  The elegant white houses glowed in the fading light.  How he had missed Alderaan!  Obi-Wan didn't have much of a sense for aesthetics, but even he had always admired Alderaan's sense of beauty and balance.

Ahead of him rose the Viceroy's mansion, graceful and ample, but not too large, fronting one of Alderaan's many rivers.  Typical.  Bail loved water.  Obi-Wan could have taken a river taxi, but he would certainly not have been able to enter the house that way.  He wasn't sure if he could just walk up and get in, either.  He hoped he wouldn't have to manipulate his way in.  In his younger days Bail had inclined to an open door policy regarding walk-in visitors, part of his desire to be a "senator of the people."  But times had changed, and clearly Bail had as well, as evidenced by the presence of two guards stationed at the gates that enclosed the estate.

Obi-Wan suppressed a brief shiver of dread, wondering just how much Bail had changed in the last decade.  Perhaps he wouldn't be as pleased to see Obi-Wan as he hoped.  But it was a little late to turn back now.  Straightening his shoulders in an attempt to look like something more imposing than a homeless beggar, Obi-Wan approached the guards.  They said nothing, appearing to take no notice of him, but he knew they were watching him.  Tucking his hands into his sleeves, Obi-Wan bowed to them and announced, "I wish to see the Viceroy."        

"Is he expecting you?" one of the guards asked, curt but polite. 

"No," Obi-Wan admitted.  "But he will want to see me.  I am an old friend of his."        

The guards exchanged glances, and Obi-Wan could sense them sizing him up.  The guard asked, "Do you have the code?"     

So unusual visitors were not that unexpected.  This was encouraging, except that Obi-Wan had no idea what the code might be.  Nor was he comfortable with the idea of giving the guards his name.  He trusted Bail, but he did not trust anyone else, not even the people who worked for him.  "No," Obi-Wan confessed, and he could feel their minds closing to him.  "But…have you a piece of paper?" 

With another glance at his partner, the guard pulled a small notepad out of his pocket and handed it to Obi-Wan.  He drew a symbol on one of the sheets, folded it and handed it back to the guard.  "If you would give this to him?"  Bail was the only person in the galaxy who would recognize it.          

The guard took the paper, then commed the house.  Before long two more guards arrived and escorted Obi-Wan onto the grounds.  One of them remained with him in the foyer while the other left to deliver the note.  They waited in silence as the minutes dragged by.  The foyer was appointed with several chairs, but Obi-Wan was not inclined to sit, nor was he inclined to make conversation with the guard.  He stood, silent and impassive, ignoring the curious stares of the guard, ignoring his own anxiety about seeing Bail again, stilling his thoughts with a ruthless efficiency he had learned from his years in the desert.

*****

In the study of the Viceroy's mansion, ten-year-old Leia Organa sighed and rubbed her eyes in boredom.  Her notebook was filled with a number of interesting sketches of animals, most notably thrantas, but precious little in the way of her history report.  Kicking idly at the legs of her chair, she let her gaze wander over to her father sitting at his desk, slouched in front of the computer.  He seemed to be having as much trouble with his homework as she was with hers.  She glanced once more at her sketches in a feeble attempt to focus, before giving up and crossing the room to lean on her father's arm.     

"Can I help you write your speech, Bobo?" she asked, gazing up at him with the most effective imploring look in her repertoire.           

But Bail knew better than to fall prey to her manipulation.  His eyes on the screen, he asked, "Have you finished your report already? 

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she shot a guilty glance back at her desk.  "Almost."                    

Bail clucked his tongue.  "Almost is not good enough, Leelee." 

"It's Imperial History, I don't want to write it!" Leia protested petulantly.  "It's all lies anyway.  Why don't you write my report, and I'll write your speech?"       

"What, do you think I'm a better liar than you?" he inquired, amused.    

"N-no," Leia hesitated, "but I like your version of Imperial history better."          

He tugged on her long braid.  "I'm sure you do, but I doubt my version of Imperial history will earn you a passing grade."           

Leia growled low in her throat, her eyebrows knit together in irritation – warning signs that she was about to launch into full whining mode.  Not tonight, Bail silently begged.  He really was not up to it.  Especially since he was the one who had urged that cursed Imperial history curriculum on the schools in the first place.  It was all part of that delicate balancing act between maintaining more or less good standing with the Imperial government while simultaneously developing a fledgling movement to oppose it.  As much as he enjoyed politics, sometimes it got to be too much for him, especially when his daughter decided to start a rebellion of her own.         

