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Chapter Text

Jedi Master Mace Windu frowns viciously at the holotable in front him, elbows balanced on his knees and entire body leaning forward aggressively. He knows it is…un-Jedi-like to blame an inanimate object for the headache currently pulsing behind his left eye.

And yet.

“Done no wrong to you the mission roster has,” Master Yoda’s croaky voice breaks through his scowling. Mace lifts his gaze, glancing around the Council chamber as he leans back in his chair and consciously tries to smooth his countenance. Based on the concerned gazes around him, he does not do a very good job. “Troubled you are, hmm?”

“Do we have any other Knights available that could cover the diplomatic envoy to Ryloth?” he finally asks.

Even Piell’s brow shoots upward, Yoda and Yaddle tip their heads in eerily similar gestures, and even Plo Koon seems taken aback behind his trademark antiox mask.

“Do you object to Knight Kenobi’s selection?” Ki Adi Mundi asks. “I thought we had agreed that it was a good fit for him and Padawan Skywalker? A simple, easy mission with a reliable Republic ally—as excellent a choice as any for a Padawan’s first time in the field.”

“No, it’s not that,” Mace replies. “There is a strong shatterpoint around the mission.”

“Strong?” Depa inquires and Mace nods, once, tightly.

“As strong as any I have ever seen. Darker, too. But I can’t tell exactly what the shape of it will be—too much is still in flux.”

Muttering breaks out at this, hushed and uneasy. Yoda tuts and taps his gimmer stick against the chamber floor.

“Deny a promising Knight and Padawan a valuable opportunity, you would?”

Argument breaks out, voices overlapping.

“Are you suggesting that we knowingly throw an 11-year-old Padawan into a potentially dangerous situation?” Adi Gallia interjects severely. She shakes her head. “I cannot countenance that—and I believe that if we presented the facts to Knight Kenobi he would agree with me.”

“Vehemently,” Plo Koon adds, dryly. Kenobi’s propensity to act like an overprotective mother tooka when it came to his padawan was all too well known to Council. They had allowed it so far, partly because it was seen as a natural consequence of losing his Master so suddenly and violently but mostly because no one on the Council actually wanted to be the one to raise the issue with Kenobi after he nearly bit Ki Adi Mundi’s head off during the last attempt.  

“It doesn’t work like that,” Mace responds testily. He inhales and rubs at the bridge of his nose…he swears, the number and severity of his migraines have doubled ever since Kenobi took Skywalker on as his Padawan. “The mission is connected to a shatterpoint, yes, but I cannot know why or how right now. It is strong and dark, but also…cloudy, tangled. For all we know, the actual shatterpoint is related to something completely incidental—perhaps Knight Kenobi fails to finish reading a holo report that will prove very important 10 years down the line because he was busy with the mission, maybe he concusses himself when he trips over a loose wire on his way up to the Council chambers.”

“We cannot allow the possibilities of tomorrow to paralyze us today, Master,” Depa reminds him softly. Mace thinks half the reason she accepted the Council appointment was so that she could recite his teaching platitudes back at him at the most inconvenient of times. “We must make a decision. With all that has been discussed, who is in favor of reassigning the Ryloth envoy to a different pair?”

Masters Plo Koon, Adi Gallia, and Eeth Koth raise their hands almost immediately. Saesee Tiin and Ki Adi Mundi soon join them.

A beat, a pause.  

In another lifetime, another universe, another story, Mace raises his hand slowly and reluctantly, wary of the possibility of sending a child as fearful and wild and full of potential as Anakin straight into the jaws of darkness, even if that darkness was as ill-defined as a shatterpoint.

But in this lifetime, this universe, this story…he doesn’t. He doesn’t know why. Maybe the Force nudged him, maybe this meeting had dragged on just a touch too long and he just wanted it to be done, maybe he had seen Knight Kenobi patiently meditating with his Padawan in the Room of a Thousand Fountains on the way here and had thought back nostalgically to doing the same thing with Depa, years and years ago.

There’s an interminable pause, the other five staring at him, incredulous. Mace crosses back and leans back, making his decision clear.

Yoda breaks out the gimmer stick again, three short raps.

“Decided it is. To Ryloth, Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker will go. May the Force be with them.”

***

Anakin stands, spine ramrod straight and gaze focused forward, his mouth screwed up with determination as he tries to imitate Obi-Wan. Of course, it is this determination that gives him away, veering sharply from the air of placidity that Obi-Wan radiates. Obi-Wan tucks his hands into his robe as they wait for the shockingly large doors to the receiving room to be heaved open. Anakin’s eyes dart over and then he copies the motion.

“When I am feeling nervous, Padawan, I like to hide my hands in the robes,” Obi-Wan says, conversationally. He knows from awkward experience how well Anakin would take Obi-Wan pointing out the nervous feeling racing across their training bond. He tries to shield and he’s gotten better at it for the most part, but his strength in the Force and the unexpected depth of their training bond work against him. Most of the times, he cannot help but project his feelings to Obi-Wan. “It allows me to fiddle with my hands, with everybody else none the wiser.”

“You, nervous, Master?” Anakin’s voice is mixture of light teasing and genuine curiosity.

“You’ve obviously never had to face down the Council after your Padawan was arrested for illegal street racing,” Obi-Wan returns dryly. “For the third time.”

Anakin turns crimson, but the banter does its job and the bond is now filled with a mixture of determination and anticipation as the doors finally swing open. Obi-Wan strides forward, rolling his eyes internally at the bloated size and opulence of the room in front of him. It will surely take them at least a minute to fully traverse its length and come to where their host is seated. He uses the opportunity to take some deep breaths and center himself. For all his brave words, he is nervous. He’s been deployed on plenty of assignments since his knighting, but in the early days, when the Council had suggested that Anakin was not ready for full-fledged missions, Obi-Wan had all too gratefully seized on the excuse to leave Anakin in the Temple. He hadn’t been—probably still wasn’t if his racing heart was any indication—quite ready to be responsible for another Jedi’s life, not when he had failed so spectacularly on Naboo.

Obi-Wan glides to a stop at the head of the room and offers a shallow bow, feeding a small spark of approval across the bond when out of the corner of his eyes he notices how Anakin copies him. Not flawlessly, a little too stiff, but good. Anakin’s satisfaction practically blinds Obi-Wan in the Force as they straighten.

“Senator Free Taa, I thank you for your hospitality,” Obi-Wan begins, warm and open, and yet the epitome of Jedi calm, in that way that Qui-Gon had imparted to him. “I am Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and this is my Padawan learner, Anakin Skywalker.”

In a split second, the mood of the room tilts, shifts, and recrystallizes into something far different and Obi-Wan has the terrible feeling that he’s said something wrong. Mutters and whispers are rolling across the room, but he can’t figure out what exactly triggered it. He’s barely opened his mouth.

“Skywalker, ha! Poor little slave boy trying to be a Jedi,” someone snickers in Ryl before another shushes them. Obi-Wan’s head snaps to the disturbance, eyes narrowed partly in protectiveness and partly in confusion. While he knows that “slave” has a particularly nasty context for Twi’leks he’s unsure why the epithet was applied to Anakin or what prompted it. He takes a step closer to his Padawan, whose embarrassment and shame are pouring across the bond. Obi-Wan does a double take as he takes in Anakin’s raised chin and pale face. For all that Anakin doesn’t understand the Twi’lek language, he clearly understands what has happened, perhaps better than Obi-Wan does. At loss of what exactly to do, Obi Wan extends a small tendril of confusion-questioning-let-me-help to his Padawan, but Anakin only blanches further and slams up the shields in his mind. Obi-Wan is taken even further aback—Anakin is still learning, so Obi-Wan can see where he could poke and prod in order to slip in, but they are still impressive for someone of his age and level of training—it appears that all Anakin needed to learn this particular lesson was sufficient motivation.

Senator Orn Free Taa seems equally embarrassed and hurries to speak over the whispers.

“Ryloth is happy to welcome the Jedi!” he booms. “Come, come, come. We have arranged a tour of the capital for you! Only the best for our guests.”

“That sounds lovely,” Obi-Wan says, voice mild as his mind races in a million directions. He desperately wants to pull Anakin aside and shake him, demand to know what had happened, but if he did that, he would only be highlighting Anakin’s embarrassment to this crowd.  “We would be delighted to accept.”

But do not think for a minute, dear padawan, that I will not be questioning you thoroughly the moment we are alone in our quarters, Obi-Wan thinks.

He can only hope Anakin can hear him through his suddenly quite solid shields.

***

Many (too many) hours later, they manage to escape their well-meaning, chattering guides and make their way into their assigned rooms—far more luxurious than anything the temple has to offer. Obi-Wan settles to the floor, cross legged, and allows Anakin a brief respite to remove his tabards and wash his face but, once he feels that Anakin is lingering in the fresher solely to avoid him, he gives their bond a big, annoyed poke. Anakin trudges out of the fresher as if walking to a meditation session with Master Windu, shoulders slumped as he eyes Obi-Wan warily.

Obi-Wan gestures to the floor in front of him and Anakin wordlessly obeys, folding himself down into a copy of Obi-Wan’s cross legged pose. There is silence for several long minutes as Obi-Wan turns words over in his mouth, deciding what to ask first.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Anakin says, finally, breaking the silence as he always does when Obi-Wan is too quiet for too long. His padawan fidgets. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“My problem, Padawan, is that only you and our hosts seem to understand what has transpired,” Obi-Wan says finally. “I have been left quite in the dark as to what exactly you are apologizing for.”

“Oh. Um. You don’t know?” Anakin sounds hopeful and Obi-Wan levels him with an unimpressed look. That’s Anakin’s maybe I can wriggle out of this tone.

“I understand the gist of it,” Obi-Wan replies. “I do not believe the twi’leks knew that I am fluent in Ryl.”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly what they were saying and all.,” Anakin replies. “I can guess, you know. But it’s okay, because even if I did, I wouldn’t hit them or anything. And I won’t. I’m getting a lot better at controlling my temper. I’m sorry it happened at all—just please don’t send me back to the Temple!”

“Dear one, no one is going back to the Temple quite yet,” Obi-Wan interjects gently, reaching out to lay a hand across his shoulder. “You seem to think I’m angry with you and that’s not it at all. I am just trying to understand why everyone we’ve met has suddenly started calling you a slave.”

“Oh,” Anakin seems a little confused by Obi-Wan’s confusion. “Um. It’s because of my name.”

A pause.

“Your name?” Obi-Wan prompts when it’s clear Anakin has no desire to continue, even as a sickening sort of feeling begins to curl in his belly.  

“Skywalker. It’s a name we take when we’re sold too young to remember our families. In Mos Espa there were probably six or seven other Skywalkers. Do you guys not have slave names in the Core?”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, with all the calm he does not feel. “Are you telling me that you were a slave on Tatooine?”

“…yes.”

Obi-Wan’s other hand, the one not resting on Anakin’s shoulder, clenches into a tight fist against his thigh, nails nearly drawing blood.

“And how exactly did you come to be following Qui Gon?”

“Oh, well. He won me. In a bet,” Anakin says. He seems on surer ground now, recounting moments from a grand adventure. “With the parts for your ship!”

“A bet,” Obi-Wan repeats flatly. He thinks, rather uncharitably, that most of his padawan days had been spent cleaning up after Qui-Gon Jinn’s flair for dramatics and complete thoughtlessness, and it now appears his Knighthood will be more of the same.  “Please tell me he at least disabled your slave chip.”

“Yup! He told me I was free and then I told him I wanted to be a Jedi and we came back to your ship and…you know the rest. The Healers removed the chip entirely when I was at the Temple, that way it couldn’t be activated again. Didn’t Master Qui-Gon tell you? Or the Council?” Anakin asks, scrunching up his nose.

“You would think. This would be perfectly logical information for me to know,” Obi-Wan says, hysteria beginning to edge his voice. “Especially considering that I’m your Mas—” Obi-Wan freezes, wide eyed. Anakin doesn’t seem bothered now, but…Obi-Wan swallows and adjusts. “Especially considering that you’re my Padawan and a small detail like this just might be important.”

Anakin nods solemnly.

“I should have known the Twi’leks would understand what the name meant,” he said. “There were lots of Twi’lek dancers at Gardulla’s. I should have warned you. But it’s okay, next time we can just not say my name. Or come up with a fake name—like we’re undercover! Just don’t—” Anakin hesitates and Obi-Wan squeezes his should in encouragement. “Just please don’t make me change it permanently. Names are important.” And that last sentence sounds like he’s reciting a hymn or a prayer and Obi-Wan briefly spares a thought to if Anakin had been raised religiously—he’d never said anything before now, but he hasn’t said anything about a lot of things apparently and if he had been raised as a slave this silence about personal details, his desire to keep something, anything about his life private makes a lot more sense.

Suddenly, a lot of things about Anakin were starting to make a lot more sense.

“I would never ask you to change your name, dear one,” Obi-Wan says, quietly. He moves his hand from Anakin’s shoulder to his hand. He picks up the tiny hand and covers it with both of his. “Either permanently or for a mission. And…I would like to apologize to you.”

“For what, Master?”

“Please don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan winces. Anakin’s head tilts adorably, padawan braid swinging around his shoulder.

“What, you mean not call you Master? Why?”

“I understand why the term may be uncomfortable for you.”

“Nah, not really,” Anakin shrugs. “It’s different in Basic. I always had to speak Huttese with Watto and Gardulla and I know it doesn’t mean the same thing to you. Besides, what else would I call you, Master?”

Obi-Wan winces again.

“Okay, then let’s say I’m uncomfortable with it, given the context. I do not want anyone here to think that I am your…master. Like that.”

“Oh, okay, that makes sense.”

“Good. But back to my point, I am truly sorry, Anakin. I should have made more of an effort to learn of your past. When I first met you, I assumed were from a poor family on Tatooine and left it at that. I suppose the Council thought that Qui-Gon had told me, but there was hardly any time to breathe in between Tatooine and Coruscant and Naboo and then…But that’s no excuse.”

“It’s okay,” Anakin reassures him. “It really doesn’t matter. I’m not a slave anymore. And I’m never ever going to be one again.”

“No, no you will not,” Obi-Wan promises him fiercely. “But do you remember what I told you of Padawans and Masters? When we were on Naboo?”

Anakin scrunches up his face.

“That…padawans are still learning and they can’t do it alone. But also the Master can’t do it all for them either, because the Padawan must work hard. Masters are there as a, um…guide?”

“Yes, exactly. And part of guiding anyone is understanding where they are coming from. It is very hard to give someone’s directions to Dex’s Diner if you don’t know where on Coruscant they’re starting.”

“Yeah!” Anakin says, perking up in his understanding. He sobers a bit. “So you’re saying that you may have given me bad directions because you didn’t know about me being a slave.”

“Exactly right,” Obi-Wan says, a rush of fondness filling him. He cannot even begin to fathom all the mistakes he has made over the past year and a half, but whatever damage he has done, Anakin’s brilliant, adaptable mind remains unchanged. He squeezes Anakin’s hands. “Now, with that in mind, let’s meditate together.” Anakin’s face gives a small twist of displeasure, but he settles down into a meditation pose without further complaint, so Obi-Wan is willing to put it in the wins column. It’s not quite calm—Obi-Wan suspects Anakin’s mind will never be as calm as the typical Jedi’s, but he finds that the thought does not bother him as it should. As long as he can give Anakin the tools to calm the noise in his head to some extent so that he can breathe and think clearly, it hardly matters that he will likely never be able to join Obi-Wan for hours and hours of peaceful contemplation. Joint meditation sessions that stretch for hours, linked with dozens of other Knights is one of the most genuinely moving and soothing things that Obi-Wan has ever experienced, but he understands that it likely never will be the same experience for Anakin. “Focus on untangling your feelings, Anakin, particularly about today. Turn them over, examine them in your mind’s eye until you feel you have learned what you can from them, and then release the feeling into the Force.”

 Satisfied with Anakin’s progress that he can monitor through the bond, Obi-Wan sinks fully into his own meditation, determined to re-examine each and every moment of Anakin’s apprenticeship and prepare himself for the upcoming check in holocall to the Council. He doesn’t think Master Yoda will allow him to get away with screaming and raging like a lunatic, so he desperately needs to calm his heartbeat, center his mind and, most importantly, brainstorm some terribly cutting one liners that can sufficiently express his displeasure in the absence of said screaming and raging.

Obi-Wan smiles serenely, infinitely cheered by the prospect.

***

Obi-Wan inhales once deeply, then pushes out the air in two short exhales as he positions himself in front of the holo-recorder.

His eyes dart to the side, just out of the view scope, where he’s stationed Anakin with a handful of spare droid parts to keep his hands busy. He knows it is too much to hope that Anakin will actually listen to him if he is asked not to eavesdrop on Obi-Wan’s conversation with the Council—Obi-Wan had been a padawan himself not so long ago, thank you very much—but he at least hopes that the mechanical puzzle the droid provides will give Anakin something to hide behind when Obi-Wan has to point out awkward topics. He remembers all too well how much he hated when Qui-Gon Jinn would talk about him as if he wasn’t right there and able to hear every word.

Master Yoda’s wrinkly face flickers to life in front of him, the other Councilors winking into existence around him. Obi-Wan bows deeply and straightens.

“For us, a report you have?” Master Yoda prompts, when Obi-Wan is disinclined to break the silence first. He has noticed the strangely tense postures of the Councilors—had they known what sending a child named Skywalker to Ryloth would do? He shakes off his confusion and straightens his shoulders.

“Yes, Masters. But we have limited time allotted for this call and so I request that we first discuss an important matter that was recently brought to my attention.”

Some of the Councilors, including Masters Windu and Yoda exchange knowing glances.

“Continue,” Master Windu says with a tilt of his hand and wave of his hand.

“Were you aware that when Master Jinn found Anakin on Tatooine, he was a slave?”

Silence greets his question—he gets the feeling he has surprised the Council. They were expecting…something, just not what he ended up asking.

“Qui-Gon informed us shortly before you left for Naboo, so that we could arrange to have the boy’s slave chip surgically removed,” Master Windu replies.

“I myself was only recently made aware of this fact,” Obi-Wan says, tone pleasant, light, as if he was commenting on the weather.

“What? Surely Qui-Gon--!” Master Ki Adi Mundi begins, outraged.

 “Qui-Gon never said anything on the journey to Coruscant. And as you well know, he and I were not exactly on speaking terms during the events immediately leading up to the Battle for Naboo.” Anakin’s head flashes up at this proclamation, curious, but Obi-Wan continues on. “In fact, in 18 months, the issue has not been raised, not a single time.”

“I take it the issue was raised on Ryloth?” Master Windu asks, frowning. Obi-Wan inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“It very nearly derailed our diplomatic efforts—through no fault of Anakin’s,” he adds. “But the Twi’leks have a complicated history with slavery and because I had not the faintest clue what was going on, I had no idea how to respond. For that reason alone, I should have been informed, to say nothing of the fact that as his Master, I am entitled to his full physical and mental health history.”

“A conscious oversight, it was not,” Master Yaddle responds sharply. “Appreciated, your tone is not.”

“Guilt you assign to us. Guilt you feel, perhaps, hmm? Never asked you did,” Master Yoda opines. Obi-Wan inhales deeply, swallowing his immediate urge to snap.

“And I take responsibility for that, Master Yoda. But I have come to you, personally, many times since my Knighting, asking for help and guidance as I helped Anakin adjust Temple life.” Obi-Wan’s voice drops to a fierce whisper, all too aware of Anakin’s keen attention on the conversation at hand. “I came to you just a fortnight ago, concerned with the persistence of his nightmares about his mother. Did it never occur to you to raise the issue then? Did you not think that the two might be linked? That he might fear his mother would be hurt or killed, not because he was panicking and allowing attachment to cloud his judgement, but because it was a very real possibility? She’s a newly freed slave in Hutt space, anticipating danger to her person is perfectly reasonable. Your advice to me, to Anakin was senseless and cruel.”

Master Yoda blinks once, slowly. Then, his ears droop.

“Correct you are, Knight Kenobi.” Obi-Wan’s mouth hangs open for a moment, a little startled to have won the argument so quickly. He still has at least forty-five minutes of pre-prepared material.

“I—I am glad you understand my position, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan says, finally, trying to re-find the thread of his speech.

“Surprised you are, hmm?” Master Yoda heaves a sigh. “Remind me of Yan, your eloquence and determination does. Challenged me he did. Allow me to grow complacent, he did not. You truly are the grand-padawan of my padawan.”

“You are right, Knight Kenobi,” Master Plo Koon offers, gently. “You know, we know it, and there is no need to belabor the point. Our actions, though without malice, harmed a youngling. There is nothing to say to that, except that you are right.”

“Bring forth Anakin Skywalker, you will. Apologize to him, we must,” Master Yoda says, tone final. Obi-Wan looks over to his Padawan, who has abandoned his droid parts and any pretense of nonchalance, and is staring wide eyed at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan nods and beckons him forward and Anakin scrambles to take up his customary position in front of his master, Obi-Wan’s hands balanced on his shoulders—with a pang, he notes that his hands settle much higher than they did a year and half ago and he makes a note to talk to the quartermaster about ordering yet another new set of robes for his Padawan’s ever ganglier limbs.

“Padawan Skywalker,” Master Windu greets. “Do you understand what has happened?”

“Yes, sir.” Anakin nods.

“Understand mistakes were made, do you? Hurt you, we have?”

“Uh, yes. Master Obi-Wan explained that part too,” Anakin replies. “I don’t really feel hurt…”

“Accumulate, fester, these hurts can. Apologize for that, we do. Guided you well, we have not.”

“Ah. Um. I accept your apology,” Anakin offers. Obi-Wan feeds warmth and support through the bond. “Most of it didn’t really matter, at least not to me. Except…I am still really worried about my mom. Does this mean it would be okay for me to com her?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan breaks in smoothly, before any of the Councilors can speak up. “You heard our earlier conversation and we’ll talk more later to make sure you understood, but I see no reason why we can’t arrange a call. Do you have her com?”

“Oh!” Anakin visibly perks up, then droops again, staring at his boots. “I mean, I memorized Watto’s, hopefully she’s still there. Mom’s a good mechanic, taught me everything I know, so I don’t know why he’d sell her, but if he did I don’t know if her new master will allow her to call me…what?” Anakin finally seems to notice the 13 horrified set of eyes trained on him.

There is absolute, deadening silence, the only sound in the room the hum of the holoprojector. Finally, Master Plo Koon clears his throat.

“Padawan Skywalker, is your mother still a slave on Tatooine?”

“Um, yeah? I mean, yes, sir.”

Master Yoda’s eyes blink close, as if in pain, and there are audible inhalations of horror from everyone else.

“Qui-Gon Jinn,” Master Windu mutters, finally breaking the silence. “What the actual kriff?”

Chapter Text

Shmi Skywalker would have made a terrifying Jedi knight, Obi-Wan decides, a few hours after meeting the woman for the first time.

She has handled their unexpected arrival with an unflappable serenity that would put Master Yoda to shame, one that Obi-Wan envies. They had arrived at her doorstep at dusk, Anakin a bouncing, incandescent ball of tightly contained joy and Obi-Wan a sleep deprived and frazzled mess.

 After Anakin had explained that they were in the middle of an important pod racing season, Watto liked to gamble, and if Shmi was going to be sold to cover a debt, now would be the most likely time, the Council had decided that haste was the best path forward. They were the only Jedi within a week’s travel to Tatooine, and so they had immediately been granted an emergency cessation to their planned two-week diplomatic tour of Ryloth.

Obi-Wan’s life since then had been equal parts strained pleasantries—“Your hospitality has no equal, Senator, another situation has arisen in the Arkanis sector and we are the only ones close enough to investigate”— and fruitless attempts to quell Anakin’s rising excitement. While he was cheered to see such obvious, unfettered joy in his padawan, Obi-Wan had feared what they would discover on Tatooine and sought to temper Anakin’s expectations.

 Luckily, his fears had been assuaged the moment they had entered the slave quarters and an old woman—Jira, he later learned—had gasped upon seeing Anakin.

“Shmi, Shmi!” she had called. “Ani is back! Little Ani is back!” and a small, olive-skinned woman stepped out of a dark doorway, eyes wide, but most importantly physically whole and healthy. Anakin had nearly bowled her over to the ground in his excitement.

Anakin’s stream of chatter has hardly stopped from that moment until now, determined to share, in exhaustive detail, every single second of his adventures since leaving her embrace in Tatooine a year and a half earlier. Obi-Wan sits at Shmi’s small table, carefully sipping at the water that Shmi had generously offered in a cracked clay cup. He listens to his padawan’s tales with half an ear and trades wary glances with Shmi across the table.

Anakin sits between them, still talking, though he is beginning to droop with exhaustion.

Obi-Wan waits patiently, having survived many a similar onslaught, and knows that he needs to be ready when—and there it is! Obi-Wan darts forward to catch his slumping padawan as he falls asleep between one breath and the next (truly an impressive ability, even if it had nearly given Obi-Wan a heart attack the first time he witnessed it), halfway through a story about his favorite kata practice room in the Temple. His hands collide with Shmi’s, who has assumed a similar position to stop Anakin’s downward tilt out of the chair.

They stare at each other, startled, Anakin suspended between them.

Obi-Wan withdraws quickly and clasps his hands around his water cup. Shmi nods once and shakes Anakin halfway awake so that he can shuffle across the room to a sleeping pallet with her help. Obi-Wan should have insisted Shmi accept his help, he thinks, as he watches them with a frown. He has always dealt with these incidences by picking Anakin up and depositing him into the nearest bed—much better for Anakin, not to have to sleep and wake and sleep again.

He hides his expression, bringing his cup back to his lips, as Shmi rejoins him at the table. Despite the fact that Anakin is gone, she chooses to take the further possible seat from Obi-Wan, as if squaring off against him. They regard each other, for one, long moment.

“Anakin says you are here to free me,” Shmi says finally. Obi-Wan waits for her to continue, but when nothing more is forthcoming, he steels himself, and opens his mouth.

“Yes. I apologize for the timing, but we—that is, the Jedi Council—we did not know that you had not been freed. Once we were made aware, we were dispatched to Tatooine immediately.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn promised to return and free me,” Shmi says, with a tilt to her head. She then glances back towards Anakin and the sleeping pallets. “Then again, he promised to train my son, and so I suppose it is not the only promise he broke.”

“Master Qui-Gon was killed, shortly after leaving Tatooine,” Obi-Wan responds quietly, resisting the urge to hunch his shoulders and ruin the image of a perfect Jedi. “With his dying breath, he begged me to train Anakin.”

Shmi looks startled, then remorseful.

“My words were too bitter, forgive me. I made many assumptions,” she continues, in a far, far gentler tone. “I grieve with you.” Obi-Wan has heard similar words many times since Qui-Gon died, from Jedi and politicians alike, but unlike those other strangers she seems to truly understand the meaning of those words. Maybe it is because she is a slave and knows far too well what it is to lose one’s friends to sudden and painful circumstance. He inclines his head, accepting the sentiment. “In all honesty, I knew when Qui-Gon left that he would not be back to free me.”

There’s a certain weight to the word ‘knew’ and Obi-Wan spares a brief wondering at Shmi’s midichlorian count.  

“He should have freed you both while he was still on planet,” Obi-Wan points out. “The Jedi are not in the business of splitting up family, freeing only those that would be useful to us. It was part of the reason the Council assumed—it goes against all mission protocol.”

“So he should have freed me and Ani both, but left his other family to rot? Do Jira and Kitster count any less as his family, even though they are not related by blood? And even if you freed them, what about their families and their families’ family? If one is enslaved, all are enslaved.”

“We do not think of it like that,” Obi-Wan says, more surprised than anything else. He strokes his short beard. “None of the other slaves we’ve freed have brought it up.”

“Jedi free slaves?” Shmi scoffs.

“Not many, not enough,” Obi-Wan admits. “But if we happen to encounter them and we can do so without interrupting the mission or causing full scale chaos, we are given full license to do so. We are not an army, despite what all the urban legends say—we simply do not have the numbers to launch a full out attack on Hutt-space. But we are taught that it is better to do something, rather than nothing. To free one, even if we cannot free all.”

“Hmm,” is all Shmi says and Obi-Wan gets the distinct sense she disapproves. Then, she waves a hand. “While I appreciate the offer, I cannot accept.”

“I don’t…what?”  

Shmi regards him evenly for a moment, eyes shadowed.

“Most of us are owned by the Hutts or their cronies, and those slaves are afforded little freedom of movement. My position is unique. As the slave of a junk dealer known for rare and hard to obtain parts I am given a much longer leash—to go into the desert and bargain with Jawas. It is…useful in certain situations.” Obi-Wan’s breath catches, recognizing the trust it takes for her to imply such things—he is a virtual stranger and she could get not only get herself but so many others in trouble. “Besides,” she adds, baring her teeth, “my freedom will be stolen, not bought. I was willing to bend for my son, but for myself? No, I won’t let you give Watto a single credit for what is not his to begin with.”

“I think I understand,” Obi-Wan chooses his words carefully. He turns the problem over in his head, considering. “What if…you were free, but appeared not to be?”

“What?”

“Anakin has told me of your slave chip. It would be difficult. And I am uncertain how long the ruse will last, but it is possible that we could disable your chip while maintaining the illusion that it is still active. In this way, you could continue your…activities, but maintain an escape hatch, of sorts, should anything go wrong. I can leave you with a com and credits, which should help as well.”

“Why?” Shmi asks, sharp and disbelieving. “From everything I’ve heard from you and Anakin, I cannot imagine your Council would approve of you aiding a slave rebellion in this way.”

“Well, those are two different questions. To answer the latter, the Council will definitely not approve. However, our mandate was to free you using the credits given. And from a certain point of view, that’s exactly what I’ve done. Anything you do afterwards is fully your own choice and, really, after dealing with Anakin, the Council really should know better than to think a Skywalker would settle down quietly and stop causing trouble.”  

Shmi barks out a harsh laugh at that, surprised.

“That’s my Ani,” she says fondly. “But, to the first part of my question? Why would you do this?”

Obi-Wan pauses, breathes, squirms a little inside.

“Anakin is a good student,” he says eventually, struggling to maintain an even tone. “Bright and quick and eager to prove himself. I can already see that he will be a great Jedi one day. Greater than I have ever been. But I have also held him through his nightmares and I…fear what losing you to a slave master’s angry beating or a Hutt execution would to do to him. At least this way I can mitigate some of the risk.”

“You love him,” Shmi declares, her tone warm.

“Attachment is forbidden,” Obi-Wan counters hastily. “We have a strong bond, yes. But Jedi do not love.”

“Mhhmmm,” Shmi agrees, without really agreeing. “Of course, I apologize. Would you like some tea?”

Obi-Wan feels dizzy with whiplash from the sudden subject change, as if he has allowed Anakin to pilot their ship again. A mistake Obi-Wan had made once and only once on a speeder ride around Coruscant—Anakin might be a prodigy, but he had learned all of his tricks and skills from pod racing and it shows.   

“Oh! Well, I do enjoy a good cup of tea,” he says. Shmi smiles mysteriously and begins bustling around the kitchen, carefully pouring boiling water over a mass of brown and red leaves stuffed in two cups. She brings the cups back over to the table, this time settling herself much closer to Obi-Wan, close enough to clasp his forearm should she desire to do so. She watches Obi-Wan’s face carefully as he blows on the burning hot liquid and takes a small, careful sip. He senses that he is being tested.

Flavor explodes across his tongue, smoky and warm. It is not like any tea that he has had before and if he had been browsing at a market and had the chance chose his own tea, he’s not sure he would have picked this spicy blend—he has been raised on Coruscant his whole life, his taste buds tend firmly towards the bland, thank you very much. But now that he is here, savoring the rich scent and flavor, he finds he quite likes it.

“It’s very tasty,” he ventures. “I don’t think I could knock it all back in one go, but it is a good choice to sip in small bits, over a long meditation.”

Shmi relaxes even further, smiling, and Obi-Wan knows that he has passed this test.

“Tell me more of Ani and yourself,” she says, finally. “I love him dearly, but he is not a talented storyteller—he likes to jump around too much.”

Obi-Wan chuckles and begins a more detailed and linear recounting of their adventures since leaving Tatooine 18 months earlier.

***

Anakin wakes with the first rays of sun, hours later.

He yawns, looks at their now cool tea, and glances back to his mom, surprised.

“You gave him tzai?” he asks. Shmi only raises an eyebrow as she glides around the tiny quarters, preparing for a full day of work. Obi-Wan gets the feeling a similar feeling to that which he experienced on Ryloth, though with less foreboding. He suspects that there is whole other conversation going on that he doesn’t fully understand.

“Of course I did,” she replies, easily. “Obi-Wan tells me that you don’t like the Temple food and tea, that they’re too plain for you. I’ll give you some spices to take back, so you can add them to your meals and mix your own tzai.”

“Huh,” is all Anakin says. There is definitely some subtext going on here that Obi-Wan doesn’t understand and he narrows his eyes in contemplation.

“I have to go open up the store,” Shmi adds. “Obi-Wan will explain while I’m gone.”

Anakin looks ready to protest, so Obi-Wan speaks up.

“Peace, padawan, she’ll be free soon enough. We have a plan, though we will need your help to implement some of the details. Shmi doesn’t have the knowledge of Force manipulation necessary for the execution and I don’t understand the mechanics well enough to know if it will work or not.”

“A plan?” Anakin’s enthusiasm bubbles up. He gives his mother a hug and graciously allows her to place a kiss on the crown of his head. Shmi disappears and Obi-Wan is left to sketch up an outline of the plan that he and Shmi stayed up half the night to flesh out. Truthfully, he is confident the plan will work—while he doesn’t understand fully how the mechanics work, he understands enough, and he is confident that Anakin can find a way around any unforeseen obstacles. He is more concerned with Anakin’s reaction to the ‘leaving Shmi behind on Tatooine’ part of the plan than he is with any of the actual details.

“You’re just going leave Mom behind?” Anakin questions, predictably.

“It is your mother’s choice,” Obi-Wan reminds him. “She wants to do this—she explained that she has certain…responsibilities here.”

“Yeah, but it’s super dangerous! If Watto or the Hutts find out that we’ve disabled her chip, they’ll hurt her.”

“Your mother is aware of the risk and is more than willing to do it anyways,” Obi-Wan replies. “Sometimes the people we care for will make choices we’d rather they didn’t. All we can do is offer what support we can and trust in the Force. We must let them go to forge their own path.”

“But why can’t we just take her back to Coruscant with us? You know that’s safer!”

“No, Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupts, a tad harshly. “We would be violating your mother’s right to determine her own life. We would be kidnapping her. It would make us little better than slavers. I don’t know your mother very well, but that would betray everything she believes in and I don’t think she would forgive either of us.”

Anakin sits, stewing in his thoughts, and Obi-Wan leaves him to it for several long minutes.

“You said she’d have a com, right?” Anakin says, finally, slowly. “So, I could check in on her, make sure she’s safe?”

Obi-Wan had been envisioning the com more as a resource of last resort, one Shmi would only use in the case she needed their help to make a hasty escape. But now that Anakin has raised the possibility, Obi-Wan is loath to take that connection away from him.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says, the words slipping out before he can fully consider the consequences. He winces internally—he knows he is absolutely terrible at telling Anakin no, but he really didn’t need to add another yet another example of his obvious failures as a teacher. But he also can’t fully regret the action when he sees how it reassures Anakin.

“And she’d be helping the other slaves,” Anakin states, growing more excited and warming to the idea. “She’ll be a true Sky Walker!” Obi-Wan cocks his head, lost.

“A Skywalker?” he queries.

“Oh, um. They’re just stories we tell each other.” Anakin seems taken aback and a little reluctant to share. But he continues when he feels Obi-Wan’s curious, encouraging nudge across the bond. “Ekkreth, the Sky Walker, often tricks the Masters. He’ll take on a disguise and operate right under their noses, stealing freedom for the slaves. They’re my and Mom’s favorite stories—I know that’s why she chose the name Skywalker when she had a chance.”

“It sounds like your mother chose her name well,” Obi-Wan says, clasping Anakin’s shoulder again. “I’d very much like it if you told me the full stories one day.” Anakin looks terribly hopeful and happy at that statement.

“I will,” he promises. “Over a cup of tzai.”  

“Good,” Obi-Wan responds, with a nod. He wants to lighten the heavy air and can’t resist a small jab. “Of course, these stories of a Skywalker pulling off tricks and adventurous feats underneath the watchful eye of a group of Masters…that wouldn’t happen to be inspiration for any of the antics you pull at the Temple, now, would it?”

Anakin smiles broadly and giggles.

“Maybe?” he admits, still laughing. Obi-Wan laughs too and ruffles his hair. There’s a small scuffle as Anakin attempts to escape and when it ends, they are both far better focused and in-tune in the Force. It makes Obi-Wan…content.

“Okay, young padawan of mine. Let us discuss this plan of ours, we have only a few days to pull it off,” Obi-Wan says, as he and Anakin settle in.

***

In end, pulling off their heist is surprisingly easy. Yes, there’s a brief moment of tension when Obi-Wan has to slip into Watto’s shop, find and grab the transmitter so that Anakin can reprogram the original, and then replace the newly-tampered-with unit as if nothing changed. However, the fact that Watto has never seen Obi-Wan before and knows nothing of his connection to Anakin makes it a lot easier—why Obi-Wan is just an interested off-world traveler wandering around the shop, not scoping it out, not at all!  

For insurance, Obi-Wan has agreed to try to disable the explosive component of Shmi’s chip so that even if Watto realizes what has happened, he won’t be able to regain control. They must leave the chip and it’s tracking properties intact so that Watto doesn’t realize anything is wrong, but the dead man’s switch is what really prevents Shmi from being truly being free. He is now regretting that agreement as he looms over Shmi, who is splayed down on her stomach across the table—his lineage is not known for their healing competency and such a delicate, potentially disastrous operation should really be handled by a Temple Healer. But they don’t have a Temple Healer, all they have is Obi-Wan, and so he will have to make it work.

Do or do not, there is no try, says an annoying-Yoda-like voice in his head.

He runs his hands over her body, searching for the bit of mechanical engineering embedded in organic flesh, the whisper of I-should-not-be-here that he knows should be somewhere. Anakin stands at the head of the table, holding his mother’s hand and fiercely whispering to her in some language Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize. He has been instructed to run if something goes wrong and Obi-Wan accidentally triggers the catalyst, but somehow Obi-Wan doubts he will listen. This, more than anything else, instills a steely core in Obi-Wan—he will not allow his padawan come to harm.

Obi-Wan’s eyes are closed, brow tightly furrowed in concentration, when he finally spots it, buried deep in the space beneath Shmi’s lower ribs. He inhales, makes a deep incision with the knife Anakin hands him, and carefully begins to disentangle a small knot of catalyst from the chip.

There are five components to the chip, all tightly intertwined. There is the tracker and the communications array, connected to the transmitter in Watto’s shop, but then there is also the trigger, catalyst, and oxidizer that make up the explosive component. Under normal circumstances, the trigger would activate the catalyst, sparking a small reaction that would engulf the oxidizer and start a much, much larger explosion that would kill Shmi. They have disabled the trigger component, but to truly make the chip harmless, they must separate the catalyst and oxidizer. However, while the trigger is gone, Obi-Wan has to take care not to accidentally set off the catalyst as he removes it.

Carefully, micrometer by micrometer, he begins to lift the catalyst off the chip, directing it through Shmi’s body, to the opening he’s made. It reminds him a lot of the early control exercises Yoda used to lead the crechelings in, using the Force to lift increasingly heavier objects in increasingly complicated patterns. Obi-Wan had never been very good at those exercises once they had moved onto very heavy objects—he simply didn’t have the power—but he had always excelled in the control component, able to manipulate his designated piece in complex choreographies. Which, he decides, is very fortunate, given the current circumstances. He falters for a moment, the Force slipping from his grasp, but then Anakin is there in the back of his mind, curled around their bond and feeding little drips and drabs of power to him. Obi-Wan grits his teeth and refocuses his efforts.

After what feels like hours, but is more likely minutes, the catalyst worms free of Shmi with a sickening squelch and floats gently onto a plate set aside for that very purpose. Obi-Wan mops at the sweat covering his brow, smiles victoriously, and then collapses to the ground, completely exhausted.

“Master!” Anakin cries, jumping forward. He kneels down by Obi-Wan’s side.

“I may have,” Obi-Wan says, panting as if he has run several hundred kilometers, “overextended myself.”

Shmi rolls off of the table and quickly grabs the plate with catalyst on it, burying the menace in a pre-dug hole in the corner of her quarters. She slaps on a bacta patch that Obi-Wan insisted she use—“If they see your scar, they’ll know what we did”—and slips a rough cotton shift over her bare chest, hurrying over to them.

“Come, Ani, we must get him to the pallet and prepare some water,” she says, in her confident, no-nonsense way. Anakin helps his mother with these tasks, worry pouring across the bond the entire time.

“Hush, dear one,” Obi-Wan slurs, patting at Anakin’s forearm. “I will not die, I simply have a terrible case of Force-exhaustion.”

“That’s that thing you and the Healers warned me about when I first started training, right?” Anakin says. Obi-Wan nods. When Anakin had first come to the Temple, the Healers had been very worried Anakin, unused to consciously tapping into his connection to the Force, would hit his limit and push himself past the brink. Obi-Wan had been very keen to follow their instructions, strictly limiting how many hours a day Anakin could train. For whatever reason, probably because no one really, truly understood the extent of Anakin’s power, his padawan had never actually encountered that limit, taking to Force training like a duck to water.

“Yes, and let this be a lesson to you: do not ever do what I just did,” Obi-Wan warns him sternly. Or, as sternly as he is able, with all of his muscles shaking like a tree in the wind and him barely able to keep upright. Anakin nods and passes Obi-Wan a glass of water, flavored with some sweet, powdery electrolyte mix. “Shmi—!” he protests, knowing how expensive such things must be on Tatooine.

“Nonsense,” Shmi says, waving a hand. “You are in this state because of me and you must recover your strength as soon as possible.” Obi-Wan briefly considers protesting further but instead begins greedily gulping at the water.

Shmi nods, once, in satisfaction. Anakin looks torn for a moment, reluctant to leave Obi-Wan’s side, but Obi-Wan smiles kindly and prods him across the bond.

“Do not worry,” he reassures Anakin. “You will have plenty of time to fuss over me during the journey back to Coruscant. Take what time you have with her, so that you are ready when we must take our leave.”

