"Patterns"
Rating: G
Obi-Wan and Bail spend an evening together.
Obi-Wan looked up in surprise from his data reader as Bail stomped in, knocking flakes of dried mud from his boots.
"I didn't expect you here so early, so soon."
Bail shrugged off his outer coat, hanging it on the wall.
"Things changed. Is there food?"
"In the warmer. Soup."
Obi-Wan just caught the short nod from the retreating head, taking a deep breath before bending back to his work, taking periodic notes, studying documents as they flicked by on the screen.
The air began to feel chilled as night fell and Obi-Wan tucked his tunic around him tighter.
Done with his work for the time being, Obi-Wan clicked off the data reader and stood. Bail was finishing off his food, the cooling white liquid barely clinging to the sides of the bowl.
"Are you staying?"
Bail jumped slightly and dropped his spoon on the table. "Yes, for tonight, perhaps tomorrow. I have to speak to some people and then I'll head out."
Bail stood and wiped out his bowl. Obi-Wan started water for tea.
"I need to bathe."
Obi-Wan nodded absently and took two cups from the tiny cabinet, setting them gently on the counter.
The sonics whirred.
Obi-Wan poured the tea.
He moved to his bed, placing the cups on a low table before pulling back the blanket and moving the thin pillows to lie beside one another.
The bed dipped as he sat to remove his boots, rocking him off-balance slightly. The dark polish left a mark on the sheet. He placed his boots beside the pair at the end of the bed. The leather was dull in the dim light.
He removed his tunics, looking them over for tears before folding them and placing them on the chair with his belt. Obi-Wan was braiding his hair when Bail entered, towel around his hips.
Without a word, Bail took the leather tie from where it sat on the bed and fastened the end of the long tail tightly before slipping underneath the blanket.
Obi-Wan extinguished the light and slid in next to Bail. The bright flashes from outside created patterns on the wall.
Obi-Wan's hand slid down the stiff arm, tracing a meandering scar, tiny stiff hairs, a bump on the wrist. Bail's hand was cold.
Their fingers entwined. "How many lost this time?" Obi-Wan murmured into the emptiness.
"One hundred seventeen thousand eight hundred and twelve."
No other words broke the rhythmic splash of the bombs in the distance.
They slept, tea forgotten.
~ fin ~