To make matters worse, his chief of security chose that moment to knock and enter the study.  Suppressing the urge to complain, *Now what?* Bail managed a more polite, if strained, "Yes?"         

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Highness, but there's someone in the foyer wanting to see you.  He claims to be an old friend of yours."         

"Don't they all," Bail quipped.  "Who is it?"

"He gave no name or code, only this."  The guard held out a folded piece of paper.   

Bail took it and opened it, then froze, his heart skipping a beat.  The symbol, a letter B intersected with an O: his initials.  It was a tattoo.  It couldn't possibly be…. 

Concerned by her father's obvious distress, Leia glanced at the enigmatic symbol, then up into Bail's stricken face.  "Bobo?"          

He didn't hear her.  Obi-Wan?  Here?  It wasn't possible.  Everyone said he was dead.  Though Bail steadfastly denied it aloud, secretly he had begun to believe it was true.  Could this be a trap?  He reached for the keyboard, typing in a code that would give him a view from the security camera in the foyer.

And he appeared on screen.  Obi-Wan Kenobi.  The image was too poor to show the details of his face, but Bail would have recognized him anywhere.  "Force help me," he whispered brokenly.           

His tone worried Leia.  "Papa?" she asked with a frown.

"Your Highness?" the guard echoed.  "Is he friend or foe?"         

Bail reached out to touch the beloved image on the screen.  "Most definitely a friend," he answered, his voice husky with emotion.  

"Shall I escort him in, then?"

"No, I'll meet him myself," he replied, pushing back his chair and standing up. He glanced at his daughter.  "Leia, finish your homework.  I mean it."    

Wordlessly Leia nodded as Bail left the study, followed by the guard.  

Now that his heart had resumed beating, it pounded furiously in his ears as he hastened through the corridors, his thoughts racing as fast as his feet.  Obi-Wan, here, now.  Was something wrong?  Had he learned something important?  Was he ready to make a move against the Emperor?

He reached the door to the foyer, pausing to rest his forehead against the rough, dark wood while he collected himself.  He wasn't really ready to deal with whatever disaster had brought Obi-Wan to his doorstep, but he didn't have much of a choice.  Taking a steadying breath, he opened the door and went to meet his guest .

Obi-Wan turned slightly at his entrance, and Bail caught his breath at the sight of him, his golden hair reflecting the lamplight, his eyes dark and depthless.  Even standing across the room from him, Bail could see the deep lines etching the once smooth features, the hollow in his cheeks.  He had lost weight, his skin was darker than Bail had ever seen it, and his robes were threadbare.  Even in their prime, the Jedi were no strangers to hardship and suffering, but the figure before him did not carry it with the strength and confidence he had once known.  With a shock, Bail realized he looked old.  And why not? he asked himself.  They were both pushing fifty.  But in his dreams, Obi-Wan always appeared to him as the young Padawan he had fallen in love with all those years ago, in a different lifetime.  The memory of that earnest young man drew a slow smile to his lips.

Bail wasn't aware when the two guards discreetly slipped away.  He wasn't aware that he had crossed the room.  He only realized he was holding Obi-Wan when the Jedi's beard rasped against his neck.  He pulled back then to look into Obi-Wan's eyes, his arms wrapped tightly around him.  "Still with the beard, eh?" he teased, unable to say all the things that pressed so heavily against his heart.  Obi-Wan only smiled, but his expression grew tender.  Bail ran a lock of hair between his fingers. "And is this gray I detect?"      

"Yours is as black as ever, I see," Obi-Wan returned, his voice as rich and cultured as Bail remembered.  At least some things hadn't changed.

"Yes, but that's only because I dye it.  You know how vain I am."

Again that gentle smile, the laughing eyes.  "You look good for an old man."   

Bail tenderly brushed the hair off Obi-Wan's forehead.  "And you look beautiful." He ached to kiss him, but he knew if he did he would start to weep, and he wasn't ready to face all the emotion Obi-Wan's sudden appearance had stirred in him.  He needed time to adjust, to absorb the fact that Obi-Wan was not dead, that he was really here.   

He stepped back out of Obi-Wan's embrace, his hand sliding down to grip the Jedi's.  "Well, come on in, then," he invited softly.  "There's someone I am eager for you to meet."          