Anakin nods and slowly shuffles over to his mother’s side. He still glances over to Obi-Wan every now and then as if to check that he hasn’t somehow managed to sneak out of the tiny hut without Anakin noticing (Obi-Wan is somewhat gratified that his padawan thinks so highly of his skills as to think he could manage such a feat, even in this state). Obi-Wan makes sure to offer a reassuring smile each and every time he catches his padawan’s eyes, a small bubble of warmth blossoming in his chest at this visible sign of Anakin’s care and concern and—oh, that’s what Shmi meant.

Obi-Wan is so screwed.

Chapter Text

The next day, Anakin tries his very best to be quiet and considerate, to allow Obi-Wan time to recover, but he is bursting with impatience and, well, being quiet has never exactly been one of Anakin’s strengths. The steady trickle of frenetic energy across the bond is enough to repeatedly pull Obi-Wan from his healing trance, which is really not helping the whole healing aspect of said trance.

Finally, in the dusk hours, Obi-Wan opens his eyes and cranes his neck so that he can shoot Anakin a mildly scolding look.

“I held him back as long as I could,” Shmi calls out from the kitchen area, as she shapes small bits of dough into a complex shape. She gestures to a small, grey protocol droid seated nearby, the wiring a mess beneath mismatched plating. Anakin’s hands are currently buried in the droid’s guts, tongue sticking out in concentration. “I even brought Threepio back from the shop as a distraction.”

“I can’t believe you let him run errands for Watto,” Anakin complains, clearly annoyed. “I built him for you.” He loses his concentration and a small spark burns his fingers. “E chu ta!”

“Language,” Obi-Wan and Shmi scold as one.

“Oh, do be careful, Master Ani!” The droid—Threepio apparently—frets. Obi-Wan regards this newcomer critically. He’s never been the biggest fan of droids, even less so since he started sharing quarters with Anakin and his half-repaired electromechanical messes, left lying around for Obi-Wan to trip over. “Why hello, there, you must be Obi-Wan Kenobi! Master Ani has told me all about you. Allow me to introduce myself, I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations.”  

“Pleased to meet you,” Obi-Wan offers. “Thank you for keeping Anakin occupied for the day.”

“Oh! You are very welcome; it was no trouble at all! No trouble at all! Really, to think I would ever turn down an opportunity to get upgrades from the Maker himself!”

“Maker? Anakin, did you build this droid?” Obi-Wan asks, flabbergasted. He doesn’t know why, it’s not like building an entire droid from scratch is totally outside Anakin’s inclinations or abilities.

Anakin shrugs in acknowledgement, a multitool balanced between his teeth as he twists a pair of wires together. He pauses, evaluates, and moves onto a new task, grabbing the multitool and freeing his mouth.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I mean, mostly. Mom put on the plating while I was gone. Last time I was here you were naked, Threepio!”

“Oh, Master Ani, do we have talk about that? I did not even realize until that rude little astromech, what was his name, pointed it out. R2-D2, that was it! Naked? Me!”

“But, yeah, I started building him years ago. To help Mom,” he says, with shrug. “And now that Mom’s decided to stay, he needs to be in top form.”

“I assure you, Master Ani, I am functioning at peak efficiency,” C-3PO says, sounding distinctly miffed. “I will remind you that I am fluent in over 6 million forms of communication.”

“I know, Threepio,” Anakin reassures. “But you’re going to be helping Mom with some really dangerous stuff and there’s always room for improvement.”

“Danger! Who said anything about danger? Oh, Master Ani, I do not believe my circuits are equipped for danger!”

Obi-Wan blinks, suddenly overcome with a vision of Shmi, righteous and resplendent at the head of an army of freed slaves, this anxious droid tottering comically beside her.

He can’t help the snort that escapes his lips.

Anakin seems to catch his thoughts and shoots a dirty look his way.

“He’s really loyal,” he defends.

“I’m sure,” is all Obi-Wan says. If there was one trait Anakin would deem absolutely essential for any of his creations, it would be loyalty.

“There you go, Threepio!” Ankain says at last, reattaching the droid’s dull plating and sitting back on his heels. “Go on, stand up and test it out.” C-3PO obeys, moving to help Shmi in the kitchen. Obi-Wan turns to Anakin once the droid is gone.

“Have you done your daily meditations?”

“Yup,” Anakin chirps. Obi-Wan flashes him a beady-eyed look of disbelief. “What? I did!”

“For the full hour? Twice, morning and evening?” Obi-Wan pushes and, yes, there’s the feeling of mild guilt flashing across the bond that Obi-Wan is expecting. But honestly, Obi-Wan is too exhausted to have this particular fight yet again. “Okay then,” he sighs. “Well, I’m awake now. Why the excitement?”

“We’re having a celebration!” Anakin says, happiness flaring across the bond. “And you’re going to be the guest of honor!” Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.

“The return of a family member thought lost is so rare that it is always a cause for celebration,” Shmi explains, shooing Threepio’s fussing away with practiced ease. “And you were the one who brought Ani back to us.”

“But mostly they’re just super nosy and want an excuse to meet you,” Anakin adds, with a roll of his eyes. “They were curious before and then someone heard that you shared tzai with us and now everyone’s super excited.”

“Shared tzai?” Obi-Wan asks, even as smug satisfaction rolls through his mind. He knew that the tea was important somehow!

Anakin glances to Shmi, as if looking for permission. She clears her throat.

“Tzai is for family,” she clarifies. “Only family.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathes, a little overcome.

“Every family has their own recipe,” Anakin explains. “But Mom’s is best. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Obi-Wan agrees. He looks back over to Shmi and Threepio. “I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Nonsense,” she replies. “After everything you have done for me, for my son, it was the only logical conclusion. And Ar-Amu sent Ani a dream last night while you were resting, which only confirms my decision.”

“A dream?” Obi-Wan asks sharply. Anakin does not exactly have a great track record when it comes to dreams—they tend to be prophetic and confusing at best, dark and overwhelming at worst.

“A good dream,” Shmi responds. “A blessing.”  

“You were carrying two babies across the desert,” Anakin breaks in. “The Krayts and the sandstorms bowed before them.”

“It is a good omen,” Shmi declares, sounding supremely satisfied and confident. “It could mean many things, but one thing is for certain: Leia and Lukka believe you are worthy.”

“I—” Obi-Wan opens and closes his mouth several times. He understands maybe a third of what Anakin and Shmi have described—they seem to think what has already been said is sufficient, but all he can tell is that the dream is very important to Shmi and Anakin. “I will endeavor to live up to it,” is what he settles on.  

“C’mon,” Anakin says, standing from his seated position and tugging at Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “We gotta get ready for the celebration. It starts as soon as the suns are down!”

Sure enough, as soon as the suns have chased each other below the horizon, a low humming begins in the slave quarter and low-flickering torches are brought out to the central common area. Dozens of slaves begin to congregate, dressed in their finest—which, well, wasn’t really all that different from what Obi-Wan has observed previously, but the clothing is slightly less frayed, with more dyed pieces in dull red or navy and a few bone-colored beads of japor sewn in. He and Anakin are greeted with joyful whispers—for a celebration, it is surprisingly quiet, which Obi-Wan supposes he should have expected given the secrecy the slaves must be forced to practice day in and day out. Still, it takes him aback. The slaves cry in delight over Anakin, commenting on his new haircut and growing frame, and murmur warm hellos to Obi-Wan. He is touched by the lack of wariness and hostility—clearly Anakin and Shmi’s acceptance goes a long way here. He catches bits of a language he doesn’t quite understand—the same one Anakin had shared with Shmi as Obi-Wan disabled her chip—and he assumes it is a local dialect or Huttese creole. Everyone who talks to him assumes a competent, but accented Basic.

They settle in a circle as a few men, women, and Threepio carry out large clay plates the width of Obi-Wan’s arm span. The plates are not piled particularly high with food and the options are limited, but the slaves pass the plates amongst themselves, sharing the little they do have freely.

A platter reaches Obi-Wan and he hesitates, unfamiliar with everything in front of him. He makes the mistake of following Anakin’s lead, picking up and swallowing a shriveled, spiced tuber whole. Immediately, he begins to hack and cough, his mouth on fire.

“Water,” he croaks, as Anakin and the other slaves burst into laughter around him. Threepio seems inconsolable, but despite its hysterics, the droid manages to quickly track down a bowl of blue milk. Obi-Wan accepts it gratefully and gulps the cool liquid down with gusto. He decides that his earlier estimation was unkind—C3PO is an excellent helper.

Still recovering and finishing the last of the bowl, he focuses his attention on the center of the circle, where a performance is unfolding. Two middle aged slaves—one a Dug male, the other a dark-haired human male—stand in the center, circling each other. Occasionally, one will dart forward and the other will rear back in sync, in a strangely aggressive form of dancing, as the crowd claps rhythmically and sings a low, sweet tune in accompaniment. The fighters (dancers? Obi-Wan can’t figure out if it is choreographed) twist and fly around each other, limbs nearly but not quite colliding in a series of graceful near collisions. The closer the call, the better the response from the crowd. Then, the Dug accidentally lands a hit to his partner’s shoulder and the crowd groans and boos in disapproval, followed closely by a round of applause for a job well done. The partners step forward to exchange a tight, shoulder slapping hug. Anakin’s practically vibrating with excitement and Obi-Wan realizes why a beat too late.

“Anakin!” he hisses, as the other two exit the circle’s center and his padawan darts forward. Obi-Wan extends his hand, just barely missing his chance to snag the collar of Anakin’s tunic and pull him back. Jedi are strictly forbidden from engaging in spars or duels with non-Force-sensitives, except in self-defense—their Force-enhanced senses and physical abilities often lead to disastrous accidents. It is all too easy to mistakenly snap an opponent’s neck when you have only ever practiced with other Jedi, who can withstand far greater injury than the average organic being. Obi-Wan purses his lips and watches warily as Anakin is joined by another young human boy, perhaps a few years older than him, his face pocked by acne. The two mutter to each other and laugh freely, then step backwards, maybe 2 meters apart.

The other boy is talented and experienced, Obi-Wan can tell that much, as he bounces on his toes and regards Anakin. The boy darts out first, sweeping his leg out in a wide arc. Obi-Wan is surprised his apprentice is not the first to start the fight—in the Temple, Anakin is always the first to lead off a sparring session with another padawan and, despite Obi-Wan’s best attempts to lure him towards the strengths of Soresu, he tends to favor the sort of more aggressive forms that work best when he makes the first move.

Anakin is like water, leaping over the other boy’s leg in a full-body back flip and landing lightly, his arms extended to their full reach. He immediately rotates in a half-circle, forcing the other boy to hold his lunge as he bends backwards or risk his head colliding with Anakin’s forearm. Obi-Wan watches the fight unfold, fascinated. Yes, the goal seems to be not to hit his partner, the exact opposite of a padawan saber duel, but if anything, that requires more control, more thought, more physical prowess and Anakin embraces the challenge.

As the fight goes on and Anakin and his partner demonstrate a series of impressive near-misses, the crowd’s enthusiasm rises. Obi-Wan begins to feel an odd sensation racing along the bond—all the harder to identify because he has never felt such a thing from Anakin before: calm. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen and very carefully, so as to not break Anakin’s concentration, he opens himself to the bond. But closer examination only further supports his initial impression: Anakin has found a sort of harmony in the whirling dance. If he had not been physically present, witnessing the truth with his own eyes, Obi-Wan would have sworn that Anakin was in the midst of a particularly peaceful mediation in the Temple halls. It’s made all the odder by the fact that actual mediation has never inspired this sense of calm in his padawan.

He looks at the fight with new eyes, carefully cataloging every muscle movement. He has read about moving mediation, an abandoned Jedi technique from the days of the Old Republic, but for some reason Obi-Wan has never considered it as a remedy to Anakin’s ongoing struggle with the traditional Jedi meditation. He feels a small blossom of hope—if he can adapt this technique for Anakin, he might be able to give his padawan some measure of desperately needed peace.

“What is this?” he asks Shmi, not quite facing her, not quite willing to miss a moment.

“Nimdara,” she says, equally as enthralled by her son. “The slaves’ dance. We are not permitted to learn how to defend ourselves, of course. A slave who knows how to fight is a liability. But dancing—dancing is harmless.”

“Do you know of anyone who would be willing to teach me?” Obi-Wan asks, eagerly.

“The best way to learn nimdara is to experience it,” another slave speaks up, from just behind Shmi. Despite himself, Obi-Wan tears his eyes away from Anakin to face the speaker. She is a stout Rodian female with dark eyes and she regards Obi-Wan with chin raised, an invitation. The crowd around them rustles and murmurs.

“I won’t be a very good partner,” he warns her. “I’ve only ever trained for saber duels, never for something like this.”

“There is no training, no preparation, you simply must jump into the ring and do,” the Rodian responds, inclining her head.

Obi-Wan hesitates, the young initiate who studied and practiced for hours upon hours for every mission, test, or spar rebelling inside him.

“He’ll do it,” Anakin interrupts, excitedly, and Obi-Wan is briefly saddened he missed the conclusion of Anakin’s performance. “Don’t listen to him—Master Obi-Wan’s the best duelist in the Order. If anyone can give you a challenge, it’s him!”

“Anakin,” he scolds, half-heartedly. “That’s not really accurate. Master Windu and any number of the other Councilors are far better and more experienced than I.”

“Okay, then. One of the best,” Anakin corrects, with a roll of his eyes. “But you have to say yes, Master! Sheeda’s the best at nimdara—but almost no one can keep up with her, so she hardly ever gets a chance to show off. Please?”

If there is any way to say no to Anakin when he uses that face and tone of voice, Obi-Wan hasn’t yet figured it out. He meets Sheeda’s eyes and nods.

A quiet cheer goes up amongst the slaves.

Obi-Wan sheds his tabards, tunic, and boots, so that he faces his partner clad only in his thin pants. He steps lightly into the circle, the sand between his toes still warmed by the long-gone suns. Sheeda joins him, loose limbed.  

Without conscious thought, Obi-Wan bends his back leg and fully extends his front leg, sinking into the traditional opening pose of Soresu. There he stays, content to feel the Force flow around him and wait for Sheeda to make the first move. With the quickness of a sand viper, Sheeda darts forward, her leg swinging up in a wide arc towards Obi-Wan’s head. He simply leans forward, moving in a circle at the waist to complement the flowing motion of her leg.

As he comes up, he lunges forward smoothly, putting his full weight forward and extending his arm out in a lightning-quick test of Sheeda’s boundaries. She turns and his arm slices harmlessly through the air at her back. Her head whips around so that she is facing him, a fierce, vivid smile spreading across her face. Capabilities fully tested and established, they launch into a series of graceful, rolling movements—Obi-Wan using every ounce of his concentration to evaluate Sheeda’s fluttering muscles and darting eyes, trying to predict the next step to a dance that hasn’t yet been written. When he ducks, she weaves; as he rises, she falls, and vice versa.  

He’s sweating in the cool desert night air, sand sticking to his damp skin as his heart sings. Around him, the clapping and humming rise to a crescendo, and he can hear Anakin’s proud and enthusiastic cheers, the loudest of them all.

It’s all over in a moment, Sheeda launching into a flurry of quick turn-twist-turns that Obi-Wan cannot keep up with, even with his Force-enhanced vision, and his forearm collides painfully with her stomach. Off balance and startled, Obi-Wan tumbles backwards, landing on his ass. He has lost.

There is not a single sound for a long, unbroken moment. Sheeda steps forward and helps Obi-Wan to his feet. She regards him silently, then smiles.

“You were decent,” she declares. “For a Jedi, that is.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head back and laughs. He steps back and offers her a bow, as he would at the end of any practice duel at the Temple.

The slaves begin their loudest round of snapping, stomping, and clapping yet, breaking the silence, and making their approval clear. Anakin and Shmi sweep forward, wide smiles gracing their faces as they congratulate Obi-Wan. He envelopes Anakin in a hug, feeling giddy—there is something about being so in tune with another being, even if only for a few minutes, that feels like he’s drank just a tad too much Corellian rum.

“Eww, no, you’re all sweaty,” Anakin protests, trying to wriggle away.

“That’s what you get for volunteering me for that performance,” Obi-Wan teases, “In fact…I think I’m just fine, it’s you who are not sweaty enough!” He hooks his arms around Anakin’s stomach and levers him over his shoulder.

“Oh this does not seem very safe,” C3PO fusses quietly, appearing from nowhere.

“Let me down, let me down,” Anakin chants, laughing wildly, as Shmi shakes her head at them both, her eyes fond. She effortlessly redirects C3PO’s attention elsewhere.

“Nuh-uh,” Obi-Wan disagrees. “Not until you apologize and admit that my sweat is wonderful—the finest perfume in the whole galaxy!”

 “Never!” Anakin declares.

“Well, then you’re not coming down, are you? I’ll just have to walk around like this all the time. I’ll have to ask the quartermaster for a new pair of robes with enough room for an Anakin sized lump!” Obi-Wan says, spinning them both in a circle.

Anakin shrieks with joy under a dark desert sky.

***

All too soon, it is time for Obi-Wan and Anakin to take their leave. There is only so long they can tarry before the Council becomes suspicious. Obi-Wan likes to think he has mastered the fine art of plausible deniability—of bland reports that tell the truth without really revealing anything of value—but they are beginning to strain the limits of even his finely-honed abilities. And while the slaves are good hiding things from their masters, Anakin and Obi-Wan are not exactly easy to hide. They can’t wander far into Mos Espa without attracting undue attention, especially Obi-Wan, with his pale, freckled, and easily burned skin that clearly marks him as an offworlder.

In the weak, early morning light, Shmi carefully tucks wax paper closed around a pile of her tzai mixture, as Obi-Wan, Anakin, and C3PO stand awkwardly to the side. She knows, they know, this is the last excuse tying them to the planet’s surface and after this task is complete they must go.

Finally, it is done. She inhales and turns around, passing the package to Anakin, who accepts it solemnly.

“This should be enough to last you a few months at least,” she declares.

“You don’t know how Master Obi-Wan goes through tea,” Anakin replies, doubtfully.

“Hey now,” Obi-Wan protests, no heat behind it. He shuffles to the side, pulling C3PO with him, partly to give mother and son some semblance of privacy and partly to impart a message to C3PO.

“Oh! What is this? I believe Master Ani might need my—”

“They don’t need our interference,” Obi-Wan says, cutting the droid off. “C3PO, I know that you have been helping Shmi with her…side job and, despite first impressions, you are a good and loyal droid.”

“Oh, that is ever so kind of you,” C3PO gushes, flattered. Obi-Wan holds a hand up, forestalling further chatter.

“You two will need to be extra careful now,” he says. He takes out a slim black rectangle, shaking it in front of C3PO. “I am giving you this emergency beacon. If you ever become separated from your Mistress or you believe she is in danger and unable to contact us herself, you are to activate it immediately. It is connected to a series of Temple relays and will alert the nearest Jedi. It may not be me or Anakin, but someone will come.”

C3PO’s visual processors flicker, as if the droid is blinking.

“I understand,” it replies, taking the beacon. Obi-Wan nods tightly as Anakin and Shmi rejoin them. He turns to his padawan.

“Ready to go?” he asks. Anakin nods, and Obi-Wan is pleased to note that he feels determined and steady across the bond—the sadness and fear for his mother is there, but it’s not overwhelming. He faces Shmi. “Thank you so much for your hospitality,” Obi-Wan tells her. “I hope that your work here is successful.”

“It will be many years before that is the case,” Shmi replies easily. “But our time is coming, I know it.”

“I believe you,” Obi-Wan says, honestly.

“Look after him,” she says, raising a hand to pat at his cheek. “And let him look after you. I will rest easier knowing that my sons are watching each other’s backs.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says, the promise falling easily from his lips.

“Now, go,” Shmi says, stepping away. “Go and don’t look back.”

And so Obi-Wan flips up the hood of his robe, takes Anakin’s hand, and walks away.

Chapter Text

Today is the day, Obi-Wan decides grimly.

He has sent Anakin away with Quinlan’s padawan, Aayla Secura, hoping the older girl can keep Anakin distracted long enough to afford him precious hours of uninterrupted meditation. And he desperately needs those hours to prepare himself. He’s put it off as long as he dares—Quinlan had given this particular lecture to Aayla when she was 12, and Anakin is now 15 years old. But, after walking in on a…frenetic masturbation session in the sonic last week, Obi-Wan can no longer deny the necessity of the conversation.

He has to give Anakin the Talk.

It only takes hours and hours of careful meditation, but finally Obi-Wan thinks he is ready. It’s not a moment too soon, as Anakin comes careening back into their shared quarters, shattering the air of peaceful contemplation.

“Master Ood allowed Aayla and I to test fly the new Aethersprites!” Anakin declares, giddy exhilaration flying across the bond as he skids to a stop in the kitchen and begins rummaging through the cabinets.

“And I trust you repaid Master Ood’s kindness by returning the starfighters fully intact?”

“Haha, Master, you’re hilarious,” Anakin says, as he stuffs three packets of dried shuura fruit in his mouth. He turns around, cheeks puffed out comically.

“Really, Anakin?” Obi-Wan scolds, disapprovingly. Anakin chews and swallows quickly.

“ ‘m sorry, Master, ‘m hungry.”

“You’re hungry all the time nowadays,” Obi-Wan sighs, as he examines Anakin closely, who is now nearly equal in height to his master. Has the boy somehow managed to grow even taller since Obi-Wan last saw him, a few hours ago? A medical impossibility for humans, the Healers assure him, but still Obi-Wan wonders. “You will hardly waste away if you tried chewing your food at a civilized pace. Never mind,” he says, raising his hand to forestall the inevitable round of bickering his comment will set off. “Come, sit down, Anakin. We have something to discuss.”

Anakin looks wary now, his expression reflecting the feeling coiling in Obi-Wan’s chest. He settles himself cross-legged on the meditation mats awkwardly and looks expectantly to his Master. Obi-Wan sends a quick request for strength into the Force and focuses on his task.

“Anakin, I know the Healers have talked with you about your changing body,” he begins, only to be immediately interrupted.

“Is this about the sonic? I promised to be more careful,” Anakin complains. He seems unembarrassed, so far so good. Obi-Wan has more than enough embarrassment for the both of them.

“It is related,” Obi-Wan concedes. “But there are some lectures that the Healers leave to the discretion of a padwan’s Master and I realized that I have failed you by not bringing it up earlier. All of the changes to your body mean that you might start feeling strange…urges, especially in relation to other padawans your own age. And I want to make sure that you understand your body and these urges—”

“So this is about sex?” Anakin interrupts him again, unashamed. Obi-Wan chokes on thin air and feels himself turning red.

“I…yes, padawan. Yes. I must make sure that you understand that you may start to be attracted to other beings. You may have…strange dreams and want to re-enact these dreams with those beings you find attractive. But you must keep two things in mind: first, you must take care to keep these…dalliances casual. The Jedi Code does not forbid sexual congress, only attachment. But it can be easy to become attached, especially to the first person you…explore your body with.” Dear Force, Obi-Wan didn’t even know that it was physically possible to be this embarrassed. He inhales deeply and pushes forward—there is no way out but through. “Second, and most importantly, you must both consent to the activity at hand. Even if you find them attractive, the…feelings may not be…reciprocated. There are many beings and many sexualities. Some beings will not want you in particular, others are not interested in human males, and still others yet may not be interested in…physical congress at all.”

“What, like force them? I would never do that,” Anakin says, horrified.

“I know, padawan,” Obi-Wan rushes to reassure him, “but as Jedi we must take special care. Our powers make it easy for us to hurt or force our partners—even unintentionally.  Sometimes, even the suggestion of power is enough to force someone to make a decision they wouldn’t normally. They might be encouraged to say yes because they believe your strength in the Force or connections to powerful Jedi Masters could help them.”

At this, Anakin narrows his eyes, confusion buzzing along the back of the bond.

“But as long as I do help them, shouldn’t that be okay?” he says. “We’d both know what we’re agreeing to.”

“What? No, no, Anakin. Can you imagine how you would feel if someone much more powerful than you, someone that you didn’t particularly like or find attractive, asked you to sleep with them in exchange for something you wanted? If was something you really, truly wanted, you’d feel obligated.”

“I mean, if I thought they would help Mom or you, I don’t think I’d care all that much,” Anakin says, with a shrug. “If they were really repulsive, I don’t think I’d enjoy it very much, but it’s just sex.” Obi-Wan stares at him, opening and closing his mouth a couple times.

“Is this a slave thing?” he finally asks, bewildered. Over the years, they’ve had many (many, many) misunderstandings about a variety of topics related to Anakin’s past, and they’ve developed a shorthand so that either of them can speak up and indicate to the other that they truly don’t understand what’s going on.

“I guess?” Anakin says, screwing up his face. “Dunno. I know everyone here is super weird and secretive about sex, not at all like Tatooine.”

“Can you explain it to me? I know it might be hard.”

“Well, it’s like this. I’m really strong in the Force, right? And I really enjoy katas and training and finding out what I can do. But it also makes a lot of people look at me funny, not because they want me but because they want me to do something for them. I don’t always enjoy it or want to do it, but I do it anyways because I know they can offer me something in return. Sex is like that—I can do it because I enjoy it, but otherwise it’s just something else that makes me useful.”

“That’s not totally a slave thing,” Obi-Wan admits, slowly. Despite himself, he can’t quite dispel the discomfort Anakin’s words raise. “I know some Knights and Masters who think the same way. But I’ll caution that not everyone looks at it that way. I want you to be very, very careful and very, very clear with your partners about what you expect from them.”

“I can do that,” Anakin affirms, cheerily. “Can I go to the sonic now? I’m meeting the Chancellor in a couple of hours and I don’t want to be late again!”

Obi-Wan nods his head distractedly, not quite able to name the coiling unease in his stomach.  

***

Hours later, Obi-Wan sits bolt upright in bed, mind racing.

Up until now, he’s let it lie, despite his own misgivings, because he was confident that Anakin would come to him if he ever felt that the Chancellor had crossed the line into inappropriateness. And it’s not that he doesn’t trust Anakin, he does…it’s just, after that horrendous Talk, Obi-Wan is starting realize that Anakin will probably define that line much, much differently than most of the other Jedi. It’s just that a powerful man has just spent four hours of his incredibly valuable time and hundreds of credits to take his padawan to a nice upper level Coruscanti restaurant and Anakin has a terribly transactional view of intimacy.

I mean, if I thought they would help Mom or you, I don’t think I’d care all that much, pounds through his head, over and over and over again. His eyes widen as he remembers all the missions they’ve been assigned at the ‘personal request’ of Chancellor Palpatine. The sort of important missions that have definitely helped cement Obi-Wan and Anakin’s standing with not only the Jedi but a whole host of other powerful people. I wish the Council would recognize how hard you work, Master, Anakin whispers in his head. You’re as powerful as Master Windu and as wise as Master Yoda, you shouldn’t be assigned to be a mere bodyguard.

Obi-Wan rushes to the fresher to throw up the entire contents of his stomach.  

He sits for a moment, forehead resting against the cool metal of the toilet, panting as tears leak out of the corners of his eyes. He allows himself a few seconds of painful, gut-wrenching sobs, then inhales shakily and hides it all away behind the façade of Obi-Wan Kenobi, the perfect Jedi Knight. He splashes water on his face, dons a Jedi robe, and hurriedly tip-toes out of his quarters—he knows Anakin loves to follow him and eavesdrop on his conversations, but this is one conversation he cannot be allowed to overhear.

He pounds on the door to Mace Windu’s quarters until the door slides back to reveal a positively livid Master Windu, his sleeping robes askew and still blinking sleep from his eyes. His eyes narrow at Obi-Wan.

“This had better be good, Kenobi,” he warns.

“I think the Chancellor might be abusing my padawan,” Obi-Wan blurts out.

To his credit, Master Windu immediately straightens, all annoyance gone in a single instant. He steps to the side and motions for Obi-Wan to follow him inside.

“Has Skywalker made an accusation?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admits, rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists as Master Windu settles into the couch and Obi-Wan begins to pace in front of him. “But I finally gave Anakin the required lecture on intimacy and sexuality and realized that he views sexual experiences very differently than you or I.”

“Differently?” Master Windu asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He views his sexuality as a sort of tool to get what he wants—he stated that even if he personally wasn’t interested, he’d lie with someone if he believed they would give him something else he wanted afterwards. I explained that pressuring someone into sex like that was wrong, a form of rape, but he had a hard time grasping the concept. Which, if that’s how he wants to approach sex as an adult, that’s fine, but he’s underage and—”  

“And we have been allowing him to spend his free time around an older, more powerful man who has a near unlimited ability to give him anything he could possibly want in exchange for sexual favors,” Master Windu finishes, looking pale.

Obi-Wan stops his pacing and nods. His shoulders slump, eyes trained on the ground.

“Anakin has repeatedly suggested that he feels indebted to me for taking him on as my padawan when no one else believed he should be trained and that he hopes to repay me someday, that I deserve recognition,” Obi-Wan whispers hoarsely, words barely audible. “And I’ve noticed that lately that I’ve been assigned more and more desirable missions, specifically at the request of the Chancellor.”

“Obi-Wan,” Master Windu says, harshly, standing to his feet. “Stop that thought, this situation is not your fault.”

“Whose fault is it if not mine?” Obi-Wan responds, just as harsh.

“There’s plenty of blame to go around—myself, the Council, the Chancellor. No need to take on all of it. Besides, it will not be very helpful at resolving the immediate problem.”

“Which is?”

“First, we must stop Skywalker’s visits with the Chancellor. If he asks why, feel free to drop my name—I know he dislikes me and I doubt this will damage our relationship any further. Second, we must determine what has happened so far, if it was just a terrible misunderstanding, the beginnings of something much worse, or…or if legal action will need to be taken.”

“What am I supposed to say to Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks, eyes wide in panic. “‘Hello, padawan mine, lovely meditation session we had there, by the way, have you ever kriffed the Chancellor of the Republic?’”

“Well. I’d go for a tad more subtlety than that,” Master Windu says dryly, “but based on what you’ve told me about Skywalker’s utilitarian approach to sexuality, he’d probably answer honestly.”

Obi-Wan laughs, half-hysterical, and collapses to the ground. Mace Windu stares at him.

“Correction,” Master Windu says. “First, you must get some rest. You’re in no shape to raise the issue with Padawan Skywalker.”

“I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to,” Obi-Wan admits shakily.

“Luckily for you, I keep several hyposhots of prescription-strength sedatives on hand,” Master Windu says, already moving to the fresher and sorting through his medicine cabinet. “Come now, Obi-Wan. You can take the couch.”

Obi-Wan follows his instructions numbly, all too grateful for the faint sting in his neck that will soon carry him into the dark.

***

The next morning brings little peace with it. Obi-Wan wakes suddenly and stares muzzily up at the ceiling for several long heartbeats, the same terrible, overwhelming feeling overshadowing each breath.

“You’ll just have to ask him,” Master Windu advises him, once Obi-Wan has levered himself upward and managed to swallow a few bites of tasteless oatmeal—he can’t tell if the tastelessness is yet another manifestation of the worry eating at his insides or because he’s so used to Anakin’s spiced version of oatmeal, which makes every other dish seem flavorless in comparison. “You’ll run yourself to the ground if you spend too long on what-ifs. Better just to know, whether it’s good or bad news, and deal with it head on. I can go with you,” he adds.

“That’s a kind offer, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan says wanly. “But you’re right when you said Anakin doesn’t like you very much. If…if the worst has truly happened and I must discuss it with him, I don’t think he’d want you there.”

“Fair enough,” Master Windu says. “But you will com me, as soon as you determine what we’re dealing with, yes? I can have Healer Che ready in a manner of minutes, for a full physical and mental evaluation.”

“I’ll com you,” Obi-Wan confirms, standing to his feet. Master Windu mirrors his pose and escorts him to the door of his quarters, worry etched in every line of his face.

Every footstep back to his quarters feels like he has a heavy weight attached to his ankles, but somehow he makes it there. He stares blankly at the door for a moment, but then screws up his courage—this isn’t about him, Sith hells, it’s about Anakin—and waves his hand over the pad for entry.

The door slides open and reveals Anakin sleepily consuming his breakfast. He perks up visibly upon spotting Obi-Wan.

“Master,” he greets happily. “Where were you? I’m sorry I didn’t make enough breakfast for two, I assumed you’d be gone until midday. But I can make some extra?”

“There’s no need for that, dear one,” Obi-Wan responds, touched. The door automatically slides shut behind him and to Obi-Wan it seems like a death knell. “I was at Master Windu’s quarters and we had breakfast before I left.”

“Oh, that’s good then. Why were you there?” Anakin asks suspiciously. He seems to be running through a list in his head and Obi-Wan would be willing to bet he’s carefully cataloging everything he’s done over the past few weeks, trying to determine what he’d done to irritate Master Windu this time around.

“We…we were discussing your friendship with Chancellor,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “Can we talk, Anakin? It is very important.”

“Uh, yes? I mean, isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Impertinence is not a good look on you, my very young padawan,” Obi-Wan snipes without thinking.

“Well, I learned from the best, so you only have yourself to blame,” Anakin teases back. “Okay, I’m listening, Master. What’s the matter?”

“I—that is, some of the Masters and I—have become concerned with your friendship with the Chancellor. I’d ask that you stop visiting him for now, or at least that you take another Knight or myself with you when you do.”

“What? Why?”

“On Coruscant, it is very odd for an older man to have such a close friendship with a young boy your age,” Obi-Wan says, carefully choosing each and every word.  He cannot mess this up, he must make Anakin understand—he is all too aware of the possibility that if he simply puts his foot down and refuses to allow their visits, Anakin might take that as a challenge and choose to sneak around, carrying on the relationship in shadows. “There’s really only a limited number of legitimate reasons why it might happen and you two don’t fit easily into any of them. It has been suggested that the relationship might not be entirely proper.”

“What, so I’m supposed to stop seeing one of my few real friends because some other politician got their knickers in a twist,” Anakin scoffs. “I don’t care what they think.”

“Anakin, you might not care, but the Chancellor most certainly will. These suggestions…they’re not harmless. They’re the kind that might end his political career.” And that does the trick, appealing to Anakin’s loyalty and innate protectiveness. His padawan sits up straighter, frowning.

“What exactly do they think is going on?” he asks.

“I’m going to need you to be honest with me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan warns. “I’m about to ask you a lot of questions, with both of our shields fully down. I want to understand not just your answers to these questions, but how they make you feel. And sometimes, it might be hard to describe exactly what happened and if that happens, you can just push forward the memories across the bond, so that I can look them over.”

“Um. All my shields?” Anakin hesitates.

“I won’t look where I’m not invited, but this is very, very important.” Anakin nods, closes his eyes, and complies. Obi-Wan very nearly staggers under the onslaught of Anakin’s unshielded Force presence—he sometimes forgets exactly how powerful Anakin is. He gives himself a second to adjust, until he can pick out Anakin’s emotions—bewilderment, anxious-anger-determination. “Okay. Let’s start. What do you and the Chancellor do when you’re alone?”

“Lots of things? Sometimes we go places, like a restaurant or an opera—he really likes the Mon Cala ballet for some reason—but a lot of times we just sit in his office or apartment and talk.”

“You’ve been to his apartment?” Obi-Wan asks, sharply. In response, Anakin pushes two images: a richly appointed, maroon and silver living room with a wide, sweeping window, followed closely by the blurry image of a darkened bedroom, the only light emanating from light sconces turned low. “You’ve been inside his bedroom.”

“Yeah, if its super late or we’ve just come back from a mission and my body’s internal clock is still whacked, he just lets me sleep on the bed.” Obi-Wan bites back a spiky burst of rage. “Uh, Master, you do know that with both of our shields down I can feel you?”

Obi-Wan pastes on a pleasant smile.

“Of course, my apologies,” he says, smoothly. “What do you and the Chancellor talk about?” What could a grown man possibly have to discuss with you, he doesn’t say.

“How my training is going, how I’m adjusting to the Jedi, our missions…he’ll just listen to me complain sometimes and know exactly what to say to make me feel better.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan says. “Have you ever asked for anything from him?”

“Not exactly,” Anakin squirms, both in the physical sense and in the bond, twisting and slipping around Obi-Wan in the Force. “Like, I’ve never asked for something, but he always seems to know what I want and give it to me without asking.”

“Like what?” Obi-Wan asks flatly.

“Um, well, do you remember when I was complaining that the Council was holding us back, about a year ago? That we hadn’t got any really good missions in a while—I know I messed up on Tanaab, but I couldn’t prove that I’d learned from my mistakes if they wouldn’t give us another mission! And I explained all that to the Chancellor and he just sorta smiled and said that he would talk to the Council and the next thing I knew, we got that investigative assignment at the Kuat shipyards.”

“And did the Chancellor ever ask for anything in return for his intervention?” Obi-Wan’s heart is in his throat, slamming so hard against the thin skin below his chin that he is half-afraid it will just leap outside of his body.

“Nah,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan almost sighs in relief, but then notices the distinctly uncomfortable feeling like black tar flooding across the bond. His eyes narrow.

“Anakin,” he says, firmly, warningly.

“What? He didn’t, I swear!”

“No, he wouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan mutters out loud, more to himself than to Anakin. “He’s an accomplished politician, he knows a hundred ways to imply what he wants without ever having to come out and say it.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Anakin insists, but it’s half-hearted. “It’s just that once he started doing that, I felt like I sorta had to visit whenever he offered. He kept telling me how lonely he was and how much he looked forward to talking to him, that somedays it felt like I was the only person he could talk to. He’s really nice and all, but I also like hanging out with Aayla and the other senior padawans in my free time, and I couldn’t always because I was so busy with missions and coursework and visiting him. And he started looking at me weird like…I dunno. It just made me feel weird. And I know he’s curious about my training—he has this side hobby researching the old Jedi Order and other Force-sensitives sects throughout history—so I offered to show him a kata one day, only I wished afterwards I hadn’t done it at all. It felt wrong.”

“Did you take your tunic off for the kata?” Anakin nods and Obi-Wan closes his eyes—Anakin had learned that particular habit from him. He’d always overheated easily during training, so he often went shirtless and eventually Anakin had begun copying him. Obi-Wan wants to claw off his skin.

“Yeah. He also likes to praise me for like, everything. Really, really loudly. I really enjoyed it at first, but you and Mom are always talking about how praise has to be earned to really mean something and I’ve definitely not done anything to earn it.”

“And did the Chancellor ever try to…touch you? Or ask you to touch him.”

Anakin winces and pushes a memory of being in the Chancellor’s office, looking out over the amazing vista of Coruscant, the Chancellor standing a little too close behind him, his hands resting on Anakin’s shoulders, feeling more like claws. There’s nothing inherently sexual about the motion—more proprietary, as if he owns Anakin— but Anakin is clearly projecting his discomfort and trying to edge to the side to the side, without insulting the Chancellor. The other man seems more…amused at Anakin’s attempts to escape and only digs his hands in harder. And Obi-Wan wants to be reassured that this is the memory that first pops into Anakin’s mind—but he also understands how Anakin thinks well enough by now to realize that Anakin would be more discomfited by a touch indicating ownership than he ever would be by a flirtatious or potentially sexual overture.

“And is that all?” Obi-Wan presses. He purses his lips and realizes that he’s just going to have come out and say it.  “Did you ever touch him, or have him touch you, in a…a sexual way?”

“What? Ew, no,” Anakin replies quickly and the honesty of his response rings thru the Force and Obi-Wan feels as if a giant weight has lifted from his chest. “No, he’s not interested in me like that. At least, I don’t think so?” He doesn’t seem very certain, but shakes his head and continues. “Honestly, the only thing he really ever asked from me was for me to keep some secrets from you?”

“Oh, really,” Obi-Wan says, trying very hard to maintain his calm. “Like what?”

“Uh…I promised not to say?” Anakin sounds apologetic.

“I don’t care,” Obi-Wan responds flatly. “You promised me to be honest. So, I ask again, like what?”

“Mostly little stuff at first. Like you and I would have a fight and I’d complain to him, but he’d ask me not to talk to you about what I said. I’d say some pretty nasty things I didn’t really mean, so I thought it made sense. But then it escalated. He’d take me out and told me to lie and say I’d been somewhere else. Or say that the meeting had only lasted a few minutes instead of hours. He told me that if I was angry or scared, I should just come straight to him, that you and the Jedi wouldn’t understand, so I shouldn’t even bother trying to ask you for advice. It always made sense when he explained it, but I still felt terrible.” There’s a dark and oily wrongness spilling across the bond.

“I can understand that,” Obi-Wan says. “It was wrong of him to ask that of you.”

“Really?” Relief pours across the bond. “I thought so, but I didn’t know for sure and I couldn’t ask you—”

“You can always ask me,” Obi-Wan interrupts, wanting to make sure that this point was absolutely, crystal clear. “I cannot emphasize enough how wrong it was for the Chancellor to ask that of you. How wrong all of what you described to me was—there’s a word for a what he’s doing and it’s called ‘grooming.’ Has anyone ever discussed this with you?” Anakin shakes his head, mute. “Authority figures to do it to young children or other people under their power—encouraging feelings of dependence and loyalty to the abuser, acclimating them to abusive behavior bit by bit while simultaneously isolating the child from their support network.”

“He didn’t abuse me, though,” Anakin says in a small voice. “You saw my memories, he didn’t.”

“No, not yet. But grooming often proceeds abuse—that’s its purpose, so that child feels they have no one else they can turn to once the abuse starts, so that they accept the situation without question because of a carefully cultivated sense of personal loyalty and helplessness. Can you honestly tell me that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t had this conversation with you?”

“No,” Anakin admits, shame flooding their bond.

“No, no, dear one,” Obi-Wan says fiercely. “You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You didn’t understand what was going on, but the Chancellor definitely did. If anyone is to blame, it is him and myself for allowing it to go on as long as I have. But not anymore. You are not to see him again, not under any circumstances, do you understand?”

Anakin nods, slowly, reluctantly. He bites his lip.

“Don’t you think that’ll make him angry though? If you accuse him of such horrible things—I’m sure he didn’t really mean to do it, he was just being nice and got carried away. But he might…he might get angry and say something bad about us to the Council. And then they’ll be angry with us too and I know that’s not good for your career—”

“Anakin, don’t worry about any of this,” Obi-Wan instructs. “Even if that was a possibility, it would be my responsibility to handle it, one I would gladly take. But I think the Chancellor has given you an overinflated view of his sway over the Council. Yes, he got us assigned to better missions by dropping a suggestion here or there, but that’s all they were—suggestions from a powerful man, ones the Council only followed because they saw no reason not to. But suffice to say if that same powerful man were suddenly to want to take retribution because he was denied regular, unfettered access to a teenage boy—well, that suggestion would not go over nearly as well.”

