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friskynotebook · 2 years ago

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All the Wasted Time Ch. 4

An Obidala GFFA AU slow-burn romance ❤️

CW: age gap, poisoning, angst, food, assassination attempt

Summary: Obi-Wan and Padme attend a state dinner where things take a dark turn.

Also on AO3!

Padme drummed her fingers on her desk, staring at the comm set like it would turn into a swarm of fever wasps. It’s just a comm call. To Obi-Wan. What are you so afraid of?

It wasn’t so much what she was afraid of, as it was the way she constantly found herself thinking about the gala from a few weeks ago and the way Obi-Wan looked in his dress robes gliding her across the dance floor, charming her odious colleagues, rescuing her and Mon from a bounty hunter—

Padme shook her head. Enough of that. Just make the damned call.

Before she could think anymore about it, she picked up the receiver and dialed Obi-Wan’s number, not dwelling on how she knew it by heart.

He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

Padme tried to ignore the tingle in her belly from hearing his crisp Coruscanti accent. “Hi, Obi-Wan.”

“Ah, Padme, hello there.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“How are you?” she asked, toying with the comm cord.

“I’m alright, and you?”

“I’m good.” She swallowed. “I actually called to ask you a favor.”

“Yes?” he prompted when Padme didn’t continue.

“Um, are you busy next week? There’s a state dinner the Republic is hosting for delegates from Rishi and Bail and I are trying to get votes for our taxation bill and I was wondering if you’d be free to attend—”

Obi-Wan gently cut off her rambling. “Oh, I’m sorry, Padme, I won’t be able to accompany you.”

Padme’s heart sank. “Oh, that’s all right, don’t worry about it—”

“—Because I’ll already be attending as part of the Jedi delegation,” Obi-Wan continued, a teasing smirk lacing through his tone.

“Oh!” Padme squeaked. She cleared her throat. “Well. That’s good. So I’ll see you, then? At the dinner.”

“Yes you will, Senator.”

Padme exited her hovercar, fingers absently smoothing down the light blue tulle of her dress that she definitely did not pick out so it would go with Obi-Wan’s dark blue dress robes.

“Thank you,” she said absently to the driver. “I should be done in about three hours.”

“Very good, Senator.”

She adjusted her curls and strode towards the entrance to the ballroom, before she could fiddle with her outfit any more.

“Padme!”

Breha’s voice rang out across the entrance hall. Padme turned, beaming at her friend.

“You look lovely,” Padme complimented, greeting Breha with a hug.

“As do you.” Breha kissed her cheek. “I love the dress.”

“The color is a nice choice,” Bail winked at her. “It would look good with a certain Jedi Master’s dress robes . . .”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Padme blushed as she greeted Bail.

“Let’s go inside,” Breha suggested, giving Padme a knowing smile.

Padme quickly found her table, surprised to see that:

She was seated at the same table as the Jedi delegation, and

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was sitting right next to her.

She suspected Mon was involved with the first decision, but would she have been so bold as to put her right next to Obi-Wan? However, one glance at Mace Windu, sitting across from her with a twinkle in his eye and a playful raised brow, and she had an idea who switched the placecards.

“Padme.” Obi-Wan’s warm, velvet voice came from behind her. She turned around and greeted him with a hug.

“Obi-Wan,” she beamed. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” he grinned, kissing her on both cheeks. “It seems we’ve been seated together.” He released her hands and pulled out her chair.

She settled in her seat, her cheeks warm at his gentlemanly attention. “Yes, how fortunate for us.”

“I’d say it was the will of the Force, but it’s probably more accurate to say it’s the will of Mace Windu,” Obi-Wan teased, sitting next to her.

“You could say Mace was simply listening to the will of the Force.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he would say,” he replied, looking up to find Mace quickly looking away, pretending to talk to Yoda.

“Not very subtle, is he?” Padme smirked.

“Oh, on the contrary he’s normally quite discrete. But it appears all that skill goes away when it involves my personal life.”

“I thought this was merely a work function for you, Master Kenobi.”

“My friends view these events as the height of my social life,” he sighed. “So they take every opportunity for me to make the most of them, if you will.”

“Your friends sound like my handmaidens,” Padme said. “Meddling with good intentions.”

He smiled at her as he accepted the menu from a server. “That’s one way of putting it.”

They poured over the options for each course, the menu specializing in Rishian cuisine.

Padme wrinkled her nose. “What are . . . glowblue noodles?”

