Fandom/Pairing: Star Wars/Obidala (Obi-Wan Kenobi/Padmé Amidala)
Written For: 12 Days of Obidala Christmas @ the Obidala Fan Forum
Prompt: Christmas Fic/#037 Present
Characters: Obi-Wan, Padmé, Jobal, Dormé
Word Count: 1,988
Summary: Padmé gets together with her family to make Christmas cookies, while Obi-Wan assumes a rather untraditional role for a Jedi.
Author’s Notes: Right, so obviously there isn’t any mention in the Star Wars trilogy of Christmas, but I thought it would be fun to start off the Twelve Days of Obidala Christmas at the Forum with a nice holiday-oriented fic. (You'll be bombarded with such fics - and icons - over the next few days due to my participation in the 12 Days event.) So perhaps a little suspension of disbelief is in order. This is based on my aunt and cousin's annual tradition of getting together a week before Christmas to bake Christmas cookies. I went over and helped them with that today, and got some good inspiration! XD And of course, I wanted to find a way to link it to one of my fanfic claims, so I picked an appropriate prompt from my fanfic50 table with which to link it. This is fluff at its absolute fluffiest, and should be taken as such.
“Mom, did you bring the cookie cutters?” Padmé called.
“Yes, dear,” Jobal shouted back. “I also brought a couple of new recipes I thought we should try. Let me just get my boots off.”
Padmé smiled to herself as she reached into the cold unit and brought out butter, milk and eggs. She would never get sick of this tradition, not if she lived to be a hundred years old. Every year, the week before Christmas Eve, she and her mother and sister got together to bake Christmas cookies, Christmas cakes and a variety of other holiday confections. When her grandmother had still been alive, the Naberrie family had baked at her house. But Grandmother Rose had died just the previous year, and the wound left by her absence was still raw.
“Darling, have you seen my white socks?” Obi-Wan yelled.
Padmé turned in the midst of putting a bag of sugar on the counter. Her husband was hopping through the kitchen on one bare foot, trying in vain to put his pants on while still moving forward. Impulsively she burst out laughing. Obi-Wan looked pained.
“It’s not funny!” he complained.
“Perhaps not from your perspective,” Padmé giggled, clutching the edge of the counter for support. “Why don’t you use the Force?”
“To find my socks?”
“No, to put your pants on. Here.” She got to her knees, skillfully untangling Obi-Wan’s pant legs and slipping them up his legs. “There. I washed your socks last night, they’re in the laundry basket at the top of the stairs. Now, help me up? Otherwise I’ll be stuck here until after the parade.”
It was Obi-Wan’s turn to chuckle as he firmly grasped his wife’s hands and pulled her to a standing position. “How are you feeling?”
Padmé smiled once more. “All right. She’s really kicking today, I think she knows something exciting’s going to happen.”
Obi-Wan rested his hands gently on her swollen belly and was rewarded moments later when a tiny foot punched his palm. “Yes, like her father making an utter fool of himself in front of the entire population of Theed.”
“You are not going to make an utter fool of yourself,” Padmé shot back good-naturedly. “It’ll be fun!”
“What, me standing in the village square wearing a long white beard and chanting ‘Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas’?” Obi-Wan asked skeptically. “Fun is not the word I’d use.”
“But the parade later, don’t forget the parade,” Padmé whispered as she embraced him. “Besides, it’s a tradition. Male newcomers to Theed have to play Santa Claus in the annual parade. Why mess with tradition?”
“Isn’t it also tradition that the man’s wife has to play Mrs. Claus?” said Obi-Wan pointedly.
“Sorry, darling, I get out of that this year.” Padmé put a hand to her back, which was already twinging slightly. “Your daughter, or son, has seen to that.”
“I still say that’s not fair,” Obi-Wan grumbled. “Who’s to say Santa hasn’t been engaging in a little … er, extracurricular activity?”
Again she burst out laughing. “No one, it’s just tradition. You’d better hurry and get your socks, you’re going to be late.”