Obi-Wan allowed himself to be led into the house, but that last comment filled him with dread.  He knew Bail had never married, but that didn't mean he hadn't found someone else to love.  He could not imagine that Bail had remained celibate all these years, nor did he expect him to.  It was hardly in the man's nature.  All the same, he sincerely hoped it was the child Bail was referring to.  Obi-Wan didn't want to think about who else he might meet in Bail's home.

They passed through endless corridors, and Obi-Wan realized that his own little hovel on Tatooine could probably fit in the entrance foyer.  "This is an enormous house," he observed.

Bail flashed him a quirky grin.  "Well, I am Viceroy and First Chair of Alderaan, now.  I have to entertain people and such.  No tiny senator's apartment for me any more."          

"Your apartments were never that tiny."     

"Neither were they this big.  I have an entire staff just to run this place."

"Including security guards," Obi-Wan noted.         

Bail pressed his lips together.  "Yes, well, the galaxy is not the same place it once was."      

"Not even Alderaan?"          

Stopping in front of a door, Bail turned to face him, his expression solemn, almost mournful.  "Not even Alderaan."  He paused to let the moment pass through him, then opened the door and ushered Obi-Wan into the room.       

Bookshelves lined one wall, and a cluster of large, comfortable chairs were gathered in a corner.  Two desks, one large and one small, were pushed against another wall.  At the smaller one sat a young girl, her head bowed over a notebook, one end of a long braid in her mouth.  She looked up when they entered, and her eyes sent a jolt of shock through Obi-Wan.  She looks just like Padme! he thought, hoping his surprise didn't show in his expression.         

Beside him Bail was saying, "Leia, I want you to meet a very dear friend of mine.  This is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The girl's eyes widened in surprise.  Clearly she recognized his name.  She slid off her chair and approached her father, reaching for his right hand to draw the cuff of his sleeve back, revealing the tattoo on his wrist, "ob1."  She glanced an inquiry up at her father, and he smiled warmly in reply.  Her face lit up in a wide grin, then she composed herself and bowed deeply before Obi-Wan.  "It is a pleasure to meet you, General Kenobi."     

Her reaction startled him.  With a prince to raise her, Obi-Wan should not be surprised that she would act like a miniature Queen Amidala.  Beside him, Bail beamed proudly.  "Obi-Wan, meet Leia Organa."       

Suppressing a grin, the Jedi returned the child's formal bow, then knelt on one knee to face her at eye level.  "You may not be aware of it, but you and I have met before."      

Intrigued, her forehead wrinkled prettily.  "We have?  When?"    

"You were just a baby.  I'm happy to see you've grown into quite a young woman."                 

Surely an Organa would be accustomed to flattery, but all the same Leia blushed shyly and grinned.          

Bail offered, "We've already had dinner, but there are plenty of leftovers in the kitchen.  Would you like something to eat?"   

"No, thank you, I'm not hungry."       

With a short laugh, Bail instructed, "You'll notice, Leia, that he did not say, 'I've already eaten.'  He said, 'I'm not hungry,' which is Jedi-speak for, 'I only need to eat twice a week.'"  He favored Obi-Wan with a lofty glance.  "But I don't believe in all that ascetic nonsense, so as long as you're under my roof, you'll eat whether you want to or not.  Leia, while I fetch him some dinner, will you play host to our guest?"

"Of course, Father." 

She moved toward a liquor cabinet near the chairs, and Bail instructed, "The special red, dearest."  He turned a saucy gaze on Obi-Wan.  "It so happens I have your favorite on hand." 

Obi-Wan was stunned.  How many times had Bail teased him with that line?  Deeply moved that he was still remembered in this household, Obi-Wan quietly offered his ritual reply, "You always do."     

"And I always will," Bail assured him, "so I'll be ready the next time you stop by."  With a wink, he left the room.

Obi-Wan settled into one of the chairs, watching as Leia expertly poured out three glasses, two for Bail and himself, and one smaller one which she mixed with water.  Obi-Wan knew that the Alderaani started their children on wine at a young age, and on Tatooine children usually drank beer.  Water, after all, was a luxury drink.  But it was still an unusual sight for him to see a ten-year-old sipping wine as if it were normal.  It reminded him of how his padawan had shocked the Temple with his requests for beer.  He shook himself sharply.  He didn't want to remember those times.          

Leia noticed the gesture and, misinterpreting it as an attempt to stay awake, observed, "You must be tired from your journey."

