you are enough

𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢. 28. 𝘩𝘦/𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘴 & 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦!

"She's on her OWN," Ellie could feel her feelings bubbling past the point of frustration, dangerously close to something else, partnering with the ever-present fear for Ahsoka, catching it like a grease fire. All Ellie could see was how isolated and hurt Ahsoka had to be feeling. Would Ellie be doing things differently to Anakin if she had the same, or even a fraction, of his sway with the Council? It took a great amount of self control not to storm up to the Council herself and give them a piece of her mind. It wouldn't help Ahsoka.

"It does, though!" A frustration, one that had been building long before she'd even met Din, slipped to the forefront before she could carefully curate her words, and Ellie winced at the sharpness of her tone. The only thing Elinor Kenobi is certain of is that when there's a weight to take, she shoulders it. Din's right, of course, and she hasn't always held that weight alone, but recent years have isolated her, encouraged some of her most self destructive habits.

"I've lived a long life, Din. It hasn't always been very forgiving, either." Her words are low now, apologetic and her gaze is fixed on her hands as they wrap and twist around themselves (less harmful than picking at the corners of her nails till they bled). "It's been..." A sigh pushes past her lips. "A while. I'm out of practice... Letting other people share the burden." Maker, she sounds so cryptic, she can hear the ghost of Ahsoka's voice teasing her, a decades old quip about Master Yoda, lost to the recesses of pain Ellie had been trying her best to leave behind closed doors in her memory. "And even back then, it was not a skill I had perfected."

A brief smile crosses Ellie's lips, long enough that she knew Ahsoka would see, but it didn't stop her from forcing herself to straighten her expression, a terrible and frankly useless attempt at neutrality. With this attempt came a silence, broken only moments later by a small chuckle, forcing its way from Ellie throat.

"I understand completely, 'Soka." It wasn't a secret that Ellie spent most of her efforts trying to minimise the affects of the very real, very intense stress that Ahsoka went through from external sources, and though she was glad her little sister could joke, the guilt that lived in the back of her gut twisted as Ellie hooked her arm through Ahsoka's so they could walk together.

Warzones painted themselves against the back of Elinor's eyelids, every few weeks new ones fresh, as if she would ever run out of fuel for her nightmares and fears. She'd never expected to see Mandalore brought to this, though. Even when she'd seen Death Watch march Darth Maul across the podium, the ever astute voice of her intuition whispering about something not being quite right... In the end, Satine's efforts to keep peace at the forefront of Mandalore had been for nothing as Death Watch decided to start a civil war.

The familiarity of flames, death, chaos kicked Ellie into gear as cries rang out around her. She had a job to do now, and she could do that until she could figure out how to get back to Coruscant. Satine would have a solution, and until she could get to her, the people of Mandalore needed her. Maybe Obi-Wan was here, too, but Ellie couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not. Maybe not to others, but Maul's presence screamed trap, trap, trap, and it was truly not knowing where Obi-Wan that allowed her to smother her fear until there was a better time to feel it.

Obi-Wan pulled her from the fray, donned in Mandalorian armour and an expression that filled her with dread, finally letting her fear seep in and take hold. There was a lot to infer from the situation as they escaped to the ship with Bo-Katan's help, but realising the Council's decisions didn't matter. Grief radiated off Kenobi in a way Elinor had never seen before: she knew before he opened his mouth that Satine was dead. It was the first time Ellie found it difficult to cry, so the silence on the trip to Coruscant was just that.

There isn't an emotion that Elinor feels in anything less than boundless, immeasurable quantities, maybe she knows what he means. ENORMITY.  His tone alone tells her they don't feel (ha) the same way, but their conversation told her more. She's listening to understand, not to empathise.

The words hit her in waves. Their meaning spread across a lazy tide, lapping at Elinor's feet as she processed what he needed from her. DISGUST. It's harsh, sharp and leaves cuts against her skin. How could she explain to him that any feeling shouldn't be shamed, shouldn't picked apart? She could feel her own emotions, anger currently, bubbling, though not at him. The people who had taught him this were the ones she turned her rage to. Interesting. Usually, she reserved fear for the Jedi Order.

Ellie began picking at the skin at her nails.

DESIRE washed over her next, so much more gentle, swirling pools around her, a direct conflict to the anger and fear settling in her hands and the base of her throat. This was about her. He felt that for her. Warmth tingled up her spine, relaxing her shoulders as she shifted her weight on the sofa. Bringing herself closer to Obi-Wan, Ellie tucked her feet under her, kneeling beside him. The anger, frustration, began to itch in her hands again, so she reached for his, calming herself and hopefully anchoring him.