Obi-Wan glanced at the chrono mounted on the wall and gasped, scrambling out of the room. At almost the same instant, Jobal set her bags of ingredients and supplies on the kitchen table with a thump.
“Force!” she exclaimed. “The weather’s sure getting interesting. I hope Obi-Wan doesn’t get lost in a blizzard on his way to the square.”
Padmé was peeking into the bags. “Mmm, something smells good,” she remarked, pulling a sealed container out of one of the packages. “What’s this for?”
“Oh no you don’t.” Jobal quickly took the container from her daughter and stored it in the cooling unit. “That’s lunch. I figured we wouldn’t want to go out again in this storm.”
“But Mo-om!” Padmé whined in a tone of mock disappointment. “You know I’m always hungry these days.”
“Yes, and there will be plenty of treats to taste this morning. The little one can wait to eat something healthy until midday. After all, don’t we want to develop her sweet tooth now, as opposed to later?” Jobal winked.
“Believe me, she’ll probably have the best-developed sweet tooth in Theed by the time she’s born,” Padmé said, helping herself to a cocoa bar lying nearby. “I feel like I’m eating constantly nowadays.”
“Probably because you are.” Obi-Wan had reappeared, dressed in a full Santa costume complete with sack of toys tossed over his shoulder. He snickered.
“Hey, I didn’t kill you this morning for lowing like a bantha as I got dressed. Don’t push it,” Padmé warned, advancing on him menacingly.
Obi-Wan recoiled in mock fear and held two Christmas cups over his eyes. “You wouldn’t hit a Santa Claus with glasses on, would you?”
Both women burst out laughing. “All right, all right,” Padmé conceded. She moved to her husband, lifting the long white beard to kiss him softly. “Have fun today … if you can. Bring back holopics.”
“No way!” Obi-Wan blurted out, and they all laughed again.
Ten minutes later, he was gone, and Padmé was elbow-deep in a batter for simple Christmas sugar cookies. Jobal was shaping crescents and dipping each in icing sugar.
“You know, I’ve never missed Grandmother Rose as much as I do now,” Padmé commented, stirring in a little more milk and scooping individual portions of dough onto a cookie sheet. “I know how much she used to love making these cookies. And really … I wish she could have held on until Leia’s due date.”
“Leia?” Jobal glanced at her daughter over the crescents. “That’s what you’re going to name the baby?”
“Well, I’m considering it, at least,” replied Padmé thoughtfully. “Do you like it?”
“Mother’s second name was Leia. She always said she hated it, but I thought it was very pretty.” Jobal slid her tray into the cooker. “There. That should bake for fifteen minutes, and then we can add the decorations.”
“Rose Leia.” Padmé rolled the names over in her mind as she finished the cookies. “Yes, I like it too. I know it used to be fairly common in Grandmother’s day.”
“Yes, it did,” Jobal nodded. “Then my generation was unusual names, and yours is names ending in ‘é.’ Eirtaé, Sabé, Motée, Ellé. Padmé, of course. And Dormé. Speaking of whom, when is Dormé coming over?”
“As soon as she can, she just had to take Ayasha to school,” answered Padmé. “I think Ayasha was disappointed that she couldn’t come over and help too.”
“Yes, well, school must come first. Ryoo and Pooja were complaining too, especially Ryoo. Sola’s going to bring Pooja over as soon as her morning school finishes, but Ryoo has to go for the whole day.”
Padmé nodded. “So does Ayasha. I remember feeling the exact same way. I wanted to stay home with you all day and bake instead of sitting in Calculations class.”
“Well do I remember,” laughed Jobal. “The fits you used to pitch … thank the Force that’s all in the past and we can stay in the kitchen on this snowy day and concoct.”
“Yes, thank the Force,” Padmé murmured. She couldn’t help feeling a pang of longing for her grandmother, though, and for her dear friend Anakin, away negotiating a border dispute. Were it not for the parental leave provisions she had helped to push through, Padmé and Obi-Wan might well be on Coruscant as well, pursuing their separate careers. But as she was only two months from her due date, they had both been granted time to return to their small home on Naboo. Padmé was especially grateful it had happened over the Christmas season.