"Uh—yes, I suppose I am, a little," Stars above!  Now she was making polite conversation with him.  Obi-Wan hated chit-chat, and he suddenly felt awkward and out of his element, unnerved by this small child.  "I've not yet adjusted to Alderaan time," he supplied.   

Leia nodded in understanding, and Obi-Wan realized that as Bail's daughter she was probably already an experienced space traveler.  "I hope your trip was pleasant," she offered.       

"It was nice enough," though in truth the freighter that brought him here was not accustomed to carrying sentient cargo.  He nodded toward the smaller desk where Leia had been sitting.  "What were you working on when I interrupted you?"      

Leia started to scowl in disgust before catching herself.  "I'm writing a history report."           

"I take it you don't like history."        

"Sure, I do," Leia protested eagerly.  "Real history, that is.  But this is Imperial history."         

"I see."  Even on remote Tatooine the schools followed only an Imperial-approved curriculum.  "What period are you studying?"

"The Clone Wars," Leia began, then broke off to jump up and fetch the book from her desk.  Without preamble she climbed into Obi-Wan's lap and rifled through the pages.  "You're in here!" she announced.  "There's even a picture of you."  She found the page and pointed it out to him, a portrait of him in military uniform.  He remembered that picture, taken early on in the wars, before the endless cycle of violence had worn down any faith he had left in the goodness of the galaxy.  It was perhaps the last time he had known any happiness. 

But of course a child would look at it a different way.  "You were sooooo cute!" Leia beamed at him.  Years of Jedi training enabled Obi-Wan not to roll his eyes.  Must every Organa have a crush on him?          

Returning her attention to the book, Leia read the picture's caption.  "General Obi-Wan Kenobi, a member of the Jedi sect, led the forces seeking to suppress the vital new cloning technology."  She grunted in disapproval.  "They don't say very nice things about you.  'Course, this is only Imperial history."  She brightened again to maximum wattage.  "Hey, I have an idea!  Whenever I have to write a report for Imperial history, Papa always has me write another report for him of the real version.  Maybe I could write it about you.  I can interview you all about the wars and everything.  Will you help me?"         

"With pleasure," he smiled.  "So you have to write two reports?  How ghastly."

"Not really.  I love writing Papa's reports.  It's like a mystery.  I have to figure out what part of the Imperial history is true, which parts are biased or misrepresented, and which parts are total lies.  Then I have to find out what parts they left out entirely, and I have to write the whole thing as it really happened."  

"That's a tremendous amount of work," Obi-Wan observed.  "It sounds like you would make an excellent detective."     

"Oh, no.  I'm going to be a senator, so Papa and I can restore the Republic."  Curious, she asked, "Is that why you're here, to discuss the Alliance with my father?"       

The what?  "Um, no.  I'm…here about something else."  

Her brow furrowed in concentration.  "You must be here to talk about restoring the Jedi, then.  I think it would be a good idea for the Jedi to be part of the Alliance, don't you?"  

The turn in conversation was beginning to make him uncomfortable, not least because he had no idea what this Alliance was she kept talking about.  His discomfort must have shown in his expression, because Leia picked up on it.  "I'm sorry," she hastily apologized.  "I'm prying, aren't I?  Papa says I shouldn't.  It's rude and dangerous.  He also says I'm too young to have political opinions."  She gazed up at him with large brown eyes that sparked with conviction.  "But I don't think so.  I'm old enough to know what's right and what's wrong.  I want to stop the Empire.  I may only be ten, but surely I can help restore the Republic, too, can't I?"          

Her passion astounded Obi-Wan.  Here she was, a mere child, and she sounded like…like a Jedi initiate.  The same rigorous education, the same moral conviction, the same awareness of purpose.  She knew exactly what she was talking about.  In his own secular way, Bail was already training Leia to be a Jedi.  With despair, Obi-Wan thought of Luke, still innocent, chasing sand frogs in the desert and suffering through an indifferent education.  What have I done, to leave him to be raised by farmers?  Farmers who knew nothing about the Jedi or the Empire or the Republic.  At the time it had seemed riskier to place Leia with Bail, whom Anakin had known well, but at least she was being raised by someone who could prepare her for the future.  In trying to keep Luke safe, Obi-Wan had condemned the boy to ignorance.  I am a fool, and I have failed again.     