“Oh. When you put it like that, it sounds pretty bad.”

“Exactly. And that’s why I’m confident it will not come to that—Chancellor Palpatine is a politician, a very good one based on the fact that he has risen to the most powerful position in the Galaxy. He knows very well how it looks and how even the insinuation of improper behavior would destroy his career. It would lead to a vote of no-confidence, at the very least. Even if the measure doesn’t pass, it would destroy his standing for the remainder of his term, and it is very unlikely he’d win reelection. Once the Council makes clear that the visits must stop, he will drop the issue.”

There is a beat of too loud silence.

“So, what now?” Anakin asks. Obi-Wan pastes a gentle smile on his face.

“Now, I will send you off to run through some Makashi katas—I want you to keep your mind and hands busy for the next couple of hours and Force knows your form could use some work. I will use that time to start taking the necessary steps. I’ll talk to the Council, let them know what has happened so that he won’t be able to contact you again,” A flare of hastily concealed guilt and Obi-Wan’s head snaps up. “What was that, padawan?”

“Uh…I might, sorta, havetheChancellor’spersonalcom,” Anakin admits in a rush. Obi-Wan closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“In that case, I’m going to need your commlink,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll have another unit assigned to you as soon as possible. And you’re going to have to talk to a Mind Healer, you understand that, don’t you?”

“Really, Master?” Anakin’s overdramatic groan is not quite enough to bring a genuine smile to Obi-Wan’s face, not with everything else going on, but it certainly comes close.

“Yes really. Now, commlink, then off to the training salles with you,” Obi-Wan says, sternly. Anakin obeys, loping into his bedroom to pick up the com unit in question and drop it into Obi-Wan’s open hand. Obi-Wan waits until he is absolutely certain Anakin is gone before he flips open his own com and contacts Master Windu. The other Jedi picks up on the first ring, as if he was waiting for the call.

“Yes?” Master Windu asks, carefully scanning Obi-Wan’s grim face.

“It’s not the worst possible scenario. But it’s…bad. I will need the Council to run interference.”

“Of course, whatever you need. Do you want me to call an emergency session?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan hesitates, then breaks down, his words spilling out in choked off sobs. “He was grooming Anakin, for Force knows what for Force knows how many years and I never een noticed. How could I not notice?”

Obi-Wan hangs up, so that Master Windu can focus on wrangling the Council and not on the Jedi Knight breaking down in front of him.

“How could I not notice?” he repeats to the empty room.

Chapter Text

“I know something you don’t know,” Quinlan Vos crows in a sing-song voice, vibrating with smug glee.

Obi-Wan regards him evenly over his cup of tzai, raising a single, unimpressed eyebrow. He’s ensconced in his and Anakin’s quarters, a datapad in his hands as he finishes a report on their latest mission and decides how best to dance around the fact that they were two days late to the expected rendezvous because his 16-year-old padawan had been busy on a side quest to the seedier underbelly of Thisspias, to meet and arrange further transportation for some…friends of Shmi. Obi-Wan truly doesn’t know any more, he’d left the room at that point in the com call. He and Anakin have an unspoken understanding—Anakin doesn’t talk about his work and in return Obi-Wan does his best not to notice the forged papers, the slight-shady-credit-acquisitions, and abrupt, unexplained side-trips. It’s so much easier to feign innocence to a Council of talented Force-sensitives when he can honestly say, “Who, me? I wasn’t anywhere near that unfortunate incident” and “I don’t actually know where Anakin was, I was letting him spread his wings.”  

And if he specifically requests missions to certain planets that are often along known-smuggling routes, draws out their negotiations out much, much longer than is reasonable, assuages their hosts’ suspicions with a wave of his hand, carefully passes Anakin a small sum from their mission credit account (always just small enough to remain unnoticed)…well, the Council has never asked. He just always has to strike the right balance when writing their reports, the exact tone of which he hasn’t quite hit upon for this particular go around.

“Why hello to you too, Quin,” he says mildly. “Thank you for knocking, of course you can come on in.”

“You’ll be thanking me soon enough,” he says, batting away Obi-Wan’s sarcasm with an ease borne of years of practice. “Guess who just unseated Master Nyeto as the anointed M.I.L.K.?”

 “Wow. Hasn’t he held the Master-I’d-Like-To-Kriff title since we were padawans?”

“Uh-huh.” Quinlan sounded, if possible, even more smug now that he’s gotten Obi-Wan to engage. “Over eleven years. Now, guess!”

“Please don’t tell me it’s you,” Obi-Wan groans, unable to think of a single other reason for Quin’s insufferable glee. “Wait, how do you even know this? I feel like when we were padawans we made sure to keep the voting process very hush-hush.”

“Aayla and I have an agreement,” Quinlan says with a wave. “She keeps me supplied in gossip, I keep her out of her monthly Archival duty rotations.”

“Quin!” Obi-Wan scolds. He takes another, long sip of his tzai.

“Oh, Sith hells, you’re focusing on all the wrong things. You’re no fun, Obi-Wan! It’s you.”

Obi-Wan spits out his tea and Quinlan booms with laughter.

“Please…” Obi-Wan says faintly, once he’s recovered. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope,” Quinlan responds, popping the p. “Aayla says it was near unanimous too.”

“I…I can’t—what?”

“Force, this really made my week. My year, if I’m being honest. I’ve accomplished my padawan-self’s dream of actually kriffing the M.I.L.K. Speaking of which…how about a celebratory turn, eh Obi-Wan?” Quinlan hints, with a lascivious eyebrow wiggle. 

Obi-Wan just blinks at him, decidedly not turned on.

“Why did I ever sleep with you?” he wonders aloud.

“Because you’re really horny after a good spar and I happened to be there?” Quinlan suggests, completely unbothered. It takes a lot to ruffle Quinlan’s laid-back equanimity. The other Jedi collapses on the couch beside Obi-Wan with an overexaggerated movement, leaning back into the cushions with a happy sound.

“Who won the other categories? Did you get anything?” Obi-Wan asks, turning most of his attention back to his datapad. He has fond memories of voting, debating, and organizing the Annual Master Superlatives, absolutely convinced of the event’s secrecy. As if every Jedi Knight hadn’t been a padawan at some point and didn’t know full well what was going on. Some Masters and Knights even launched discrete campaigns for specific titles, deploying their padawans to drum up support.

“Ugh, only Most Likely to Give Master Windu a Stress Ulcer,” Quinlan moans.

“Cheer up,” Obi-Wan responds, serenely. “Once Anakin is knighted, he’ll sweep that category and you’ll no longer have to worry about it.” 

“Huh, good point!” Quinlan chuckles. “Speaking of knighting, I just got out of a meditation session with Master Yoda. He thinks Aayla might be ready. She’s going to be assigned a solo mission to Ord Mantell and if it’s successful, it’ll count towards her Trials.”  

“This is great news! I’m so excited for you both,” Obi-Wan exclaims, laying down his datapad. He cocks his head noticing Quinlan’s apparent unease. “Unless…do you not think she’s ready?”

“No, no,” Quinlan protests hurriedly. “I know she’ll pass with flying colors. It’s just hard, you know? We’re told not to be attached, but she’s been here, with me, almost every waking moment of the past 11 years and I’m just supposed to let that go? Just accept our missions on the opposite sides of the galaxy, only seeing her every few months or so for tea and well-wishes? It won’t be the same.” 

Obi-Wan is suddenly, viscerally grateful that Anakin is nowhere near ready for Knighthood.

“It won’t be the same,” Obi-Wan ventures, unsure of how to offer comfort for something he himself has never experienced. He thinks to his infrequent com calls with Shmi and her description of the bittersweet experience watching her son grow up from afar. “But perhaps it will still be good, in its own way.”

Quinlan stares at him, considering. Then his face scrunches up.

“Oh Force. Keep that vaguely wise nonsense up and you’re gonna be on the High Council one day!” he groans. “A M.I.L.K and a Councilor, no fair!”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to flick Quinlan, as if they were younglings arguing in the creche again. Luckily, teaching Anakin has done wonders for Obi-Wan’s self-restraint.

“Come now, let us try and distract you from these thoughts. Let’s spar,” Obi-Wan says instead, setting the datapad aside and standing to his feet.

“Sparring? Did we not just agree that spars get you hot and bothered? Are you trying to tell me something, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan just rolls his eyes, grabs his saber, and begins walking out of the apartment. Quinlan jumps up to follow, running to catch up and still laughing at his own joke. They make for the nearest training salle, the engineered-to-be-perfect late Coruscant afternoon sunlight shining across the impossibly wide marbles columns lining the halls.

The salle is busy when they arrive—late afternoon right before mealtime is one of the most popular times for Knights to hone their skill with a lightsaber or for padawans to show off for a potential Master. Today, it appears Master Yoda has taken a class of young initiates on a field trip and the space is filled with rambunctious, wide-eyed younglings of all species, watching Knights spar, chasing each other around the hall, and (for a few particularly spunky ones) actually approaching the older Padawans and Knights to talk.

One initiate in particular has caught Obi-Wan’s attention—a young, skinny Togruta child, her montrals little more than nubs, who is currently hanging upside down from Anakin’s arm as he tries to shake her off. Obi-Wan wonders at what Anakin did to land himself in this situation and, based on the look on his padawan’s face, it appears he is wondering much the same thing.

 Obi-Wan smiles and tilts his head to direct Quinlan’s attention to the…adorable sight. Quinlan laughs out loud and as one they change directions to intercept Anakin.

 “Why hello there, little one,” Obi-Wan greets when they are close enough. Both the Togruta’s and Anakin’s heads snap up, curiosity in her gaze and relief in Anakin’s. “Who are you and what might you be doing to my poor padawan?”

“I’m Ahsoka,” the girl chirrups. “And I’m helping him!”

Obi-Wan raises both of his eyebrows, glancing to Anakin, who is now silently pleading with him to help. A corner of Obi-Wan’s lips quirk.

“Are you now? And how are you helping him?”

“Master Yoda said that performing katas with an extra weight attached would help me improve my balance and focus. He volunteered Ahsoka for the job,” Anakin grumbles. “He said it’s a time-honored Jedi tradition.”

“And you were too scared to call bantha-shit on him,” Obi-Wan surmises wryly.

The next thing he knows, his shins are erupting in the stinging pain of a solid gimmer stick whack.

“Disrespect tradition you should not,” Master Yoda says sternly. Nearby, Quinlan is losing it, bent over nearly in half as he wheezes out silent guffaws. Obi-Wan winces.

“Sorry, Master,” he apologizes.

“Hmmph,” Master Yoda replies, not quite a complete acceptance or a complete rejection. “A fine job, your padawan has done. Of him, proud you should be.”

Obi-Wan relaxes at the praise—perhaps Master Yoda has already forgiven his earlier transgression?

“And me?” Ahoska demands from her perch. Master Yoda glances up, smiling.

“A wonderful job, you have done. Persistence and bravery, you have demonstrated,” he says, a twinkle in his eyes. Ahsoka beams. “Done for now, you are. To your clanmates, go.”

Ahsoka lets go of Anakin’s arm and lands on her feet with lothcat-like grace. She flashes a cute smile at him.

“You’re welcome, Skyguy,” she says, spinning around to scamper back towards the other initiates.

“Too light, too insubstantial, your stances are,” Yoda continues, once she is gone. “With her weight, correct your stance you did. To replicate this, without her presence, your task now is.”

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin says, folding his hands together and bowing low. Master Yoda nods and turns back to Obi-Wan, regarding the young Knight for a moment.

“A new title you have, I hear. My congratulations, you have,” the little troll says, with a cackle.

Oh, he definitely hasn’t forgiven me yet, Obi-Wan despairs, as he silently prays for the floor to swallow him whole.

***

As the week continues, Obi-Wan’s embarrassment only gets worse.

All the other Knights and Masters are insufferable about the whole thing, offering chuckling, back-slapping congratulations. Teasing other Knights about their awards is almost as much a part of the Superlatives as the actual event itself.  Obi-Wan had been only too happy to accept their ribbing and even join in when all he had ever won before was “Most Likely to Be Mistaken for a Padawan” just 3 months after his Knighting. He’d laughed it off then (and promptly began growing out his beard), but M.I.L.K. was a far more high-profile award and it’s not like it’s even for something he did.

“You know,” Bant had said to him, pityingly, after he’d spent an entire day hiding in the Healing Halls, “I think half the reason everyone gives you such bantha-shit is because you react so badly. You’re so humble and you never let us give you any sort of recognition for the bigger things, so we’re all just relishing the chance to shove this one in your face. And the more you protest, the more everyone’s going to try and make you see that you deserve it.”

Obi-Wan had only been able to pout—if his oldest friend wasn’t on his side, what hope did he have? Even Anakin has proven to be absolutely insufferable about the whole thing, puffing up his chest with pride and jealously hovering over Obi-Wan during every mealtime and mediation session, as if some stray initiate with stars in their eyes would come to steal him away.

The last straw comes as he checks out an old geopolitical history tome from the Archives. Madame Jocasta looks him up and down and informs him that Master Dooku had won the honor, back when he was still a part of the Order, and so had Master Qui-Gon once upon a time.

“They would be proud to see you carrying on a lineage tradition,” she tells him, before her eyes go fond and distant. “Yan was just so handsome and charming—and oh did he know it—”

Obi-Wan clutches the flimsiplast to his chest and darts into a side corridor to escape. He takes the next couple of twists and turns at breakneck speed, hoping to lose the Archivist before she can launch into another retelling of her torrid affair with Yan Dooku when they were both padawans (Obi-Wan really, really doesn’t need to know how acrobatic his grandmaster was). He nearly runs smack-dab into Anakin, who is hunched over and frowning at a holobook, shaping the words in a slow, nearly silent whisper. Anakin has gotten a lot better with written Basic since first coming to the Temple, the result of years of hard work and extra tutoring. It had been such a fun realization in those first few weeks after Ryloth, that the reason his padawan hadn’t been finishing his required readings and essays was because slaves weren’t taught to kriffing read, thanks again for the heads up, oh wise and learned Jedi High Council. However, while he is now perfectly capable of reading silently, Anakin still prefers to hear the words aloud, says it reminds him of the oral histories the grandmothers and grandfathers of the Mos Espa slave quarters used to recite every night.

Anakin looks up and freezes. Obi-Wan freezes as well, desperately praying that Madam Jocasta won’t follow him and continue her fond recollections.

“Master? Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not—why would you ask—wait is that a copy of Revan’s Poetic Meditations?”

“Maybe,” Anakin hedges. Obi-Wan frowns.

“I thought that was forbidden for padawans.”

“It’s one of your favorites though.”

“Yes, but I’m not a padawan. Does Madam Jocasta know you’re reading that?”

“Does Madam Jocasta know that you’re hiding from her in the poetry section?” Anakin challenges. Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

“Are you trying to imply that you’d call her over here and expose us both? That’s a terrible bluff, you know. I may get a short scolding and some momentary discomfort, but I don’t even want to know what she’d do to a padawan caught reading heretical love poems.” Anakin scowls and slouches down further in the reading armchair. Obi-Wan settles down in the armchair opposite, unable to contain his curiosity. “Why are you reading that? I didn’t get the sense that you really like written poetry.”

“I don’t. But you do. I guess I was just trying to figure out what all the fuss was about.” Anakin pauses, bites his lip, and then looks to Obi-Wan, strangely shy all of a sudden. “Would you—would you like me to read some of it to you? Like aloud?”

“Oh! If you wouldn’t mind, that would be lovely.”

Anakin radiates satisfaction as he flips to a particularly…well, passionate sonnet. It’s not poem Obi-Wan would have picked if Qui-Gon had ever asked him to read poetry aloud, but he supposes that everyone has their own preferences. Obi-Wan listens with half an ear—this is the third time this month that Anakin has offered to recite aloud some of Obi-Wan’s favorite works. He doesn’t know what has inspired this bout of intellectualism in Anakin, but he finds that he quite likes it.

Despite himself, Obi-Wan enjoys the afternoon. Anakin has a beautiful voice, now that it has finally stopped cracking, and he does enjoy Revan’s Poetic Meditations, even the racier one that Anakin’s chosen. When it’s over, his shoulders are looser than they’ve been in days and he cheerily suggests a trip back to the training salles. And, yes, okay he and Anakin spend a frightening proportion of their time planetside in the salles, but in his defense, it’s one of maybe three ways that can be reliably counted on to exhaust Anakin’s boundless energy.

He regrets his decision as soon as they arrive—in the peace of the last few hours, he has somehow managed to forget one of the most annoying parts of the whole M.I.L.K. ordeal: the gaggle of wide-eyed padawans and initiates who now follow him everywhere he goes. When Obi-Wan goes to remove his tunics, as he always does for their spars, it sets off a fresh round of oohs and aahs from their audience.

Anakin and Obi-Wan turn a similar shade of pink.

“Cover up,” Anakin growls, stomping over angrily to shove the tunics back into Obi-Wan’s arms. Obi-Wan is too relieved to even rebuke Anakin for his tone, hastily pulling his linen undershirt over his head. Neither of them miss the faint sighs of disappointment that follow this movement.

A few more days and things have mostly returned to an even keel, the well-wishers and gawkers starting to trickle off and Obi-Wan’s state of perpetual, fully-body embarrassment now reduced to only an occasional blush or two. He starts to feel less like a tauntaun in a zoo when he ventures to the salles, as all the younglings find other responsibilities and duties to take up their time. Except for Ahsoka, who has somehow intuited their training schedule and joins them every morning and afternoon in the training salles, sitting cross legged to the side as she watches them with rapt attention. In her defense, she seems do this more to watch Anakin rather than stalk Obi-Wan, so he doesn’t let it bother him too much.

Today, they have gotten up particularly early and have moved to one of the smaller meditation halls to engage in a moving mediation session—a blend of nimdara, Temple katas, and Obi-Wan’s own inventions that they have perfected over the years to suit Anakin’s needs. They still try traditional mediation every now and then, as a gesture of peace for the more traditional members of the Council who frown fiercely every time they witness one of Anakin’s meditation sessions, but as Obi-Wan suspected all those years ago, movement seems to be the only way to truly calm the noise in Anakin’s head. And after Healer J’kar, Anakin’s Mind Healer, had confirmed that the moving mediation sessions were an excellent way for Anakin to process and handle emotional turmoil, that had shut up the loudest of their detractors.

 Somehow, despite the early hour and the change in location, Ahsoka is waiting for them. She looks up as they arrive, expectant and impatient. She notices the lack of sabers at their belts and frowns.

She silently watches as they remove their outer robes and slowly begin to stretch.

Anakin drops the first few layers of his shields, opening himself up to the Force and to Obi-Wan. He’ll never admit it, but this is Obi-Wan’s favorite part of these mediations and he basks in the moment like a tooka stretching in the sunlight—while particularly strong emotions can still bleed across and Anakin has no problem using their connection for voluntary communication, the bond no longer sings with all of Anakin’s conscious and unconscious thoughts. Anakin has kept his mind tightly shielded ever since he perfected his shields at age 14 (the Temple masters really started emphasizing shield work around puberty—for obvious reasons, a perpetually horny teenage Force-sensitives constantly projecting their every thought and emotion into the world is a terrible idea), only allowing Obi-Wan even halfway deep during their meditation sessions. It’s still stronger than most Master-Padawan bonds, but Obi-Wan is ashamed to admit that he misses the feeling of Anakin in his mind.

They close their eyes and move as one. It’s not really a kata, with a prescribed set of movements. It’s more about opening oneself up and going where the Force wills—following ebbs and flows in the currents around them. There is no thinking, only doing, as Obi-Wan extends a leg and pushes his arm away, then pauses and listens to the whispers of the Force, bringing it back to center. Occasionally, Obi-Wan will use the open bond to nudge Anakin, to silently remind him to focus on the here and now or release a certain feeling to the Force, but for the most part it is just a matter of being.

They sink deep into themselves and the Force and, once satisfied with Anakin’s progress, Obi-Wan begins to carefully lead them out of the depths, like a suit-less swimmer steadily, slowly rising to the surface to avoid sudden pressure changes.

Obi-Wan’s consciousness slowly comes back to the here and now, his soul at peace.

“What was that?” Ahsoka asks, curiously, her voice crackling loudly across the stillness of the room. Anakin opens his own eyes and looks to Obi-Wan for confirmation. He shrugs, allowing Anakin to make the call.

“It’s a form of meditation,” Anakin says, finally. Ahsoka stands, walking toward them to evaluate them critically.

“That’s not like any meditation I’ve ever seen,” she says, doubtfully.

“Uh, yeah, probably not. It’s an adaptation. Master Obi-Wan says everyone learns differently and this is what works best for me.”

“Huh,” Ahsoka says. She considers this for a moment. “Do you think I could learn?”

“Sure,” he replies easily, as Obi-Wan watches with no small amount of amusement. He has a feeling of what’s coming next and knows that his padawan has completely misunderstood the initiate’s question.

“Oh good! You’ll teach me then?”

“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant!” Anakin sputters, taken aback. He looks wildly to Obi-Wan for backup, but Obi-Wan only pastes a bland smile on his face. Anakin narrows his eyes. Traitor! he hisses across the bond.

“Why not?” Ahsoka pouts. “I’m a good student, everyone says so, even Master Yoda. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“I just—I don’t. I’m really busy with my training and padawan duties. Plus, I’ve never taught anyone before, so I wouldn’t have the first clue what I’m supposed to do,” Anakin replies, both of which are technically true. But all senior padawans are required to spend at least one week of every month helping out around the Temple, and since beginning his rotations with the creche, Anakin has been a smash hit with the younglings. He’s patient with them in a way he rarely is for other aspects of life and enjoys inventing sweet stories and simple, energetic games that will capture their attention. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Anakin’s love of saber training and determination to change the galaxy in the most dramatic way possible, Obi-Wan thinks he would have made an excellent crechemaster.

Ahsoka turns to Obi-Wan and he holds his arms up, palms facing outward in a universal gesture of surrender.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, eyes sparkling. “This is between you two.”

“Just you wait, I’ll convince you,” she harrumphs, marching off determinedly. Anakin watches her go with something akin to horror in his eyes.

“I was never that bad as a youngling,” Anakin says, frowning. Obi-Wan smiles and claps him on the back as they gather their robes and begin the walk back to their quarters.  

“I think you are misremembering your youth, padawan mine,” he responds. Anakin scowls, looking as if he is ready to protest. “Ah, ah, don’t even try, mister-I-was-arrested-for-illegal-street-racing.”

“You’re never going to let that one go, are you?” Anakin sighs.

“One? I seem to remember having to pick you up from CorSec five times.”

“Four. The fifth time doesn’t count,” Anakin laughs and bumps shoulders with him companionably. Obi-Wan looks over to him and is disoriented to remember that he no longer needs to look down. Anakin is just a smidge taller than his old master, but if his continually voracious appetite is any indication, he’ll soon continue his growth spurt and surpass his Master by leaps and bounds. Obi-Wan sighs to himself—he’s not even short by human male standards, it’s just that he has had the terrible misfortune of being surrounded by freakishly tall people his whole life. He blames Qui-Gon—he’s not sure how, but this is definitely Qui-Gon’s fault. Somehow.

“Oh, and why is that?” Obi-Wan asks, keeping up his part of the banter.

“Because technically I had gotten away cleanly that time, I just got picked up for something else a few days later and the booking officer happened to recognize me,” Anakin declares.

“Oh, Anakin, you truly are a master at getting caught.”

“Is this why your plans always somehow involve me getting caught?”  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, my very young padawan,” Obi-Wan responds airily. Real consternation flares to life across the bond for a quick moment, before it is quickly smothered. Obi-Wan almost pauses in confusion, uncertain what he said that prompted such frustration, but then returns to their easy sniping. “Come—we should get some breakfast in you before your session with Healer J’Kai—I would not want him to ever have to deal with you when you’re on an empty stomach.”

“You just like to make fun of my appetite because you know it means I’m about to have another growth spurt,” Anakin retorts. He grins, putting on a voice of mock solemnity. “You know, maybe I should talk to Healer J’Kai about it—it’s an awfully heavy burden, knowing that I shall soon dwarf my poor, short master. How ever will I cope?”  

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious, padawan.” Secretly, Obi-Wan is just relieved that this is something they can joke about nowadays—during the first few months, Anakin’s visits with Healer J’Kai were a source of sullen, stony silences, and Obi-Wan had half-despaired that he had made the wrong call, that the visits were doing more harm than good. But ever so slowly, Anakin had come to resent his visits less and less and then, very suddenly in the last half a year, look forward to them. Obi-Wan doesn’t know what they discuss—Anakin’s never volunteered the information and he doesn’t press, even on those days when Anakin comes back, drained and heavy-hearted, and all Obi-Wan can do is prepare him a steaming hot cup of comforting tzai.Whatever it is, these days his padawan seems more balanced, less prone to angry outbursts or ill-thought out tantrums. Well. He’s still Anakin so there are outbursts and tantrums aplenty, but they seem different somehow—the word that comes to mind is shallow, as if previously there had been this well of darkness simmering just underneath Anakin’s emotional explosions. Before, Obi-Wan never quite knew what to do or expect, but now he can see through the clear waters, to the bottom not far below, and knows the storms will pass. “Tell Healer J’Kai hello for me. And, please for the love of the Force, don’t be late to your Galactic History course again?”

“No promises!” Anakin says cheekily, disappearing around the corner.

***

True to her word, Ahsoka eventually wears Anakin down and he reluctantly offers her a few lessons on moving meditation.

He lasts longer than Obi-Wan had first guessed, it’s more than a year, closer to two before he yields—though Obi-Wan supposes the constant mission deployments and lack of time spent at the Temple certainly help. The Galaxy is getting restless, whispers of war everywhere and the Jedi can barely keep up, the number and danger of their missions increasing in equal measure. Even new, inexperienced Knights like Aayla are being sent out on treacherous forays to half-wild planets and Obi-Wan has had to talk Quin down from stealing a ship from the Temple hangar to follow her too many times.

 The increased danger and Darkness clouding the Force makes Obi-Wan nervous, especially as the years go on and Anakin’s Knighting begins to take shape. He’s not ready, not quite yet (no matter what Anakin claims) but soon, maybe another few years.  Obi-Wan simply can’t imagine Knighting his padawan in this new, darker Galaxy. Knowing his padawan, Anakin will probably throw all caution to wind and just sashay straight into danger, only this time Obi-Wan will not be there to watch his back.

He shakes his head to dispel his dark thoughts and refocuses on the Council in front of him—he promised Anakin that he would stop by the meditation halls to observe Ahsoka’s progress after almost a full year of lessons. Anakin is adorably concerned with making sure he’s being a good teacher, but probably also thinks this will help his very, very, very determined campaign to convince Obi-Wan that he is ready for Knighthood at age 19.

However, if Obi-Wan wants to make it in time, he’ll have to hurry the Council along—they’re certainly not going to do it without his help.

“For a mission off planet, you have petitioned,” Master Yoda says, opening the conversation for the Council, as he is wont to do.

“Yes, Masters. My padawan and I have been on planet for a long time, recovering from our last mission as per the Healers’ orders, but it is now time for us to venture out again.”

“Really? And this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Padawan voting event happening next week?” Master Billaba says, a smile threatening to break out on her face. The other Councilors seem to be fighting similar signs of amusement.

Obi-Wan winces internally—as usual, Master Billaba is not wrong. The Annual Master Superlatives are set to be released to the padawans in a few days and Obi-Wan needs to be off-planet before that happens. He’s won M.I.L.K. for two years in a row now and he has a sinking suspicion that it’s about to become three—as a senior Padawan, Anakin is most likely on the super-secret committee that tallies the votes and he has been acting suspiciously smug the past few days. And really, whoever had thought that Anakin would be a good idea to help run a supposedly top-secret event clearly either didn’t really want to keep said event secret or had ingested a few too many of Master Yoda’s mushrooms.

Obi-Wans’s not hiding, no matter what Bant or Quin say, he’s just making a strategic retreat.  

“It is difficult to stay cooped up on planet for long stretches,” is all he offers. A snort echoes from an unknown Councilor somewhere behind Obi-Wan. He politely chooses not to comment.

“There are only two available at the moment that are appropriate to yours and Padawan Skywalkers’ strengths,” Master Eeth Koth says. Obi-Wan nods—that’s Council code for we-have-other-missions-but-it-will-be-a-cold-day-on-Mustafar-before-we-ever-give-Skywalker-an-undercover-mission-assignment-again-once-was-enough-dear-Force.

“There is a border dispute on Ansion and a…security and investigation assignment for a high profile Senator,” Master Windu explains.

“I’m sure either would be fine,” Obi-Wan responds. “But I’m not sure a third trip to Ansion would be helpful for either party—if our first two attempts to mediate a resolution to the conflict failed I’m not sure this time would make any difference. Which Senator?”

“Senator Amidala of Naboo.” Master Windu’s voice is strangely slow, reluctant. He won’t meet Obi-Wan’s eyes and this is the moment Obi-Wan’s hackles raise. “Her passionate opposition to the Military Creation Act has led to some disturbing death threats and incidences. She is preparing to travel back to Coruscant soon and her security personnel fear that their countermeasures may not be sufficient to counter the threat.”

“She is, ah, determined not to accept Jedi protection,” Master Gallia continues. “Fears what the optics of hiding behind bodyguards might do for her cause. But…it was suggested that as an old friend and ally, your presence might be less intrusive.”

“It’s a reasonable argument,” Obi-Wan says warily. “Why the reluctance?”

“The Chancellor specifically recommended you and Skywalker take the assignment,” Master Windu finally says, after a long pause. Obi-Wan’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed.  

Despite his belief many years ago that the Chancellor would immediately listen to the Council and cease contact with Anakin without argument, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d strongly resisted their separation decree, pushing and pushing for weeks, months until Master Windu had snapped and explicitly threatened to go to the press. Palpatine’s reluctance to surrender had discomfited Obi-Wan and the Council, even those members who had initially counselled restraint, sure that it had all been a misunderstanding, an overzealous politician getting a little too friendly in his attempts to nurture a promising young boy. The Council has never quite looked at the Chancellor the same way—sure, they’d worked with him for the good of the Republic, but they’d noticeably cooled towards him, to such a degree that even outsiders like Senator Organa had commented on the matter. There’s even been some debate over whether or not to inform the general public, once Palpatine leaves office in a few short months. Master Plo Koon has been a particular advocate of this strategy—“What of all the Junior Apprentice Legislators and Senatorial aides who do not have the entire Jedi Order to act a shield between them and a clearly disturbed man?”—and has been ever since the issue first came to light. He’s only become more vocal now that Anakin has reached the age of majority, as the only real opposition to his strategy had come from the fact that it would impossible to conceal Anakin’s identity. There really weren’t very many padawans who interacted with the Senate, fewer still with the Chancellor of the Republic, and Anakin had gone from visiting the Chancellor nearly every month to not all, overnight. It really wasn’t a difficult leap for a determined political reporter with access to Senate security cams.

“Well then,” Obi-Wan says in a clipped voice, breaking the tense silence. “I think it is best we go to Ansion then—if my memory serves me right, Senator Amidala is more than capable of defending herself should she feel threatened.”

“Our thoughts exactly,” Master Plo Koon responds. “You’ll find the briefing on your datapad. May the Force be with you.”

Obi-Wan bows his head in acknowledgement and beats a hasty retreat out of the Council Chambers—though not too hasty, Obi-Wan is not trying to be disrespectful. He just lengthens his strides a tad and glances down at his pad, skimming over the mission report and pretending to give it intense concentration, to draw their attention away from the pace of his exit. As soon as the doors close behind him, he tucks the datapad away and manages to make up for lost time with a truly impressive sprint through the Temple.

 He takes a crucial few minutes to recompose himself outside of the meditation rooms—he’s always lecturing Anakin on maintaining a “Jedi-like-comportment” after catching him running recklessly through the halls and Anakin would revel in the chance to poke holes in his lectures. He opens the doors once he is sure the flush has faded from his cheeks and is greeted with the sight of Ahsoka and Anakin, moving fluidly through a meditation session on the floor in front of him.

Anakin’s top shield layers are down again, projecting overwhelming waves of peace and harmony. Obi-Wan winces. Anakin is trying to be helpful, he thinks, to project calm the way Obi-Wan does for him, but because he’s Anakin it’s less like calm and more like someone decided to take up a gimmer stick and beat the feelings into his surroundings—“BE PEACEFUL! BE CALM! FIND SOLACE!” shouted into the void. Obi-Wan carefully sinks into his bond with Anakin and knocks politely, waiting for Anakin to notice him. His shields are constantly shifting and ever-changing, like a powerful sandstorm enveloping his whole being, but Obi-Wan just waits. Sure enough, Anakin notices him and slowly, the storm begins to calm in one small portion of his shields, a perfectly Obi-Wan shaped doorway.

You need to stop projecting, Obi-Wan informs him, once inside. It can be distracting if you’re not used to it.

Ah, whoops?

No worries, you were doing fine apart from that.

Obi-Wan withdraws and watches as Anakin’s brow furrows in concentration, the feeling of a crashing tsunami of peace muting to a tolerable level. Anakin’s stretches out a few feelers into the Force and his brow smooths over once more, leading Ahsoka through the rest of the session with poise and patience.

“Well done,” Obi-Wan says once Anakin and Ahsoka finish. Ahsoka beams and hurries to pack up her belongings—they went a little longer than anticipated, likely waiting for Obi-Wan, and she’s running late to her lessons.

“Thanks, Master Kenobi!” she chirps happily as she disappears. “See ya, Skyguy!”

Anakin beams back and turns to Obi-Wan with a shifty look in his eyes.

“She’s really talented, you know,” he confides. “Even if she can get a little snippy sometimes. I think you two would work well together.”

Ah. It seems that pointers were not the only reason he was invited to this meditation session—bless his padawan’s little heart.

“Trying to fob me off on another apprentice so soon?”

“I mean, not yet, obviously. But in a few more years, you’ll be a free Knight,” Anakin hints, subtle-as-a-block-of-duracrete. At Obi-Wan’s unimpressed look, he corrects himself. “Probably. She’ll be ready by then, and I’ve heard Master Yoda saying that she’ll need an unconventional Master. I think he’s trying to play matchmaker.”

“He does like to do that,” Obi-Wan agrees, wryly. He debates laying out his suspicions explicitly, then decides it will much more amusing to hint at it and see how long it takes Anakin to catch up. “Somehow, I don’t think I was the unconventional Master he was referring to.”   

“Really? Who else do you think it could be? Has another Knight said something?” Anakin continues, oblivious. A storm passes over his face, his eyebrows slanting down violently. “You should really tell me. I don’t think just anybody would be good enough for her.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. As you said, we have a few more years and I think Master Yoda will make his intentions clear when the time is right. Besides, you’ll not have any time to worry about it for now. We’ve just been assigned a mission—a border dispute on Ansion.”

“Again?” Anakin groans. “Haven’t we been there at least three times already? I swear to the Force, if it’s the same 11-kilometer strip of swampland…!”

“Look at this way,” Obi-Wan says, very reasonably, he thinks. “You’re making friends—the prime minister apparently remembered your name.”

“Ugh! Don’t tell me he specifically requested us?” Obi-Wan says nothing—technically not, but he knows Anakin will take his silence as agreement.

“Supposedly Ansion is in the midst of its most beautiful season—we’ve never visited during this point in their orbital period,” is what Obi-Wan finally goes with. Anakin snorts.

“Yeah, okay. Slightly less gray and cloudy for Ansion is still pretty gray and cloudy.”

“Be grateful, dear padawan. It may be dreary, but at least Ansion doesn’t have any sand.” Anakin’s face twists, his dislike of the overcast skies of Ansion briefly warring with his intense hatred of sand. Obi-Wan is unable to stop his chuckle.

“Oh, my young padawan, you’re so predictable. If I ever needed to hide something from you, I would just bury it under a mountain sand.”

A flash of annoyance crosses Anakin’s face, breaking the easy back and forth. Obi-Wan jerks back physically, feeling as if he has missed in a step in a kata that he’s known half his life.

“I’m not that young, you know,” Anakin says. His voice is firm, authoritative.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan responds, bemused. He grasps for some way to restore Anakin’s earlier good humor. “I only meant that compared to me, your old, decrepit master, you are very young indeed.”

If anything, Anakin frowns harder.

“You’re not old,” he insists. “And I’m not that much younger than you.”

“I’m nearly double your age, Anakin.” At this point, Obi-Wan is completely perplexed.

“Yeah, but aren’t you and Master Yoda always telling me that age and experience are two different things? I’ve been on more important and dangerous missions than any other padawan my age—more than most Knights!”

Now Obi-Wan’s annoyance flares to match Anakin’s. He’d asked Shmi once if Anakin’s sudden, loud insistence on being considered a mature adult, ready for Knighthood, was a consequence of his upbringing on Tatooine—perhaps they marked the transition from child to adult differently?—but Shmi had only shaken her head and quirked a corner of her lips. He’s tried discussing the issue with Anakin, explaining why he believed Anakin was not quite ready for Knighthood—multiple times, but no matter how he tries to break it down, his apprentice keeps bringing it up. Over and over and over again.

“Enough, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, harsher than he means to. “We’ve had this discussion—too many times. You’re not ready for the Trials and that’s all I’ll say on the matter for right now. It’s too early in the morning for this.”

Anakin looks mutinous, but he clenches a fist and expels his boiling frustration into the Force. They both inhale and exhale for two seconds, staring each other down. Obi-Wan closes his eyes and recollects himself.

When he opens his eyes again, he pastes on a gentle, carefully constructed smile and a kind, teasing tone.

“At any rate, we’ll need to spend the rest of today preparing and reviewing the brief together. It’s extensive. And a little…dry.”

Anakin pauses, evaluates, then seems to decide to just take the olive branch.

“Oh c’mon, Master Mundi made the mission briefing too?” he groans—though his usual overblown dramatics are muted, a little forced. Ki Adi Mundi’s voluminous briefings are legendary. “Wow, someone on the Council must really have it out for us this time around. What did I ever do to Master Windu to deserve this?”

“Do you want the short list or the long list?” Obi-Wan says, lip twitching with real humor this time. It works as hoped, pulling Anakin out of his dark mood as quickly as he descended into it.  

“Hey! You totally helped with the whole speeder thing last month—”

“I was not helping!”

“Oh c’mon, Master. You’re telling me it was a complete coincidence you decided to engage Master Windu in an intense discussion on the ethical and logistical challenges of installing a Silurvian poison garden in the Temple just when I needed a couple more minutes to make a clean getaway?”

“It would be an excellent addition to the Temple garden-scape—it’ll add some variety,” Obi-Wan insists innocently. “No more of your complaints, young one, you have a lot to take care of before we leave.”

“Not that young,” Anakin reminds him, as he disappears around the next column. “But when we land and it’s still just as dim and humid and terrible as ever, you’ll see I’m right!”  

“We will see.” There is a distinct possibility that Anakin was wrong. He’d been wrong plenty of times before, after all.

***

Anakin is right.  

Obi-Wan sighs to himself. As much as he enjoys teasing his padawan, he really doesn’t like these missions or the planet any more than Anakin himself. On top of being right about the weather, Anakin is also right about why the Ansionian central government had requested Jedi help—they are still arguing over the same 11 kilometer stretch of swampland. It’s really more of a cultural dispute than a border one—the nomadic Alwari don’t really understand the concept of borders—which makes the problem difficult, if not impossible to solve if neither side is willing to even entertain their counterparts’ point of view.

It’s a frustrating day, which very nearly ends with Obi-Wan snapping at the government negotiation team, until Anakin half-way opens his shields, almost as if he is engaged in a meditation session, and hesitantly projects worry-calm-worry. Obi-Wan inhales deeply, restrains himself, and offers his thanks. Anakin beams with pride and chooses to leave his top shield layers lowered for the rest of the day— it’s only in the space around the bond, the rest of his shields are still as strong as ever and so Obi-Wan knows that this is a deliberate choice.

Obi-Wan restrains a smile (the nomadic people who lay claim to the swamp are going on and on about the unfair slights perpetuated on them over hundreds of years and it would be very undiplomatic to suddenly interrupt their rant with his happiness) and feeds a feeling of fond-warmth-i-missed-this across the bond as a thank you. Anakin is not nearly as successful at restraining his facial expression, unfortunately, and Obi-Wan is forced to spend the next hour explaining away Anakin’s maniacal smile to their hosts.

When he finally makes it to his room, after sitting through the rest of the negotiations and then having to make idle chit-chat for an interminable diplomatic banquet, he cannot even be bothered to attempt his evening meditation. He bats away Anakin’s pointed amusement.

“Yes, yes, I know, do as I say, not as I do. I’m giving you a free pass on meditation, just take it and go to bed,” Obi-Wan grumbles in return. He’s asleep before Anakin has fully left the room.

Hours later, pain and terror abruptly pull Obi-Wan from his sleep.

He lies perfectly still for a moment, panting and staring at the ceiling in half-asleep confusion, not quite sure what is happening. Then, another spike and he is rolling out of bed, scrambling to his feet, not even bothering with boots or tabards as he sprints across the hall to Anakin’s room. There’s no thought, only instinct. He skids to a stop at Anakin’s bedside, where his padawan lies, perfectly rigid, face contorted in a rictus of pain.

“Anakin, wake up,” Obi-Wan whisper-shouts, both in the real world and across their bond. He grips Anakin’s shoulders and shakes. “Anakin, dear one, wake up, you need to wake up!”

All at once, Anakin’s eyes snap open and he sits bolt upright, half-panting, half-sobbing. He seems disorientated for a moment and Obi-Wan squeezes his shoulders to ground him. One of Anakin’s hands flies upwards and he covers Obi-Wan’s hand with his own.

“I—I saw…” Anakin can barely speak.

“Shh, shh,” Obi-Wan soothes, used to this routine by now, even if this one seems worse than normal. “Don’t try to speak just yet, you need to calm down. It was just a dream, I’m here, you’re safe.”

“You don’t understand,” Anakin gasps. “It was—she was begging me for help and I couldn’t…I couldn’t do anything! I have to do something—I can’t…”

“Anakin, calm down, please. Who is she?”

Anakin looks up to Obi-Wan with wide eyes and tear-stained cheeks and Obi-Wan’s heart drops to the bottom of his feet. There is only one person in the Galaxy whose pain and suffering would cause this level of distress.