His eyes lit up. “Oh those are delicious. Don’t let the name—or the color—fool you. They’re served in this cheesy cream sauce and topped with sesame.”

“I’ll take your word for it and stick with the buckwheat noodles with nerf.”

He shook his head and sipped his wine. “You’re missing out, Senator.”

Despite Padme’s initial hesitation, the meal was one of the best she’d ever had—especially the bites she stole from Obi-Wan’s plate.

And her food envy only grew when the pasta course was served.

“That’s what glowblue noodles look like?” Padme asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan grinned. “I told you to not let the name deter you.”

“What was I supposed to think? The name said blue noodles!”

“And I said they were more delicious than the name suggested.”

Padme looked at her own buckwheat noodles with nerf—it looked good, but the glowblue noodles looked downright heavenly.

Before Obi-Wan could take a bite from his meal, he regarded her, tilting his head to the side. “Padme, would you like to switch?”

She hurried to decline the offer, though the way her face lit up didn’t lie. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take your meal!”

“It’s no trouble, really. Besides, it would be an honor to be present for your first time trying glowblue noodles.”

“Well when you put it like that . . .” Padme offered up her plate in exchange for Obi-Wan’s meal.

He watched her with a glint in his eye as she took her first bite. “Obi-Wan, this is amazing!”

“I would say I told you so, but . . .” he teased.

“You just did,” she furrowed her brow playfully as she took another bite.

Obi-Wan snickered, taking a bite of the buckwheat noodles. “These are quite tasty.”

“But no glowblue noodles?”

“No, definitely not.”

Padme enjoyed every last bite of the cheesy, buttery noodles—probably more than she should have, if the borderline food coma she was experiencing was any indication. Still, she wasn’t about to give up her white-chocolate bread pudding, and focused all her energy on eating the filling dessert.

“Padme?” Obi-Wan said, his brow furrowing. “Is everything alright?”

“Hmm?” She looked up, licking a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth.

“You haven’t said much since we got our desserts,” he continued.

“Oh, I’m fine. Just . . . enjoying the dessert,” she nodded, but regretted that once her vision started spinning.

Obi-Wan continued watching her eat, his own dessert abandoned. Once Padme finished her bread pudding, she stood, gripping the table like a lifeline.

“I think I need a bit of air,” she said, gathering the energy to walk. How did this get so hard? Did I really eat that much?

Obi-Wan quickly stood as well. “Allow me to escort you,” he said, offering her his arm.

She took it and let him lead her towards the balcony—which would be much easier if her body could just remember how to breathe. She tried to breathe in and out, but her lungs and chest burned and simply wouldn’t cooperate no matter how hard she tried.

She tried taking another breath while also trying to work her legs and that seemed to be too much. She gripped Obi-Wan’s arm—so strong, his arms are so strong and his robes are so soft—as tightly as she could, trying to fight against her body drowning on air.

“Padme?”

She vaguely heard his panicked voice, felt his calloused hand on hers.

“Obi—” she gasped, her legs collapsing under her.

Padme heard him call out her name, much more panicked than before, then felt his arms around her, trying to break her fall. Things were graying out at the edge of her vision, but she could hear chaos around her, from Mon’s “Padme!” to Mace’s “Help’s coming, Senator, try to hang on.”

She wanted to tell Mace she was hanging on but it was so hard. The gray had turned to black and she felt like she was drifting farther away from the ballroom, the people, Obi-Wan’s warm arms.

“She’s not breathing.” Padme heard the fear in Obi-Wan’s voice and she wanted to tell him she would be just fine but she couldn’t work her mouth or the rest of her body, for that matter. So she settled for just thinking at him as loud as she could. That’s how the Force worked, right?

But before she could think much more, Obi-Wan was pinching her nose shut and covering her mouth with his own, and the last thing she thought before her world went black was how soft Obi-Wan’s lips felt against hers.

No-pressure tags: @wickedscribbles @obiknights @labyrinth-runner @your-dose-of-obidala @mxster-jocale @cypanache @celestial-alignment @alabama-metal-man @written-musings

#obidala #obi wan kenobi x padawan!reader #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #obi wan x padme #my fic #my writing #star wars fic #all the wasted time

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friskynotebook · 2 years ago

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All the Wasted Time Ch. 5

An Obidala GFFA AU slow-burn romance ❤️

CW: age gap, poisoning, angst, food, assassination attempt, recovery, hospitals, injury recovery

Summary: Obi-Wan struggles with the aftermath of the state dinner.