Obi-Wan had no time to linger over his despair, however, for the door to the study opened and Bail entered, bearing a tray laden with enough food to feed Obi-Wan for three days.  He smiled to see his daughter curled up so comfortably on the Jedi's lap.  "Getting acquainted, are we?" he asked as he settled the tray on the low table in front of Obi-Wan.  

"Yes," Leia beamed.  "I'm going to write my report for you on General Kenobi.  He said he would help me.

Her father raised an eyebrow.  "That's very kind of him, but you ought to be discreet, Leelee.  After all, General Kenobi is wanted by the Empire." 

Bail's comment was straightforward, as if he were discussing Obi-Wan's hair color, but it reminded Obi-Wan that his was not a social call.  Clearing his throat, he suggested, "I would prefer it if you both do not refer to me by that name.  I trust you, but…."     

"That's understandable," Bail agreed.  "What should we call you instead?"      

"My identity card reads 'Ben Lars.'"           

Warm pleasure filled Bail to hear that his old nickname for Obi-Wan had become the man's alias.  "Ben Lars it is, then."  He shot a glance at Leia.  "That's 'Uncle Ben' to you, young lady."   

"All right," Leia agreed, crestfallen.  She glanced sadly up at her "uncle."  "So you can't help me with my report?"

"I'll help you," Obi-Wan assured her.  "But let's write it about the wars and not about me."     

Slightly heartened, Leia urged, "Can we write it about the Jedi involvement in the wars?"     

Bail chided, "You are persistent, aren't you?  For pity's sake, Leelee, let the man eat his dinner in peace."

"It's all right," Obi-Wan avowed.  "It sounds like an excellent topic."

Pleased, Leia slid out of the Jedi's lap so he could tackle his meal, and climbed into her father's lap instead, showing him Obi-Wan's picture.  "I told Gen—Uncle Ben – that the Jedi ought to be part of the Alliance."

"Recruiting again, eh?"

"How can there be a Republic without the Jedi?"

Between mouthfuls – when had he last eaten such savory food? – Obi-Wan observed, "She told me she's going to be a senator, and I have no trouble believing it."

Bail wrapped his arms around Leia.  "Yes, she'll follow in her father's irascible footsteps, and I've no doubt she will far surpass my own reputation for troublemaking."

Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder at the reference to Leia's father.  Bail did not know whose child Leia really was.  Obi-Wan had merely told him that her parents had been Jedi.  No one in the galaxy knew the truth, save him and Yoda.

Bail watched as Obi-Wan ate in silence.  It seemed a miracle that he was here at all.  He wanted this moment to last forever, the three of them together, his daughter in his lap, his lover close enough to touch.  But he knew it could not last, and Obi-Wan still had not told him why he'd come.  With a hint of rebuke, Bail observed, "If I'd known you were coming I could have arranged some time away from my duties."

Obi-Wan remained silent, having caught the hint.  But there was nothing to say.  There was no way he could have safely gotten a message to the Prince.  Bail knew it as well, knew that part of Obi-Wan's security on this visit would depend on Bail maintaining his usual schedule.  Still, after a decade-long absence, he wanted to spend as much time with Obi-Wan as he could before the Jedi inevitably disappeared once more into the galaxy's expanse.  Reluctant to bring up business, but aware that he needed to know sooner rather than later, Bail queried, "Is your visit with us one of business or pleasure?  Surely you are not here merely to help Leia write her report."

Obi-Wan smiled, but was unsure how to answer the question.  Certainly he had no business being on Alderaan, but pleasure?  He had all but forgotten what the word meant.  It was not pleasure that had brought him to Alderaan, either.  Desperation, loneliness, a weariness and grief that had become too heavy to bear….  No, it was not pleasure.  At last he said, "I just thought a visit was long overdue."      

A thrill of happiness pulsed through Bail, and he was surprised to find how pleased he was that Obi-Wan had come solely to see him.  Bail never felt entirely secure in his relationship with Obi-Wan.  First Qui-Gon, then Anakin, and indeed the entire Jedi Order came before him in Obi-Wan's life.  Bail couldn't begrudge him those ties, since as a Senator and now First Chair he had obligations of his own.  But he secretly feared that he was not really necessary to Obi-Wan, that the Jedi could do perfectly well without him, that he was at best a pleasant diversion.  And yet Obi-Wan would not have risked this visit for a mere diversion, would he?  And if he had not come for any business, then it must mean he missed Bail enough to risk the trip to see him.  Bail could barely contain the joy this knowledge gave him, and he drew Leia more tightly to him, stroking her hair and lavishing on her the love he felt for the Jedi.  For now it was an almost unbearable pleasure simply to watch Obi-Wan eating.