“I saw—it’s my mother.”

Chapter Text

Anakin paces back and forth in front of the com system, his shoulders hunched up near his ears and his movements sharp, jerky. Obi-Wan knows he should intervene and tell Anakin yet again to calm down, think rationally, but it hasn’t worked yet and he has no proof that this time would be any different. And it is exhausting, preaching inner peace when Obi-Wan feels none of that peace himself. Really, the only thing that would offer them any solace in this moment is if they could see and hear Shmi, even if it was only over the tenuous connection of a flickering com call. But such relief eludes them, despite multiple attempts over the four hours since Obi-Wan had come crashing into Anakin’s room.

“Why isn’t she picking up?” Anakin’s fists clench open and close rhythmically. “She should have picked up by now!”

“It’s the middle of the day cycle on Tatooine—she’s probably at the shop and being watched by Watto,” Obi-Wan reminds him for the umpteenth time.

“That shouldn’t matter, she should know that this is important! That I wouldn’t com her off-schedule unless it was important!” Anakin stops pacing abruptly. “I should take a ship to Tatooine.”

“Padawan, stop, you’re being ridiculous,” Obi-Wan says, sharply. “I understand your concern, but let’s maybe give your mother a standard day to return our calls before launching ourselves on a week-long journey to the opposite end of the galaxy—what if she were to call when we were in hyperspace?”

Anakin scowls and resumes his pacing.

Finally, the commlink gives a faint beep and Anakin dives for it, typing in the accept code with shaking fingers. The holo flickers once, twice, then solidifies into the supremely irritated visage of one Shmi Skywalker.

Obi-Wan thinks it is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“Anakin, Obi-Wan,” she greets brusquely.  She’s dressed in a simple, linen getup, a wrap around her head to protect her eyes and hair from the sand of the desert. She must be deep in the wastes, on one of her visits to the local moisture farmers—they’d place an order with Watto’s shop and a few days later, Shmi would walk into the desert, loaded down with a hover-sled piled high with junk and scrap parts to hide the slaves beneath. The farmers were good people—poor, practical, but determined to help in any way they could.

“Mom!” Anakin’s voice is achingly relieved. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“As safe as I can be,” Shmi replies dismissively. Anakin makes a worried noise and her eyes sharpen. “Peace, Ani, I’m at the Lars farm.”

“Good. They can help you run.”

“What is this? I’m not going anywhere—there’s still plenty of work to be done.”

“You don’t understand, Mom. I—I’ve had another dream. It was bad, very, very bad. You’re in danger, terrible danger. You have to leave.”

“Oh, Ani, I’m always in danger,” Shmi sighs. “I will take your warning under consideration, but if I flinched at every threat and shadow, I would not be standing here today. And I know you have blessed previously, but Ar-Amu’s gifts can be easy to misinterpret.”

“No, no, Mom, please listen! This dream is different—it’s so much worse than usual. Why would Ar-Amu have given me this gift if not to save you?”

“You must understand what you’re asking of me! If I run, our ruse would ne up, I’d never be able to return. There are people here who are relying on me—would you have me save myself and abandon them to Depur’s mercy?”

“Shmi, is something wrong—” A worried voice interrupts from offscreen. Obi-Wan cannot see the speaker, but she sounds young, female. He briefly wonders at who she is and her importance to Shmi—he can count on one hand the number of beings that Shmi trusts totally and absolutely, the kind of trust it takes to allow this girl to sit in and listen to this call. And two of those trusted beings are her sons and the third is a karking droid.

“No more than usual,” Shmi says dismissively. “I’m fine, thank you, Beru.”

“Mom, please,” Anakin pleads, horrified and helpless.  

“Shmi, I think you should listen to Anakin,” Obi-Wan interjects, stepping into frame. Shmi does a double take and stares at him, no doubt taking in his wrinkled robes and dark under-eye circles. “If not for yourself, then surely for the people relying on you? If you are discovered, do you really think the Hutts won’t know that you had help? They didn’t carve out a small empire by being stupid.” And oh yes, Obi-Wan has been dealing with Skywalkers for ten years and he knows exactly which pressure points to twist, press, and hold. He sees her pause, considering, and knows he has found a chink in her armor.

“That’s hardly a fair question.”

“I never claimed to fight fair.”

“There’s a hundred different interpretations of such a vision,” Shmi argues. “There’s a very, very slim chance that it’s as literal and straightforward as you believe. We often don’t fully understand visions until long after they have come to pass.”

“If we wait for it to come true, it will be too late,” Anakin interjects, voice hoarse. He closes his eyes, as if re-watching the vision playing out in front of him.

“Normally I would agree with you, Shmi,” Obi-Wan adds. “In my padawan days, I too was often plagued with dark visions. I found them confusing and frightening, but eventually came to believe that they could not be understood, let alone averted. That what the Force willed to be would be. But I wouldn’t be willing to bet everything on that belief, especially when the thing I’m gambling with is your life and the lives of the entire network you’ve built. It is not my decision, of course, but I strongly believe that you should leave Tatooine with the greatest possible haste.”

Shmi regards them both for a long, unbroken moment. Finally, she bows her head.

“There’s a Weequay pirate crew based out of Florrum that owes me a favor. If I can get a message to them, I can be off-planet by evening-song tomorrow.”  

Anakin collapses in on himself and begins to sob openly.

“Thank you, Mom, thank you for listening,” he says brokenly.

“Make sure to take anyone at the homestead with you,” Obi-Wan reminds her softly. “It’ll be the last place the Hutts can track you to and they’ll show no mercy.”

“Don’t worry, Shmi,” the same, girlish voice says from off-screen, firm, unyielding. “We always knew that this was a possibility. We’re ready to go, as soon as you give the word.” There’s some rustling, presumably as Beru stands up to alert the other members of the farm and start making the necessary preparations.

“I’ll let you know as soon as we’re off planet,” Shmi declares. “May Ar-Amu guide your footsteps.”

“And may the Force be with you.”

The transmission cuts off, as abrupt as its start. Anakin and Obi-Wan are left alone in the darkness of early-morning, silent and tense.

“Now we just wait,” Anakin says, bleakly. Obi-Wan stands up and tilts his face to look Anakin in the eye—and he has to crane his neck now, for Force’s sake when had that happened? He opens up his side of the bond and brushes reassurance across the bridge.

“And now we wait,” Obi-Wan agrees, forcing certainty and calm into his words. “We have done all we can for now—the rest is up to Shmi. We should…we should try and get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Anakin replies, listlessly. Neither of them move, staring vacantly into the space where Shmi’s image had been a few short minutes earlier.

They stay there the rest of the night and well into the middle of the day.

***

The next few days are nothing short of torture. Shmi might be dead or worse and they must sit here, listening to banal pleasantries and petty squabbles. After the first day, they both resolve to leave their shields around the bond down, so that they can offer each other constant reassurance. It’s not healthy—Obi-Wan can feel their minds twining around each other, slowly growing so close that he is half-afraid that they will never be able to disentangle themselves—but Anakin is hurting and Obi-Wan decides that this is what matters. It is all that matters.

 Halfway through the third day of waiting, his comlink buzzes against his thigh and Obi-Wan feels as if he is abruptly waking up, every nerve and muscle bursting with tightly-contained energy. He immediately interrupts the latest round of “Once a group of children stole our chieftains’ prize hunting cat and dressed it up in booties.”  

“An urgent com,” he says, using his very best Important Jedi Business voice. Both parties trip over themselves to help, granting a short recess to the proceedings. Obi-Wan motions to Anakin and they quickly stride out of the rooms set aside for the negotiations. They reach Obi-Wan’s bedroom in record time and with a deep breath, he sets down the small disk and activates it.  

Needless to say, the Weequay male that flickers into life in front of them is both entirely unexpected and entirely unwelcome. The male places his hand on his hips and surveys them critically, and distantly Obi-Wan can hear Threepio fretting in the background.

“Are you quite sure you should be doing this?” Threepio’s voice echoes through the shocked silence. “I am going to get Miss Beru, surely she will know what to do!”

The Weequay grins.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Shmi never told me she was friends with Jedi,” he says, chortling.

“Hondo, what are—Hondo, give that back! That’s not yours, you’re snooping!” Beru’s voice comes angrily from offscreen. The Weequay, Hondo evidently, waves a hand.  

“I didn’t want to snoop, per se,” he says, not quite sounding apologetic enough, “you seem like trustworthy folk. But I must make sure. It’s just business, you understand.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan glance warily at each other. After an intense inter-bond argument over how to handle the matter, Obi-Wan clears his throat.

“I am Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi—to whom do I have the pleasure of talking to?”

“Ah! Look at those manners. Now you are decent fellow, I can already tell. Hondo Ohnaka, at your service.” He does a dramatic bow, raising his eyes expectantly. Obi-Wan nods solemnly, respectfully, as if he has the faintest idea who this ‘Hondo’ is.

“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ohnaka. After all I’ve heard about you, I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get to meet the man behind the legend.”

Anakin is looking at him as if he’s grown a second head and Obi-Wan subtly drives his heel into Anakin’s instep off-camera. He knows he’s laying it on thick, but Anakin’s incredulity certainly isn’t helping sell it.

“Oh really?” Hondo looks gleeful.

“You are the great scourge of Florrum, are you not? You know, as a Jedi, I get to meet a lot of interesting people in my line of work, but I think you might be amongst the most interesting.”

“You, my dear sir, are a man of discerning taste,” Hondo says, wagging a finger at him. Obi-Wan inclines his head in acknowledgement.  

“But of course. We’re both friends of Shmi Skywalker, are we not? Do you really think she’d settle for some half-rate, tasteless buffoon? Speaking of which, would it be possible for me to speak with Shmi?”

“Of course, of course.” Some shuffling, a scuffle and fierce whispering. “Who am I to prevent such a heartwarming reunion between true friends? Let us go to the infirmary.”

“The infirmary?” Anakin jumps in. Obi-Wan shoots him a warning look.

“Hondo, just give me the damn comm!” Beru snaps, suddenly coming into view after a loud series of shuffles, smacks, and knocks, presumably after successfully wrestling the comm unit away from the Weequay. She’s short, stocky, and fair—wisps of light-colored hair escaping from a no-nonsense bun. She has a scrape running along one cheek but other than that is unharmed. “Hello, sorry about that. You must be Obi-Wan and Anakin? I’m Beru. Beru Whitesun. Not how I hoped to meet you, but here we are. Before you say anything, don’t worry, Shmi is absolutely fine.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and feels the knot in his gut loosen ever so slightly.

“Why is she in the infirmary then?” Anakin demands.

“We ran into a little trouble getting off planet—it was Cliegg that took the worst of it. The rest of us are only a little bruised, but we had to amputate his legs. Shmi’s fine, she’s just sitting in the infirmary with him. She left her commlink unattended for all of one hour, but apparently that was long enough for someone to get ideas.”

“Hey! I can’t be blamed for curiosity,” Hondo protests.

“You absolutely can,” Beru responds tartly. The swish and click of a couple more doors. “Shmi! Ani and Obi-Wan are on the line!”

Despite their combined worry, Anakin winces at the use of his childhood nickname. He only grudgingly permits his mother, Threepio, and Obi-Wan to use it.  

Then they can finally see Shmi and the knot Obi-Wan’s been carrying around inside for the past three days loosens completely. Like Beru, she’s a little frazzled, a little beat-up, but clearly healthy.

“Ani? Obi-Wan? Why did you call? I told you to wait for me to contact you.”

“We didn’t. Someone else called us,” Obi-Wan explains. Shmi looks confused for only an instant, then her eyes narrow.

“Hondo!”

“I am so terribly sorry, but I must admit that my curiosity got the better of me. Can you ever forgive me, my sweetest desert rose?”  

“Your what now?” Anakin rather looks like he’s been hit over the head with a frying pan. Obi-Wan stomps on his foot yet again. Shmi purses her lips.

“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” she says, completely ignoring Anakin’s question. Her eyes soften. “Thanks to you, Ani. If you hadn’t warned us…well. Jabba tried to purchase me from Watto and they realized the transmitter had been sabotaged during the trade. He…was not happy. With your warning, Hondo arrived just in time.”

“Anything for you, light of my night skies!”

Anakin is turning a fascinating shade of puce.

“Where will you go now?” Obi-Wan interjects, softly. “We can help you with whatever you’ll require.”  

“That won’t be necessary,” she says with a wave. “Beru, Owen, and Cliegg have already made arrangements to settle in the Chommel sector.”

“That’s great! Chommel is super safe, but also close enough to Tatooine that you won’t be completely out of the loop,” Anakin says, voice bright.

“Oh, I won’t be going with them. I’ll be staying with Hondo.” Shmi sits up straighter and smiles, a fierce sort of determination in her eyes.

“What?” Obi-Wan says faintly. Hondo’s face fills the holo once more, beaming.

“My dearest Shmi and I have come to an agreement, a, how do you say? Business arrangement,” he says, proudly.

“The Hutts have been cracking down on the pirates, pushing them out of the more lucrative shipping lanes or only allowing them to operate if they pay a heavy commission. I have agreed to stay aboard as a consultant of sorts, to use my knowledge of the Hutts and my contacts on Tatooine to aid Hondo and his men.”

“I…Shmi, that doesn’t seem…no offense, but even your knowledge and contacts aren’t nearly enough to justify the extreme risk of sheltering a fugitive from the Hutts,” Obi-Wan points out. “They’ll betray you the moment the Hutts set the price on your head high enough.”

“Hey!” Hondo shakes his head in mock offense. He pauses. “I mean, you’re right, but come now, Jedi, I thought we were getting along so well.”

“Hmm. Hondo and I have both agreed that the terms of the agreement are unfair, that if a new government was to rise on Tatooine, one led by say, freed men and women, they might not be so unfair. And they might be even more inclined to be generous if the pirates they are negotiating with had aided in their cause.”

“That’s a…bit more big picture than pirates are normally known for,” Obi-Wan ventures.

“I trust Hondo,” Shmi says serenely. “And just in case, should he betray me, Threepio and several other droids spread across my network will upload a pre-recorded holo to the net, explaining in excruciating detail how Hondo Ohnaka swindled the Hutt council out of half a billion peggats by selling them a fake crown worth less than a single wupiupi and claiming it was the Lost Diadem of Nal Hutta. Extensive documentation and a short audio clip of Hondo explaining the scheme in his own words shall accompany the upload.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes bug out and Anakin’s jaw drops open. Hondo looks at Shmi with an unmistakably fond look in his eyes.

“Oh, she is devious, isn’t she? I’ll tell you, fellows, you only meet a woman like this once in a lifetime.”

“So you see, I am perfectly safe as long as Hondo and I are united by a common interest.”

“So long as Hondo Ohnaka breathes, no harm shall come to Shmi Skywalker, this unparalleled beauty of the Outer Rim.”

“What did you call my mother?!”

“Master Ani! Where are your manners?” Threepio scolds.

“A son! You never said your son was a Jedi, my dearest desert bloom!”

“Why are you calling her that? Mom, why is he calling you that?”

Obi-Wan lays a hand on Anakin’s shoulder before he can completely spiral out of control, though he certainly understands the sentiment. Anakin glances back at him, meets his eyes, and slowly, bit by bit, forces his muscles to relax. Obi-Wan nods, offering a gentle smile in support.  

“Ani…” Shmi begins, then trails off. Anakin searches his mother’s face and, having found some signal or sign, nods to himself.

“This is where you think you can help the most people, right?” he says. His voice is high, shaky, a little unsure, but determined to be strong.

“Yes. I’ve done all that I can on the ground, now this is the next step. And—for all his bluster and greed, Hondo is a very capable pirate. I think we will do a lot of good together.”

“Such, kind, kind words my most beautiful star!”

Anakin winces.

“I just…does it have to be with him?” he complains. Shmi’s eyes sparkle and crinkle at the corner.

“Oh, Ani,” she laughs. Which is not really an answer at all. She extends a hand, as if to trace the contours of his face.  “I am so proud of you, my son. So very, very proud. I know you are growing up and hardly need my guidance anymore, but I always be with you nonetheless.”

Anakin sighs and looks distastefully at Hondo’s holo, but raises no further verbal objections.

“We wish you the best of luck,” Obi-Wan says, firmly. “I am…so glad that you are safe, Shmi.”

“Thanks to you two,” Shmi responds. “Ani, now that I no longer have to hide, our calls won’t have to be nearly as rigidly scheduled and so far in between. Obi-Wan—I know you hate correspondence, but it wouldn’t kill you to drop me a line or two every now and again. I love you both.”

“Good-bye, Mom.”

“Good-bye.”

And with that, Shmi is gone. Anakin stares, then turns to Obi-Wan with a resigned, sort of shell-shocked look on his face.

“I don’t think the Hutts are prepared for what they’ve unleashed. I don’t think I’m prepared for it either,” Anakin admits. “Did you hear…?”

“I got the impression that that’s just how Hondo talks,” Obi-Wan offers, grimacing. He too feels a little shell shocked. “He is…dramatic. But it did seem a little one sided and, in any case, I’m sure your mother knows how to handle herself.”

Anakin nods, slowly.

“I know. She seemed…happy. She’s always been determined, and maybe it was being off Tatooine, having a new plan, or I dunno, being with Hondo, but she was really, really happy.”

“Huh,” is all Obi-Wan can think to say. He’d gotten much the same impression—he wasn’t sure what exactly Hondo and Shmi were to each other—and maybe it was just posturing and playful flirtation, but Shmi really did seem lighter and happier. Obi-Wan and Anakin stare at each other for a moment in contemplation.  

“You know, I really don’t need or want a step-father.”

Obi-Wan can’t quite choke off his laughter at Anakin’s pronouncement and, as one, they collapse into half-hysterical giggles, their relief and bewildered joy racing back and forth on the bond between them.

Obi-Wan is the first to recover, catching his breath with a great effort and wiping away tears of laughter.

“I swear, you and your mother are responsible for every single gray hair on my hair,” Obi-Wan says. “You Skywalkers will be the death of me.”

“Don’t say that, Master!” Anakin protests, still snorting. “It’s not fair to Mom and me—surely the Council and politicians you have to deal with are responsible for at least half.”

“Fair enough. I’m sure that at least three of them are from the wonderful negotiations this morning.”

“When we go back, can we…can we keep the bond open? Just a little bit, just the first few layers. I forgot how much more bearable these diplomatic things are when you’re in my head.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan responds without hesitation, reaching out to squeeze Anakin’s hand. “I only ever closed the bond to give you some privacy, dear one. I quite enjoy having you in my mind as well.”

Anakin smiles and the pleased warmth suddenly pouring across the bond is overwhelming. As one, they straighten their robes, compose their facial expression, and turn to the doors. It’s a heady feeling, the feeling of in-sync strength that the bond gives them and Obi-Wan wonders why any Master and padawan would ever agree to give this closeness up.

***

The rest of the mission to Ansion is—well, not good, but certainly better than it had been when they had been going out of their minds with worry about Shmi. There’s even a giant party near the end, to celebrate a successful compromise and Obi-Wan and Anakin are the guests of honor for their part in mediating the compromise (for however long it lasts—Obi-Wan will need to make sure they were not re-assigned once the border issue inevitably came up once more). Normally, Obi-Wan would hate these sorts of events and all they entailed. Oh sure, he could be charming when he wanted to be, but really these parties were with the exact same politicians who were at the negotiations, trading the exact same veiled barbs, just dressed a little fancier. But he finds he hates these events a lot less when he has Anakin in his head, who snorts and laughs with glee at all of Obi-Wan’s bitten-back zingers. They are currently on opposite sides of the room, half-paying attention to slightly different, but equally smarmy diplomats. Being a Jedi at one of these events often meant being somewhat of a sideshow attraction as everyone simply had to speak or at least make eye contact with the powerful, mysterious Jedi. Really, the only plus side to being a Jedi at a fancy political function was that Jedi robes were considered formal wear, as long as they were in reasonably good condition, and so, while everyone else had to dress in stiff contraptions that looked less like fashion and more like multi-layered cake decorations or ancient torture devices, Obi-Wan and Anakin could just continue on their merry way, completely comfortable.

Obi-Wan folds his hands into the billowing sleeves of his robes and nods very seriously to his conversation partner, sure that the man is saying…something. It is probably very important to him, though Obi-Wan couldn’t tell why he was supposed to care about this man’s long-haired tooka cat. Anakin appears beside him, his posture the very definition of serious and deferential as he waits just slightly to the side. Despite the outward appearance, the bond reveals his inner impatience.

“Master, can we talk?” he asks abruptly, during a lull in the conversation. The diplomat looks a little taken aback but is soon mollified by Anakin’s earnestness. His padawan couldn’t lie to save his life—Obi-Wan had long ago given up trying to teach that particular lesson and instead had focused on teaching Anakin how to use his inherently brilliant and charming-in-an-odd-way personality to overwhelm and distract from his true purpose.  He can’t say Anakin’s mastered the technique and it would never fool anyone with even a modicum of sense, but it’s a good deal better than the other option, which is listening to his padawan haltingly, mechanically stumble through a transparent falsehood.

Obi-Wan inclines his head and murmurs regretful apologies to the diplomat as they walk away. When they’re far enough away, his shoulders roll back and his jaw unclenches.

“Oh thank Force, for a moment there, I thought that you had abandoned me to my fate,” he groans as they find a less-trafficked alcove near a wide, imposing window with a sweeping view of the city below. Anakin smirks and they settle, leaning against the panes.

“Don’t worry, Master,” he declares. “I’ll always save you.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and they fall into easy silence.

He catches a stray note from the live orchestra and, without thinking, he begins to hum a half-remembered melody, switching to words once he gets to the chorus, the part he remembers best. He didn’t really know what the words mean, but he had always found the tune to inspire a good, warm feeling.

Anakin cocks his head, staring at Obi-Wan strangely.  

“Where did you…did Mom teach you that song?”

“Hmm? What? Oh, no, it’s just something I picked up on while I was on a mission as an apprentice.”

“What kind of mission had you undercover as a slave?” Anakin demands. Now it is Obi-Wan’s turn to stare in confusion.

“I wasn’t undercover…per se,” Obi-Wan says, slowly. He stands up from his languid repose against the window. “But yes, I did live with a group of mining slaves for a brief period. How did you know?”

“We don’t sing that song around Depur. Not even free people…” He hesitates, then continues. “The dialect is a little different and they’ve substituted out a couple of the words—'waves of water’ instead of ‘waves of sand,’ and ‘sea dragon’ instead of ‘krayt’—but it’s definitely the same song. Master…you didn’t just live with them. For them to even allow you to hear that song, they’d have considered you one of them. You were…a slave. Or at least, they thought you were.”

“It was shortly before I became Qui-Gon’s apprentice,” Obi-Wan says finally. Best not to bring up the fact that that whole mess was the only reason Qui-Gon had finally, grudgingly agreed to take Obi-Wan on as his apprentice. “He was investigating corporations on Bandomeer when I was captured and brought to the Deepsea Mines.”

“You were a slave?” Anakin sounds absolutely horrified and his feelings pour across the bond—anger, confusion, and…hurt?

“Ah, I suppose?”

“How could you not tell me?” his padawan demands, anger coming to the fore. “How could you never share this with me when you knew I’d understand, that I could help!”

“I…oh. It wasn’t a conscious decision,” Obi-Wan admits, taken aback. The Ansionian orchestra continues in the background, sedate and melodious and oh so far away. “It honestly…it just never occurred to me. I was only held for a very brief period, before I and another slave managed to escape—nothing compared to what you’ve experienced. It seemed silly to share in light of that.”

Anakin slumps, as if the strings holding him up have been cut.

“You really don’t trust me, do you?” he mutters. The bond trills softly with deep sadness.

“What? No, Anakin, of course I do.” Obi-Wan’s eyes widen in horror and he reaches out to his padawan. Halfway across the space between them, Anakin shuffles back, out of reach, and Obi-Wan recoils.

“No, you don’t.” Anakin’s voice is dead, hopeless. “At least, not the way I trust you.”

“What makes you say that? Dear one, please, look at me.” Anakin ignores him and stares stubbornly at the marble floor beneath his boots.

“I want…I just want us to be a team, you know? For you to stop looking at me like I’m some little boy you have to protect and as…as a man you’d trust and…respect. I’ve fought and bled beside you for years, I know you trust me to save your life, but you don’t trust me with anything else, anything important like—like this. I come to you for help all the time and I wish you’d do the same—I feel terrible because it’s not fair if I just take and take and never give in return. And sometimes I think it’s worked and you finally see me but then the next moment you turn around and keep telling me how young and stupid I am.”

“That’s what the past few months have been about? You wanted me to see you an equal, a friend?” Obi-Wan asks, flabbergasted. Anakin nods, turning red. “I…I thought you were pushing for Knighthood.”

“I mean, kinda? At first, I just wanted you to treat me differently, and when that didn’t work, I thought it might help if I was Knighted?” Obi-Wan opens his mouth, then closes it again, unsure how he’d so completely misread Anakin’s intentions. At this point in life, he’s gotten used to only really comprehending half of what goes in Anakin’s head, but it still hurts sometimes to realize how little he truly understands his padawan. It’s moments like these when he is all too painfully reminded that Qui-Gon would have known, would have figured it out sooner, would have been the better Master to Anakin. “But nothing I did worked. It’s like you think I can’t help you because all you ever see is a little kid. Somedays, I think that’s all you’ll ever see me as.”

Anakin is breathing hard, frustration roiling across the bond and palpable in the humid air surrounding them.

“Your assumption about being Knighted…isn’t wrong. You are my padawan,” Obi-Wan responds, gently breaking Anakin’s clearly tortured hover train of thought. “And I won’t lie to you—as long as that is the case, I won’t be able to treat you like an equal, the way you want. It has nothing to do with your age and everything to do with that fact that I am responsible for your well-being.”

“But after? When I’m not your padawan, you’ll look at me differently? We can be…friends then, right?” Anakin presses, sounding a little desperate. He finally raises his head, focused on Obi-Wan, his eyes searching.

“Of course, dear one.” Obi-Wan debates continuing the statement, then decides kriff-it-all, Anakin literally just told him he feels like Obi-Wan never trusts him. But it is also so very difficult to shape into words all the feelings tumbling around inside his chest. “And when that day comes, I think that we will make quite the team. I…look forward to being your friend.”

At this, Anakin finally relaxes. He turns his face away, his delicate profile limned in starlight and strangely ethereal.  

“It’s a slave lullaby,” he finally says, voice far away as he speaks to the window. “Meant to teach us the way home, the way to freedom.”

“I don’t remember it very well,” Obi-Wan offers. “I was 13 and really was only in the mines for a handful of nights. The other slaves kept me at a distance because I kept trying to escape. And then Qui-Gon arrived and it was onto the next crisis.”  He clears his throat. “But I still find the melody beautiful, even what little I remember of it, all these years later. It’s—”

“Comforting,” Anakin interrupts, finishing the thought. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan echoes, reaching out to squeeze Anakin’s shoulder and oh so grateful that Anakin doesn’t move away this time. Despite all the chaos and worry of the past week, there is something wonderful in this fragile split-second, like seeing a fresh green shoot just beginning to poke through dark loam.

So of course, the moment is shattered by the sudden, angry buzzing of a hundred comms and holo terminals in the room, including their own—Senator Amidala’s ship had been bombed upon landing in Coruscant and they are being recalled immediately to join her security detail.

Chapter Text

Explosions shake both the gunship and Obi-Wan’s nerves. He repositions and re-secures his grip, bracing his legs for the next near hit. He’s currently in some form of gun ship, surrounded by the clone soldiers he found on Kamino, his padawan, and Senator Amidala, grim looks of determination on all their faces as they pursue Count Dooku across the Geonosian sky.

Another explosion and the floor twists under Obi-Wan—he just barely manages to stay upright. Senator Amidala and two of the clones are not nearly so lucky—with a shriek, she and they tumble out of the gunship entirely.

“Padmé!” Anakin calls out, horrified, as the ship rights itself. Obi-Wan’s hand snaps out, as if to prevent his padawan from physically following. “What are you doing? We have to go back and help her!”

“No! We have a job to do, you can’t let your personal feelings get in the way,” Obi-Wan shouts over the din. His padawan is unmoved, not seeming to really hear him at all and still staring at the red sand where Senator Amidala fell, his face an open book. “I can’t go after Dooku by myself!”

Anakin’s head snaps to him, his padawan braid and robes whipping wildly in the wind, as he finally focuses on Obi-Wan and really listens. He looks torn for one, two, three, four more heartbeats, before he subsides.

“I won’t let you face him alone,” Anakin says, squaring his shoulders. Obi-Wan exhales in relief, the sound swallowed by the air rushing past them. He nods, feeding Anakin a small bit of his surprised-pleased-proud feeling.

“She will be fine,” Obi-Wan offers as comfort, though he knows no such thing. For all the (admittedly quite impressive) self-defense skills Senator Amidala demonstrated in the Geonosian arena, they’ve basically dropped a civilian politician in the middle of an active warzone.

“She’d want us to go after Dooku,” Anakin says in response. He looks troubled, but resolute.

“It’s the only way to end this war before it starts,” Obi-Wan agrees.

The rest of the flight is strung-out and tense, both he and Anakin palming their borrowed lightsabers, shifting them from hand to hand and trying desperately to gain some semblance of familiarity with the shape of the handle, the crystal, the weight. They were about to face off with one of the Order’s most famed duelists—going in with an unfamiliar weapon would be a death sentence.

They leap from the ship as one, sprinting into the hangar—the darkness shocking after the bright lights of the desert—where Count Dooku turns to face them with a whirl of his dark cape. Anakin and Obi-Wan fan out, eyeing the Count warily.

“We move in together,” Obi-Wan says aloud. Then across the bond, you on the right, I on the left.

Yes, Master.

Anakin attacks first, as he always does when they fight together against an opponent. For one-on-one combat, Obi-Wan has done his best to rid Anakin of his attack-first-think-later habit. He’s had middling success—Anakin can only fight his instincts so long and many times it largely depends on how hot-headed his opponent is. If they’re smart and wait long enough, Anakin will break and attack.

However, when they fight as a pair, they’ve adapted his charges to complement Obi-Wan’s more defensive style. Anakin attacks first and runs through a series of skilled, powerful variations that force their opponents to expose their strengths and weaknesses, as Obi-Wan hangs back and evaluates. They do the same this time, but Count Dooku is no mere untrained Dark-side user or talented bounty hunter. He doesn’t really have a lot of weaknesses to evaluate and Anakin is on the defensive, so Obi-Wan leaps into the fray much sooner than he normally would.

“You’ll pay for all the Jedi you killed today, Dooku,” Anakin declares, spinning away to make room for Obi-Wan. Their lightsabers hum and swish, sizzling as they make contact with Count Dooku’s own, elegant blade. Dooku looks incredulous, a little disgusted by the overdramatic declaration. Another flick and a Force shove and Anakin is pushed back briefly, as Dooku turns and fully engages Obi-Wan. Over the flurry of blows, their gazes meet briefly.

“This is your padawan?” he says. “This is who Qui-Gon thought worthy of our lineage?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Count,” Obi-Wan responds, his usual impeccable wit marred a little by his heavy breathing. He counters another two, lightening quick blows with steady, powerful guards. “I think he’s a wonderful addition, he has clearly inherited your sense of melodrama.”

Count Dooku snarls.

Anakin charges forward again, this time dipping low to slash at Count Dooku’s exposed ribcage but is immediately repelled. Count Dooku’s red lightsaber is a blur, dancing skillfully to defend against both Obi-Wan and Anakin.

All of a sudden, time slows.

Dooku’s lightsaber licks against his shoulder, a glancing blow that distracts him only momentarily, but that is enough for Dooku’s red blade to suddenly change directions and—

Anakin is rushing forward, his blade raised to cover for Obi-Wan’s mistake and he—

He smells burning flesh and feels Anakin’s overwhelming agony racing across the bond, and then—

It just stops.

Every sensation shared along the bond, pain or otherwise, winks out of existence, just like it had on Naboo with Qui-Gon, only so much worse. Anakin is crumpled on the ground, curled away, and Obi-Wan can only steal glances, can’t take his eyes off of Dooku long enough to tell if Anakin is still breathing…

Despite the hopelessness of it all, Obi-Wan can’t help but circle Anakin’s body defensively, numbly repelling Dooku’s attacks and keeping himself in between Dooku and Anakin. His form is half-hearted, stilted at best. It doesn’t take long for Dooku to dispatch of Obi-Wan after that—he delivers a long, deep cut across Obi-Wan’s thigh and the leg gives out from underneath him. Another twist of the Count’s lightsaber and Obi-Wan falls down next to Anakin’s still form, disarmed and disoriented. He sees a flash of what looks like sneering disdain on Count Dooku’s face as he raises his saber above his head in a killing blow and Obi-Wan can only turn his head to the side, to stare, unblinking, at Anakin’s body.

Oh, dear one, he thinks, dazed, yet relieved, at least this time I will not be left alone, to muddle on with living while you leave me behind.

Suddenly, the great doors to the hangar slide open, Master Yoda hobbling out from behind a cloud of smoke and dispatching the droids with an airy gesture. He frowns fiercely at his old apprentice and they begin to argue, throwing barbs and spurts of Force lightening into the vast distance between them. Obi-Wan ignores their words—can’t Master Yoda see that now is no time for a lineage sass-off? Not when Anakin could be…he inhales and cranes his neck, desperately trying to get a better look Anakin’s body, trying to assess his condition. He grits back a pained groan as he shifts a little too far and tugs at the deep slice to his thigh—Dooku has definitely severed something, he can’t control the leg or even feel anything apart from blazing hot pain, but that doesn’t matter. He closes his eyes and reaches inwards, to where he knows the bond should be, half-afraid half in hope for what he might find.

When he finally gets there, the bond is a tightly woven rope, strong and unfrayed—it is quiet now, dim, but nothing like the ragged, jagged edge mess that Qui-Gon had left behind when he died.

Anakin is unconscious, but alive, and Obi-Wan can suddenly breathe again.

He’s in a lot of pain, even while unconscious, the fast flutter of his heartbeat echoing across the bond. Obi-Wan cannot tell much more—as he fell, Anakin’s shields must have snapped up instinctively and they are currently doing their very best to protect Anakin’s mind from the sickening darkness that pervades the hangar. While this means that Obi-Wan is denied entry as well, he cannot help but feel relief. If Anakin’s connection to the Force and his own mind is still so vigorous as to keep out Obi-Wan, he is in no immediate danger of slipping away.  His attention snaps back to the Count and Master Yoda, who have graduated from verbal to physical sparring. Anakin is not quite safe yet, the tide of the battle could turn suddenly and it is never a good idea to get in between two powerful Force-users battling it out, especially when one of those Force-users cares nothing for collateral damage.

“The end for you, Count, this is,” Master Yoda declares, jumping onto Dooku’s shoulders.

“Not yet,” Count Dooku responds fiercely, raising his arm to knock Master Yoda away and re-direct his focus towards Obi-Wan and Anakin. The air begins to tremble and Obi-Wan looks around wildly, trying to figure out what the Count’s goal is. He sees the shaking cranes directly above and begins to curse. All they have is a split second, but his leg muscles still refuse to respond to command and he knows he won’t be able to crawl away fast enough. Instead, he extends a hand, draws upon the last of his reserves, and determinedly uses the Force to push Anakin’s prone body as far away as possible. His weak effort has pitifully little effect, and then he hears the crane snap. Within a blink of the eye, Master Yoda is there, arms outstretched overhead and keeping the cranes away. He furrows his green brow and throws the crane as far away as he can. As he does, Obi-Wan can hear the rumbling escape of Count Dooku’s ship and the arrival of Senator Amidala and a dozen clones.

Obi-Wan blinks and collapses back in relief.

“Medic,” he calls out, weakly. Senator Amidala and one of the clones change direction abruptly, but he shakes his head when they arrive. “Not me—Anakin…he needs help. I can’t—I don’t know how badly he is injured.”

Senator Amidala’s sharp gaze scans then hangar, then pales when she spots Anakin. She and the medic rush over, her hands fluttering uselessly over Anakin’s body as the medic scans him. At some signal from the clone, she begins to reposition Anakin’s body, one hand gently cradling his head and positioning it to rest in her lap. The medic continues his work, and though Obi-Wan can’t quite see what the clone is doing, he can see Senator Amidala, tenderly stroking Anakin’s face and murmuring nonsense reassurances.  

Oh, that’s going to be a problem, Obi-Wan thinks dazedly. He numbly accepts help from another clone, ignoring the burning pain in his leg as he stands. Master Yoda hobbles towards them, his gimmer stick abandoned somewhere near the entrance to the hangar.

“A medic as well, you need,” he declares, eyes scanning Obi-Wan’s body.

“I am sorry that we allowed Count Dooku to escape,” Obi-Wan says, eyes still darting over to Anakin, even as he tries his best to pay attention to Master Yoda. They’ve lifted Anakin onto a stretcher and begun to move him into the gunship. Master Yoda and Obi-Wan begin to follow. “If you hadn’t had to worry about us, you could have captured him.”

“Glad to see you alive, I am. Trade that, for Dooku’s capture, any day I would,” Master Yoda responds as they step aboard the ship. Obi-Wan immediately moves to where Anakin’s stretcher is strapped down, his chest rising slowly but strongly. Master Yoda watches them both, a heavy, distant sort of sadness in his eyes. “To the Dark Side, Dooku has fallen. Different, he is now, lost. But, proud of his padawan’s padawan, the Yan I knew would be. His teachings, passed to you, they are, through Qui-Gon. All that remains of my Yan, it is. So, preserve that legacy, I must.”

Obi-Wan manages to tear his eyes away from Anakin to turn his full attention to Master Yoda. In some distant way, he’s always known that Count Dooku had once been Qui-Gon’s master, but he had never personally met the Count before today and has only heard snippets about him, from Yoda, Qui-Gon, and Madam Jocasta. Yoda’s own grief is a heavy, slippery thing in the air.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” he admits. He has no idea how to offer comfort to a Master whose padawan has strayed so far, lost himself so thoroughly, and betrayed everything he once stood for. He can’t imagine the pain, the complete heartbreak.

“Nothing to say, there is. Focus on your padawan now, you must,” Yoda hmphs at him, voice fond, sad. Relieved to get permission to what he’s wanted to do this whole conversation, Obi-Wan nods and fully turns to face Anakin, moving as close to him as he can in the shaking gun ship.

“Where are we headed?” he asks the medic, who has removed his helmet and is tending diligently to Anakin. Obi-Wan does his very best not to look at Senator Amidala, who is crouched down to Obi-Wan’s left, slim, pale hand resting on Anakin’s shoulder.

“The Republic star destroyers in orbit,” the clone immediately replies. “They’ll have better medical facilities aboard.”

“Star-destroyers?” Obi-Wan says, faintly. “Since when do we have warships?”

“That’s an excellent question, Master Jedi,” Senator Amidala says, her voice steely. “One I intend to find the answer to as soon as possible.”  

It is then that Obi-Wan finally see all that remains of Anakin’s arm and realizes how very much his padawan has lost, covering for Obi-Wan’s mistake.

After Naboo, Obi-Wan had believed he had discovered the depths of terror, of grief, of heart-wrenching, terrible failure.

Geonosis has proven him wrong.

***

He has not left Anakin’s side since that moment.

When they arrived aboard the warship more than eight hours ago, the medics had immediately hooked Anakin up to all manner of machines. Perhaps seeing Obi-Wan’s clear worry, the medics aboard had begun speaking soothingly of high-end prosthetics that were nearly indistinguishable from flesh limbs, but Obi-Wan finds that it helps little with the guilt. He has no doubt that Anakin’s mechno-arm will be a fantastic marvel of engineering—Anakin would hardly allow anything less—and that he will adapt to the new challenge as he has to all others before this, redoubling his efforts and emerging an even better Jedi. But it doesn’t erase the fact that he wouldn’t have had to do any of that, that he wouldn’t have literally passed out from the pain and shock from losing a limb, if Obi-Wan hadn’t allowed himself to become distracted because of a glancing blow.  

He now sits at Anakin’s bedside, a series of bacta patches slapped over his own injuries, as he leans his head against his hand and tries to fall asleep.

He has been (repeatedly, pointedly) offered a bunk elsewhere in the ship, but Obi-Wan has just waved them away. He must be ready when Anakin wakes—he cannot imagine the terror and loneliness of waking up alone after such a traumatic experience. Senator Amidala has stopped by a few times to check in on Anakin’s recovery, but she usually doesn’t stay long. She may not be Force-sensitive, but she is a talented politician and can likely sense his hostility.

He wouldn’t have even been on Geonosis if it hadn’t been for you, Obi-Wan thinks snidely.

Which is completely unfair and irrational. He knows his padawan, knows that the choice to charge recklessly headfirst into danger was likely more of a joint decision, especially if Anakin believed that Obi-Wan was in danger. Perhaps that is why he is so inexplicably angry with Senator Amidala—because he knows very well it was his own karking fault. He should have taken more care not to have been followed, avoided capture, focused his attention more tightly during the duel with Dooku, so that Anakin would not have had any reason to try and save Obi-Wan.

So, completely irrational, but well. Ten years in, Obi-Wan can admit to himself that he is not always his best, most impartial Jedi self when it comes to Anakin.

“Master?” Anakin’s quiet slur breaks through Obi-Wan’s dark thoughts, through the quiet beeping of machines. He feels fuzzy through the bond, confused and muted.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan exclaims, reaching out to clasp Anakin’s arm as he’s done a thousand times before, only to meet with thin air. He lets his hands fall to the bedsheet awkwardly. “How are you feeling? Do you need more painkillers? The medics didn’t want to give you too much while you were passed out.”

“Wha—? What happened? Where are—wait, where’s Dooku?” Anakin is growing increasingly more and more panicked.

“Peace, padawan,” Obi-Wan soothes, feeding calm across their bond. “We’re on a Republic ship headed back for Coruscant, in the medical wing. Count Dooku escaped, but Master Yoda arrived in time to prevent any further harm.”

“Oh. I failed you then,” Anakin says.

“No, of course not,” Obi-Wan responds with a fierce shake of his head. “If you hadn’t been there, I likely wouldn’t be alive—I could not have held Dooku back alone.”