— “every time i touch you, there’s a moment where you look like you think it will hurt.” from elinor rhodes @ sunsetsoft.

a sharp intake of breath. subtle.

he hadn’t meant to make it so obvious, but he never could lie to her. she saw right through him with hopeful eyes, and it took everything in him not to succumb to her every time.

it left a rotten taste in his mouth, but he wouldn’t pull her into this misery with him. she didn’t deserve the weight of his troubles. instead, he smiled. it wasn’t a nice smile, and he was sure she could tell, but he couldn’t bring himself to brighten it. a quick glance up: nobody around, he could touch her freely. his arm caught her waist, bringing her to him, close enough that he could press his forehead to hers and feel her breath against his cheek. the silence had gone on too long, and he knew he would have to answer her soon, knew that his hesitation was causing the cogs in elinor’s head to tighten and squeak.

couldn’t he just look at her a little longer? there was nobody to stop him. the jedi order was dying. things were falling apart faster than he could hold them together and his brother was losing his way. his sister was losing her home. but when guilt twisted in his chest and fear clouded his gaze, by his side, ellie remained. he wasn’t naive enough to believe he could protect her from all of it, but this he could bear alone. would bear alone. she deserved that. she deserved so much. to want was such a strange thing, but it came so naturally with her. he wanted to give her everything. he hoped she would find someone who could.

“my darling,” a hand raised, gentle fingers moving to caress the curve of her cheek. her skin was so soft, despite the rough air and artificial light, and she was looking at him like she always did. warm, with a twinge of concern. time to put her worries to rest. his own left to fester. “you could never hurt me.”

A gentle brush against his shoulders as she walks past; fingertips tracing shapes around his palm; cupping his face to bring his eyes to meet hers: touch isn't foreign to them. It's always been easier for her, perhaps, but sometimes, when she reaches for him, the look in Obi-Wan's eyes squeezes her heart. Her touch was supposed to provide comfort. They'd never felt fragile. Even when Ellie's demons were loudest, she could trust that their (messy, yet ultimately so simple) relationship was strong. But maybe she was fragile, Obi-Wan, too. Their lives, the world around them, too... Fragile.

The idea that he was bracing himself for something with her touch... It churned in her gut. It never read as rejection, but it piled onto her countless worries, and one day, it might. His smile doesn't convince her, but she's almost certain it wasn't for her. A way to try and keep himself afloat, his head above water. Was it working? How could she help? She wanted to trace the shape of his lips, say something that might brighten his face, bring his smile to his eyes, but thinking about how he looked sometimes when she did... Ellie keeps her hands to herself. She didn't like asking for things he couldn't give her.

His arm around her waist, she does her own surveillance, a glance over her shoulder as her feet shuffle and the anxiety that had been building up ebbed a little: his touch was a direct contradiction to her fears. Does he sense that? Does he feel her body relax at his touch, too? Now isn't the time to think about whether Obi-Wan knows his effect on her, but it lingers, a question for later, for different circumstances. Right now, she lets her eyes close, a brief moment, as their foreheads touch.

Now she wants to trace her lips against his: to say something she didn't have words for; to fill the silence that was gnawing at her anxiety; just for the sake of kissing him. Again, Elinor's self-control keeps her in check. Her hands rest on his chest instead. She imagines pulling him closer, imagines the space between them completely disappearing. She opens her eyes, gaze soft, worried, and it stays in her imagination.

My darling. His, his-his-his. Ellie leaned into his touch, the fraction of a movement, never taking her eyes from him as she smiled, small but brighter than his, at his words, waiting for the rest, unsure what he'd say. Unsure what she was hoping for him to say. Oh. A gentle permission, or Ellie's self-control finally cracking, her right hand slipped up, thumb resting gently at the base of his throat, fingers flat against his clavicle.

A soft sound slips from Elinor's lips, hushed only as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She said nothing else, because there wasn't anything else to say, but still the silence she let sit between them wasn't their usual, comfortable one. Recently, their time had been punctuated by Grogu: his mischief, his babbling. His absence was deafening.

"I know." Safe. Displaced, without the kid, without the Razor Crest, slightly adrift, but safe. R2-D2's beeps echoed in her recent memory, reminding her that the things she'd left behind were now demanding her attention, reminding her that she was holding something back from Din before the cold beskar brought Din's goodbye to her memory, and she promptly swept Luke Skywalker under the rug. Din needed her completely present, not thinking about the past.