"And how long will you stay?"

Obi-Wan continued to avoid Bail's gaze, concentrating on his meal.  "Not long, I'm afraid.  Only about a week."

Bail's happiness congealed into a cold mass in his heart.  He had suffered enough under the Empire to know Obi-Wan really could not risk staying longer, but his heart could not bear it.  He turned his face away, resting his cheek on the top of Leia's head, struggling to rein in his despair.  I will be strong for him.  I will not torment him by asking for more than he can give.

But it was Leia who voiced his protest.  "Only a week!  No!  You have to stay longer."  She writhed in Bail's grip.  "Papa, tell him he has to stay!"

"Hush, Leia.  Don't be rude," Bail chided gently.  He turned back to face Obi-Wan.  His tone soft and even, he offered, "You are welcome to stay as long as you like.  If you can only spare a week, then we will be content with that."  Leia registered her disagreement with a quiet whimper, but was well-bred enough not to say anything more. 

"Thank you," Obi-Wan replied, looking down at his plate.  "I wish I could stay longer, but…."

"We understand."  But Bail did not understand why Obi-Wan wouldn't look at him, why he did little more than pick at his food, why he appeared so destitute and old.  It was a testimony to how bad things had gotten in the galaxy that a Jedi Knight could have sunk so low.  Anger flooded him, and Bail thought maybe it was a good thing after all if Obi-Wan stayed with them only a week.  He didn't know how he could survive the endless roil of emotions the visit had already roused in him. 

Again he tried to dissipate his emotions by focusing on the mundane.  "Why don't you eat, man?" he scolded abruptly.  "You're scrawny as a Gungan in the dry season."

Leia wagged a reproving finger at her father.  "Now, you're being rude, Bobo!"

To Bail's surprise, Obi-Wan barked a sharp laugh at that.  "I can't believe you let her call you 'Bobo.'"

"And why not?" Bail protested with a sly smile.  "You have adopted your old nickname for an alias."

"Yes, but my nickname has an honorable origin."

"And my own initials don't constitute an honorable origin?"

"I don't mind 'Bo' so much, but 'Bobo?'  I always thought it was an absurd name."

"Now you're insulting my sisters! They're the ones who gave me that name."

"I like to call Papa 'Bobo!'" Leia jumped in with her own defense.

Obi-Wan raised his hands in concession.  "All right, all right.  Clearly it's one of those Organa things.  I should know better than to question family tradition."

Only slightly mollified, Leia asked, "Where does the name 'Ben' come from, anyway?"

"It comes from Bendu, an old term of respect for the Jedi," Bail explained.

Leia frowned, "But if it means 'Jedi,' it's not safe for you to use it."

Obi-Wan smiled at her concern.  "Don't worry.  I don't think anyone will make the connection from Ben to Bendu to Jedi."  Still he was impressed by her insight.  She was clearly accustomed to dealing with fugitives of the Empire.

Bail was enjoying their banter, but he realized he was ready to have Obi-Wan to himself.  "Young lady," he announced, "it is high time for you to go to bed."

"Aw," Leia complained.  There had to be some angle she could work.  "But we have a guest."

"Yes, and you should leave him to me so that we can reminisce about the good old days when we were young and handsome."

"But I think you're handsome now, Papa."

"Thank you, dearest, but flattery will not get you a later bedtime.  You have school tomorrow. No more complaining."

Leia grumbled in protest, but said nothing.  She kissed her father good night, then ran to Obi-Wan's lap.  "Good night, Uncle Ben," she said, planting a sloppy wet kiss on his lips, then scampered off to bed.

Bail raised an eyebrow as Obi-Wan dragged his sleeve across his mouth.  "Are you wiping off my daughter's kiss?" he asked in mock horror.

"Um…only the excess," Obi-Wan apologized.  "She is quite a young lady, your daughter."

Bail responded with a contented smile. He loved hearing Leia praised. 

"What have you told her about her parents?" Obi-Wan asked cautiously.

"Nothing, only that they died in the war.  She doesn't know they were Jedi.  I'll tell her eventually when I think she's old enough to handle it, but for now at least she has not been very curious about them."

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment.  "You seem to think she's old enough to handle quite a bit of knowledge."

"I beg your pardon?"

"About the Alliance.  About…me.  Is it safe to entrust a child with so much knowledge about dangerous topics?"