“But he escaped! We were supposed to bring him to justice. Don’t lie, I can feel you blaming yourself—you only ever feel like this when we fail a mission,” Anakin says, shaking his head and raising his arm in a familiar act of frustration. But this time, there is no hand to run through his padawan haircut, to complete the movement. Anakin and Obi-Wan both freeze, staring at the empty space where Anakin’s forearm should be. “Oh. That explains a lot,” Anakin finally manages. “Is this why you feel so guilty?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan admits. “You needn’t worry—the Temple Healers have already been contacted and they are preparing a high-tech prosthetic for the attachment surgery. And I’m sure it won’t be nearly high tech enough for you, but you can modify it.”  

Anakin stares for a moment longer at the empty space, then grins.

“I am going to look so badass,” he breathes and Obi-Wan gets the distinct feeling that he is not nearly as okay with this as his words would suggest, that this is more putting on a good front for Obi-Wan’s sake, but he is just so relieved to hear some of Anakin’s usual idiocy that he cannot bring himself to call his padawan on it. He feels like he could cry and laugh all at once.

“Oh, Anakin,” he says instead, his voice disgustingly watery. He clears his throat. “I’ll contact Healer Che straightaway so that she knows that your aesthetic is the primary concern.”

“Good,” Anakin replies, cheerfully. “Do you think if I bat my eyelashes, they’ll let me get one in matte black and gold? I think it will go well with my robes.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he relaxes back into the chair.

“Trying to dress up for a certain Senator?” he asks, dryly. Anakin looks confused more than anything else and so Obi-Wan elaborates. “Senator Amidala has been by several times to check in on you. You two seem to have formed a close…friendship since you went into hiding.”

“What? I mean, yeah, it was great to reconnect, she’s a great listener, you know. She was so interested in Mom’s work on Tatooine. Apparently Padmé’s parents work with the Refugee Relief Movement? We connected Ruwee and my mom via com and I’m pretty sure they’re off planning galactic domination somewhere.”

Obi-Wan dispassionately notes the use of the Senator’s first name.

“Hmmm. Anakin, you understand that any…liason you have with her must be kept strictly out of the public eye? It would hurt both her and your careers, but I understand that when two young people find each other attractive—”

“Oh, Sith hells no, we are not having this conversation again,” Anakin groans, cutting him off and glancing up to the ceiling to avoid meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes. Obi-Wan sniffs, a little insulted.

“It’s important to talk about these things,” Obi-Wan insists. “You’re an adult now, almost a Knight, but I want to make sure that you two are being safe. Force, could you imagine what would happen if you were to accidentally impregnate her?”

“Please, Master, please stop.” Anakin’s voice is pained. “There is absolutely no chance of that happening.”

“No birth control method is 100% effective,” Obi-Wan says, doubtfully.

“Yes! I know that!” Anakin yelps. “I more meant that I am not sleeping with Padmé, nor will I ever be, so no one is impregnating anyone!”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! We’re friends, just friends,” Anakin says, firmly. “What else can I say to convince you? I’m not sure why you’re so fixated on this.”

“It’s just that you had such a crush on her,” Obi-Wan says, frowning to himself. Why is he so fixated on this?

“Yeah, when I was nine. I’m not nine anymore, Master,” Anakin says. He sighs. “I…I may have developed a crush on someone else. That’s part of the reason Padmé and I got so close so quickly—she’s the first person I’ve really talked to about it.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, completely blind-sided. Somehow, in all his fretting over the subject, he had never even considered that Anakin might have developed feelings for some other interloper.

“Yes, oh,” Anakin says, turning pink and sounding as if he would rather be anywhere else.

“Why didn’t—why didn’t you ever talk to me about this crush?” Obi-Wan asks, more than a little a hurt. He had thought such secrets were behind them. Silence, more embarrassment. “Oh, it’s another Jedi.”

“It’s none of your business,” Anakin snaps, staring determinedly into the middle distance. “I know it’s hopeless, it’s fine. I’m handling it.”

“It might not…it might not be hopeless, you know. You are very attractive for a human male, there’s any number of padawans or Knights who would be overjoyed to know that you wanted them,” Obi-Wan forces the words out. He still can’t fully dispel his earlier hurt, but he knows that it doesn’t really matter. All he really wants is for Anakin to be happy. And if this is what makes him happy, then so be it.

“Maybe. I don’t think they feel the same way I do, though. I—we’ve talked about my attachment issues, right? Well, I’m definitely attached, but I don’t think they are. Like, if I asked, they might say yes because they find me attractive and all, but it’s not in the same way.” He pauses, then flashes a tight, sad smile at Obi-Wan. “It’s okay, though, gotta learn to let go sometime, right? Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

“That’s…mature of you,” Obi-Wan says, startled. He hesitates—he really doesn’t want to keep pressing at the issue, but he has to make sure. “You’re okay with that?”

“Padmé helped a lot,” Anakin admits with a shrug. “Like I said, she’s a great listener.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Obi-Wan says, slowly. He offers Anakin a small, sincere smile in apology. “I’m sorry, you know how I worry.”

“Like an overpuffed tooka is the way Master Mundi puts it, I believe,” Anakin jokes, moving them back into safer waters.

Obi-Wan chuckles easily and continues their banter with only half his brain. The other half is devoted to turning over and considering every angle of their conversation and the events of the last few days in his head. But no matter how he looks at it, he comes to the same conclusion.

Anakin is ready for his Trials.

***

Despite Anakin’s earlier brave words, adjusting to the new normal is not easy.

They’ve been back in the Temple for just a few short days and the Healers have begun preparing for the necessary surgery, but they can’t attach the new prosthetic until Anakin’s stump has fully healed over and formed a thick layer of new skin so they won’t irritate or cause the wound to fester. They’ve wrapped the injury in a thick layer of specially enhanced bacta bandages, ones that must be changed out every few hours in order to speed Anakin’s healing along as quickly as possible. It’s…not easy. Helplessness and frustration constantly flow through the bond and every day seems to reveal some simple task that has turned into an insurmountable challenge.

Case in point, Anakin scowling fiercely at the dried spices and herbs laid out on the kitchen counter in front of him, his bandaged upper arm hanging uselessly to his side.

They are out of pre-mixed tzai.

They’d been running low before Ansion, but Anakin had put it off, insisting he’d get to it when they returned, but then…well. In all these years, Obi-Wan has never learned how to make the tzai mixture. He’s never asked, knowing instinctively that drinking and making the tea were two entirely different levels of trust, and, while he was always welcome to share in the tea as a member of the Skywalker family, Anakin’s never offered to teach him the recipe. But they’re out of tzai now and Anakin is off-balance and struggling to portion out and mix the herbs together as necessary, a grimacing performance full of half-aborted attempts to reach out with a limb that’s no longer there and sharp spikes of pain. Obi-Wan stands slightly to the side, fretting.

“I—” he begins, then stops. Anakin’s head turns sharply to glare at Obi-Wan.

“I’ll figure it out,” he declares, eyebrows slanted downward severely. “Don’t worry.”

“I know you will. But I hate to see you struggle like this, dear one, especially when you don’t have to. I could…help?” Anakin inhales sharply, body freezing minutely. It’s not obvious and if it were anyone else standing across from Anakin, Obi-Wan is sure they wouldn’t have noticed. Obi-Wan quickly begins to backtrack. “I mean—I didn’t mean to—to impose. I just…it’s fine, let us just forget it.”

“I can show you the recipe,” Anakin interrupts, voice strange. “I think…I think I’d like that actually.”

“Really? You don’t have to do this just because I asked.”

“No, no, I want to share this with you,” Anakin repeats, his voice firmer, surer. He shuffles to the side and Obi-Wan steps in the space left over, slotting in like a puzzle piece. He gives Anakin one last assessing look, but then refocuses his attention on the mess of herb and spice containers in front of him. There are no labels whatsoever and there seems to be no form of organization, at least not as far as Obi-Wan can tell, but that’s on par for course for his padawan. Anakin gestures to the largest container, filled with thin, brown tendrils. “We always start with shy’ska. The Hutts call them desert weeds, but they have sustained many slaves as they escaped through the desert and so we respect them. Most tzai recipes use it as a base.”

“How much?” Obi-Wan asks, already reaching out. Anakin tries to show him but realizes he can’t with only one hand. He blows out a sigh and instead they decide to have Obi-Wan grab out small handfuls and add them to the cleared space in the center of the table until Anakin nods in satisfaction.

“Okay, next we have Leia’s flower.”

“Leia? She’s a deity, right? She’s very important to you and your mother if I remember correctly.”

“Of course,” Anakin nods seriously. “Leia is the Krayt dragon, patron to all the Unfettered. Depur knows better than chain her up for she would wrap her chains around their necks and use it to choke the life from them. But she’s also the daughter of Ekkreth, the Sky Walker. As Skywalkers ourselves, we add the flower to honor our sister.”

“That does sound like the Skywalkers I know,” Obi-Wan teases fondly. Anakin bumps shoulders with him and directs him on how to properly mix in the fragrant dried petals. They go through a handful more herbs before moving onto the spices—these only added in small pinches or scoops due to their potent flavor.

“The final ingredient is dried yerba and must be used sparingly,” Anakin warns. Obi-Wan sniffs the yellow mixture curiously, but is only greeted by a mild, unassuming scent. “It doesn’t smell or taste like much, not at first, but it has a hell of a powerful kick.”

“Oh? Is that what causes the aftertaste at the end?”

“Yeah, exactly. It can also be called Lukka’s gift—it’s ground down from the pod of tree that only blooms after a fierce sandstorm.”

“And Lukka is the sandstorm?”

“Yeah, Ekkreth’s other child. Cleansing and strong—though many off-worlders underestimate the power of the sandstorms. He’s the merciful one, at least, when compared to his sister. His sands wear away the mask to reveal the truth underneath, which is not always a good thing if you’ve done terrible things and are forced to confront yourself. And sometimes, if he’s feeling really angry, he’ll lead Depur around and around in circles before dropping them in front of the Krayt caves so that Leia may distribute justice.” He pauses. “That’s it as far as Mom’s recipe goes. But is there…is there anything you would add?”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Obi-Wan protests. “I hardly have anything to add—and besides I wouldn’t want to ruin the taste. The only herbs and spices I have are a little too—well, I just don’t think they’d go very well with the strong flavors of Tatooine.”

“It’s tradition—I’ve shown you the recipe, we need to pick a new ingredient to add. You can trace the entire history of a family through their tzai, you know. If it’s really important, if it’s the right ingredient, it’ll blend with what’s already there, no problem.”  

Obi-Wan hesitates for only a moment more.

Then he nods, turns around, and opens the tea cabinet behind them, the shelves stacked to the brim with each and every pre-packaged or loose leaf tea Obi-Wan has ever sampled—he even has a couple of earthier flavors he dislikes, like pu erh, just because those were Master Yoda’s favorites and it never hurt to have some on hand. He pauses, considering, for several long minutes. He has a lot of favorites, but he can’t just jump into this decision. At first, he is drawn to the stronger, spicier of his teas, but quickly discards the idea—while strong and spicy for a Core world tea, they are nothing compared to the flavors of tzai and would only get lost between the other layers. None of his delicate herbal teas with calming jasmine or lavender—he doesn’t think that’s quite the right tone for a Skywalker. Anakin hates his smoky lapsang, so that’s out too.

Finally, he extends his hand to pluck half a handful from one of the most frequently opened jars—it’s an old favorite, the best way to start a long, stressful day.

“Pekoe leaves, from the Temple gardens. Boring, I know, but mellow enough that it won’t detract from the base ingredients. I think the maltiness might balance out the spices nicely, what do you think?”

“Perfect,” Anakin breathes, eyes shining. Obi-Wan smiles gently and adds the leaves to the mix. Together they transfer the tzai to a clear glass jar and step back to admire the results. “Come on, I want to try it.”

“Of course, dear one. I’ll get the cups ready if you can get some water boiling.”

They wait in patient, easy silence for the water to boil. Once the tea kettle begins to squeak, Obi-Wan steps forward and picks it up. He takes the handle in both hands, Anakin watching him like a hawk as he gently pours hot water over the loose leaves. He sets the kettle down and inhales deeply—the tzai smells as wonderful as always, though Obi-Wan likes to think he can distinguish a faint, unique note hiding underneath. As one, they lift their cups to their lips and take a deep sip.

The silence stretches, the only sound the clink of their cups and swooshes of their robes. Anakin is the first to finish—no surprise, even with the sacredness of tzai he’s never been one to sit and savor tea for an hour at a time. He sets his cup down.

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin whispers, a small smile gracing his features.

“No thanks necessary, I am honored,” Obi-Wan responds, lowering his own cup. He hesitates, not wanting to break the comfortable, warm air with dark thoughts, but also finding it unavoidable. “The war will change many things. I suspect that there will be many a long stretch of time when we cannot see each other—assigned to conflicts on opposite sides of the galaxy. But know that I will always treasure this memory and think of it whenever I prepare my own tzai.”

“Assigned apart? They wouldn’t do that to us!” Anakin protests, seeming outraged. “They rarely separate Masters and padawans long term unless it’s a solo mission for the Trials.” Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and allows the gears to turn. “What—you mean that…you can’t—you just told me that I wasn’t ready for my Trials!”

“The Council and I have discussed it—you showed incredible strength of character and quick thinking during the Battle of Geonosis. I would surely have been dead and Count Dooku’s conspiracy likely would have remained secret for that much longer. You successfully kept Senator Amidala safe as she threw herself headfirst into danger—no easy task, as I can say from experience—and kept your head in a terrible situation. You still have much to learn, as all Jedi are always learning, even Master Yoda, but I do not believe that there is much else that I can teach you.”

“I—Master, I’m…” Anakin seems shell-shocked.  

“After you receive your prosthetic, we will head to Ilum, to retrieve crystals for our replacement lightsabers. Once there, you will head into the caves and face whatever they have in store for you alone. If you are successful—and I have no doubt that you will be—the Council will consider you as having completed the Trials and your Knighting ceremony will take place when we return.”

“I will make you proud, I swear,” Anakin says, suddenly, fiercely. Obi-Wan only smiles.

“You already have, dear one.”

***

I name you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master.

Master Windu’s words roll around in Obi-Wan’s head as he stares out the viewport of his cruiser, the blurry lines of hyperspace around them. When he closes his eyes, he sees Anakin, his padawan braid newly shorn, turning to watch as his former master was promoted to an official Jedi Master with a shining, fierce joy in his face.

There was a time when rising to the rank of Master would have seemed an impossible, secret dream, back when he was 13 and had very nearly left the Jedi order, but those days are long gone. He had walked into the Council chambers expecting only to Knight his padawan—he hadn’t really known what to expect, his own Knighting ceremony on Naboo had been stilted, short, with Masters Windu and Yoda the only witnesses. So, when Master Windu had turned to Obi-Wan and bade him to step forward, after he’d already done his bit and used his saber to sever Anakin’s braid, he’d been so confused, assuming it was another part of the Knighting ceremony that he had missed out on. He’d been so completely shocked when they named him a Master instead.

Afterwards, there had been time for a short celebration—Anakin had elected to spend it with Obi-Wan in their quarters, taking alternating sips of tzai and Corellian rum as they roasted each other with the absolute worst stories from the past ten years—but not much else. The war was gearing up, with or without them, and they’d been rushed to deploy with their new clone battalions as soon as possible. As Obi-Wan suspected, he and Anakin are immediately assigned to opposite sides of the Outer Rim—the need for Jedi commanders too great to give deference to the tradition of offering Masters and their old padawans a long, mission-less month of rest and mediation to adjust to life without each other and the training bond.

Because of this, Obi-Wan had been reluctant to sever the bond so abruptly, with no time for preparation or recovery—he remembers all too well what it was like after Naboo and has absolutely no desire to put Anakin through that—and so when Anakin had hesitantly suggested they keep the bond, at least until they had time to pause and properly untangle their minds, Obi-Wan had quickly, gratefully agreed. He can still feel Anakin—faint and muted by distance, but still Anakin, still there—in the back of his mind and he finds it makes the abrupt separation a lot easier.   

“General Kenobi, sir?” an accented voice breaks his reverie. He turns to face a white-armored clone, his helmet in hand and a stern, no-nonsense face. Clones they may be, but there were lots of little differences, once you paused to look, both physically and in the Force. The clone trooper gives a crisp salute. “CC-2224 reporting for duty, sir. I’m to be your second in command.”

“None of that nonsense,” Obi-Wan says, dismissively, raising a hand. “How can I be expected to memorize a long string of numbers? What happens if I need to call on you in battle and can’t remember if you’re 2234 or maybe 2225 or even 223876798? I’m not a droid, you know. What is your name, trooper?”

“My brothers call me Cody. Sir.” The clone seems a little confused, almost as if he’s humoring Obi-Wan.

“Well then, Commander Cody,” Obi-Wan says, nodding to himself. “Let’s get to it then. I’m afraid they don’t really teach battle tactics at the Temple, so I’ll be learning a bit as I go, but I’m sure with your help we’ll figure a way through. Can you lay out the situation for me, perhaps a tour of the ship and introductions to the men?”

 “Very good, sir. May I suggest that we first make a stop by the armory?”

“Of course, I defer to your good judgement. But, whatever for?”

“To get you some more appropriate gear for battle, sir. Er…that is, unless you already have a set of armor in your quarters? I understand that the Jedi may not be used to it and may not want to wear it in between engagements.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Obi-Wan responds, cheerfully, dismissively. “I’m sure my robes will suffice.”

Commander Cody stares at him, eyebrow twitching.

Obi-Wan flashes him a dazzling smile.

He can already tell that this is going to be the start of a beautiful partnership.  

Chapter Text

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to hold the planet for much longer,” Obi-Wan says gravely, ducking as a stray mortar shakes the command tent, kicking up dust and debris. He coughs and Cody looks over to him worriedly.

“What changed? I thought the Hypori campaign was going well?” Master Windu demands. Beside him, Masters Yoda and Ki-Adi Mundi look grim.

“It was, but there’s a new droid general—General Grievous apparently. Master Baarek attempted to capture him and remove his influence from the field but…I have not heard back from him since. I suspect that he is now one with the Force.”

There is a moment of bleak silence, broken only by the sounds of ceaseless bombings on Obi-Wan’s end.

“Sirs, with all respect,” Cody interjects, “the planet is lost. We are comically outnumbered and this General Grievous is far too smart to fall for our usual ploys. The men are exhausted, to mention nothing of General Kenobi. We aren’t asking you for reinforcements, we’re asking for an evacuation.”

“We lost all our air support when Grievous arrived,” Obi-Wan explains, bone-deep tiredness in every word. “And even if we had any gunships or transports left, our ships in orbit are too busy fighting for their own lives to help us.”

“Who’s closest?” Master Mundi asks, looking down at the holo table, which shows the position of every ship and attack battalion in the galaxy. He frowns and the Councilors exchange a look.

“What?” Obi-Wan demands, his hope dwindling.

“Closest the 501^st is,” Master Yoda says. “Escorting Senator Amidala to a delicate negotiation in the Outer Rim they are.”

“But they’re still more than three days away,” Master Windu finishes with a sigh.

“Oh.” Obi-Wan knows they won’t last that long. He inhales and straightens his back. “We will have to make it work.”

“Very good. We will let Knight Skywalker to change his heading as soon as possible. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you.” The holograms flicker out of existence and Obi-Wan and Cody are left alone in the tent.

“General, three days isn’t—”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says. “But we can’t bend the laws of physics, so three days is what we have to work with. C’mon back to the trenches with us.”

The next two days are hellish.

Every inch of Obi-Wan’s skin is covered in scrapes and bruises and he’s fairly certain he’s nursing a broken rib, but he has to ignore it, throw himself into battle and continue to cut down an endless swath of droids—he knows that if he falters, the last hope in these men’s eyes will flicker and die. They’ve been pushed back to a single, pinned in position, the only good news of which is that it makes it that much easier for Obi-Wan to reach into the Force and bolster the remaining troops.

His muscles shake as he tries desperately to deflect the hail of blaster fire—the Separatists seem sense their flagging reserves and have redoubled their efforts—but he misses more than a few, his robes singeing and a trooper falling on his left.

“Stay down!” he commands harshly, as he drops down himself. They are currently kneeling in hastily dug, shallow trenches just barely chest height. For the most part, the men have just stayed on their knees the past two days, only their blasters peeking out over the top. Unfortunately, lightsaber combat is not well-suited for trench-warfare. He leans back against the dirt wall of the trench, panting, and wordlessly passes a new blaster battery pack to Cody.

He takes a deep breath, nods to Cody and pops up again. Cody lays down a wide swath of cover fire as Obi-Wan redirects the Separatist blaster bolts aimed towards them back to cut down any spindly battle droids that have ventured too close to the lines.

And then the bond in the back of Obi-Wan’s head, which has lain painfully dormant the past six months, flares to glorious life.

He can’t stop the joyful, hysterical laugh that escapes his lips. Anakin’s worry and fear pour across the bond, reaching out across an entire system to make sure that Obi-Wan is still alive. He sends back his own feelings of pain-relief-its-okay-now-that-you’re-here and Anakin begins feeding energy through the bond, to bolster Obi-Wan’s depleted reserves. He feels as if he’s chugged seven cups of caf in one sitting.

“Our reinforcements have arrived!” Obi-Wan calls out to the men. He’s sure that he must look half-crazed.

“It’s too early, sir,” Cody responds, sadly. “They’re still a full day out.”

“No, they’re here,” Obi-Wan chuckles. He snaps out his lightsaber to deflect another blaster bolt. “Someone must have been experimenting with illegal engine modifications.”

Cody exchanges a look with the two troopers beside him—Waxer and Boil, if Obi-Wan’s not mistaken. Waxer shrugs, makes a twirling finger motion near his head.

“Jetii magic,” he says, going back to shooting down droids. The droids of course, haven’t gotten the memo and are still marching ahead ceaselessly. He steps forwards, deflecting their blaster bolts with ease using the energy that Anakin is feeding him, ducking and spinning (okay maybe that last spin hadn’t been the greatest idea—his ribs are definitely broken) in the face of the unstoppable barrage. The troopers, while still a little confused by his inexplicable change in attitude, follow loyally.

“For the General! For the 212^th!” they call out to each other and train their blasters on the enemy with newfound determination.

The attention of the droids is pulled abruptly away by the scream of engines above, a slim fighter shooting across the sky in a stomach-turning barrel roll, skimming way too low to be entirely safe.  The fighter ducks even lower and begins shooting, using both the underside of its body and its guns to begin breaking the droids’ lines. It gives Obi-Wan’s men some much needed breathing room and, for the first time in days, Obi-Wan fully steps out of hastily dug trenches. He folds his arms over his chest and watches in satisfaction. He is soon joined by his gaping troopers.

“What is that?” Boil asks, sounding simultaneously horrified and impressed as the fighter continues to knock droids about, like an overgrown bowling ball laying waste to hapless pins.

“That is Anakin Skywalker,” Obi-Wan says, with no small measure of pride. “I’m sure the rest of the 501^st is on their way—ah, there they are.” Anakin’s fighter is joined by a whole host of additional light Republic craft, flying at a much more reasonable height as they shoot down droids from above. Gunships begin to emerge from the clouds, the troopers aboard already throwing open the doors and shouting to their brothers to clear a space for landing. Obi-Wan adds his voice to the din and begins to sprint down the lines. “Begin evacuations immediately! Help the wounded to the ships and guard the rear!”

Cody is right beside him, barking out orders left and right. Together, they drag a badly injured clone to his feet and help him limp towards the nearest transport. There are hundreds of gunships, landing, loading up with troopers and supplies, and taking off as soon as they are full. Obi-Wan and Cody are amongst the last to leave, holding the droids back with the 501’s support and making sure that no man is left behind. With a nod, Cody lets him know that they are the last ones left and Obi-Wan hops into the nearest ship, hand wrapped around a handle for balance.

“Let General Skywalker know that we’re all clear!” he shouts to the pilot as the transport rises upwards. He gets a thumbs up and the 501^st squadrons begin an escort formation, drawing the fire of the Separatist air support away from the fleeing gunships. The atmosphere grows ever thinner and Obi-Wan helps Waxer drag the doors of the gunship close before they enter low orbit. Obi-Wan waits patiently during the minutes long journey to the Republic cruisers—his jittery nerves hidden by a perfect, placid Jedi mask.

When they finally land and can throw the doors open once more, he is greeted by the sight of Senator Amidala, her hair as perfectly coiffed as always, traveling gown a deep, rich Nubian maroon, and looking distinctly out of place in the bustling hangar. Just behind her stands a golden-protocol droid that seems vaguely…familiar.

“Master Kenobi,” she greets, face breaking out in a wide smile. She extends her hands and Obi-Wan hops off the transport to grasp her hands in his. Once they had…sorted out the matter of Anakin’s affections and Obi-Wan had apologized for his boorish behavior in the immediate aftermath of Geonosis, he and the Senator had reignited the close, warm friendship that had started on Naboo but grown distant with time. She will always be more Anakin’s friend than his, but that didn’t mean that Obi-Wan doesn’t enjoy joining her for a Nubian tea ceremony every now and again. “It is so good to see you. We were worried we would not arrive in time.”

“It takes more than a couple hundred thousand battle droids to take me out, milady,” he responds, squeezing her hands. “Sorry to interrupt your negotiations.”

“Oh, never you mind,” she responds, easily, waving a thin hand airily. “The full battalion escort is a waste of resources anyways—the Chancellor insisted on it for some reason.”

“Really? Who is the new Chancellor, by the way?” At Amidala’s strange look, he does a double take, trying to back calculate the date in his head. “I’m sorry, there was an election, wasn’t there? It should be coming up soon, if not. I’m sorry—it’s so easy to lose track of time out here.”

“There was an election scheduled,” Senator Amidala says sourly. “But in light of the war, the Senate voted to postpone it. Indefinitely.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, unsure of what else to say. He’s saved by the arrival of Anakin’s squadron—dozens of small craft touching down around them. Mechanics and medics race forward to aid their brothers, the chaos growing even more frenetic.

“Rex, everybody’s back aboard, we’ve got the 212^th ships in tow, go to hyperspace before the Separatists decide to get their shit together,” Anakin barks into the commlink on his vambrace as he hops out of his distinctive fighter. He spares a brief moment to pat fondly at the top of his astromech’s dome. “Good job, Artoo, I’ll make sure to put in for an extra-long oil bath.”

Then he turns, scanning the hangar with his eyes and the Force. He’s growing out his padawan haircut, his curls in that awkward, in between stage, and there’s a thin, still livid scar over one eye, but other than that, not much has changed. His gaze alights on Obi-Wan and his entire being lights up, his strides long and sure as he makes a beeline for them. Obi-Wan steps forward to meet him, holding his hands out to catch Anakin’s head between his palms, slowing down his former apprentice’s momentum so that they can gently tap foreheads, the bond practically singing between them.

It’s alright, I’m here, I’m safe, because of you, Obi-Wan brushes gentle reassurance against the bond. In the six months they have been apart, Anakin’s constant well of fear-anger-fear has seemed to multiply tenfold.

Master, when they told us it was the 212^th in trouble I couldn’t breathe, Anakin admits, a raw edge to the thought. He pushes the memory of taking the call from the High Council, his breath and heart in his throat the entire time.

“Uh, General?” Cody’s coughs, interrupting their reverie. Obi-Wan blinks dazedly, unused to having the bond so alive after so many months of silence. He steps back to face his commander, taking care not to step too far away.  

“Cody,” Obi-Wan greets. “This is my former padawan, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.”

Cody’s eyes bug out, seeming to recognize the name. He’s far too much of a professional to say anything, though Waxer and Boil are not similarly disinclined.

“You trained General Skywalker? Oh boy that explains so much,” Waxer mutters, not seeming to realize how his voice will carry in the hangar. Anakin’s men and Senator Amidala look on, amused smiles on all their faces.  

“Ha! I see Rex has been sharing stories across the coms,” Anakin says, taking it in stride. Waxer blushes a little to be called out, but nods. “What’s your name trooper?”

“Waxer, sir.”

“Well, Waxer, don’t believe anything General Kenobi says to you about me—no matter what he claims, I learned everything I know from him, so it’s no one’s fault but his.”

“I do not remember ever teaching you how to fly,” Obi-Wan interjects dryly. “In fact, I distinctly remember trying to break you of your awful flying habits, to no avail.”

“Bah! Lies.” He pauses, then seems to fully take in the trooper’s bloody, half-falling down state—Waxer had done his very best and he was in better shape than most, but that really wasn’t saying much. Anakin shifts to evaluate Obi-Wan, who in turn tries to straighten his hunch, redistribute his weight, and hide how he’d been curling over his broken ribs. It doesn’t work, of course, and Anakin’s eyes narrow. “Come on, let’s get you all to the infirmary.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to protest, then takes in Cody’s and Anakin’s equally murderously determined looks and decides to make a strategic retreat. As they begin to move away, he hears Senator Amidala’s protocol droid speak up and does a double take.

“Oh, that was quite enough excitement for one day. I do hope the negotiations are more sedate.”

He slides his eyes over to Anakin, incredulous.

“Why does Senator Amidala have your mother’s protocol droid?”

“The pirate life wasn’t good for Threepio’s nerves,” Anakin says with a shrug. “Mom needed to find him a new home and he’s quite happy in the Senate—I think they appreciate his talents a lot more and he’s quite vain about the new plating. I’m also pretty sure Mom and Padmé are using his built-in comms to send encrypted messages.”  

“Dear Force, the reach of your mother’s network is truly frightening sometimes.”

“I think I’m gonna try convincing Padmé to lend me Artoo permanently,” Anakin continues, jovial. “I only borrowed him for this mission, but he did really well—it was his idea to skim the droid lines like that, you know?—and I think Senate work is a little boring for an astromech of his caliber. What do you think?”

“I think that you somehow managed to find the only other being in this entire Galaxy that can match your bullheaded recklessness,” Obi-Wan mutters, mostly to himself. “And of course it’s a droid, of course it is.”

Anakin laughs and slings an arm over his shoulders.

Obi-Wan can’t quite hide his wince and Anakin frowns.

“Master?” he says, looking over worriedly.

“It’s been a rough few days,” Obi-Wan responds neutrally.

“I’m sorry—I should have pushed the engines faster, I shouldn’t have listened to Yularen, we could have gotten here even faster—”

“And damaged the ships so badly we wouldn’t have been able to escape to hyperspace? No, Admiral Yularen was right to caution restraint,” Obi-Wan sighs. “You arrived just in time. I am hurt, but will recover. Do not blame yourself.”

“I’m the Chosen One, though, supposedly. The Galaxy is falling apart, and I was useless to stop it, but I should at least be able to protect you,” Anakin says, frowning fiercely. The darkness in his mind coils tighter.

Obi-Wan glances at him sharply. When he’d first taken Anakin on as a padawan, he’d been absolutely adamant with the Council—no mentions of Qui-Gon’s favorite prophecy anywhere near Anakin ever again. It was too much weight to put on one boy’s shoulders and he was all too familiar with the terrible sensation of trying to live up to an impossibly high standard that could never be met. After the disaster that was Xanatos, when Obi-Wan had realized that Qui-Gon had still not let go of his former padawan, still held him up on some sort of pedestal, despite him having Fallen, he had realized that everything he ever did would be measured against that perfect, idealized version of Xanatos in Qui-Gon’s mind and nothing would ever be enough. Even knowing how impossible it was, he still allowed himself to be pulled into the sucking weight of those expectations. But, despite his best efforts, Anakin has indicated his awareness of the prophecy and raised this issue a handful of times over his apprenticeship—he dearly wishes he could find and slap whichever Jedi had explained Qui-Gon’s insane theories to Anakin. Even though they had returned to the Temple only briefly, he hadn’t been shy about letting anyone know that he believed Anakin to be the Chosen One of prophecy and rumors had immediately started flying. Nevertheless, the Council had respected Obi-Wan’s decision and had sternly informed all the Knights and Masters, especially those who interacted regularly with Anakin as his instructors, that they were not to bring it up to the boy under any circumstances. Clearly someone hadn’t listened, but Obi-Wan could not think of who would be so cruel as to place such a heavy crown on the head of a child.

“No more of that,” Obi-Wan says, shaking his head fiercely. “You did save me—I might be a little worse for wear, but that’s no failure of yours. Without you, I would surely be dead, not just nursing a few bruises.”

Anakin still looks displeased, but Obi-Wan can feel him swallow his desire to continue the argument, drawing a shield across the dark thoughts and locking them away. Obi-Wan frowns to himself—locking such feelings away cannot be healthy—and makes a note to return to the issue. Later though. He doesn’t want to ruin their reunion with a sure to be explosive argument.

“And a set of broken ribs,” Anakin says, in a light, teasing tone.

“Hmm?”

“It’s not just bruises, don’t you dare pretend otherwise. I can feel your ribs across the bond, you know. And,” he finishes, as they arrive in the infirmary, “I’m sure Kix will back me up.”

The clone in question, a serious looking man who has chosen to keep the standard, dark buzz cut that most shinies had when they arrived straight from Kamino, looks up and nods at Anakin. He makes his way across the room and gestures to a nearby empty bed. Anakin wraps his arms securely underneath Obi-Wan’s thighs and shoulders, gently cradling him as he lowers him to the bed.

“I’m not that badly injured,” he sniffs, shooting Anakin a dirty look. He pauses halfway down, Obi-Wan’s back still a few inches from the mattress.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Anakin says, a mischievous note in his voice. “I’ll stop now, if you want. Bit of awkward timing, but if your ribs are truly uninjured, you should just be able to get the rest of the way by yourself, no problem.”

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes and briefly considers it, but ultimately decides that even the put-out expression on Anakin’s face would not be worth the side-splitting pain. He nods stiffly and graciously allows Anakin to lower him the rest of the way, Anakin laughing the whole time. For all that Obi-Wan treasured his former padawan’s genuine laughter, it was really quite weird—unattractive belly-deep snorts that often made passerby pause in confusion.

Anakin stays as long as he can, watching Kix’s quick, professional wrap-up job with a critical eye, and keeping Obi-Wan company through the myriad of scans and shots and fluids he’s given. They catch up on their respective adventures of the last six months and discuss the latest drama between Hondo and Shmi (he’d stolen her a diamond ring the size of a pallie fruit, she had sold it to fund another ship for their growing armada, he was now heartbroken), before Anakin’s com begins beeping rapidly.

“Go, go on,” Obi-Wan says, making a little shooing motion. Anakin looks reluctant and Obi-Wan’s heart warms a little at the familiar action—on Tatooine even the simplest, most treatable of injuries could turn to a death sentence if the Masters decided the cost to treat, clothe, and feed the injured slaves during convalescence just wasn’t worth it. As a result, Anakin put very little faith in medical prognoses and worried incessantly until the injured party was completely functional once more. “Anakin, you heard Kix, I am completely fine—I just need rest and time. With a little bit of bacta to help my ribs along, I’ll be up and about in no time—I’m sure I’ll be able to meet you on the bridge in only a few short hours.”

“You better, Master,” Anakin says, using the familiar address which Obi-Wan found both jarring and comforting at the same time. “We’ll have to make a report to the Council soon and I am not facing them alone.”

Both Anakin and Obi-Wan are snickering to themselves, a warm thread of laughter-together-agreementwinding its way through their heads, as Anakin exits the infirmary.  

Obi-Wan passes the next hour by cheerfully shuffling around the bustling infirmary and chatting with the men of the 212^th who also have made their way into Kix’s care—a boost to morale and a few small dribbles of extra energy, shared through the Force, would do wonders for their recoveries.

“General,” Kix says exasperatedly, for the third time. “What did I tell you? No getting out of the bed with those ribs of yours. And no extra little boosts in the Force either!”

“I’m just—”

“Nope, don’t want to hear it. General Skywalker won’t care when he rips my head off, so I don’t care either. Back to bed. Now.”

Obi-Wan grumbles a little to himself as he makes his way back to his little bed—though it appears that he has gained a neighbor in the past few minutes, a dirty, shell-shocked clone who looks on the verge of tears. He’s doing his best to hide it, but for the past six months Obi-Wan has been surrounded day in and day out by hundreds of identical physical copies of the same man. He knows most of their physical tells by now.  

Obi-Wan glances around and his hand darts out to pull of one of the thin, bedside curtains by his own bed completely closed, so that it is blocking the clone from view of the rest of the infirmary. For good measure, he reaches out with the Force and uses two fingers to flick closed the curtain on the opposite side of the neighboring bed, so now the two of them and their beds are encased in a small, fabric bubble.

“What’s your name, trooper?” Obi-Wan begins gently, sinking down to sit gingerly on the edge of his bed, directly across from his new friend. By the looks of his armor, he’s a foot solider in the 212^th, though Obi-Wan has never met him before today. The man looks away, trying to hide his red-rimmed eyes.

“Cut,” the trooper says, voice muffled. “I’m sorry, General Kenobi, sir.”

“Don’t be,” Obi-Wan replies, waving a hand. “War is hard and Hypori was…well. I would not blame anyone for such a reaction after that mess.”

“Yeah, but it’s what I was made for, I should be good at it,” the clone says bitterly. “It’s the only reason I exist, after all.”

“No, it’s not,” Obi-Wan says harshly. “It may be why the Kaminoans created you, but that is not all you are.”

“Yes, it is, sir, there’s no use pretending otherwise,” the clone’s voice is equally hard. “Maybe there’s something else I’m meant for, something else I’m good at—but at this rate, I’m never going to find out. Even if the war ever ends, I doubt I’ll live to see it. I’ll have spent my whole life fighting for some stupid Republic I don’t even believe in…” he trails off and shudders, tears beginning to fall anew. Obi-Wan leans forward.

“Then, go, find it.”

“You mean…go? As in—”

“As in leave this war behind and find out what you truly want out of life.”

“You’re talking about desertion! I know you found me crying like this, but I’m no coward, sir, I swear!

“It is not cowardice to want a life outside this war. I too have dreamed of fleeing to some obscure planet in Wild Space, one with plenty of weird and undiscovered flora and fauna so that I could spend the rest of my days studying them and the mysteries of the Force. I imagine many of your brothers feel the same—but the difference is, I have decided that my dreams and hopes are an acceptable price to pay in order to save what lives I can and preserve a flawed Republic I believe in. I make that choice every single day, but it takes an immense amount of bravery to make the opposite choice as well—to step back and refuse to fight for your own health and sanity.”

“Clones don’t get that choice,” Cut says quietly. His tears have slowed, and he sounds as if he trying to draw into himself.

“I—I understand that. And perhaps it makes me a terrible hypocrite to ask Cody and Crys and Waxer and Boil to keep on fighting, when I am telling you this, but none of them have ever expressed such views to me. And I will not allow any man to fight beside me simply because he feels that he didn’t have any other option.” Obi-Wan offers him a small, sad smile.

“That’s a nice sentiment, sir, but where would I go? Everyone knows what a clone looks like—I’d be shot in Separatist or Hutt space or, even better, decommissioned in Republic space.”

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan strokes his beard, thinking. “I do know a woman, in the Outer Rim. She leads a small independence movement on Tatooine and would gladly offer you asylum, either with her or on some other planet.” Cut looks up sharply, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. As quickly as it arrives, it disappears again and his face falling.

“I couldn’t do that,” he says, shaking his head. “I couldn’t put her in danger like that, bringing the wrath of the GAR down upon her.”

“Eh, let’s just say that she’s used to sheltering fugitives and pissing off people much more powerful than herself by doing so. Honestly, I think she enjoys it.”

There’s a long pause.

“Well…in that case, I can see why you two are friends,” Cut says slowly, raising an eyebrow. His whole demeanor has started to change, his tone lighter, his spine straighter. He swipes the last of the tears from his eyes.

“Family, actually,” Obi-Wan corrects, with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll want to go to Tatooine and ask around for Shmi Skywalker. It might take awhile, she’s not always on planet these days, but when you do find her, tell her…tell her that you served with General Kenobi and that “my freedom is stolen, not bought.” She’ll know what it means.”

“I can’t even imagine how I’d get a ship to Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan laughs as he stands up and begins to sweep open beside curtains.  

“Now, trooper, you can’t expect me to figure everything out for you,” he chuckles. “No, from here on out, the rest is up to you. But I have every faith—you’re smart, adaptable, and persistent—if you want to, you can do it. The real question is: do you want to?”

Silence.

He bends a little, side to side, to check his ribs and nods to himself.

“Well, I think I’m mostly recovered. It’s off to the bridge with me—it was an honor to meet you, Cut. I wish you the best of luck, no matter what you decide,” he declares. Obi-Wan glances back, the bright lights of the infirmary throwing harsh lines across Cut’s dazed face, before turning away and walking away.

When he makes it to the bridge, Cody and Anakin frown fiercely and open their mouths and begin to protest as one. The next few minutes are a flurry of fussing, his commandeer and former padawan determine to nag him back into the infirmary, until a series of short, but insistent bleeps alert them all to the fact that a small craft has been launched from the aft hangar without authorization.

Rex moves to activate his wrist com, brow furrowed in worry and confusion.

“There’s no need, Captain,” Obi-Wan says, nonchalantly. Rex freezes, wrist halfway to his mouth, while he, Cody, and Anakin all turn to stare at Obi-Wan in befuddlement. “It appears that in the confusion of the evacuation from Hypori we forgot to mark down a fighter and its pilot as missing in action. Silly us.”

“What—that doesn’t even make sense…” Anakin begins, before trailing off. His eyes sharpen.

“Which pilot, sir?” Cody begins, eyes shadowed, voice even.

“I believe he called himself Cut.”

“Ah.” Cody pauses, visibly struggles with himself, then locks eyes with Rex and has some sort of weird telepathic argument with his brother. He sighs, brow clearing. “Better to list the missing fighter and trooper separately—no offense to Cut, may he rest in peace, but he failed most of his flight simulations on Kamino and I’d be a terrible commander if I ever assigned him to air support.”

“I was testing out engine mods on the spare fighters before adding them to the cruiser,” Anakin chimes in. “A lot of them blew up before I figured it out, we can just add it to the list. It’s a long list, no one will notice an extra fighter.”

“A very long list,” Rex mutters.

The four of them pause and take a moment to share identical grins.