Also on AO3!

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Obi-Wan stood from his chair by Padme’s bedside and started pacing once again, not caring about his wrinkled dress robes. As much as he hated seeing Padme looking so pale and still, he couldn’t bear to leave her side, not for a moment.

Because it should have been you.

A few hours after Padme was brought to the medcentre, Mace briefed Obi-Wan on what happened. According to Quinlan’s interrogation of the sous chef, he was paid off by the Hutt responsible for last week’s attempt on Padme’s and Mon’s lives to poison Obi-Wan’s pasta dish.

The same dish he insisted Padme have in exchange for hers.

He ran a hand over his beard, gazing out the window. If I had just eaten my own food, none of this would have happened. It also would have been him in that bed, injured, ill, or even worse.

Obi-Wan pushed that thought out of his mind.

The hours bled into days as Obi-Wan maintained his bedside vigil. Several of their friends had been in and out—they were of course checking on Padme, but he also had a sneaking suspicion they were looking in on him, too. Mon and Carlist brought a sandwich and blue milk for him, which he barely picked at. Bail brought a pillow and blanket for the stiff medcentre chair. During Anakin and Dorme’s visit, they had gently (or in Anakin’s case, not so gently) suggested he shower and try to rest back at the temple.

He did feel better after the shower, though he knew rest wouldn’t come to him.

Aside from those few hours to freshen up, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her bedside. He felt he had to protect her, even though in his mind, he failed to do so the first time.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon said during his first visit. “There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this.”

“Yes there was,” Obi-Wan replied, digging in his heels. “I could have eaten my own food.”

“There’s no way for you to have known there was anything wrong with the food. It was—”

“If you say it was the will of the Force, Qui-Gon—”

“I was going to say, it was not your fault.” Qui-Gon had a twinkle in his eye. Obi-Wan blushed.

“I’m trying to release my anxieties back into the Force, Master, but it’s so difficult.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “This was a large reason why the old Code forbade attachment for so long. The old Masters focused too much on the negatives rather than the positives that come from not attachment but true love and companionship.”

“Wait, Master, why are we talking about love and attachment? I care for Padme but not in that way.”

Qui-Gon gave his padawan a knowing look. “Love is not attachment. Nor is it possessive. Which you already know . . . and is the source for your struggle, I’m sensing.”

“If something is the will of the Force, it’s the will of the Force,” Obi-Wan sighed. “But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”

“But accept it, you do. And that is what makes your feelings for her—whatever they are,” he added when Obi-Wan was about to protest, “not attachment. And something that must be cherished, Obi-Wan. Besides, she’ll be alright. She’ll recover.”

Obi-Wan nodded, sinking in the seat next to Qui-Gon and falling back into his thoughts.

On the third day, Padme woke up.

Well, more accurately, she opened her eyes.

Obi-Wan was sitting next to her when he heard small whimpers muffled from behind her breathing mask. He turned towards her and sat on the bed, brushing hair from her forehead.

“Shhh, it’s alright, dear one,” he soothed, pressing the call button. “You’re safe, everything is fine.”

“Obi-Wan?” she murmured.

“I’m right here, Padme,” he whispered, taking her hand in his.

Before Padme could say anything else, medics entered the room.

“I’ll just step outside while the medics check you over, but I’ll be right back,” he promised, squeezing her hand when she tried to tug him back. “I won’t be far away, Padme. I promise I’ll be back as soon as they’re done.”

When the medics finished their assessment, Obi-Wan rushed back to her side, his eyes trained on her. Padme’s eyes were growing heavy, but she kept her gaze firmly on him.

He took his place back on her bed, gently running his thumb along her cheekbone. “Go back to sleep, dear one. It’s almost morning.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Stay?”

He smiled softly. “Of course.”

She was asleep before he finished speaking.

After a week, Padme was finally released from the medcentre into Dorme’s—and Obi-Wan’s—care.

Padme heavily protested Obi-Wan volunteering himself to her care team, but he couldn’t help but notice her relaxed posture and softened eyes when he cared for her. He didn’t dwell on what exactly eased her mind, but he was grateful his presence seemed to relax her, let her focus on healing.

On her first night back in her apartment, Obi-Wan busied himself preparing her evening tea and a slice of five-blossom bread to eat after she had taken her medicine.

But while he was on his way to her bedroom, he stopped himself, hearing voices on the other side of the door.

“Dorme, you really don’t have to stay all night,” Padme said as she got ready for bed.