"It's an important part of my life," Bail pointed out.  "Yes, it is a lot to entrust to her, but the alternative would be to lie to my child, and I will not do that.  I decided early on to include her in my life, my activities, and my political opinions – even the illegal ones.  She doesn't really know anything the Empire doesn't already know or at least suspect about me, and I have trained her to be discreet.  It is a sad fact, but a true one, that even children need to be aware of the current state of our galaxy.  She needs to be prepared to do her part – hopefully not anytime soon, but I will not raise my child in ignorance.  That is an indulgence none of us can afford.  Someday she will need to take a stand either for the Empire or against it.  I owe it to her to prepare her for that choice."

"You have trained her well," Obi-Wan observed in quiet admiration.  "It seems a heavy burden to place on a child, but not a heavy burden for a Jedi.  When the time comes, she will be ready."

Bail accepted the commendation without reply.  When Obi-Wan had brought Leia to him, he knew he was being entrusted with a dangerous secret.  Obi-Wan had told him of the child's Jedi parents, and that the Empire would not stoop to destroy even one so young.  But she had also proven to be the greatest gift he had ever been given.  "Obi-Wan, I can't thank you enough for bringing her to me.  If it hadn't been for her, I'm not sure I could have survived these last years.  I need someone to believe in, someone to love."

"You would have survived," Obi-Wan asserted, but Bail was not so sure.

For a while they sat in silence, but a silence that grew less companionable the longer it lasted.  Too many years had gone by, too much had happened for any silence between them to be comfortable.  Restlessly, Obi-Wan stood.  "I should be leaving as well.  The journey was long, and I am tired."

"What?" Bail roused.  "Are you going already?"

"Don't worry, I won't go far.  I rented a room in town."  Again Obi-Wan looked away.  He seemed unable to meet Bail's gaze for any length of time.  "I didn't want to inconvenience you."

"How could you possible be an inconvenience to me?" Bail retorted, with more anger than he meant to show.  "I forbid you to stay anywhere on Alderaan except under my roof!  Tell me where you are staying so I can cancel your reservation."

"Really, it's no problem," Obi-Wan protested.

His refusal wounded Bail deeply.  Why was it so hard between them now?  Had things really changed so much?  Softly, he offered, "You may stay in a guest room if you desire solitude.  I will not bother you if you do not wish it.  But you must stay here."

Obi-Wan stared at the floor, overwhelmed and uncertain.  Once he would have known his place in Bail's home.  Indeed he still knew it, but he was afraid to claim it for fear of others who might have usurped his position of favor.  Yet this was the whole reason why he had come.  "If I'm going to stay here, I'd rather stay with you.  In truth, I didn't come this far only to sleep alone."

Bail slid up close to him, not touching him, but only a hair's breadth away.  "I should hope not," he whispered, and Obi-Wan could feel his breath on his cheek.  The Prince's fingers curled around his hand, warm and possessive.  "Come.  Let's go to bed."

The words sent an erotic thrill crawling through Obi-Wan's gut, painful in its intensity.  Is this really why he was here?  After all he'd been through, all the years apart, what he really wanted from Bail was sex?  As the Prince led him out of the room and down the hall, Obi-Wan knew it was indeed what he wanted.  Suddenly he realized how cold and alone he was on Tatooine, his senses dulled by the monotony of his existence, his skin numbed by the ever-present sand.  He was dead, dead, and he needed Bail to quicken him, needed to feel something.  He didn't care if he was using Bail.  The Prince had never minded being used that way before.  So why did Obi-Wan feel that he was betraying him?

They entered the bedroom, unmistakably Bail's.  Obi-Wan recognized several of the small sculptures, rugs, and other knick-knacks.  Even without those familiar pieces, though, Obi-Wan would always be able to recognize Bail's imprint on a room.  Unlike the Jedi, the Prince liked to mold his environment to suit his tastes.  But more than an appeal to aesthetics, the objects in the room were a collection of memories important to Bail, gifts given to him by people he cared about, tokens of important events and places.  Obi-Wan had never been much for gift-giving, something he now regretted.  Was he somehow remembered here?  His gaze swept the room, seeking for any reassurance that he had not been forgotten. 

He recognized nothing as belonging uniquely to him.  Frantically, he began to paw through the knick-knacks. Surely something had once been his, a gift, a memory of some kind.  He found his picture on the table beside the bed, but it was one amid a number of others.  Who were these other people, and how many of them had taken his place in Bail's arms?  They smiled up at him, smug, self-satisfied, and he wanted to snatch them up and dash them against the wall.