***

Afterwards, Obi-Wan and Anakin are technically supposed to split up, return to their previous assignments and just head on their merry way. But they’re almost immediately pulled into some new crisis with no time to breathe and that mission goes so fantastically well that the Council agrees to keep the 501^st and 212^th together for the next mission. And then that mission is another success and the one after that and the one after that…

Eventually, without anyone ever really discussing it, Anakin and Obi-Wan become a team—the Team— rarely if ever assigned apart. Their troopers begin using the paint normally reserved to decorate their armor to splash a bright yellow and red circular symbol on their ships and then everyone begins calling them Open Circle Fleet, even in official documentation. He has no idea what that actually means and suspects that the Senate doesn’t either—it turns out that having to codify an entire military organizational structure practically overnight was a terrible idea and as result, the rank, designation, and nomenclature system was just one big steaming pile of contradictions and nonsensical add-ons—The war drags on and, for a lack of qualified alternatives, Obi-Wan begins to rise in the ranks. He continues to slowly gather other Jedi and their battalions under the umbrella of the fleet, until the Council just decides to appoint him to a seat on the Jedi High Council and name him High General.  

“Is this payback for all the times I passive-aggressively questioned orders?” Obi-Wan had asked aloud, still numb with shock as Master Plo Koon had chuckled heartily, slapping a shocked Obi-Wan on the back and escorting him to his seat.

“Yes,” Master Windu had said bluntly, not looking up from the latest report from the front that he had been skimming.

And that’s when it really becomes official as Obi-Wan now controls the deployments of all the Jedi generals in the Open Circle Fleet and he just chooses to ignore the rest of the Council when they hint at Anakin being assigned elsewhere.

Really, if anyone had told him that being promoted would give him the authority to tell the Council ‘no’, he would have accepted the whole mess with a lot more grace. He can even order Senators around nowadays and they hardly make a peep of protest!

Of course, the one person who remains completely unaffected by his promotion is Anakin himself, who acts as he always does—perfectly happy to follow Obi-Wan’s orders when he agrees with them and also perfectly happy to blatantly disregard them if he feels otherwise, as evidenced by his current actions.

The Open Circle fleet is currently racing their way to Christophsis, to aid a beleaguered Senator Organa, and Anakin should be following Obi-Wan’s command to study Admiral Yularen’s notes regarding the Separatist commander they’re about to face off against, the infamous Admiral Trench. Naturally, he is doing anything but that, ensconced in Obi-Wan’s quarters and hunched over a completely unrelated datapad.  

“What about Master Mundi?” he mutters to himself. He pauses, thinks about it, then shakes his head. “No, no, I don’t think his saber style would suit her at all. Master, what have you heard about Knight Uula?”

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan says, feigning disinterest, but secretly fascinated by the latest example of Anakin’s now three-month-long quest to find the perfect Jedi master for Ahsoka Tano. He’d started with Obi-Wan, of course, who had only laughed and told him in no uncertain terms that he needed at least five more years to fully recover from Anakin’s apprenticeship before he even began thinking of taking another padawan. He thought that would be the end of it, but no, every spare moment Anakin’s had since then has been devoted to obsessively trawling through records and mission reports, even interviewing other Knights at one point, all in an attempt to find a Jedi master he deemed worthy of his young protégé.

“Uula? What have you heard about her?” Anakin presses, frowning at his datapad. “She doesn’t take very many field missions, apparently prefers the peace and quiet of Archival holocron research.”

“I do not know Knight Uula very well. But Archival duty, while essential, important work, does not exactly sound like something Intiate Tano would be interested in.”

“Ugh, you’re right. It’s just that I’m running out of options! Ahsoka’s just turned 13—they’re no longer sending Intiates to the Corps with the war and all, but she doesn’t deserve to be foisted on some half-rate Knight last minute!”

Obi-Wan sighs. Honestly, it was amusing at first, but now Anakin’s obliviousness is just plain embarrassing. How had he ever raised such a clueless padawan?

“Anakin,” he says gently, “there is one option you haven’t yet explored. Have you ever considered taking Ahsoka on as your padawan?”

Anakin stares at him, dumbstruck.

“Wha—you mean like? Me? I couldn’t—I was Knighted less than a year ago, I can barely take care of myself, let alone a padawan!”

“Yes, I know the feeling,” Obi-Wan responds, wryly. “But I like to think it all worked out for the best between you and me. Why not yourself and Ahsoka? You’ve already shown yourself to be a patient and talented teacher and you are clearly already very invested in her well-being—that’s a lot more than most Master-padawan pairs start out with.”

“Huh.” Anakin pauses, stews. “Do you think the Council would agree?”

“I think Master Yoda and Master Plo Koon would be absolutely thrilled that all their scheming finally paid off,” Obi-Wan says with a raised eyebrow. “I also think that if you can manage to make everything official in the next, oh, forty-eight hours or so, and leave out the fact that I was the one who suggested it, you will rob Master Windu of about three hundred credits.”

Anakin narrows his eyes and tugs at the thread of amusement currently winding its way through the bond.

“Was everyone placing bets on me?” he demands.

“No, no, not at all. I, for example, was barred from participating due to my ‘undue influence’ on the wager in question. It’s also against the Code to take credits from hapless young padawans, so they weren’t allowed in the pool, though they might have formed their own.”

“I’ll go com the Council,” Anakin grumbles and gets to his feet, a thunderously grumpy look marring his features as he stomps out of Obi-Wan’s quarters.

“Remember, don’t let them know I was the one who told you!” Obi-Wan calls out cheerfully.

Anakin keeps storming away but raises a hand behind his back in a rude gesture.  

***

Christophsis is…well, exactly like the dozens of other battles across the galaxy that Obi-Wan has been a part of. Granted the scenery is a little more unique, but it’s a lot harder to truly admire the crystalline landscape when you’re slicing your way through hundreds of droids and really it’s the same story, different planet. There’s a space battle—gotta clear that blockade!—followed by a slow, slog of a ground battle—gotta clear that siege!—followed in turn by a dangerous, covert operation behind enemy lines—gotta deal with Dooku’s latest pet Dark sider!

They’re now in the last part of that familiar plan, racing their swoop bikes across suspiciously unpatrolled Separatist territory, to confront whichever boogeyman Dooku has sent this time. Their little side jaunt will offer Rex and Cody in their own investigation—there’s a traitor in the ranks and hopefully the need to share this juicy bit of time-sensitive intelligence will make the traitor act in haste and make a mistake that will make his identification easier.

Anakin revs his engines a bit and edges ahead of Obi-Wan. He sends a flare of annoyance across the bond.

“This isn’t a pod-race,” Obi-Wan scolds, over the roar of their engines. “We’re not twelve years old.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re losing,” Anakin crows. Across their bond he continues, much more seriously, we seem to have picked up some friends and I don’t know how much they can hear us.

Ah, of course. They haven’t tried to harm us yet and the path has been suspiciously clear of droids. I think someone wants to be found.

Ooh, a trap! That’s unfortunate…for them. Anakin pushes the throttle, zipping forward with glee, and Obi-Wan is forced to match his speed or be left behind. They allow the droids to herd them—many paths blocked by dozens of droids, only for one or two others to be suspiciously clear of any activity. Soon they arrive at the main building, cautiously dismounting their bikes as they glance around. Up another flight of stairs they come into a wide, domed room, empty but for the wide tables and abandoned, hastily shoved to the side chairs (droids had little use for such things.”

Obi-Wan’s mind brushes against something cold and angry and he locks eyes with Anakin and nods minutely.

“So this is the belly of the beast,” Anakin says out loud, comically exaggerated. Obi-Wan winces and decides to just give up the ruse.

“Really, Anakin?”

“What! I’m totally getting better at this.”

“You’re really not,” Obi-Wan sighs. “I do hope we never get assigned a mission that relies on your acting skills.”

“Boys, boys, there’s no need to squabble,” a sultry voice interrupts from overhead and behind them. They both whip around to face at the newcomer, her familiar thin and gray figure displayed beautifully as she arches her back and leans against the railing.

“Ah!” Obi-Wan responds, warmly. “Ventress. And here I thought this mission would be unpleasant.” The assassin smiles, loth-catlike.

“The pleasure is all mine, my dear Obi-Wan. How I’ve missed you.”

“What’re you—he’s not your dear anything!” Anakin says in a squeaky voice.

“Tut, tut. Do you see what sort of rudeness I must deal with when you’re not here?” Ventress says, shaking her head and slinking forward. She unsheathes a set of curved lightsaber handles from behind her back. Anakin and Obi-Wan copy the movement, igniting their own blades.

“Must we?” Obi-Wan continues, twirling his lightsaber in a showy display. “And here I thought our conversation had such a promising start.”

“My, such kind words. But we both know that there is a certain…thrill in this that verbal sparring alone cannot elicit.”

“Ah of course, wouldn’t want to lose that spark, would we?” Obi-Wan responds with a smirk. Anakin swings out wildly, stepping in between Obi-Wan and Ventress physically break their eye contact.

“Would you please stop encouraging her?” Anakin growls as his blade sings against Ventress’ crossed sabers. She falls into a deep defensive stance to absorb the momentum of his powerful downward strike.

“Hush, Skywalker, hasn’t anyone ever told you to be quiet while the adults are talking?” Ventress hisses. They launch into a flurry of blows, broken only by Obi-Wan’s decision to somersault into the action.

Ventress steps back, to give herself some breathing room from their joint attack and performs a series of fanciful twirls with both blades. It’s a masterful display of skill.

“Very impressive, my sweet,” Obi-Wan says appreciatively. Anakin lets out a sound of dismay from beside him, before charging forward twice as fast, his brow tightly furrowed. He performs a similar trick, though with far finer control and better footwork than Ventress. He pauses and looks back towards Obi-Wan, a strange, half-hopeful look gracing his features. “Anakin! Watch out!”

Obi-Wan leaps forward and body-slams Anakin to the ground, Ventress’ sabers missing them by mere millimeters.

“Oh how sloppy!” Ventress purrs as Obi-Wan scrambles to his feet to meet her next attack. Anakin is still recovering, half-way to his feet.

“Pay attention, Anakin!” Obi-Wan reprimands, his own attention fully absorbed in dodging and countering Ventress’ blows. Anakin joins in and it’s only a few more minutes until they have backed Ventress into a corner.  

“Give up, Ventress,” Anakin growls, fists clenched tight around his saber. “You’re outmatched.”

“Is that what you think? Truly?” she laughs. With a snap of her fingers, dozens of droids pour out of nowhere, blasters aimed squarely at their chests.

“Now this is hardly fair, my dear,” Obi-Wan says, mind racing as he and Anakin bounce escape plans back and forth across the bond.

“I never claimed to fight fair,” Ventress says with a lazy shrug and a smirk. “What are you waiting for? Come and get me, boys!”

Anakin throws his lightsaber at the nearest crystal pane. It lands squarely in the middle, deeply embedded in the crystal and a web of cracks extending from its point of contact. With another pull of the Force, the saber comes flying back into his hand and the glass shatters. Ventress instinctively steps back and raises a hand to shield her face.

“Maybe next time,” Anakin declares as they leap out as one, knees tucked close to their chests. They land lightly and Obi-Wan offers Ventress a saucy salute as she stares down at them. He turns back to Anakin as they begin to sprint away, back to their parked swoop bikes.

“We have to get back to base as soon as possible,” Obi-Wan says.

“You think?” Anakin, replies with a snort. “Did you draw that stunningly obvious conclusion while you were busy flirting with a Dark sider?”

“It was for the mission.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Better her flirtatious and distracted than silent and scheming.”

“Sometimes I think you’d flirt with a rock if you thought it’d help with the mission,” Anakin grumbles as they remount their bikes. Obi-Wan quickly smothers a spike of been-there-done-that, but not quickly enough. Anakin’s eyes snap to him, wide and disbelieving. “Please don’t tell me—no. That was joke! For Force’s sake—you’re serious.”

“Technically, ze wasn’t a rock but a sentient silicon-based lifeform with telepathic abilities,” Obi-Wan replies primly. “Qui-Gon and I were sent to act as translators for a group of non-Force sensitive humanoids who wanted to ask for mining permissions. Ze quite liked my hair—apparently red is a coveted color for zem.”

Anakin stares at him, then shakes his head and turns away. Together they start their bikes and begin zooming back towards the Republic command center. Even dodging the suddenly much more active droid patrols, it’s a quick trip.

“The Generals are back!” a clone shouts out. Fives emerges in the middle distance, distinguishable only by the coat of blue paint on his armor and the characteristic half-wild, uncoordinated movement of his arms as he attempts to wave them down. They skid to a stop inches from the toes of his boots.

“General Skywalker, sir,” Fives says hurriedly, “the relief ships have arrived.”

“Finally!” Anakin says, stepping off his bike and brushing off his robes—swoop bikes may be fast, but they always came with a thick layer of accumulated dust and dirt. “I was starting to think they were ignoring our calls for help.”

“Come on, let’s go orient the new arrivals,” Obi-Wan suggest, sliding off his own bike and straightening his hunched over posture with a screech of protest. “Send Rex, Cody to us, trooper.”

“They’re already there, sir!”

“Even better.”

Together they walk out to the makeshift landing area and easily find Rex and Cody, the only figures staying still in the movement of troopers pouring out of the ships that have already landed. There are streams of white and black shouting out crisp commands and carrying off boxes of supplies. The relative uniformity of the troopers only makes the lone non-clone stand out—a familiar blue and white set of montrals exiting one of the ships.

Anakin’s jaw drops.

“Ahoska?” he calls out. Her head snaps towards them, her gawking interrupted by Anakin’s exclamation of surprise. She waves excitedly and starts loping towards them. Her eyes dart to the clones around them and she visibly straightens and reigns herself in, trying her very best to look serious as she now approaches them at a more sedate pace. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m your new padawan, remember?” she replies, once she has drawn close enough. She looks excited, full to the brim with bursting energy. “We had a big heart to heart and then we holocommed the entire High Council…any of this ringing a bell?”

“Hey now, no need to get snippy, I know that, I meant what are you doing here, on Christophsis?”

“Oh. Master Yoda sent me to join you, now that we’re official and all.”

“What? Since when do we toss younglings into active warzones?”

“Hey! I’m almost fourteen!”

“My point still stands!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupts, with a gentle hand to his shoulder. “You accompanied me on plenty of missions by the time you were thirteen.”

“Yeah, but none of those missions were in the middle of a war!” Anakin says. Obi-Wan gives him a lookand Anakin hastily back tracks. “Okay, at least not officially. And it’s not like we went in knowing they’d be so dangerous.”

“I can keep up!” Ahsoka promises, eyes bright. “You know I can!”

“I do know that,” Anakin protests. “It’s not that, it’s just…we’re in the bit of an emergency here and this is not how I wanted to start your apprenticeship.”

The distant thunder of droids marching breaks the conversation.

“Looks like the Seps are done with waiting,” Captain Rex says. He murmurs an order to a passing clone, who nods and hustles away. “Best take this inside then—it won’t be long until those droids find a way around our cannons.”

“Let’s take them!” Ahsoka crows excitedly.

“Hold on there, Snips,” Anakin sighs. “Let’s just—let’s try to come up with some sort of plan first, okay?”

“You? A plan? My, will wonders never cease,” Obi-Wan snorts. Anakin shoots him a dirty look.

“Why don’t you go get some gear from the armory. You’ll need it for the days ahead,” Anakin suggests. Ahsoka beams and immediately rushes ahead, straight for the command center. Anakin watches her go, bemusedly. “Does she realize she doesn’t even know where the armory is?”

“Fantastic job, dear one, less than ten minutes in and she’s already emulating your best qualities such as never asking for directions and leaping before she looks,” Obi-Wan chuckles. He’s enjoying this far too much. Anakin rolls his eyes and turns to Rex and Cody, his demeanor suddenly much more serious, brow furrowed.

“Keep her away from the battle as much as possible,” he instructs. “I want our best men with her at all times—Fives, Echo, whoever else you think appropriate. We’ll tell her it’s a special operations unit, but if it comes down to the mission or her, I want them to pick her, am I clear?”

“Understood, sir,” Captain Rex snaps out. Another ominous rumble rolls through the air and Anakin locks eyes with Obi-Wan. They share a long look, then a nod. Anakin and Rex turn heel and begin to sprint after Ahsoka’s rapidly fading figure.

Cody watches them go with a worried slant to his eyebrows.

“Come now, my friend, no need for that face, you know that Anakin and Rex will allow no harm to come to her,” Obi-Wan says, reassuringly. “I know she’s a little…eager, but I have every confidence they can stop her from doing anything too reckless.”

Cody slides his eyes over in disbelief.

“When has the 501^st ever turned down the opportunity to participate in someone else’s reckless, hare-brained scheme?”

“Ah, well, there is that.”

“For the record, sir, this is a terrible plan.”

***

When everything is said and done, even the ever-pessimistic Cody has to admit that wasn’t an absolutely horrible plan, Obi-Wan thinks in satisfaction.

Granted, at some point Ahsoka and Anakin had ended up sneaking enemy lines by hiding underneath the Christosphisian equivalent of a trash can lid, but that had ended with a victory snatched from the jaws of defeat and the absolute minimum number casualties possible. Which, really, was all Obi-Wan was asking for at the end of the day. The war has sadly and rapidly redefined his metric of success.

As the three Jedi enter the command center of the Resolute, the clones snap out quick, crisp salutes and then go back to the busy work of arranging a Separatist surrender. The Separatists did no such thing for Republic forces, of course, and the Senate had grumbled about the waste of resources, but the Council had held firm—no Jedi was going to slaughter a sentient who had already surrendered.

They spread out in front of the com unit, Obi-Wan adopting his favored crossed arm pose and Anakin clasping his wrists behind his back as they prepare to face the rest of the Council. Obi-Wan’s own exhausted mind is buoyed by the waves of excitement and nerves wafting from Ahsoka’s mind. War is a horrible thing, but she is still only thirteen and a brand new Padawan joining her master for her first report to the Council.

As they wait for the rest of the Council to arrive, Obi-Wan sadly wonders how long it will take this terrible war to grind down even Ahsoka’s irrepressible spirit.

 “It is good to see you once more, Master Kenobi,” Master Plo Koon greets, as his form flickers into existence and snaps Obi-Wan’s attention back to him. Masters Kit Fisto, Mace Windu, and Yoda soon join him. “Knight Skywalker, Padawan Tano. I take it the engagement on Christophsis was successful?”

“For now,” Obi-Wan says, with a shrug.

“Just in time, too,” Master Windu continues, briskly. “There is some confusion arising in the Arkanis sector—it’s begun affecting the hyperspace lanes we use to resupply our troops on Ryloth, so we must get to the bottom of the matter as quickly as possible.”

“Some familiarity with the Hutts, you have,” Master Yoda continues. “Make your investigation quicker, easier, it should.”

“Familiarity,” Anakin snorts. Ahsoka watches the exchange with wide eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What seems to be the confusion?” Obi-Wan interrupts hastily, before one of the Councilors can comment on Anakin’s attitude. Master Windu gives Anakin a beady eyed look of disapproval but continues.

“The Senate sent a team of experienced negotiators to bargain with the Hutts for free movement of our supply and transport ships across Hutt Space. Only when they arrived, they reported an upheaval—the Hutts were too busy dealing with some sort of insurrection and flat out refused to meet with the negotiators.”

“We suspect a Separatist plot to destabilize the Hutts—without their influence, the status of hundreds of planets would suddenly be up in the air and open up a new front in the war,” Master Kit Fisto says, unusually grave.

“Began on Tatooine the unrest did.”

Anakin snorts again and Obi-Wan chokes on his next inhale, startled. The Councilors and Ahsoka look at him strangely. He tries to quickly to regain his equilibrium.

“Ah, pardon. But this unrest…it wouldn’t happen to be led by a band of Weequay pirates? And a woman, human, dark-haired?” Obi-Wan asks in a strangled voice.

Master Windu’s narrowed eyed look is an answer in and of itself.

“Why do I have a feeling that I’m really not going to like what you have to say next?” Master Windu asks, exasperated.

“Well, the great news is: Obi-Wan and I are so good at our jobs, we’ve already solved the mystery,” Anakin says, cheerfully. Obi-Wan pokes reproachfully at the bond—it wouldn’t kill Anakin to be a little more respectful, especially when his padawan is watching.

“Master Kenobi?”

“Ah, well. Yes. I believe that it’s a slave uprising—there’s a woman, a former slave herself, who’s been operating covertly in the area for at least a decade. Last we heard she had joined up with a band of pirates out of Florrum and they were planning to take their rebellion out into the open. I believe the best path forward will be to let the uprising run its course—I have no doubt she’ll be successful soon enough and once it is all sorted I’m sure Tatooine’s new government will be more than happy to receive the Republic negotiators.” Well, that wasn’t quite true—Obi-Wan got the sense that Shmi and the other slaves looked down on the Republic for their unwillingness to enforce their anti-slavery laws and just wanted to be left alone. So they wouldn’t be happy, but they certainly would be motivated to give the Republic whatever they wanted so they would leave the planet as soon as possible.

“I take it you met her during your oddly long side-trip to Tatooine ten years ago?” Master Windu asks, with a sigh.

“Her name’s Shmi,” Anakin adds, completely unhelpfully and near bursting with pride. “She’s my mother.”

Master Windu stares.

 “Inform the Council of this, you did not. Ten years, you had. Yet no warning you gave,” Master Yoda continues.

“Why would I?” Obi-Wan protests, eyes narrowing. “The Senate and Jedi Council have always taken a hands-off approach to Hutt space—if we weren’t willing to interfere to free millions of sentients, I hardly see why we’d interfere when someone else decided to do it for us.”

Master Windu inhales sharply, taken aback by Obi-Wan’s tone. Even Master Yoda frowns and, though she is in no way responsible, even Ahsoka has begun to draw up her shoulders, defensive under the thick air of disapproval. There is a long, furious moment of wordless tension.

“Ah, Qui-Gon would be so happy to see you how you run verbal circles around the rest of us, Master Kenobi,” Master Plo Koon chuckles.

All at once, like a spring releasing its tightly coiled shape, the tension dissipates.

“I think he’d be more horrified to see any padawan of his actually on the Council,” Obi-Wan replies dryly.

“I agree with Master Kenobi,” Master Fisto says, once his laughter has trailed off. “Their cause is just and righteous—the chaos might hurt the war effort for the next few months, but what else are we to do? Send a battalion to aid the Hutts?”

“Even if ignore the moral quandary we do, hardly have the men to spare for such an operation, do we,” Master Yoda concludes, his voice brooking no argument.

Master Windu shakes his head, more than in exasperation than true disagreement.

“Very well then,” he sighs. “If we really are doing this, I want you both on the next ship back to Coruscant, so you two can personally explain the Jedi Council’s decision to the Senators involved.”

As one, Anakin and Obi-Wan wince—Master Windu always did have a flare for picking punishments that would really sting—but incline their heads in agreement and move to hastily conclude the meeting.

“I just got out here!” Ahsoka bursts out, as soon as the Council’s holos have faded. “I finally get the chance for some action and then we’re sent all the way back to Coruscant. It’s not fair!”

“Believe me, little one, there’s plenty of action and danger to be had in the Senate,” Obi-Wan sighs, as he finishes typing a quick message to Cody to share their new orders. The Fleet is to stay over Christophsis, while they take the Twilight back to Coruscant. Force willing, they will finish their task quickly and be back before the cleanup wraps up.

“I’d take a Sep over a Senator any day,” Anakin declares. They continue towards the Resolute’s hangar and duck into the dinged gray metal hull of their new transport. R2-D2 is waiting for them and beeps out a cheery hello to Anakin, a much less polite insult to Obi-Wan, and a curious query to Ahsoka. “Artoo, this Ahsoka, my new Padawan I told you about. Ahsoka, this is R2-D2, the most loyal astromech in the whole fleet.” Artoo’s blue and white dome make a 360 degree turn in happiness and Anakin continues. “A Separatist will shoot you in the back, yeah, but at least no one gets mad when you fight back.”

“A Jedi’s lightsaber should not be the only solution to all their problems,” Obi-Wan reminds Anakin.

“Yeah, but you also told me that it was unethical to use Force suggestions on them,” Anakin replies flippantly, as he quickly, masterfully types in a series of commands to the Twilight’s nav computer and gestures for them to sit down and strap in. Artoo beeps out a confirmation of their take-off clearance and the ship rises upward, as they begin to zoom out of the hangar.

“I more meant that you could try talking to them,” Obi-Wan sighs. There’s a jolt as they move to hyperspace and he holds onto his seatbelt with a white-knuckled grip. “Persuasion and negotiation are also important tools in the Jedi’s arsenal.”

“Oh, you mean like you?”

“I do think you could afford to learn a little bit from watching my example, yes, Anakin.”

“You don’t negotiate, though, you just charm them into stunned submission.” Anakin flicks on the autopilot, swiveling his chair around as he claps his hands together. “Okay, time for your first lesson,” he declares. Both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka look expectantly to him, faces upturned. Even Artoo looks curious. “No flirting with the bad guys, no matter what your grandmaster says.”

“You’re still on this?” Obi-Wan sighs, unbuckling his seat belt now that the ominous ship-wide clinks and clanks have faded to the background. He leans back against the seat back and crosses one ankle over the opposite knee. “Distracting one’s opponents with verbal exchanges is a perfectly reasonable strategy. Not all of us can simply use our staggering power in the Force to overwhelm our enemies in one fell swoop, you know.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, stands from the pilot’s chair, and cocks his hip. He raises his arms above his head and leans against a nearby wall—the fabric of his tunic pulls tight against his muscles and exposing every inch as he assumed a ridiculous parody of a pinup pose that somehow still manages to be somewhat sexy.

“Oh Obi-Wan, I missed you,” he drawls in a poorly pitched imitation of Ventress’ voice. “Oh my dear Obi-Wan I love fighting with you so much.”

“She doesn’t say it like that,” Obi-Wan says, half-heartedly, gaze inexplicably caught by the curve of Anakin’s back. Anakin slinks closer. For some reason Obi-Wan can’t look away, heart beating loud in his ears.

Oh yes she does, Artoo chimes in Binary.

“When have you ever witnessed me talking to Ventress?” Obi-Wan asks, outraged.

“Oh Obi-Wan you’re so strong, so handsome,” Anakin continues, batting his eyelashes (have they always been this long?) He fakes a swoon and collapses onto Obi-Wan, laughing hysterically. His arms wrap around Obi-Wan’s neck as he hangs off him, the sweat-slick-from-battle skin of his forearms slides against sweat-slick skin of his neck. “Oh Obi-Wan take me to bed now, you virile beast!”

Obi-Wan’s witty response dies on his lips and instead turns into a nearly inaudible croak. Anakin’s warm affection and infectious joy are racing across the bond, suffusing and twining with Obi-Wan’s rising lust and somehow making it so much…more.

Anakin chuckles and gently pats Obi-Wan’s cheek before prancing off to continue his pantomime for a delighted Artoo and Ahsoka, who are offering faux-serious constructive criticism. Anakin swivels his hips and tosses Obi-Wan a fluttery eyed sultry look over his shoulder.  

It’s simultaneously one of the least and most appealing seduction attempts Obi-Wan has ever witnessed—it’s so patently ridiculous and over the top that if anybody else had even tried, Obi-Wan would have brushed it off with nary a second thought. But because it was Anakin, because he loved this beautiful, strange, crazy man so much already—

Obi-Wan’s discombobulated, panicky thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Oh no, this is bad. This is very, very bad.

Chapter Text

Once he has escaped the immediate awkwardness and has the time to calm down, breathe, and work through his panic, Obi-Wan begins to think that maybe, just maybe, he overreacted.

Sure, he has definitely developed a strong attraction and romantic interest in his former padawan, a man fifteen years his junior who sees him solely as a mentor and older brother figure. But Obi-Wan is an adult, and a Jedi master too, he can manage his feelings without them interfering with his duties. He's done it before, he can do it again.

Only he really, really can't.

It doesn’t help that all of Obi-Wan’s coping methods for his previous attachments basically boiled down to a single strategy: run and hide until the feelings went away. That was not an option here, as both the Force and Anakin seemed determined not only to thwart his every effort to put some distance between the two of them, but to cause all of his efforts to backfire horribly.

He retreats to his quarters on the Negotiator earlier and earlier, trading their customary long nights of tzai and banter for the loneliness of his bunk. Only Anakin starts following him and then Obi-Wan not only has to deal with the constant warmth and affection pouring across the bond, but also the sight of Anakin, shirtless, in his bed.

He tries closing off the bond a little, dialing back on the connection with the feeble excuse that he doesn’t want to interfere with Anakin’s newly made Master-padawan bond with Ahsoka. Anakin nods very seriously, brow furrowed in contemplation, and then a few days later, a bubbly, radiant Ahsoka comes running up to him after a strategy session to let him know that she’d be honored to share a Force bond with him, that with his and Anakin’s already existing connection it made perfect sense to complete the triangle! And Obi-Wan really hadn’t had the heart to tell her or Anakin that wasn’t what he had been angling for, not one little bit, and so now he has to carefully shield his horrendously inappropriate thoughts from not just his former padawan, but his underage grand-padawan.

In desperation, he even tries assigning Anakin and Ahsoka to more solo missions but has to give it up after the absolute tantrum they both throw after a stretch of three months wherein he doesn’t see the entire 501^st for more than a few hours at a time.  His bonds with Anakin and Ahsoka brim with hurt the whole time and every time they do meet, Obi-Wan is assaulted by two identical pairs of bewildered, puppy-dog eyes. Even Rex had looked a little wounded.

So instead, Obi-Wan is forced to confront Anakin and, by extension, his feelings, every single waking moment. Even sleep was no escape—filled with desperate, feverish dreams that left Obi-Wan panting and sticky as he wakes, a hoarse “Master” echoing in his ears. He burns with shame at the thought of those dreams and spends hours reinforcing his shields before bed every night—he cannot allow even a whisper of his thoughts to slip through to Anakin, cannot let his former padawan know what a lecherous old man his master truly is. He can’t even imagine how his cracked heart would react if he ever gave Anakin any reason to recoil from him in horror and disgust.

Needless to say, he spends a lot of time meditating these days.

Obi-Wan sighs deeply as he comes out of his latest meditation session and runs a hand over his haggard face as his com beeps insistently. He accepts the call, absent-mindedly tugging at his beard.

“The fleet is ready to rendezvous with the Coronet,” Anakin’s voice informs him. “Ahsoka, Cody, Rex and myself will join you, along with a handful of others. The fleet will continue on to Myaxes under Admiral Yularen's command."

Obi-Wan winces, not quite able to stop the internal sigh that floats across the bond.

"Something wrong with the plan?"

"No, no. It’s only…well, the Duchess won't like it—the only thing she dislikes more than Jedi are clones."

"Well tough luck,” Anakin snorts. Obi-Wan knows that tone of voice, knows exactly what his face must look like. “Our orders are to ensure that the Duchess Satine stays alive long enough to plead her planet’s case before the Senate. I can’t protect her from dozens of assassinations attempts without my men. We're already bending to accommodate her insistence on traveling in her personal vessel—we should be escorting her aboard the Resolute or the Negotiator, but no we just had to travel on her personal cruiser."

"Mandalore is a sovereign entity that wishes to remain out of the war,” Obi-Wan reminds him. “She can hardly claim neutrality if she comes flying in on a Republic star destroyer."

"Ugh, politics.”

"I'll take that as agreement,” Obi-Wan continues dryly. “Let’s at least try to appease her—how small can we keep the contingent?”

“Including Rex and Cody? Hmm, I’d say at least eight.”

“Well. I'll go to inform Satine myself. Hopefully I can bring her around to the idea. I’ll com you when I’ve secured her official permission for you to board. Wait for me—we do not need you causing another intergalactic mess simply you were too impatient to wait for permission. Goodbye, for now.”

"Okay, will do—wait Satine? Since when are you on a first name basis with Mandalorian royalty?"

“Goodbye, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says forcefully, as his palm slams against the com.

There’s a beat of blessed silence and then Obi-Wan groans—he’s about to spend a full week trapped on a small, luxury cruiser with very few places to hide and he’s just piqued Anakin’s curiosity.

He sighs and gets to his feet—if he is truly doomed, he might as well just tell Satine of the plan and just take all of his punches at once. It’s a quick journey since her throne room is only a few hallways over—the benefits of flying on a ship that wasn’t the size of a mid-sized city, like the Negotiator. When he does arrive, Satine looks up abruptly from her conversation with an aide, her eyes as sharp as her pointed nose and chin. When they had first reunited, only a few weeks ago, Obi-Wan had buried the thought that she was as beautiful ever—it was a different sort of attraction than the girlish-charm Obi-Wan remembered, but no less beautiful for it. She waves her aide away with a dismissive hand and turns to Obi-Wan, stiff-backed and tightly gripping the arms of her throne.

“Well?” she asks, imperiously.

“Milady,” Obi-Wan greets, in a far more mild and polite tone—he knows it will only irritate her more, but he can’t seem to help himself. “We have met up with the Open Circle Fleet. With your permission, I would like to bring aboard two additional Jedi and eight others.”

“And by others you mean clones, yes?”

“Yes, Satine,” Obi-Wan sighs. “It’s not exactly a surprise, I hope. They do make up the majority of our forces.”

“Of course.” She purses her lips.

“Please, Satine. Your life is serious danger and they are good men—I have every faith that, with their help, I will be able to afford you an additional level of much-needed protection.”

“You seem to imply that my own security forces are deficient—that instead I should trust my life to the poor copies of a disgraced Mandalorian bounty hunter.”  

“We’ve discussed this—ad nauseum. I’m sure your people are highly competent and loyal, but the assassination attempts required an intimate, detailed knowledge of your schedule and security apparatus. Even if unintentional, one of them has compromised your security.”

Satine glances away, face pained.

“Very well,” she says finally, reluctantly. She turns back to face him, face composed. “And the Jedi? Who should I expect?”

“We will be joined by Knight Anakin Skywalker and his padawan learner, Ahsoka Tano.”

“Skywalker? Wasn’t he your padawan once?” Her eyes are far too discerning.

“Anakin was knighted a little over a year ago, for his bravery on Geonosis,” Obi-Wan responds, a small, fond smile gracing his face. “Padawan Tano is the newest addition to our lineage—she’s a promising young Jedi, I have no doubt that she’ll do us both proud.”

“Mmm.”

“What?”

“It’s odd,” Satine says, eyes distant. “You were always so good with the children we encountered, but I remember how you used to swear up and down that you never wanted a padawan of your own. That you felt that you weren’t cut out for teaching, no matter how Master Jinn and I protested our belief otherwise. It is good to know we were right all along.”

“Ah well, it was a learning experience for everyone involved. There’s a reason why a Knight cannot be named a Master until after he has successfully raised at least one Padawan. Teaching Anakin made me a better Jedi in so many ways—I often believe that he shaped me far more than I him.”

“You would say that,” Satine says, rolling her eyes, the only concession to bad manners she would ever accept. Obi-Wan shrugs.

“It’s true enough—you’ll see when you meet him.”

“I look forward to it,” she responds with an arched eyebrow. Obi-Wan bows and retreats to make his calls to the fleet.

***

“So, why haven’t you ever said anything about Satine before?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes connect with Anakin’s in the mirror and he tosses his friend an irritated look as he pauses his shaving routine. He’s given up trying to set up boundaries, but Anakin could at least try to grant him some privacy. Maintaining the neat lines of his trademark beard is important and no time for distractions—and, unbeknownst to Anakin, he was quite the distraction, lounging about the doorway to the fresher in his half-undone robes and a rakish curl to his hair. It had finally grown out past the awkward padawan haircut, to an acceptable length, but Anakin seemed completely uninterested in stopping its growth.

“Don’t you have a padawan you should be helping get ready for this very important state dinner?”

“Eh, I left her on a holocall with Padmé, I’m sure she’ll give much better advice on Mandalorian banquet etiquette than I ever could,” he replies easily. “But that didn’t answer my question.”

“I do believe I did tell you I knew her and about my previous mission to Mandalore, at least a few times before and certainly before I left to investigate this latest round of violence,” Obi-Wan retorts.

"You mentioned that you had met the ruler of Mandalore on a mission, once, long ago, in your padawan days, which is not the same thing as I-have-permission-and-feel-comfortable-using-her-given-name. Not the same thing at all.”

"All of that is true,” Obi-Wan huffs in response. “It just happened to be a long-term mission as her personal bodyguard. For a little under a year.”

"A whole year? Why didn't you say something?"

"Anakin—I'm fluent in Mando'a and I know that you know I learned it specifically during that mission...did you really think I just learned it overnight?" There’s beat of awkward silence and Obi-Wan resists the urge to thump his head against the mirror—it would send shaving cream flying everywhere and make a terrible mess. "...that’s exactly what you assumed, isn't it?"

“You’re really good with languages,” Anakin says, defensively. Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I just think it’s kinda interesting, you know? The Duchess doesn’t get along with anybody, much less Jedi, and here you come along and she’s perfectly happy to let you call her by her first name?”  

“How do you know that?” Obi-Wan asks, suspiciously. Satine’s…prickliness is well known in political circles, but his former padawan has never shown a great interest in Galactic politics before, mostly content to just parrot whatever beliefs Obi-Wan or Senator Amidala express. He knows that he’s never talked about Satine with Anakin before today and he’s pretty sure that such a sentiment is not parroted from Senator Amidala’s mouth—the Senator from Naboo is one of the very few notable exceptions that had managed to worm her way into Satine’s good graces. The warm camaraderie between the two idealists was almost as famous as Satine’s disagreeable nature. In the mirror, Anakin shrugs.

"I see the Chancellor sometimes when I'm in the Senate building visiting Padmé."

Obi-Wan drops his razor and whirls around, leaning back against the sink as if he will fall to his knees without its support.

"You what?"

"It's not like that,” Anakin says, shooting a furtive look at Obi-Wan. “We talk politely if we run into each other in the hallways—I’m hardly going to ignore him if we get stuck in the same elevator, that’d be super awkward.”

“I can’t even—how long has this been going on? Have you told the Council?”

“Calm down, Master! It’s just a few conversations—I’m an adult now, I can handle it.” Anakin’s tone brooks no argument, invites no debate—it’s the same tone he uses when he has decided to stay the course of some ridiculous plan and nothing Obi-Wan can do or say will sway him. Obi-Wan inhales deeply, trying desperately to push down his panic. Objectively, Anakin is right, he is an adult and Obi-Wan has no longer has any place to try and control who he talks to, but he can’t quite let go of the instinctive urge to encase Anakin in a thick bundle of blankets and snarl at anyone who gets too close. He desperately wishes that the Council had listened to Master Plo Koon all those years ago and pushed to destroy Palpatine’s political career—it was the very least the man deserved.

 “Please at least tell me you’ve at least talked to Healer J’Kai about it,” he finally manages.

“Of course he knows,” Anakin says reassuringly. “We talked about it a lot, especially after the first time it happened.” Obi-Wan breathes out a sigh of—well, not quite relief. But it helps ease the clawing anxiety in his stomach, just enough that he can breathe again. He slowly turns back to the sink and picks up the razor in a white-knuckled grip.

“Please, just.” Obi-Wan pauses, swallows. “Please just…be careful.”

“I will, I promise. But there’s nothing to worry about, I swear—we hardly ever talk and we’re never alone.”  

“Of course. I trust your judgement,” Obi-Wan responds, biting back the sharp retort that it was not Anakin, but Palpatine, who he doesn’t trust. He inhales again and carefully continues trimming the edges of his beard for want of a distraction. Anakin waits a beat, then two to change the subject—Obi-Wan refuses to help, if it were up to him, they would still be discussing the matter.

“Fives and Jesse are really looking forward to the state dinner—they said they’ve never been to something so fancy,” Anakin offers. “I told them about all the little—what do you call them?”

“Hors d’oeuvres?”

“Yeah, those! I think they thought I was joking when I was the describing the weird little fish eggs.”

“To be entirely fair to your poor men, I seem to remember a little boy from Tatooine who thought the exact same thing when I had to explain it to him,” Obi-Wan says, affectionately.

“You definitely didn’t have to wait until I had already taken a big bite.”

“Did I do that?” Obi-Wan muses, unable to hold back his smile. Anakin shoots him a narrow-eyed look and Obi-Wan shrugs as he wipes the last of the shaving cream from his face. “It does sound like something I would do.”

“C’mon, if you’re done primping, let’s go pick up Ahsoka.”

“Taking proper care of one’s facial hair is hardly ‘primping,’” Obi-Wan responds without any heat. He pauses absentmindedly and tugs the folds of Anakin’s robes closed—no need for distract every single Mandalorian courtier present with the sight of Anakin’s clavicles. Anakin lays a hand over his, the heat of his skin bringing Obi-Wan back to the present. Obi-Wan carefully swallows his sudden awareness of the intimacy of their position and tries to mask the haste of his extraction with a quip. “You could afford a little of that yourself—when are you planning to trim that mop growing on your head?”

“The Holonet likes it,” Anakin responds, easily, as they disentangle and exit Obi-Wan’s quarters, moving towards Ahsoka’s own assigned room. “They say it makes me look dashing.”

“Yes, well, the Holonet also says that the suicidal feats of stupidity you call plans are brilliant and inspired, so I’m not sure we should count on their opinion very much.”

“What’s wrong with our plans?” Ahsoka interrupts, sounding faintly outraged. She falls into place beside Anakin and is soon joined on the other side by Rex and a handful of other men from the 501^st and 212^th.

“Nothing, as long as you’re okay with constant improvisation and a fifty percent chance the ship you’re on is about to crash,” Cody responds from his spot beside Obi-Wan, completely deadpan.

“Fine by me!” Jesse pipes up, laughing.

“And me!” Fives and Echo add as one.

“You’ve been corrupted by your jetii,” Wooley retorts. This sets off an epic round of bickering between the troopers that lasts all the way to the doors of the ballroom, where Obi-Wan pauses and gestures for them to settle. It takes longer than he would like to wrangle everyone into some semblance of civility—sometimes he really wonders when exactly he had exchanged the noble and serene duties of a Jedi Knight for that of a mother duck, condemned to forever babysit his errant ducklings from one end of the galaxy to another—but soon enough he is satisfied. With a nod, he shoulders open the doors, revealing the sparkling ballroom in front of them.

The troopers’ jaws drop and their pleased wonder reverberates across the Force.

Mandalorian glass-and-wrought-durasteel work was a prized artform across the entire galaxy and Clan Kryze had seen no reason for their personal ship to lack their planet’s signature work. The royal ballroom aboard the Coronet was composed of one wall of plain durasteel and three walls of sparkling glass panes, specially engineered to withstand the rigors of space and arrayed in the characteristic, geometric designs of Mandalore. The glass multiplies the lights of hyperspace by a thousand-fold until you feel like you are standing amidst a field of stars and Obi-Wan remembers his own breathless reaction the first time Satine had shown him this ship, many, many years ago. There is a special sort of happiness in sharing this with the clones, they who have too often only been exposed to the ugliest things this galaxy has to offer—even on the off chance they are assigned to some wonderfully pretty planet, it is almost always ravaged by war, its beauty almost unrecognizable under the mud and destruction.