She soon forgot her worries, however, as Dormé arrived with yet more ingredients and a HoloNet transponder, which they tuned to the local Christmas station. An hour later Padmé and Dormé were working happily alongside each other on a fifth batch of sugar cookies, belting out “Grandma Got Run Over By a Bantha.”
“Grandma got run over by a bantha,” Padmé sang as she kneaded the dough, “walking home from our house Christmas Eve!”
“You can say there’s no such thing as Santa,” Dormé returned, “but as for me and Grandpa, we believe!”
“What a strange song,” Jobal remarked, sliding a cookie tray out of the cooker. “Why would one of Santa Claus’s banthas run over a grandmother?”
“It’s not supposed to be serious, Mom,” said Padmé. “It’s just a silly song. One of my favourites, actually.”
“I still say it’s strange,” her mother answered, shaking her head.
Noontime arrived with a banging of the front door and a clattering of small feet racing towards the kitchen. “Auntie Padmé!” Pooja trilled, bounding in. “I saw Santa in the square! He was right outside my school!”
“Oh, is that so?” Padmé replied as she munched on a freshly-baked cookie. Inwardly she chuckled, thinking of Obi-Wan and wondering how he was getting along. “Did you tell him what you want for Christmas?”
“Yeah, I did,” Pooja said. “The whole list! Only … you know what?”
“He looked like Uncle Obi-Wan. Auntie Padmé, did you get married to Santa Claus?”
Padmé laughed again. “Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t. Would you like a cookie?”
Sola came in then, smiling amiably, and soon joined the trio of bakers. Pooja ran in and out, dipping her hands into the flour and throwing snowballs at the window. They baked and baked, until Padmé was tired of squinting at small data disks of recipes, tired of stirring, tired of rolling and kneading and dripping food colouring into icing …
“How much more do we have to do, Mom?” she asked midafternoon. Ryoo and Ayasha were due home from school soon, her back was aching, and she yearned to see Obi-Wan again.
“Not much. Just a few more batches.” Jobal turned to her daughter, concerned. “Why don’t you have a seat, dear? You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted,” Padmé said, dropping gratefully into a nearby chair. “Even a full day of Senate debates is easier than slaving over a hot cooker.”
“Welcome to my world,” her mother grinned.
Padmé was about to retort when suddenly the front door slammed once more.
“HO, HO, HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!” a voice boomed.
They all jumped, except for Pooja, who bounced away from a cookie tray and turned questioning eyes on Padmé. “Auntie Padmé,” she whispered, “is that Santa?”
“What?” her startled aunt replied.
“Santa! I just heard him!” The girl dashed out of the kitchen and nearly collided with a red-suited figure making its way towards them.
“Padmé, darling?” the figure asked.
Pooja stopped short. “Uncle Obi-Wan?” she gasped. “Are you – Santa?”
Obi-Wan emerged from the hall, pulling off his white beard, to embrace Padmé. “How did it go?” he asked.
She slumped exhaustedly against him. “Let’s just say that if I ever see another cookie again, it’ll be too soon. What about you?”
“All right. I stood in the square, rang the bell, talked to dozens of children, heard more Christmas wishes than I could ever remember, marched in the parade … it was a perfect day. So many smiling faces.”
“That’s wonderful!” Padmé cried. “I knew you’d love it. I knew it.”
“Erm, yes,” Obi-Wan said. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Promise me … promise me that I never have to do it again.”
Padmé kissed him then, kissed him without caring who was watching, kissed him despite Pooja’s cries of, “Oooooh, yuck!” and Sola’s whistles and Dormé’s chuckles.
She leaned forward, whispering so that no one else could hear.
“How about next year, you bake cookies with us?”
Obi-Wan glanced around at the trays of cookies, at the icing spattering the counter, at the flour on Padmé’s apron and the dough on the floor.
“On second thought, I think I’ll be Santa again,” was his answer.