Behind him, a soft voice asked, "Is this what you're looking for?"

His breathing ragged, eyes burning, Obi-Wan turned to see Bail removing a chain and locket from his neck. He pushed a clasp on the locket, and it opened to reveal a lock of honey-red hair nestled inside.

A memory stirred deep within his brain, of the last time he had seen Bail, that awful, awful day when he had delivered Leia into his hands while concealing her twin in the back of the ship, the day when he had begun his exile, the day he had died to the life he had once known.  Bail had asked for a lock of his hair.  He had given Obi-Wan a lock of his own in exchange, but Obi-Wan had lost it almost immediately.  He had been nearly mad with grief at the time.  He still didn't know how he had made it safely to Tatooine with the boy.  He had forgotten all about that lock of hair.  But Bail had not.  Dear, sentimental Bail, would not.

The Prince closed the locket and held it to his heart.  "I've never taken another lover, Ben," he told him.  "I'll never want anyone but you."

At his words, something broke inside Obi-Wan, a need he hadn't dared admit having.  A sob tore itself free from his chest, then another, and another, and he was overwhelmed, drowning, choking on his tears.  He sank to the floor, tremendous sobs racking his body, as Bail's arms wound around him, soothing and tender.

Slowly Obi-Wan's crying eased as Bail murmured gentle reassurances into his ear, running his hands through his hair, touching his weathered skin.  Soft kisses followed Bail's fingers as he traced the lines of Obi-Wan's face, so light Obi-Wan almost couldn't feel them.  His fingers curled tightly into Bail's sleeves, pulling him closer, but still Bail touched him lightly, as if he feared Obi-Wan's skin would crumble away like ash beneath his fingers.  This wasn't what he wanted, this gentleness, this reverent touch.  Bail would never make it past the hardened layers Obi-Wan had built around his heart.  He needed to be broken, battered, shattered in order to be rebuilt.  He could no longer give himself away. He needed to be claimed, taken.  His apprentice had been transformed into a new man by the fire.  Obi-Wan needed to be burned, too.

"No, no, not like this," he protested, pulling away from Bail's touch.  His eyes latched onto Bail's, boring deeply into them for the first time that night.  "Fuck me."

Bail's expression clouded with confusion, and Obi-Wan realized his words had hurt him, but his imploring gaze did not waver, begging him to understand.  Bail's eyes broke away, following his hand as he slowly trailed a line down Obi-Wan's chest, over his heart, down his belly.  Obi-Wan could feel Bail gathering his grief at their long separation, resentment at not knowing where Obi-Wan was, never hearing from him, not knowing if they would ever meet again.  Bail called upon those feelings of abandonment and rejection, invoking passion of one kind to rouse passion of another.  When he raised his eyes to Obi-Wan's again, they burned with dark emotions of hunger and wounded love.  Without warning, he descended on Obi-Wan, swallowing him with brutal kisses, pressing against him with his full weight, hands no longer gentle but demanding.  Obi-Wan felt the breath squeezed out of him, his lips bruising beneath Bail's assault, his body responding at last.

Abruptly, Bail shifted, pulling away.  Obi-Wan groped blindly for him, but Bail eluded his grasp, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Obi-Wan's pants and jerking down to reveal the tattoo low on his hip, the initials that Obi-Wan had given to the guards.  "You are mine," Bail growled.  "No matter how far away you go, no matter how long – for all time you are marked as mine.  Do not forget that."

"Never," Obi-Wan breathed, then moaned as Bail reached for him once more.

It was over in minutes, the scrabble of clothing, hands and mouths devouring, skin slapping against skin, Bail plunging into him like a key sliding into a lock, releasing him, setting him free.  No words, no tender murmurings of love, just grunts and gasps, two bodies shuddering together in raw release, and Obi-Wan felt it all, felt the heat penetrate the deepest corners of his soul.  He was only dimply aware of Bail collapsing over him, had no idea how long they lay together on the floor, or how they eventually made it onto the bed.  He knew only that his lover's arms and legs were wrapped around him, tightly, as if they would never let go.  Bail's embrace admitted no thought, no pain or fear, no doubt or grief.  Obi-Wan submerged himself in that embrace, never knowing when sleep, blissfully free of dreams, at last overcame him.