The assembled courtiers and Senators pause in their chatter as Obi-Wan and the Republic military contingent enter. Satine drifts forward to meet them, signaling her acceptance, and the conversations resume, albeit a bit more subdued. The clones nod respectfully to the Duchess but then, with some unseen signal from Cody, they scatter—partially to mingle and socialize, but mostly to scope out their surroundings and the other passengers and fully assess the security situation.

“Master Kenobi,” Satine greets evenly. She turns a curious eye to Anakin and Ahsoka.

“General Skywalker,” Anakin responds in kind. “And this is my padawan learner, Commander Tano. It’s a pleasure, milady.”

“Ah, yes, General Skywalker. Funny. I remember when the Jedi were peacekeepers, not generals.”

“Don’t start with your word games, Knight Skywalker meant nothing by it,” Obi-Wan replies, defensively. “Most planetary sovereigns are confused by Jedi titles, but we’ve found they are much better able to understand our militaristic designations.”

“Of course they would—most of them have been deceived into thinking that their problems can only be solved by someone with the title ‘General’ and a bunch of big ships with big guns.”

“Unfortunately, that’s often the case when the Separatists are involved,” Anakin interjects. Obi-Wan wants to pinch the bridge of his nose—in a verbal match Anakin is hopelessly outmatched by Satine and it would have been better for everyone if he had just stayed silent.  Her eyes gleam as she scents easy prey.

“How would you know? Have you ever tried talking to them?” Satine responds smoothly. She taps her chin with a single finger. “Or have you been too busy swinging your lightsaber at them?”

“I don’t know, it didn’t really occur to me to ask when they strung us up to die for entertainment in an arena in Geonosis,” Anakin replies hotly.  

“But by that point hadn’t the Senate already voted to grant your Chancellor the power to create an army?  Surely, they were only acting according to your own logic—to save their planet from a group of outsiders, they lashed out with rage.”

Anakin opens, then closes his mouth.

“But what else could we have done?” Ahsoka asks, her tiny brow furrowed. “They’d kidnapped Masters Kenobi and Skywalker and were threatening their lives. We would have lost without the clones.”

“I say you lost the moment you committed to fighting,” Satine replies, a much more indulgent smile gracing her features for Ahsoka. “Perhaps there were other solutions, perhaps there weren’t—but I’ve found that as soon as the path of a violent offensive is offered, it closes off many other much more promising avenues.”

 “And yet, some would argue that the best defense is a strong offense,” Obi-Wan counters. “In fact, I believe that’s an old Mando’a saying, isn’t it?”

“Mandalore has grown beyond its violent past,” Satine shoots back, glaring.

“Our presence here as bodyguards would seem to indicate otherwise.”

“I never asked for your protection!”

“No, but the majority of your court did.”

“O-kay,” Ahsoka interjects hastily. Even Anakin looks a little shell-shocked. “That was such a great debate—thanks for showing me both sides of the argument, definitely don’t need to continue, sorry for asking.”

Obi-Wan inhales and exhales, trying to reign in his outrage. Beside him, Satine seems to be engaged in a similar struggle. Anakin eyes them both, eyebrows near the top of his hairline.

“Will you two be okay if we leave to check in on the troopers?” he asks, a little wary. Obi-Wan snorts and gestures for him to leave.

“I’ve only ever seen Master Kenobi argue like that with you, Skyguy,” Obi-Wan hears Ahsoka mutter as they walk away.

“You weren’t exaggerating when you said she was young,” Satine says, once they are alone once more in the sea of glittering lights and twittering courtiers. “I suppose when you first told me, I was envisioning a Jedi in her twenties, not a youngling who’s barely hit puberty.”

“They both are,” Obi-Wan sighs.  “The war has forced a lot of…uncomfortable compromises on the Order. Most Knights are deployed in the Outer Rim for months on end and they can’t leave their apprentices behind.”

“Surely—”

“No, Satine, we can’t. Masters and their padawans form a mental link—prolonged distance is…distressing, especially for a young mind without sufficient experience or shields. There were incidents.”

“Oh.” A long silence. “I…apologize.”

“It’s okay,” Obi-Wan responds, with a smile to indicate that he holds no hard feelings. Few, if any, outside of the Order understand all that the Jedi have given up to fight this war—perhaps part of that is their own fault, with their determination to keep the hard decisions out of the public eye, but he doesn’t blame Satine for her ignorance. “Your initial observation wasn’t wrong—she is young, they both are.”

“Hmm, yes. But then again, so are you.”

“What?”

“I simply meant to point out that you’re only thirty-six—hardly some doddering old man, even by the standards of such a short-lived species as humans.”

“Now you sound like Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, with a shake of his head.

Suddenly, the sound of crashing glass rings across the ballroom.

Conversation all around them grinds to a halt and Obi-Wan’s head snaps towards the disturbance, where he spots a familiar set of white armor—he sighs to himself and decides to treat himself to one of those sweet Mandalorian canape things he likes so much if his hunch proves correct and the source of the chaos is Fives.

 Again.

He begins weaving his way through the crowd, Satine close behind. He hears a high-pitched “How dare you—!” and picks up the pace, arriving just in time to witness one of Satine’s advisors, a gaunt faced man named Merrik, launching into an impassioned, finger-shaking, hands-on-hips rant as Fives stares down at his boots and the chunks of glass between them. The planes of Fives’ face are iced over, his eyes stony as he accepts Merrik’s anger without argument—this more than anything else, galvanizes Obi-Wan to physically step in between them. Seeing Fives so quiet and passive is wrong.

“—you play dress-up in your cheap plastoid, made to look like true Mandalorian armor, as if you could ever earn the right to beskar’gam!”

“Merrik!” Satine interrupts sharply, her tone unforgiving. “Whatever this man has done, I doubt it warrants such an outburst.”

“This—this aruetii accused me—me!—of sabotage and then knocked the champagne flute straight from my hands when I disagreed!” Merrik exclaims.

“Are you quite all right, Fives?” Obi-Wan murmurs lowly. Fives continues to stare stubbornly at the floor and says nothing in response.

“Of course he is not alright! Clearly there is something wrong with his head if he believes that I would ever betray Mandalore like that. As if he has any right to question my loyalty!”

“He was merely trying to help protect the Duchess, as requested by you and your court,” Cody says smoothly, stepping between Obi-Wan and Merrik, adding another body to the wall shielding Fives from Merrik’s beady eyes.  Obi-Wan glances to the side and sees that Anakin and Rex are fighting their way through the gathered onlookers. “If you have an issue with that, you may take it up with me, as it was under my orders.”

“I fail to see how such a stupid brute adds anything to the Duchess’ safety,” Merrik says archly, as he draws up to his full height and looks down his nose at Cody.

“Careful, that is my vod you speak of,” Cody responds, his voice as strong as the beskar’gam he is supposedly unworthy of.

“Oh, please stop—you claim to be Mandalorian, but you can’t even speak our language without an atrocious accent! You clones are an embarrassment to Mandalore—”

“Merrik, that is enough,” Satine says coldly. Merrik seems to come back to himself, paling as he takes in the throngs of observers and Satine’s clear and visible anger. “You have made your feelings on the matter of the clones very clear—and while I have tolerated it up until now, I draw the line at such…such cruelty.”

The entire crowd—pauses, all words held in, all breaths hushed, not a single swish of fabric or cough.

“Duchess, if I may?” Cody asks quietly, breaking the silence. Satine hesitates, then inclines her head in agreement as Rex and Anakin finally break through. Rex steps forward to stand shoulder by shoulder with his brother. “I’m sorry the fact that some lump us mere clones in with you and your people causes you such distress. Indeed, I know my brothers to be some of the bravest and cleverest men in the Galaxy and if I were in your place, I would be proud for my system to be associated with such a fine group of men. While we have never claimed to be Mandalorian, I can assure you that whenever we are asked about the matter in the future we will make sure to emphasize that we are in no way associated with you.”

There is a long unbroken silence.

“Come, let us retire to my private ready room,” Satine says voice imperious, as she begins to sweep away. The crowd parts before her. Merrik makes a move to follow and Satine whirls around, her eyes fiery. “Not you. Commander Cody, General Kenobi—please gather your men and meet me in my ready room as soon as is possible.”

Commander Cody did not so much as bat an eyelash, snapping out a smart “Yes, ma’am,” before beginning to round up the rest of the clones and Ahsoka.  Merrik looks positively enraged. Their party makes their way to a dark, faux-wood door embedded in the durasteel wall of the ballroom, and follows Satine in. They find a good-sized desk—really more of a thick legged dining table— with a high-backed, plush chair behind it, lush carpets and bookshelves lining all other surfaces.

“Are you sure it’s wise to antagonize one of your most influential Senators in your system in such a way?” Obi-Wan asks, once the door has closed and shut out the curious stares of onlookers. Satine collapses in her chair and gestures for them to follow. Anakin picks up two lighter, much less fancy chairs and drags them closer to the ginormous desk, for himself and Ahsoka. The clones fan out behind him, standing awkwardly towards the sides, but Obi-Wan herds them into their own chairs. They sit stiffly.

“Senator Merrik has always been the voice of a much more…conservative side of Mandalore. We rarely agree on anything, but I doubt he’d ever try anything too drastic. He is one of the few of the old guard allowed in my inner circle and, as the result, the other noble houses prevail upon him frequently. He’d never do anything to risk losing that influence.”

“How could you let someone in your government say that?” Ahsoka asks, her voice small. “Does everyone on Mandalore think such terrible things?”

Satine pauses, stares at the desk. Her eyes flick to Fives, still unusually quiet. He is bracketed by Echo and Jesse, who look quite ready to challenge anyone who dare approach their brother to a duel.

“Not everyone. But…many.” She sighs. “I must admit that I myself have harbored similar thoughts at times, though now I…You must understand, your progenitor, Jango Fett, was very controversial. He was an inconvenience, politically speaking. Adopted by the last true Mand’alor, always leaving us guessing if he would or would’t claim Mereel’s legacy. When we found out he had died, it solved a lot of problems—but then we were told that there were millions of copies of him, running around the Galaxy and waging war in the Republic’s name. I have striven to keep Mandalore neutral in this terrible conflict and it has hardly helped that the man who helped create the Republic’s army was a disgraced but influential Mandalorian. I am sorry, Cody, and…Fives, was it? You are hardly to blame for the political turmoil your existence has caused, and I am quite ashamed that I ever gave Merrik any cause to think such views were welcome in my court.”

 “Thank you for the apology, ma’am,” Commander Cody replies, equally quiet. “But it’s not necessary.”

“What Cody means is that you are hardly the first politician to find us inconvenient,” Rex says, voice sour. Obi-Wan and Anakin share a look—Senator Organa and Amidala’s Clone Rights Bill has been stuck in committee ever since it was introduced, mere hours after the first battle of Geonosis.

“And that should be motivation enough on the matter for me,” Satine says, a smirk gracing her face as she gestures to a nearby servant. “I would never want it to be said that I am the same as every other useless, brain-dead politician in the Senate. Rikka, please prepare some tea, the Sundari oolong. Would any of you like some?”

A handful troopers nod hesitantly, though Ahsoka and Rex make identical faces and shake their heads. Obi-Wan also shakes his head and digs a small packet of paper wrapped tzai out of his utility belt—with the constant movement and stress of the war, he’s taken to always having one or two handfuls of pre-mized tzai on hand, for situations just like this.

“Just some hot water for me,” he says politely. “I have my own blend here.”

Rikka curtsies and hurries away.

“Now that we are settled,” Satine begins, turning her full attention to Fives. “May I ask what happened, Fives? From your point of view?”

“I was only surveying the ballroom, as Captain Rex instructed,” Fives responds, “when I nearly crashed into that man—he was distracted, looking at something in his hand that I couldn’t really see. I didn’t think anything of it in the moment, but then he reacted so badly, throwing his glass on the ground and yelling all those things. I didn’t accuse him of treachery, sirs, I never would have confronted him in public like that, with no evidence and no backup, and I couldn’t figure out why he’d ever say those things. But now I think—I think he thought I saw something more than a glance and wanted to discredit me before I could even open my mouth.”

Rikka returns with their tea and distributes it to the relevant parties. Obi-Wan frowns as he accepts his own cup.

“You have to admit, Satine, it seems awfully suspicious,” he says, adding his tzai mix to the hot water.

“Merrik is incapable of such violence,” Satine says, forcing air out of her nose, “but I cannot deny it’s at least worth some further investigation. I doubt you’ll find anything in relation to the assassinations, but I would very much like to know what else he is up to.”

“We would need full access to the ship, as well as permission to search the cargo area,” Anakin says. Satine’s lips thin with displeasure, but she nods in acquiescence.

“Very well, whatever is necessary. Mmm, that smells heavenly—much better than all your other teas,” Satine hums. She shoots him a curious glance and Obi-Wan instinctively wraps a protective hand around his teacup. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything else quite like it. May I ask as to the ingredients?” Anakin’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. There’s a quickly smothered flare of panic across the bond.

"No," Anakin blurts out, his expression mulish. His back is ramrod straight, flesh hand clenched and mechno-hand suspiciously too still. Satine physically startles at the rudeness and Obi-Wan inhales sharply.

“I apologize for Anakin’s tone,” Obi-Wan says, quickly trying to regain the reins of the conversation. “He only meant that it’s not something that we share so freely. It’s a special homemade blend. A secret, of course, as all the best things are.”  

“Oh, really, a super-secret Jedi tea?” Satine seems amused and Obi-Wan decides not to correct her assumption. “Fascinating. May I try a sip?"

Obi-Wan hesitates for only moment, but then shakes his head.

“I’m afraid that I only have a limited stock and the war makes it difficult to obtain fresh supply—I would like to savor every sip, if you don’t mind.”

“What, but you share it all the time with us—oof!” Waxer’s words are cut off by his pained exclamation. Now Anakin’s head swivels one hundred and eighty degrees to stare at a sheepish looking Waxer and a too innocent looking Cody. Satine observes the spectacle with a raised brow and determinedly bland set to her lips.

“But of course,” she agrees, sipping at her own tea and settling back in her chair. “Please, don’t let me keep you from your investigations, I shall com the ship’s security at once and direct them to aid any request you make.”

The clones stand, bow, and shuffle out. With a nod from Anakin, Ahsoka scrambles to follow. Anakin himself lingers awkwardly at the edges of the rooms as Satine and Obi-Wan chit-chat idly, finishing up their tea. He seems relieved when Obi-Wan finally stands and begins to head out.

As they leave, Anakin crowds Obi-Wan into the nearest alcove, face and eyes panicky. Obi-Wan’s back hits the wall and he becomes uncomfortably aware of the way Anakin is looming over him, boxing him into the space. His eyes flick to Anakin’s arm and Anakin’s gaze follows—all at once he seems to realize as well and snatches his arm away, stepping back to give Obi-Wan space. It’s only a few centimeters, but it makes all the difference.

“You’ve been sharing tzai with the troopers?” he demands, voice too-loud in the hushed alcove.

“Um, yes. Cody was in the infirmary so I thought it might help and then of course the rest of Ghost Company had to try it too…I saw you sharing the tea with Rex and Ahsoka and thought it would be okay. Was I not supposed to do that?”

“Did you show any of them how to make it? How to mix the herbs and pour the water like I showed you? Please tell me you didn’t share the recipe with them.”

“No, of course not. Anakin, what is this about?” Obi-Wan asks. Anakin relaxes, shoulders slumping. Obi-Wan watches him, suspicious. “Were you not supposed to teach me that?”

Anakin hesitates, then nods.

“You can’t ever share the recipe with anyone else, Master. And you really can’t tell my mom about this—I know you com her sometimes, but please if you value my life, do not tell her what I did.”

“It’s very important, isn’t it?”

“It’s like,” Anakin struggles for words. “We didn’t have many secrets in the quarters, the masters didn’t allow them. So, what secrets we did have were guarded very, very closely. And sharing them has a certain…weight? Yeah, I think that’s the best way to describe it.”

“Would your mother not want me to have the recipe?”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Anakin hurries to protest. “She loves you, she’d probably be very happy. It’s more that’d she be angry with me and I’m really, really looking not to be skinned alive next time we run into her and Hondo.”

“And should I…should I stop sharing the tea with Ahsoka and the troopers?”

“Of course not,” Anakin responds, his immediate and definitive response a balm to the twisted burn that has formed suddenly in Obi-Wan’s chest. “Sharing tzai, that’s for family. But sharing the recipe that’s…different. Can we…can we just keep that between us?”

“Of course, dear one, whatever you wish.”

***

Of course, despite all of Satine’s protestations, it shortly comes out that Merrik is actually behind the assassination attempts, and quite capable of violence, as evidenced by the trail of bodies he’s left in his wake and the B2 battle droids he’s brought on board.

“Go! Take Ahsoka with you,” Anakin commands, as he raises his saber to deflect another hail of blaster shots from hitting either himself or Rex. He glances back to Obi-Wan. “We can handle a couple of droids—go save your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my—oh why do I even bother,” Obi-Wan mutters as Anakin dashes off, leading the droids away. He turns on his heel and, together, he and Ahsoka begin to sprint after Merrik and Satine, who he has taken hostage. They catch up with him quickly—their Force-enhanced speed no match for Merrik’s pace, slowed even further by having to control a hostage, especially one as recalcitrant as Satine.

“Stay back!” Satine cries when she sees them. Merrik jerks her around by her hair and continues his slow retreat backwards. “He’s rigged up the engine with explosives, I won’t have you risk the lives of everyone on board for mine!”

“She’s speaks the truth—stay away!” He displays a thin, rounded deadman’s switch, held tightly in the hand connected to the arm wrapped around Satine’s throat.

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka fall back, wary now, and follow behind Merrik as he rants and raves, spittle flying from his mouth and his blaster dangerously close to Satine’s head.  They keep their lightsabers raised warily, carefully watching for any opening.

“Master, we can’t let him escape,” Ahsoka mutters as they edge every closer to the aft escape pods.

“We can’t let him blow up the ship either,” Obi-Wan responds, his eyes never leaving Satine’s. Something flickers and he gives a minuscule nod. Across their bond—much weaker than his with Anakin’s and unable to send any specific words, but still sufficient for this purpose—Obi-Wan pushes a vague command to Ahsoka to feint to the right.

In an instant, Ahsoka is lunging forward, causing Merrik to take his focus off Satine—a dangerous miscalculation at the best of times. Satine drives her elbow back into Merrik’s stomach and he stumbles, grip slipping. Ahsoka turns off her lightsaber and throws it with unerring accuracy, using the hilt to knock the blaster from Merrik’s grip. Satine ducks, snatches the blaster from the air, and darts away, back towards Ahsoka and Obi-Wan. Merrik lets out a cry as Ahsoka’s saber hilt collides with his forehead, but recovers quickly, knocking it away. With a pull of the Force, Ahsoka calls her saber back into her hand, reigniting the blade with a flick of her wrist.

“Jetii bitch,” Merrik snarls and she bares her teeth at him. The three of them face off against Merrik, their blaster and lightsabers raised in threat. “Oh really, is this meant to intimidate me? You’ve never betrayed your pacifist ideals before, Duchess, and you’re hardly going to start now. And the Jedi don’t kill unarmed combatants, everyone knows that.” Merrik stands there, laughing—but he’s not wrong. Satine looks as close to despair as Obi-Wan has ever seen her.

“You can’t kill him, Obi-Wan, he must stand trial on Mandalore,” Satine says, wretchedly, the handle of her blaster shaking. No one moves as Merrik raises his deadman’s switch in the air, a taunting parody of a surrender pose.

“Come now, who will strike me down and label themselves a cold-blooded kill—ah.”

A bright blue beam slices through his chest, eyes going vacant as his back arches and the detonator falls from his limp grasp. A familiar hand catches it right before it hits the ground. Merrik’s body falls forward unceremoniously, to reveal Anakin looking curiously at the detonator in his hand.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, horrified. Satine throws the blaster away from herself, as if it is coated in poison and collapses to the ground. She stares at Merrik’s body.  

“Oh, come on, he wasn’t exactly unarmed—he had a detonator in hand and was threatening to blow up a whole ship,” Anakin responds with a roll of his eyes.

“We grew up on Kavelala together,” Satine says, her voice acidic. “And no matter what he did, he deserved to be judged by a jury of his peers! You had no right—”

“Satine, he never would have allowed you to survive long enough to testify against him,” Obi-Wan says, stepping between the two of them and quashing his own unease with Anakin’s actions. “If he had made it to the escape pods, we never would have been able to stop him.”

Satine looks at him, her eyes wide and hair wild. Her mouth is half-open and a look of betrayal is stealing across her features.  

“You’re taking his side—?! The Obi-Wan Kenobi I know would never have compromised his convictions like this. What about your Order, your Code? What has this war done to you?” Her gaze darts between Obi-Wan and Anakin and all of a sudden, her eyes widen, her mouth snapping closed. Obi-Wan straightens his posture and tilts his chin up defiantly as their eyes meet again.

Please, Satine, he begs in his mind, for once in your life, hold your tongue.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know if she hears him or maybe the Force just is feeling generous, but she stays silent. He nods gratefully, but Satine won’t look at him now.

“Anakin, Ahsoka, go let Rex and Cody know what has happened,” Obi-Wan orders. “Find out how much time we have left before our arrival in Coruscant and please let the royal guards know that someone must be sent to attend to the body—the Mandalorians will want to handle the burial rites themselves.”

“Are you okay, Master?” Anakin asks, seriously. Obi-Wan nods and, across the bond, opens himself up briefly so that Anakin can glimpse his healthy, uninjured state for himself. Anakin nods, satisfied, and gestures to Ahsoka with a single hand. They exit the hallway in a synchronized, powerful stride. When they are gone, Obi-Wan turns back to Satine, who is still splayed on the ground, fists clenched.

“Satine—” he begins.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she spits, pushing herself to her feet and storming away.

***

Later, much later, after he thinks that Satine has been given enough time to cool down, he meets her in the ballroom. It’s much emptier this time, Satine the only inhabitant. He joins her silently, his eyes trained forward and his hands clasped behind his back. Together, they watch the approach to Coruscant, a dark sphere dotted with twinkling lights growing ever larger in the sweeping windows.

“You love him,” Satine says suddenly, eyes still trained on the vista in front of them. Obi-Wan inhales sharply. “You’ve already compromised yourself for him. Clearly. And I think—I think you would actually leave the Order for him.”

"I would have left for you, back then, if you had only asked,” Obi-Wan protests.

"Perhaps,” Satine sighs, a little sadly, a little fondly, as she turns away from the window. “But he doesn't even need ask, now does he?"

“I—” Obi-Wan falls silent, unable to counter her point.

“Exactly.”

“I’m sorry, Satine, I never meant to hurt you.” There’s the faintest whisper of movement behind them, almost as if someone has just arrived, and Obi-Wan stretches his senses out, to make sure no one is there to overhear such an intimate conversation. He almost thinks he feels someone, but whoever it is, they are standing too far away to hear Obi-Wan and Satine’s words without the aid of Force-enhanced hearing. At any rate, their Force signature disappears between one moment and the next and Obi-Wan convinces himself that he was imagining it.

“I’m not bitter, my dear, it’s been a lifetime since those days. We’ll never really know what you would have done had I asked—but I do know that it would have been a painful, difficult choice and I love you too much to give such a terrible ultimatum. I decided I’d rather share some of you with the Order, with the Republic, with the whole Galaxy than take the risk I’d get none of you at all. I don’t regret that choice.”

“You continue to blow me away,” Obi-Wan replies, quietly. He thinks to his own tortured gymnastics when it comes to Anakin, the constant churning in his gut and ache in his chest. “I’m not sure I could ever handle a similar situation with such calm grace and reason.”

“Ha!” Satine snorts inelegantly. “You should have seen me in those first few years after you left—I was too busy stitching my people back together to truly stew in my anger, but oh you are lucky it took nearly eighteen years for you to step back on Mandalorian soil. Time does wonders for a broken heart.”

“You never said anything in all the times we commed,” Obi-Wan points out.

“Ah, well, I will grant you that one, reining in my resentment during those calls was quite the feat. I loved and hated them in equal measure.”

“You’re a remarkable woman, Satine Kryze. I’m honored to call you my friend.”

“As I am honored to call you mine,” Satine says, eyes bright. Her com beeps with an incoming message. She flips open her com and reads the message, the brightness of her eyes and openness of her face slowly icing over—as if she is drawing a thick, opaque curtain over her features. Her posture pulls back and settles, the weight of a thousand responsibilities settling on her shoulders. “It was a pleasure to see in you in person once more—despite all the assassination attempts and political intrigue you brought along with you.”

“I would argue that you are mixing up the order of things—I was brought to your court by an already existing danger, my arrival precipitated nothing.”

“Hmph. At any rate, it was just like old times—you made me feel like a young girl once more, running to and fro from shadowy bad guys. I have to attend my duties now, but please convey my warmest wishes and farewells to Knight Skywalker and Padawan Tano. And please let Ahsoka know that she is always welcome on Mandalore—I was very impressed with her quick thinking and bravery back there.”

“Ah, but not Anakin?”

“Hmm, I think not. He’s too much like you—chaos follows him everywhere he goes. I may not be Force-sensitive but there’s a…darkness around him. Be careful, Obi-Wan, that boy is dangerous, and you always did have a thing for a lost cause.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Obi-Wan says defensively. “You know how I value your assessments, but, in this particular case, I know you are mistaken.”

“Maybe,” Satine offers neutrally and Obi-Wan knows he hasn’t swayed her opinion in the least. “But we hardly have time to debate further—I must take my leave of you now. Until we meet again, then.”

“Of course. May the Force be with you as you plead your case,” Obi-Wan responds, with the incline of his head.

Satine sweeps away and Obi-Wan regards Coruscant for only one more moment—they have just breached the atmosphere and below the familiar, towering skyscrapers are growing ever larger, before turning away.

As he enters the hangar, deep in the belly of the Coronet, he very nearly runs into Anakin, who is lounging against their small Republic transport, studiously trying to look innocent. That’s when the brief, familiar spark Obi-Wan sensed in the ballroom clicks.

“You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?” he sighs. Anakin’s flashes him a sheepish smile and pushes off the side of the ship. In his head, Obi-Wan runs through his conversation with Satine in his head. He pauses, rewinds, and then panics. “What—Anakin, I don’t know what you heard, but I want to assure you—”

“No, I should be the one apologizing, Master,” Anakin interrupts. “I know how much you hate sharing details of your past with anyone and I shouldn’t have tried to circumvent that by eavesdropping.”

“I’m…” Obi-Wan trails off and takes in Anakin’s demeanor. He seems calm, easy—not at all like the pacing, ranting mess Obi-Wan had always suspected he’d turn into if he ever learned about Obi-Wan’s feelings. He immediately bites back the instinctive flood of apologies and offers to assign himself far, far away from his former padawan. It was better to pause and take stock of the situation—no need to expose himself further without evaluating what exactly Anakin had overheard, what exactly he must walk back. “I’m sure you have questions.”

“I—yes,” Anakin says, biting his lip. “You don’t have to answer though, if you don’t want to.”

“That very much depends on which part of the conversation you want to ask about,” Obi-Wan says, his tone carefully neutral.

“I only heard the last part—when you and her talked about deciding to part ways,” Anakin replies, hesitantly. Obi-Wan inclines his head, relief rising strong in his chest—his secret feelings are still that: a secret.

“Then I think I know what this is about—you should know that I believe Satine’s judgement of you to be flawed, colored by a stressful situation. She has hardly met you and her opinion of you is just that: an opinion.”

“Oh, yeah sure. But that’s not what I was talking about.”

“What?” Obi-Wan is terribly confused. He would have thought Anakin would have been defensive, angered by Satine’s words, but he seems completely uninterested.

“Well, she’s not wrong—I do struggle with the Dark.”

“She doesn’t understand what that means, though,” Obi-Wan protests. “You’re a good man, Anakin. I know how you’ve struggled, how the Force constantly roars for you and how much worse it must be with this war. You may slip sometimes, but you always pick yourself back up—and Satine understands none of that, only witnessed this one incident.”

“I appreciate how insulted you seem on my behalf, but I only really don’t care what some pacifist who I’ve never met before this week, who has never had to order her men to their deaths, thinks. No—that’s not what I wanted to ask about. It’s just—you’ve considered leaving the Order before for someone you loved, and I never knew that.” His eyes slide away from Obi-Wan’s, nervousness and shame flooding the bond.

“Is this about the mysterious crush you refuse to talk about?” Obi-Wan asks delicately. Anakin stiffens, pales and Obi-Wan rushes to continue. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to pry or make it sound so accusatory—it’s not my place to lecture you, I’m not your Master anymore.”

“And if it was?” Anakin fiddles with the plating on his mechno-arm. “About him, I mean? What would you say?”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan smothers the instinctive, coiling jealousy in his stomach and thinks about it. “I’d say, as evidenced by what you just overheard, I hardly have the greatest track record when it comes to romance. I should definitely not be your first choice for any advice of that sort.”

“Track record? You mean there were more like her?”

“Oh. Yes, a handful. A young rebel while I was on a mission, another Padawan when I was a teen, Satine herself.”

“And each time…you chose the Order over them?” Anakin ventures finally, voice low. Obi-Wan nods silently, afraid to speak. He so desperately wants to plead with Anakin—abandon your stupid crush, stay with the Order, stay with me. But he should not, will not, cannot abuse Anakin’s trust by passing off his own selfish urges as the impartial advice of a wise mentor and friend. He swallows.

“I won’t pretend it was easy,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “But the Jedi are my people, my family, all I’ve ever known—and while I sometimes struggle with the Code, I do find comfort in it as well.”

“And you can let your attachments go just like that?”

“Yes and no. While in theory the Jedi ideal of complete non-attachment is something I strive for, in practice I’m quite terrible at it.”

“You? But you’re on the Council!”

“Even Master Yoda has been known to be very attached to certain crechlings he takes a shine to, not to mention his own lineage,” Obi-Wan replies, with a gentle smile tugging at one corner of his lips. “We all grapple with it in our own ways.”

“Oh.” Anakin pauses. “I always thought…” he trails off.

“That you were the only one? Force, no. I have failed you as a teacher if that is what I have led you to believe. No, no, not at all.”

“So, you do have attachments? Just not romantic ones?”

 “Of course, Anakin, yourself and Ahsoka first among them.” It’s not quite a lie—his relationship with Anakin isn’t actually romantic, no matter what sort of irrational dreams, secret hopes, or illicit feelings Obi-Wan holds. He doesn’t regret the technicality, not when Anakin sends a pulse of warm happiness across the bond. “Does that help answer your question?”

“Yeah, no, that helped a lot,” Anakin says. His tone is still subdued, but there is also acceptance there, forlorn but content.

“No matter what you decide, I will always be here for you. Always.”

“I know, Master. I’ve never doubted that,” Anakin replies and Obi-Wan very nearly bursts, the twin forces of anguish and love warring in his chest.

It is then, as Anakin slings an arm around him, enveloping Obi-Wan in a half-hug, that Obi-Wan knows that his chosen path of silence is the right one—distance may help manage the constant ache in his heart, but he would gladly suffer this pain, over and over again every single day, if only to also experience the soaring feeling that accompanies it.

Chapter Text

The war slogs on, with no end in sight.

Obi-Wan is perpetually exhausted, pulled from battle to meeting and then back again, all while the few moments of true relaxation he grabs with Anakin or Cody grow ever shorter. The thought of yet another com call makes his temples ache and yet, he can’t not take this call. Quinlan had commed out of the blue to set it up, a short and unexpected message that stank of desperation—and Obi-Wan could hardly say no to one of his oldest friends.

“Quin,” he greets, the familiar dark skin and yellow streak coming to life across the shaky com connection—they were deep in the Outer Rim and communications were always spotty at best out here. “It is so good to see you looking healthy and well.”

“And you look like shit,” Quinlan says, bluntly. It startles a barking laugh from Obi-Wan. “You should let me know who’s causing such sleepless nights—I’ll give pop over and give them a piece of my mind.”

“That would be the Separatists—droids don’t rest and so neither do we.”

“Then I’m sorry that this talk must be cutting into what little time you do have set aside for rest.”

“Don’t be—I know you wouldn’t have commed unless you were truly desperate. How can I help, my friend?”

Quinlan inhales shakily, looking uncharacteristically grim.

“It’s about Aayla. Obi, you know I would never ever ask you to use your position on the Council to secure favors for myself, but for Aayla…”  

“We’re already headed at full speed to reinforce the 327^th, if that’s what this is about.”

“No. No.” Quinlan’s shoulders slump. “It’s not that sort of favor. I—I don’t know where to start. But the last time we commed, Aayla was unusually withdrawn and when I pressed her on it, she informed me that she intends to leave the Order.”

“What?”  

“That was my reaction exactly—it seemed to come out of nowhere. But she…she’s broken her vows to the Order. She’s become attached to one of the troopers in her battalion—they want to settle down on some planet, get married, have a bunch of bouncing babies together. They thought she could wait until the war was over, but after the latest battle, when she hesitated to send Bly’s unit out and instead chose a far riskier and strategically unwise position to protect him, she realized her judgement was too far compromised. She feels it is her duty to resign from the Order, but if she does, she’ll likely never see Bly again. He can’t leave his post—it’ll be considered desertion. They don’t know what to do, but whatever happens, I know it will be so much easier if they have an advocate on the Council. Please, Obi-Wan, I’m begging you. Please, help them.” Obi-Wan sits still and quiet for a moment, his heart breaking for Aayla and the painful battle between duty and love that must be playing out in her mind and heart. Obi-Wan is no stranger to such internal battles, though it appears Aayla is a far stronger and truer Jedi than he could ever be—she at least has the strength to admit her weakness and forfeit her position in the Order, while Obi-Wan refuses to do the same. He must have been silent for too long, because Quinlan continues, voice hesitant. “Obi-Wan? Please, say something.”

“Oh, of course I will help,” Obi-Wan says, startled out of his reverie. He realizes at some point his hand came up unconsciously to stroke his beard. “I’m sorry, I was only thinking.”

“Thank you.” The relief in Quinlan’s voice is palpable.  “Do you think you’ll be able to convince the others to…oh, I don’t know, allow some sort of compromise, at least until the war ends and Bly can resign his command?”

Obi-Wan pauses, unsure of how much hope to pass along to his friend—compromise is certainly within reach, as this will not be the first time the Council has decided to look the other way for the good of the war effort. But, while the already existing tendency to compromise offers some precedent, it also means that some of more conservative members, led by Masters Mundi and Gallia, will oppose any further compromise on principle alone, no matter the details of the case. They’ll want to make an example out of Aayla, if only to prove that they will not bend every rule or edict. It will be an uphill battle, one that will take all of his much-vaunted powers of negotiation.

“I’ll have to talk to Aayla,” he says instead, not willing to build up his friend’s hopes. Quinlan nods.

“I told her to wait until you arrived before she did anything. She agreed, reluctantly. She doesn’t like concealing the truth.”

“We’ll be there soon enough, and we will have a bit of a grace period—for a matter like this, they’ll want to assemble the full Council, no easy task with all of us scattered across half a dozen battle fields, each with their own spotty com-connections and logistical challenges. And then they’ll want to debate it—and debate it again. In all likelihood, we won’t know the outcome for months.”

“And with any luck, the war will be over by then and render the whole verdict moot.”  

“If only,” Obi-Wan snorts.

“Obi-Wan—thank you, truly. I can never repay you for this,” Quinlan says, voice suspiciously thick and clogged. Obi-Wan smiles gently.

“I’ll make sure to bring this up next time I’m trying to run away from Anakin and Ahsoka and you are tempted to give away my hiding spot,” he teases gently. Quinlan laughs, weakly.

“Of course, brother. Whatever you need,” he responds. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you.”

The hologram disappears with a subtle snick-fizz and the lights of his room automatically adjust. Obi-Wan stares out of his small port window, lost in thought until Ahsoka pokes her head in.

“Master?” she queries, a little hesitant. Obi-Wan looks up and gives her as warm a smile as he can manage.

“Yes, little one?”

“Did you sleep at all?” Ahsoka asks, accusingly, her eyes narrowed. Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at her.

“If you don’t tell Anakin, I’ll let you borrow my lightsaber for two hours, to practice those Jar’Kai katas you like so much.”

“Four sessions of two hours each, spread out across two weeks,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not risking Skyguy’s and Commander Cody’s wrath for anything less.”

“Three sessions, two weeks,” Obi-Wan responds, rising to his feet. “Take it or leave it, that’s my final offer.”

“Sure, but you have to show me proof that you’ve slept more than four hours in a row before the two weeks is up,” Ahsoka shoots back. “Or I’m sure I can let something slip to Painless about how you’ve been stealing stim shots from infirmary when he’s not looking.”

“Oh, you are so much better at this than Anakin ever was,” Obi-Wan says proudly. Ahsoka preens. “You drive a hard bargain, Padawan Tano.”

“Does that mean we have a deal?”

“We have a deal,” Obi-Wan confirms, holding out his hand to shake on it. “Well, now that that’s taken care of, why did you come to find me? Have we arrived yet? It seems a bit early.”

“Uh, yeah, not really,” Ahsoka admits as they wind their way through the corridors. “It seems there’s some trouble on Jabiim—we’ve been asked to divert resources to help. They want you on the bridge to help make the final call.”

“Ah.”

On the bridge, Rex, Cody, and Anakin are already waiting. Anakin is frowning fiercely, hunched over the holotable as he argues with Cody. Rex stands off to the side, occasionally adding in a few words of his own.  

Obi-Wan steps forward.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asks, voice clipped and no-nonsense, as he steps forward.

“Master Leska and a bunch of padawans are stranded on Jabiim,” Anakin begins without preamble. “There’s reports of Ventress being on planet as well. But we can’t just leave Aayla to die!”

“If we split the fleet, we will never be able to evacuate everyone—Master Leska indicates he still has over nine-thousand troops planetside, nearly thirteen thousand if you count the Jabiimi Loyalists,” Cody sighs.  

“Nine thousand? But we deployed over eighteen thousand troops to Jabiim originally—” At Cody’s grim, pursed lips, Obi-Wan trails off. “Oh. And what of Aayla’s position in the Quell system? Has it improved at all since we last spoke?”

“No better, no worse,” Cody says, helplessly. Obi-Wan closes his eyes and reaches out to the Force, begging for guidance—as always these days, it is tinged with a thick, oily film of darkness that Obi-Wan must fight through to get even a whisper of foresight.

“There’s darkness no matter which path we choose,” Obi-Wan says finally, with a heavy sigh. His eyes meet Anakin’s. But it’s worse—so much worse if we choose not to go to Jabiim. I don’t know what will happen on that planet, but we cannot ignore their pleas for help.  

Aayla is strong and resourceful—even if we can only spare a single Star Destroyer, I know she’ll use it to turn the tide to her advantage.

Obi-Wan hesitates.

Even if we manage to avert the future I glimpsed, Jabiim won’t be pretty.

When has this war ever been pretty?

This is different—we should send Ahsoka away to aid Aayla. I don’t…I don’t want her to see this.

Send her away, deep into Separatist space, with only a single ship? That sounds dangerous.

Obi-Wan feeds him the feeling of hopelessness that filled every crevice of his being upon trying to glimpse the future on Jabiim. Anakin shivers.

Oh, he thinks.

“Uh…care to clue the rest of us in, Masters?” Ahsoka demands. Her voice is far away—Anakin and Obi-Wan still clinging to each other in the Force. “Ugh, is this what you feel like every time Skyguy and I use our bond?”

“Nah, this is much worse,” Rex mutters. “At least with you and General Skywalker I don’t feel like I walked in on some sort of passionate tantric meditation session.”

Obi-Wan stiffens, turning beet red. Across the bond he feels a similar reaction from Anakin, though it is quickly followed by a not-quite-totally-smothered, sheepish burst he-does-look-kinda-hot-when-he’s-meditating.

Startled, Obi-Wan draws out of Anakin’s mind far faster than he normally would. He stares at Anakin in shock and, if possible, Anakin blushes even harder.

“We’ll be sending Ahsoka ahead with the Paxem to help Aayla, while the rest of the fleet diverts to Jabiim,” Anakin says quickly, clearing his throat and deliberately shuffling out of Obi-Wan’s reach. Cody and Rex look to Obi-Wan expectantly for elaboration.

“Uh, yes, of course,” Obi-Wan says, fumbling a little as he tries to recover his equanimity. From Cody’s knowing look and Ahsoka’s suspicious glances, he’s not really succeeding, but he presses onwards.

Still, try as he might, for the rest of the planning session, he can’t quite escape the revelation that Anakin—his Anakin, whose finely carved features and bright, guileless charm could likely land him anyone he so desired—finds Obi-Wan physically attractive.

***

The battle fields of Jabiim are like the scene from a horror holo—the bodies of troopers and Loyalists alike tossed carelessly across the dead husks of the droids, all of it sinking down into an oozing mixture of mud and blood.

Obi-Wan surveys the battle from the cliffside, a strange mix of fiery adrenaline and numb shock pulsing through his body. He holds his saber loosely in one hand, breathing heavily.

“Sir?” A gentle touch to his shoulder.

 Obi-Wan whirls around and when he comes back to himself, he’s got Cody in a chokehold, his lightsaber dangerously close to his commander’s carotid. He immediately drops his saber and backs away in horror. He has to grip his wrist tightly with the opposite hand in order to stop the shaking. Cody waits patiently, holding himself very still.

“Yes?” Obi-Wan finally says, his voice somewhat composed.

“It’s General Skywalker, sir,” Cody continues, still watching him warily. “He’s…he’s like you. But worse. We didn’t want to get too close.”

“I’ll handle it.” Obi-Wan straightens, the thought of Anakin in distress infusing him with sudden clarity. He uses the Force to call his lightsaber back to hand. “Where is he?”

Cody gestures to the west and Obi-Wan uses the bond to figure out the rest. Sure enough, he finds Anakin, a few kilometers away, pacing relentlessly with his lit saber still in hand. Every so often, he will lash out, severing the arm or head of already inactive droid. Echo is loyally standing guard at a safe distance. The trooper nods when he spots Obi-Wan, clearly relieved, and turns his back to give them some privacy.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan calls out, as he approaches. Thunder rumbles ominously overhead and Anakin continues pacing, as if he hasn’t heard. Anakin.