“I’m still your handmaiden, Padme,” she replied. “Plus, I do live here.”

“I know, but you could be spending time with Anakin—I’m in good hands with Obi-Wan.” She applied her night cream as she looked at Dorme through the mirror.

“He’s an excellent nurse,” Dorme conceded. “But . . . I wouldn’t feel right leaving you. Not for the first few days, at least.”

Padme gave her handmaiden a fond smile. “I’m very lucky to have you, Dorme.”

“I know,” Dorme grinned. “But I’m lucky too. Not everyone gets to work with their best friend, changing the galaxy for the better.”

Padme stood, hugging Dorme. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Let me help you to bed.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sighed, trying to put on a brave face for Padme. He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Padme called.

Obi-Wan entered the bedroom, carrying a tray with her night treats. He smiled as Padme’s face lit up.

“Oh, Obi-Wan, you’re too good to me,” she grinned, sitting up to accept the tray.

“Since Obi-Wan seems to have things under control, I’ll take my leave. Goodnight my lady, Obi-Wan,” Dorme said, leaving the room as Padme and Obi-Wan called out their own farewells.

“Medicine first, then bread,” he insisted, though his eyes crinkled in amusement.

Padme huffed, taking her pills. “You’re no fun.”

“I could have brought you polystarch bread instead.”

“On second thought, you may be the most fun person I’ve ever met.”

He chuckled. “If you say so.”

Obi-Wan watched her carefully, making sure she had taken all her medicine and ate her bread. “Let me know if you have a reaction, with the bread and the medicine together.”

She sipped her tea. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Five-blossom bread is fairly mild.”

“All the same. I don’t want you to have an upset stomach.”

Padme cocked her head to the side. “Alright, I’ll let you know.”

Obi-Wan nodded, then stood, drawing her curtains closed and busying himself with tidying her room. When he ran out of things to do, he turned back to Padme, who was watching him with a curious gaze.

“If you don’t need anything else,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll let you get some rest. Goodnight, Padme.”

As he turned to leave, Padme called out, “Wait, Obi-Wan!”

He turned back around. “Yes?”

“You seem so . . . sad,” she murmured, setting her mug down. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Just tired, is all.” He tried to smile at her, but he had a feeling it wasn’t very convincing.

“Obi-Wan, I’m fine,” she reassured him. “You don’t have to be here all night long. Dorme is a wonderful caretaker. I’m sure you want to be in your own bed.”

He didn’t answer her for a long moment, smoothing her bed covers and avoiding her piercing brown eyes.

“You gave me quite a scare,” he finally murmured, studying the floral pattern on her duvet.

“Obi-Wan,” she commanded, waiting for him to look at her. He was taken aback when he saw the plain horror etched on her face. “What happened was absolutely not your fault in any way.”

He sighed. “Padme, if we hadn’t switched dishes, you would not have been poisoned. You wouldn’t be bedridden and in pain—”

“And had the Hutt gotten his way, you’d be the one in pain and bedridden,” she reminded him.

Better me than you. The thought entered Obi-Wan’s mind before he could stop it—and almost as if she could read his thoughts, Padme’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face.

“Obi-Wan,” she gasped. “You don’t deserve pain. Neither of us do, but you seem to think your pain is a fair price for any hardship and that is simply not the case—especially not now. It was not your duty to eat that dish instead of me. You’re important, too. You matter to so many people. To me.”

Obi-Wan gaped at her, stunned into silence. It honestly wasn’t something he had considered, and he certainly wasn’t expecting to confront it with Padme in her bedroom. Still, he tried to push away the nagging feeling in his belly at her use of the phrase to me and regain his composure.

He swallowed, clearing his throat. “There’s a chance it would have only incapacitated me, not killed me. With my training, I don’t think the Hutt would have considered—”

“Well, Master Jedi,” Padme cut him off, using her most royal tone, “It only incapacitated me, and thanks to your quick actions and your insatiable need to be a mother hen, I’ll make a swift recovery.”

He smirked, standing. “I’ll let you get your rest, Senator. Unless there’s something else?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied. “Goodnight, Obi-Wan. Get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Padme.”

No-pressure tags: @wickedscribbles @obiknights @labyrinth-runner @your-dose-of-obidala @mxster-jocale @cypanache @celestial-alignment @written-musings @alabama-metal-man

#obidala #obi wan x padme #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #obi Wan Kenobi x padme amidala #my writing #my fic #Star Wars fic #all the wasted time

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