Anakin’s head snaps to him, eyes feverishly bright in his face.

“Obi-Wan,” he breathes. “I thought—I couldn’t—I didn’t…”

“I know, dear one, I know,” Obi-Wan responds, holding out a hand and creeping ever closer. “It’s over now.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s over,” Anakin says, voice bleak. Obi-Wan’s hand finally makes contact and suddenly Anakin is twisting his wrist, grabbing onto Obi-Wan’s forearm like a drowning man. Even through the layers of his robes, the touch burns his skin, makes him feel alive in a way nothing else has for days.

“Come, let us return to the ships,” Obi-Wan says softly. He reaches out with the Force, tugging at Anakin’s saber. Anakin says nothing and Obi-Wan takes that as permission, floating Anakin’s saber away from his hand, flicking it off, and tucking it into his own utility belt. Anakin’s eyes haven’t left his face and across the bond, Obi-Wan feels a molten-slow, hot magma hunger bubbling to the surface.

Obi-Wan flexes the fingers of his free hand, inhaling sharply. All his defenses are gone—wiped away by exhaustion and the preceding battle and the own desperate need in his own veins. With Echo’s help, they move towards and slowly board a nearby gunship. It’s started raining again and the bodies around them are beginning slip and sink deeper in the mud. In the shuffle towards the gunship, Obi-Wan’s hand detaches from Anakin’s but across the wide open bond he feels like they’re still touching, a live wire running between them.

“I’m glad,” Anakin begins, his voice numb, as they watch the ground fall away from beneath them, “I’m so, so glad you convinced me to send Ahsoka on without us. I can’t…oh, Force.” Obi-Wan inhales deeply, his agreement pulsing across the bond, and tries desperately to draw himself back inwards. But his furiously beating heart won’t be calmed and his battle hot blood won’t be cooled.  

He and Anakin exit the ship, one set of many muddy survivors trudging their way across the Negotiator’s hangar and make for a side-hallway feeding off the great hangar. They all look out of place in the too clean, white lines of the Negotiator’s interior.  They are greeted there by Rex and Cody, who are furiously debating their next move—clean up on Jabiim or a hasty exit to aid the 327^th. Obi-Wan sighs—they have hardly had a moment to catch their breaths, let alone take a shower, but now of course he must deal with this headache too, it never stops. By the look on his face, Anakin is not really paying attention, still stuck back on Jabiim. His friend’s face is haunted—mud streaked across hollow cheeks and too luminous eyes—and Obi-Wan imagines that he looks much the same, if not worse.

Their eyes connect once more, over their commander and captain’s heads, and all of sudden Obi-Wan finds he can’t look away, his blood still singing from battle. Cody’s and Rex’s voices half-fade into background, drowned out by the pounding of his pulse, beating in time with the flutter he sees in the curve of Anakin’s neck. He still sees the same hunger in Anakin’s eyes, still feels it threading across the bond—it’s unbearable.

Abruptly, Obi-Wan holds up a hand.

“I’m sure we can have this discussion later,” he says, cutting off…whatever Cody was saying and still not breaking eye contact with Anakin. Anakin smirks, pink lips pulling upwards as the harsh lights of the hangar highlight the plane of his cheek, the sweat of his brow. He turns and begins to skirt around Cody and Rex. “We all need a shower and some rest—I’m sure the war effort can survive a few hours without us.”

“General, I’m not sure—ouch what was that for, vod?” Rex squawks. Obi-Wan can’t really follow what exactly Cody is furiously whispering—too busy following Anakin—but whatever it is it must work, because he doesn’t hear any further protest.

They leave the hangar, wind their way through the corridors, an unerring path for Obi-Wan’s quarters. He’s never before thought that his quarters were so far from the hangar, but now he curses every footfall.

When they arrive, Anakin waves a hand over the keypad without hesitation. The door slides back with a soft swish and Anakin strides inside, Obi-Wan close behind him. The door slides shut behind them and there is a split-second pause.

Then, Anakin whirls around and crashes into Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan’s back hurts from where Anakin has slammed him up against the bulkhead and their teeth and noses clack painfully, but it can’t drown out the pleasure as they finally, finally kiss. Obi-Wan’s hands fly up and scrabble at Anakin’s robes.

“Off,” he commands in whisper, nipping at Anakin’s lower lip. The bond is still wide open from the battle and its aftermath, so Anakin can’t quite hide the way Obi-Wan’s order makes him shudder with dizzying want. Obi-Wan can’t resist a thrill of pleasure and shoves Anakin back, towards the small bunk. Anakin lands on his ass with solid oomph, eyes dark and wide as he stares up at Obi-Wan, hungrily. Obi-Wan begins to deliberately, carefully remove his own dirty robes and armor, feeling as if he is shedding so much more. “Oh, you like that? Okay, then. Take. It. Off.”

Anakin scrambles to obey, ripping tabards and armor from his body with characteristic, thoughtless haste, wriggling around on the bed to remove his pants.

Obi-Wan briefly detours, ducking into the attached fresher to grab a handful of bacta packets.

“Hey, what are you—” Anakin sounds panicked, confused, but Obi-Wan finds his goal within an instant and returns to the room quickly enough. He holds up the packets as an explanation and he feels a thread of confusion, followed a little too slowly by understanding, as he climbs up on the bed, his pale thighs spread to either side of Anakin’s lean, golden ones. He frowns, as Anakin darts forward again, trying to initiate another kiss.

“Anakin,” he says, slowly, placing a hand on his (distractingly beautiful) chest to forestall further movement. “Have you ever been with someone like this?”

“Not exactly,” Anakin says, turning crimson as he begins to squirm. He leans back against the pillow. Obi-Wan just looks at him. “I—just kissing mostly. But I know what to expect!”

“Hmm.”

“If this is some sorta weird hang-up about my so-called virginity, then don’t,” Anakin says, hotly. “Padmé says that virginity is just a patriarchal construct meant to reinforce existing power structures and—”

“Hush, dear one, I’m just taking a step back—if you’ve never done this before, we’ll need to go a bit slower. It doesn’t bother me,” Obi-Wan admits, as he tilts his head and leans down, caging Anakin in with his forearms. “It really doesn’t bother me at all—quite the opposite, actually.”

“What? You like—?” Anakin’s eyes return to their earlier darkness.

“Mhmm, indeed,” Obi-Wan says, distracted by how kissable Anakin’s neck looks, splayed out like that. He ducks back down, extending his tongue to sample the skin on display. Anakin lets out a gasp and his legs fall open unconsciously. Obi-Wan strives to keep him occupied with deep, drugging kisses as he carefully coats his fingers in bacta gel and trails them down, to the cleft of Anakin’s ass. Obi-Wan has prepped his partners’ before, himself too, but there is something completely different about doing this with an open Force bond, able to feel both sides of it at once. He’s not the only one—Anakin is overwhelmed, limbs flailing erratically and his cock bouncing obscenely against his stomach.

Only two fingers in and Anakin pushes Obi-Wan’s hands away determinedly. He wraps his legs around Obi-Wan’s waist and flips them around so he’s on top.  

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan pants, scrambling to keep up. “Anakin, slow down—”

 “No, no, I’m ready, don’t stop, don’t stop, please.”

“Wait, you’re not ready, you’ve never done this before—Anakin!” His next words are cut off on an incredulous moan as Anakin somehow manages to position himself perfectly and sink down onto Obi-Wan’s cock in one powerful motion. Bottomed out, Anakin and Obi-Wan both freeze, Anakin’s fingers flexing against his shoulder.

“Oh,” Anakin says in a small voice, whispers of pain leaking across the bond.

“I did try to warn you,” Obi-Wan grits out, trying very, very hard not to move his hips.

“I’m sorry, Master.” Anakin holds still and leans his forehead to rest against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I never listen. I’ll be—” here an experimental shift, a wince “—ready soon, I promise, I just need a moment.”

“Always on the move,” Obi-Wan strives for dry and witty but probably falls short of the mark with his reddened cheeks and glazed eyes. Anakin narrows his eyes at him, deliberately clenches, and Obi-Wan’s higher brain function whites out.

“If you’re still sassing me, I’m definitely not doing this right,” Anakin mutters. He shifts again, this time more deliberately, less minute. Seemingly satisfied with how the pain has retreated, he begins to grow bolder, rolling his hips and building a rhythm. Then, he lets out a sudden, long, breathy moan and lets his head hang back, short curls framing his ecstasy.

Obi-Wan’s breath catches and he snaps his hips up, hard. Anakin lets out another moan. Obi-Wan shifts them so that Anakin is back underneath him, so that he can get the leverage he needs to really begin pounding into him, pulling back and thrusting, all while panting into Anakin’s mouth in a not-quite-kiss. There’s Anakin below him, around him, his blunt nails catching on Obi-Wan’s shoulder with a particularly brutal thrust. This is when Anakin really begins to lose it, his thighs clenching and his eyes going unfocused.

“Oh Force, what was—oh, oh, oh!”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees, voice low and rough, “Come on, that’s right, come on, dear one. I’ve got you—ah!—I’ve got you.”

He’d like to blame the sudden, embarrassingly quick crescendo (for Force sake’s he’s not a sixteen year old padawan anymore) on the situation—still keyed up from battle, near-death-experiences on all sides, the bond, still humming between them—but honestly all that matters now is making sure that Anakin is right there with him. He reaches a hand down to Anakin’s reddened cock, trapped between them, and continues to target his prostate with pinpoint accuracy.

“Master, I’m—I can’t, I’m going to come,” Anakin pants, eyes blown huge and wide, the beautiful blue nearly swallowed whole by his pupil. Obi-Wan kisses Anakin, fierce and deep, to swallow any further commentary, and slows his hips for one, two, three more thrusts. The bond explodes in golden pleasure and Obi-Wan cannot even tell if it is Anakin or himself who tips over the edge first, but whoever it is, it’s enough to pull the other along with him.  Obi-Wan stops all movement lets the tremors roll through him, spine shivering and muscles trembling, as his mind completely blanks out for a long instant.

With a groan, he collapses—his arms finally just giving out. He has enough sense of mind to roll to the side, so that he doesn’t brain himself on Anakin’s shoulder or crush him under his weight. There’s not a lot of room on the bunk, so when Obi-Wan lands on his back, one arm and one leg are still half covering Anakin’s.

They lay there, panting, tangled up and staring up at the ceiling.  

Finally, Obi-Wan begins to move away, reluctantly. Anakin makes a protesting noise, but Obi-Wan simply places a finger to his lips and stands to his feet.

“Hush, you’ll thank me when you’re not all sticky and sweaty,” he says, fondly. Anakin subsides and he moves to the fresher, wetting a cloth. He wipes down himself, his movements quick and utilitarian, then grabs another dampened hand towel and brings it back to the bed. He sits on the edge of the bed and carefully washes Anakin, as the other man tracks his movements lazily. He stretches, exposing a new expanse of skin for Obi-Wan to pass the cloth across. He sees the faint beginnings of a bruise at Anakin’s hip—too new, too perfectly shaped to Obi-Wan’s fingertips to be from the battle. He glances up sharply.

“You’re not too hurt, are you?” he demands. Anakin rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine, worrywart. I mean, I’m not exactly in fighting shape and I really hope the clankers don’t decide to make an unexpected sneak attack anytime soon. But I’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”

A flash of guilt—the adrenaline of battle and sex is finally fading and the realization of what Obi-Wan has done is starting to settle heavy in his gut. It’s one thing to pull another Knight in for a quick tumble after a hard mission, quite another to do…whatever that was with his former padawan.

“I—Anakin, I…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Anakin says, using his forearms to lever himself upward. He searches Obi-Wan’s face. “I wanted this—I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re on about. Do you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admits with a heavy sigh. He pauses. “I just don’t want you to think—you must understand, these sorts of encounters have always been casual for me.”

“I knew that,” Anakin says, relaxing. “But I’m hardly the first friend you’ve slept with. You and Master Vos weren’t very subtle and I’m not stupid you know.”

Yes, but Quinlan and he didn’t share a dangerously strong Force bond that should have been severed a long time ago. Yes, but he’s never been tempted to throw away hundreds of men’s lives and the success of the entire war effort just to spare Quinlan’s life. Yes, but for Quin he’s never risked pneumonia, sitting outside all night in the middle of a thunderstorm because for some reason his grown-ass friend was still fascinated by falling water.

Yes, but…  

But you’re hardly just a friend, are you, Anakin?

“Honestly, I’m surprised we never tried this earlier,” Anakin continues, carefree. “It’s a great setup—convenient, the sex is mindblowing, and we’re both Jedi so we’re going into this with eyes wide open and don’t have to worry about any misunderstandings about attachment.” Obi-Wan can physically feel his resolve—never very great to begin with—shattering. Anakin sounds so pleased, happy even, in a way he hasn’t really since this war began and Obi-Wan has made him feel that way. If Anakin can keep things casual on his end…well, Obi-Wan’s own career will effectively be over once the Council realizes just how compromised his judgement has become—and oh, they will find out, he is sure of that—but as long as he can show that the attachment remained entirely one-sided, he doesn’t have to worry about dragging Anakin down with him.

“So I am to be a convenience now, am I?” Obi-Wan jokes lightly, to cover the heavy ache in his chest that has recently become so constant and familiar.

“We hardly ever interact with any organics besides Ahsoka, the clones, and the Separatist leaders you negotiate with—and if you tell me you’d rather sleep with a Sep than me, not going lie, that one’s going to sting.”

A flash of Obi-Wan, laying a flirtatious hand upon Wat Tambor’s chest, fills his mind eye, pushed across the bond by Anakin.

“Oh, Anakin, really? Why do you always insist on putting these Force forsaken mental images in my head?” Obi-Wan half-sighs, half-chuckles. Anakin peeks at him out of the corner of his eye, then begins to laugh as well, far louder and far more earnestly.

This is such a bad idea and however many months from now when it all comes crashing down in flames, Obi-Wan will look back and know that this is the moment that sealed his fate, but for right now, Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to regret it, not one bit.

***

Over the next two weeks, Obi-Wan loses track of the number of closets and alcoves he’s been led, pulled, and shoved into by Anakin.

Somehow, in all of his calculations to determine exactly what the consequences of his moment of weakness would be, he completely missed the fact that Anakin is a healthy twenty-one year old human male discovering sex for the first time—Obi-Wan only has to breathe a certain way in Anakin’s direction and the next thing he knows, he’s being dragged into the nearest semi-private space for an illicit rendezvous.

“Anakin,” he gasps, this latest time, as the younger man laves attention on his neck. His lips are right at the spot where Obi-Wan’s jaw meets his neck, a particular weak spot of his—for someone with so little experience, Anakin has proven a quick and eager student. They’re in some sort of shadowy storage room, enclosed on three sides but with no door. “Anakin! We can’t—Ahsoka! What would Ahsoka think if she saw us?”

“I don’t care,” Anakin murmurs, the words vibrating against his skin. He shifts his thigh so that it is pressing against Obi-Wan’s half-hard cock. “Mmm. Doesn’t seem like you really care much either.”

Obi-Wan loses the thread of his thoughts for a while after that, hazy pleasure forming a film over any sort of reason and rationality. He comes back to himself abruptly when he hears the smart snap of boots outside in the corridor, marching against the durasteel floors. He wrenches himself away with a gasp, backpedaling into the wall to get some space in between himself and Anakin as the chattering shadows of a few troopers pass them. Anakin is staring at him with dark eyes, hair mussed and jaw a bright, too-pink color from Obi-Wan’s beard. Obi-Wan inhales and exhales deeply, trying to catch his breath. Anakin tilts his head and looks Obi-Wan up and down, slowly, which is definitely not helping.

“Ana-kin,” he scolds, as he runs his fingers through his hair and tries to straighten his robes. “You can’t keep doing this—one day, some poor trooper is going to walk in on us, and Cody is going to murder you for traumatizing one of his men.”

“Nah, you’ll protect me,” Anakin says confidently, lounging against the opposite wall and doing absolutely nothing to address his own state of clearly-just-kriffed-in-a-closet.

“Even I’m not that brave.”  

“In that case, let’s get back before they send anyone to come and find us.” Anakin’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Wouldn’t want to traumatize the poor man.”

“I’m fairly certain Rex and Cody know better by now,” Obi-Wan replies drolly. At Anakin’s startled, quizzical look, he continues. “Anakin, you can’t really think they don’t already know. We spend nearly every waking hour with them and you’re not exactly discreet.”

“I can be discreet,” Anakin insists. Obi-Wan levels him with an incredulous look. “I can!”

Obi-Wan is saved from reciting a comprehensive list of examples of Anakin’s complete and utter lack of subtlety by the chiming of their coms.

“It appears that we’ve finally managed to catch up with Ahsoka and the 327^th,” Obi-Wan observes. “Come, let’s see what the damage is.”

The walk to the bridge takes far longer than it reasonably should—Anakin very deliberately keeping a step or two behind and Obi-Wan stopping every few minutes to turn around, narrow his eyes, and hiss stop staring at my ass across the bond. He catches a few troopers giving them the oddest looks, but no one tries to intercept them.

When they finally arrive, there’s a small contingent of troopers with the characteristic 327^th yellow center stripe milling around, chatting easily with their brothers and swapping wild stories. Obi-Wan hears one of the troopers excitedly telling Rex about how Aayla and Ahsoka had led a clan of slingshot-wielding, furry monkeys into battle against a whole platoon of droids. Obi-Wan blinks, then turns to Anakin with a raised eyebrow. He shrugs, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.

Well evidently it worked, don’t understand what you’re complaining about.  

“Generals on deck!” Cody calls out, once he spots them. The clone soldiers immediately snap out a smart salute, which Anakin and Obi-Wan wave away.

“At ease, troopers,” Anakin says. At the sound of his voice, Aayla and Ahsoka turn as one, their lekku swinging lightly.

“Little Ani!” Aayla crows, her accented voice fond as she clasps her hand to his shoulder. Anakin blushes and winces, but accepts the nickname and greeting with good humor.

“Ani?” Ahsoka asks, a gleam in her eyes.

“Oh, that’s what we all used to call him, when he first came to the Temple,” Aayla replies, laughing. “He was so small, but determined to keep up with us older padawans. It was absolutely adorable, we all loved little Ani.”

“Aww.”

“Do we have to do this?” Anakin groans.

“But of course. Master Vos and Master Kenobi taught us that this is what friends are for—to embarrass each other horribly in front of our padawans.”

“This seems a little unfair then—after all you don’t have an apprentice for me to embarrass you in front of. When are you planning to fix that, Aayla?”

Aayla’s smile freezes on her face.

“And now that we’ve all set a sufficiently bad example for poor Ahsoka, I believe it is on to business,” Obi-Wan interrupts. Aayla’s eyes flick to him before she flashes an apologetic smile to Anakin—she has a great sabacc face and if Obi-Wan didn’t know better, he would have been completely fooled. “Aayla, can you meet me in my quarters at your earliest convenience?”

“Council business?” Anakin asks, sharing an eye roll with Ahsoka.

“What else?” Obi-Wan responds, with a sigh and suitably mysterious smile. They get business over with quickly—exchanging intelligence and generating a list of the casualties sustained over Maridun—but stay and mingle for a while longer. The 501^st and 212^th are anxious to show off their generals to their brothers and Obi-Wan and Anakin are equally excited to meet the batchmates they’ve heard so much about.

Finally, Obi-Wan begins to say his goodbyes, referencing his impending mountain of paperwork as an excuse. He catches Aayla’s eyes across the bridge and nods once to signal his true intent.

“You always have paperwork,” Anakin says with a sigh. He extends two fingers and runs them down the length of Obi-Wan’s arm, pausing at his wrist to draw and keep Obi-Wan’s attention. Ahsoka is standing a few feet away, with Rex, watching them with a puzzled look as she half-carries on her side of the conversation.

“Yes, well, running a good portion of Republic war effort will do that,” Obi-Wan returns wryly. “Remember this conversation the next time anyone offers you a promotion.”

“Ha! As if the Council would ever trust me with a cactus, let alone half the fleet!”

“They gave you the 501^st,” Rex points out.

“Only cause they couldn’t find anyone else to put up with your sorry asses,” one of the 327^th jokes. In the mayhem that ensues, Anakin refocuses on Obi-Wan and opens up the bond.

I have a com call with my mother soon, but afterwards…can I come to your quarters?  

Of course, dear one.

Anakin beams, taps his fingers once more to Obi-Wan’s wrist, and lets Obi-Wan go. As he walks towards his quarters in a daze, he can’t quite tell if the giddy happiness is his own or Anakin’s.

***

Once he’s arrived in his quarters, he has only to wait a few more minutes before there is a gentle knocking at his door and a soft, “Master Kenobi.”

He rises to open the door, carefully composing his countenance into something approaching serenity, and greets a nervous Aayla. As he moves to the side to allow her entrance, he sees that there is a tight-lipped, shaved-head clone standing just behind her. He follows Aayla into Obi-Wan’s quarters, his stubbled cheeks bending and hollowing, as if he is biting his inner cheek in a bid to control hold his tongue and contain his nerves.  

“This is Bly,” Aayla says, gesturing to the clone beside her once the door has shut. Bly shuffles his feet and determinedly meets Obi-Wan’s eyes. Aayla juts her chin out defiantly. “Anything you would say to me, you can say to him.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan agrees easily. He can see that his automatic, argument-less acceptance has taken them aback. He gestures to the cushions he’s laid out in his makeshift meditation corner. “Come. Let’s sit.”

They fold themselves into traditional mediation poses—Obi-Wan and Aayla with practiced ease and Bly with the hesitant, jerky movements of someone consciously trying to emulate their ease. They pause for a moment, considering each other.

“You know, Quinlan always thought that he would be the first of his lineage to leave the Order. I think, once he gets over his shock, he will be quite put out that you beat him to it,” Obi-Wan begins, his tone light, gently teasing. Aayla startles, then relaxes, eyes affectionate as she shakes her head.

“Master Vos is a far more traditional Jedi than he gives himself credit for,” she replies, hesitantly, the thick layer of tension in her posture dissipating somewhat. “He’s had a few brushes with the Dark and given the Council a collective aneurysm or ten, but he very much enjoys the traditional Temple life and has never truly been tempted to seek out more.”

“Please tell him exactly that and record a holo of the look on his face. I would dearly love to see it. Bly, have you ever met Master Vos?”

“Uh…no sir. Not yet. Though I hope to, one day. Aayla—General Secura, that is—speaks very highly of him.”

“Oh, you’ll meet him, I’m sure,” Obi-Wan chuckles. “That is another event I would pay good credits to witness. Also, none of that sir nonsense—for the duration of this conversations, please just call me Obi-Wan, or if you must insist on a title, Master Kenobi. I am not your general here.”  

There’s another silence, this one far easier, the uncertainty thawed by Obi-Wan’s idle teasing, exactly as he’s intended.

“Before we begin, Bly and I would like to thank you, Master Kenobi,” Aayla says after a while. “I understand that your ability to help us may be limited, but the fact that you are willing to hear our case at all gives me hope.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan responds, with a shake of his head and feeling very uncomfortable with her clear gratitude, especially in light of his recent, clearly flawed decision-making process when it comes to his own attachment.  “But there is also plenty of reason for hope. We can ill afford to lose a talented and experienced General—especially for so stupid a reason.”

“Truly?”

“Truly, my dear. I won’t pretend it will be easy, but the advantages of keeping you in your current position are self-evident and will be hard for the Council to ignore. Though,” here Obi-Wan hesitates, inhales and fixes a determinedly neutral expression upon his face, “I will recommend you reach out to Master Plo Koon to act as your advocate, instead of myself. Before you start to worry that this is a reflection on my support for your case, please hear me out. I am considered something of a…radical by the more conservative members of the Council. After thinking it over, I fear that if I were to be your only advocate on the Council, they would dismiss the notion out of hand as another one of my crazy ideas. Master Koon is already quite the champion for the clones and I believe that if you, Bly, were to pass a message to Wolffe, he would be an excellent messenger and make sure that Master Koon is receptive to your case.”

And, he doesn’t add, my own failings make me uniquely unsuited to objectively and even-handedly arguing the merits of your position. When his attachment to Anakin inevitably comes to light, every cause he has ever championed will immediately be thrown into suspicion. He doesn’t want there to be any reason to drag Aayla and Bly back in front of the Council.

“That seems reasonable,” Aayla responds. Her wrists rest lightly over her knees and her fingers flex and extend. Bly reaches out a hand to grasp hers, then, seeming to remember their audience, jerks away before their fingers can make contact. He seems embarrassed and so Obi-Wan pretends not to notice.

“The one thing I would advise you,” Obi-Wan continues, “is to decide what exactly you’re willing to bargain with, to make your temporary position more palatable to the Council.”

“I will of course leave the Order as soon as the war is ended and the Senate has issued guidance on the fate of the clones,” Aayla says quickly.

“That’s a good start. But I imagine some on the Council will ask that you, ah, refrain from sexual encounters for the duration of the war as well. Not,” he adds hastily, “that I would vote for such a requirement. If a strong attachment has already formed, it is my experience that additional physical intimacy will do little to either weaken or strengthen the existing feelings.” The Force is quiet, granting him a reprieve and not revealing the horrible hypocrisy of his words to Aayla, but Obi-Wan still burns with shame inside.

“Oh.” Aayla and Bly share a long look, before Bly finally speaks up.

“I think we could agree to that, sir—I mean Master Kenobi,” he says. “I—it would be hard. But, for me, not being able to see each other at all, with no end in sight? I think that’s my line in the sand.”

“Completely understandable. I would not start there, nor suggest it, only be prepared to have a well thought out response if someone else raises the issue. They will demand at the very least that you keep your connection a secret—if you are seen as openly flouting the Code, they will be forced to act.”

“We can do that—we’ve been very careful, the only Jedi who know are Master Vos and yourself.”

“And your men?” Obi-Wan presses.

“Uh, that might be harder,” Bly admits, a blush tinging his cheeks. “There was an…ah, incident with some pollen on Felucia, a few other troopers were present.”

“Pollen, what—” at Aayla and Bly’s sudden inability to meet his eye, Obi-Wan pales, “you know what, never mind. I would talk to the other troopers involved and swear them to secrecy if you haven’t already—we likely can’t stop the gossip amongst the 327^th but we can at least prevent it from spreading to other battalions, who may inadvertently share the news with their own Jedi.”

“Good idea, s—Master Kenobi. I’ll talk to Lucky and Cameron right away.”

There is a pause.

“I’d recommend making your intentions clear in your next report to the Council, but unfortunately, it will take time to reach a decision—weeks at best, but more likely months. I can only imagine how difficult it will be to live in limbo like that, so my last piece of advice is that you two prepare yourselves for a very long wait.”  

“Master Vos said as much,” Aayla sighs. She fixes a cracked smile upon her face. “But it is as the Force wills and we will do our best. Again, thank you so much for your time, Master Kenobi.” Aayla and Bly rise to leave, their shoulder nearly brushing each other’s with every movement. Before they reach the door, Obi-Wan clears his throat awkwardly. Aayla turns and raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Regardless of what the Council decides, I am…happy for you both, to have found such joy in such an awful thing as war.”  

Aayla reaches out a hand and squeezes Bly’s hand.

“So am I,” she murmurs happily, as she and Bly lock eyes. The moment breaks and they nod once more to Obi-Wan, before ducking out of the room.

After they are gone, Obi-Wan moves to his desk and tries in vain to focus on his paperwork—he simply finds it impossible with the mix of anxiety for Aayla and Bly and anticipation for Anakin’s visit running through his mind. He finds himself drifting off every now and again into a light meditative state, as he pushes his fears, worries, and hopes into the cold warmth of the Force.

The durasteel door flies open once more, this time with a bang. Obi-Wan’s head snaps up, to see Anakin’s familiar figure framed in the doorway, backlit by the bright lights of the highway. His face is thrown into deep shadows, expression completely obscured, but rage boils off of him, flooding their bond.

Obi-Wan flinches backwards.

“How could you?” Anakin snarls.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stares at Anakin, still in shock, as he storms around Obi-Wan’s quarters like a raging krayt dragon, curls askew and blue eyes sparking as his gaze fixates on Obi-Wan.  

“How could you?” he repeats, no, demands.  

“Anakin, I don’t know what—”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about! You knew how I’d react, which is why you never told me—coward, traitor, Depur.” Obi-Wan’s head snaps between Anakin’s blazing eyes and the wide-open door behind him, a pair of curious clones in the hallway trying very hard to appear like they were looking somewhere, anywhere else.  Anakin doesn’t seem to notice or care. “How long have you known?”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, standing to his feet. His original thought is to close the door, but Anakin is standing in between him and the pad and there’s no way he’s getting physically close to Anakin when he’s this enraged. This is not the first time Anakin has come to him, ranting and raving about this injustice or that terrible decision, but it is the first time that rage has ever been focused on Obi-Wan himself. It’s…not a comforting sensation. Obi-Wan knows, deep down, that Anakin would never hurt him, not even in his worst moods, but that doesn’t help the instinctual desire to run far, far away. Obi-Wan decides a casual misuse of the Force is the better option and holds up two fingers to slide the door to his quarters shut, another twist to lock it. “Anakin,” he repeats calmly, once the door is locked, “I cannot answer your questions if you won’t tell me what I’m accused of.”  

“The Council—you!—enslaved millions of people for a war, that’s what!" Anakin fires back, fists clenching. In their minds, he has thrown up an impenetrable shield across the bond—a thick, whirling sandstorm that repels any approach. “There’s chips in their heads—slave chips! Mom always thought there was something wrong with us using the clones, I should have listened to her, how could you?”

“What?”

“Don’t pretend innocence—I have proof! Cut—do you remember Cut? I thought you were being kind, but you were just being cruel, letting him think he had a chance at freedom—he was helping Mom deactivate the slave chips on a set of refugees when he set off the scanner. They can’t even get it out because you had it buried in his brain. And they almost couldn’t believe it, so the scanned the other deserters we sent their way and they all have it!”

“Anakin, stop,” Obi-Wan demands. “Please, slow down, I have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s a chip in the clones’ brains? As in a control chip?” Something about Obi-Wan’s genuine confusion seems to get through to his friend because Anakin hesitates for the barest instant before continuing, in a still accusatory, still heated tone, but at a slightly more reasonable volume.

“Yes, but you already knew that—you’re on the Council and the Council made the first order ten years ago—”

"We never commissioned the clones, Anakin," Obi-Wan interrupts, scrubbing a hand over his face. Anakin startles, gaping.

"But the Senate—"

"Thinks that because the Kaminoans told them that Master Sifo-Dyas was somehow involved,” Obi-Wan finishes for him, shoulders slumping. “But even if he did—which I doubt, the timeline is fuzzy, but he was almost certainly dead at that point—it was done without the knowledge or consent of the rest of the Council. The Kaminoans told the Senate that story and then they seemed to think that we had used our great powers of foresight to aid the Republic in its time of need. We could hardly admit that our sense of the Force was so clouded we hadn't even noticed the creation of an entire army, right under our noses and in our name too.”

“That’s ridiculous—why not just tell the truth?” Anakin insists.  

“Why indeed,” he says, with a sigh. Obi-Wan had always argued against this path of concealment, fearing that it would lead to misunderstandings and misplaced blame, but Masters Yoda and Windu had held firm. No one outside of the Council was to know the truth and oh how it burns to have all of his fears come true in the worst possible way. “The Council was worried the Senate would lose faith in our abilities and choose to give control of the clones to someone less scrupulous. Can you imagine what some of the Senators would have done, with one million able bodied men unable to say no? At least this way we can make sure that they are treated well, cared for, respected."

“With a chip in their heads,” Anakin replies, eyes narrowed. Obi-Wan blanches. “That’s still slavery, no matter what you call it.”

“We didn’t know about that,” Obi-Wan protests, weakly. He swallows, stares at the floor. “But that’s not fair. We should have known—when we took responsibility for them, we should have made sure there were no such controls in place. We did not know for sure, but based on Master Ti’s reports, it’s not entirely out-of-character for the Kaminoans to want to install such a…failsafe.”

“I—” Anakin looks stricken, his righteous fury snuffed out by Obi-Wan’s admission of guilt. “Master, even if there wasn’t a chip, can’t you see how wrong this is? You’re just gilding the chains.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and accepts the insult—he knows what it means to Anakin, but also can’t dispute its accuracy. Years and years ago, when Anakin was still a Padawan, one of the moisture farmers—Cliegg Lars actually—had made an offer for Shmi’s hand. He was in love and was willing to buy, free, and marry her—but Shmi had very firmly told him no, as such offers were considered little better than actual slavery amongst her people. No matter how noble and kind his intentions, she would still be beholden to him and his whims. The chain upon her neck would merely take on a more appealing shape, hence the term ‘gilding the chains’. To his credit, Cliegg had accepted the rejection and rebuke with as much grace as any man could muster, had never withdrawn his offer to use his farm as a stop on Shmi’s underground network, and had instead struck up an enduring friendship. But none of that had mattered to Anakin, whose anger upon being told of the offer had been towering. Their whole apartment had been suffused with Anakin’s discontent for weeks after, the Force around him a roiling mess.

"I think we knew it was wrong,” Obi-Wan admits. “But we didn’t know what else to do with the war looming over our heads. We will push for a citizenship bill, once the war is over. We always intended to do that.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Anakin snorts derisively. “Depur would never deactivate a chip he put there in the first place.”

“I swear, we didn’t know about the chips,” Obi-Wan says fiercely, begging for some form of absolution. Why he’s asking Anakin, he doesn’t know—truly, he should be apologizing to any of the thousands of men serving under his command with no choice in the matter and a chip in their head to make sure it stays that way.

“I—I believe you,” Anakin responds, slowly, unsure. Obi-Wan’s heart unclenches just a little, while simultaneously breaking anew at the painful hesitation in Anakin’s voice. He’s so used to Anakin’s complete, unswerving, and unhesitating trust that even the slightest of pauses is heart wrenching. He collapses into the chair behind his desk and drops his head into his hands. He inhales, once, twice, and centers himself in the Force. When he raises his eyes again, the Force feels clearer than it has in months.

“Okay, then,” Obi-Wan says, voice calm, determined as he steeples his fingers. “We’ll need to contact the Council, immediately, of course, and redirect the fleet to Coruscant. Your mother as well—we’ll need her help—and I’m sure you have Senator Amidala’s personal com? I will need her to arrange some meetings.”  

“What?” Anakin seems at a loss for words by this sudden flurry of action. “Why?”

“We’ll need to get her Clone Rights bill out of committee as soon as possible,” Obi-Wan responds, half-distracted as he digs through his desk for his com unit. “Where did I put that Force-damned thing?”

Wordlessly, Anakin opens a drawer on the left, plucks out his com, and hands it over to Obi-Wan with wide eyes. He clears his throat.

“You—you’re going to try and free the clones?”

“Of course. Like I said, we always intended to push for citizenship, as soon as we weren’t juggling a galaxy wide crisis, but I think this discovery lends new urgency to the situation.”

“You were fine with it before,” Anakin says, the note of accusation back in his voice.

“Yes, I agreed to wait, before. But no more, not when any delay leaves the clones vulnerable to whoever implanted those chips.” At Anakin’s silent, frowning look of puzzlement, he continues, with a sigh. Master Windu was going to kill him for revealing the deliberations of a closed Council session to Anakin, of all people, but Obi-Wan’s half-formed plan relies on Shmi’s help and he won’t get it without Anakin’s support. “Anakin, the Council has discussed the matter, many, many times, and our final conclusion was that, once the war ended, we would officially start pushing for citizenship, but that, realistically, it didn’t matter. The Senate has granted the Council full discretion when it comes to all matters involving the clones, so we figured that even if the bill stalled in the Senate, we could just tell the clones to desert en-masse and then issue a blanket military pardon. But if they have a chip in their heads…”

“Then that plan doesn’t work anymore,” Anakin finishes for him. “Whoever controls the chip could just blow them up, track them, control them again.”

“Exactly. And we have no idea who knows about this chip, who ordered it made, and what their intentions are. I think it’s safe to say the Kaminoans to know—it must be part of the reason they’ve maintained such secrecy around the cloning process and are insisting on maintaining a presence at our medical facilities and outposts, to make sure that nothing damages or leads to our discovery of the chips. A citizenship bill won’t entirely solve the problem, but it will provide the Council with a reason to insist that the Kaminoans start relinquishing their oversight and give us some time to figure out how to discreetly remove the chips without them looking over our shoulders.”

“Discreetly? Don’t we want everyone to know? Weren’t you the one who always said that secrecy was how democracies died?”

“Anakin, whoever ordered the clones has gone through an awful lot of trouble to keep this chip a secret. What do you think they will do once they hear that we are deactivating the chips? What would the Hutts do?”

“They’d blow the chip,” Anakin’s reply is immediate, flat. “Better a dead slave than a free slave.”  

“Which is why we must keep this a secret for as long as possible.”  

“There’s millions of clones, millions of chips. Even if we do figure out a way…we can’t—it’ll take months, years.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan responds grimly. “Which is why we must start now. Can you com message your mother and ask her to join a call in, oh, say thirty standard minutes—tell her it is urgent and if she can get Cut on the line as well, so much the better. When she’s ready, I’ll pass along my private Council com code.”

“You…you want to give my mother a direct, uncensored line to Master Windu’s com?” Anakin says, voice high-pitched with incredulity. Obi-Wan pauses, considers, winces.

“Not really, but we’ll need her help to figure out a way to neutralize the chips—she has a lifetime of experience in this area. We can’t afford even a moment’s delay to ask for the proper permissions to get a separate code generated. We’ll patch and boost the signal through Artoo. I’ll message the Council—oh, we’ll also need Rex and Cody, I should think. Oh—scratch that. We’ll need at least an hour before we’re ready for Shmi and the Council. We should first deliver the news to Rex and Cody privately. I—I can’t imagine that’ll be an easy conversation, I’m sure they’ll want a moment to compose themselves, without an audience.”

Anakin nods and types out a quick message to Artoo on his vambrace, as Obi-Wan coms Cody and tells him to bring Rex up to his quarters. When they finish, Anakin glances back to Obi-Wan.

“Master,” he begins, the hope in his voice as delicate as those spun sugar confections he enjoys so much, “thank you for doing this. I hope you know how much this means to me.”

“Oh, Anakin. I don’t want to cheapen your gratitude or your feelings, but I’m not doing this for you. This for Cut, Cody, Waxer, Boil…for all the men who I’ve failed so egregiously. I convinced myself I was better than your old masters on Tatooine because I cared for my men, but kindness doesn’t make me any less complicit. Iwill apologize to them, once I have taken concrete steps to ameliorate the situation. Until then, my apologies are just errant words and they are still subject to the whims of some shadowy figure.”

Anakin is saved from answering by a familiar beeping—it appears Artoo has arrived and chosen to hack his door lock to get in. He chirps an irritatingly cheerful greeting to them both and then begins a rapid fire back and forth with Anakin about setting up a secure com to Shmi. Anakin bends down to smooth a palm over his dome, gesturing with his hands to explain what wires and plating he’s about to remove to make the necessary modifications.

“General, what did you need, you sounded urgent over the com—oh boy, nope, so sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Cody’s voice fades out again, as he backpedals out of the room.

“Vod, what are you doing? General Kenobi specifically asked for us,” Rex says, his voice drifting in from the hallway.

“General Skywalker is in there,” Cody replies, as if that is sufficient explanation.

“Ack, really, again? That’s like the third time today. Do you think it’s something to do with the Force?”  Obi-Wan colors. Well, that answers the question of whether or not Rex and Cody know of Obi-Wan and Anakin’s little arrangement.

“You can come in,” Obi-Wan says, raising his voice slightly to let it carry, but still striving to maintain his calm Jedi master aura. “We’re both decent—Anakin’s just configuring a com channel on Artoo.” Rex and Cody poke their heads in slowly, suspiciously. At Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrow and clearly clothed state, Rex gives a sheepish shrug and Cody just sighs in relief. “Close the door behind you.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir, we just didn’t want to—”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan says hastily, cutting him off before Rex can finish that sentence. Anakin looks up only briefly from where he’s fiddling with Artoo’s communications array. He shares a look with Obi-Wan, then pats Artoo on the head.

“Go on then, I think you can get the rest of it done yourself, buddy,” he says, standing to his feet and coming to join Obi-Wan behind his desk.

“Gentlemen,” Obi-Wan greets, as Rex and Cody fall into parade rest. “Unfortunately, as with most urgent things in this war, what we’re about to share with you is not exactly good news.”

“Of course. We’re ready for whatever you need,” Cody responds, back ramrod straight.

“I never expected anything less, but I’m afraid it’s rather the other way around. We are here for you, whatever you might need.”

“Sir?” Rex and Cody are starting to look alarmed and Obi-Wan decides they have had enough of his stalling.

“We recently discovered a chip in the clones.”

“A chip?”

“Like the kind slavers use,” Anakin says darkly.

“It was first discovered in a deserter on Tatooine. When the government there scanned the remaining clones, they found that all of them had it, buried in their brains.”

“Oh,” is all Cody says. He and Rex seem numb—unable or unwilling to fully process what this means. “I…don’t know what you want us to say, sir.”

“It’s not my place to tell you how to react,” Obi-Wan responds gently.

“Do we—do I—have it?” Rex asks, gesturing to his head. Obi-Wan extends a hand.

“May I?” he asks. Rex nods quickly and Obi-Wan closes his eyes, reaching out with the Force to slip in and out of the many crevices of Rex’s being. His bones, his muscles, his organs, until he reaches Rex’s brain, the brightest point in his being. He has no particular talent for healing or for the sensing and searching with the Force that comes with it, so he expects it to be a struggle to find the chip, tucked away in some small corner of Rex’s mind. Instead, he easily finds a large, too straight to be organic, square chip, crying out its wrongness and Darkness into the Force and he wonders how he never noticed it before. He withdraws quickly, shuddering. A quick check of Cody reveals the same exact chip in the same exact spot—it takes only seconds, now that he knows where it is. “Yes, you do. You both do. I imagine that all the clones have it.”

“What is it supposed to do?” Cody asks, a worried tone to his voice.

“We don’t know exactly,” Obi-Wan replies. “But it set off a slave chip scanner, which looks for a very specific architecture—including the ability to transmit and receive data from an external source. So I think we can safely say, nothing good.”

“And the Kaminoans never told you about it?”

“No, which is even more worrying.”

“Why wouldn’t they tell you? Was it not included in your final order?”

“I want to assure you,” Obi-Wan says, voice sharp. “The Jedi would never order the implantation of such a device, never.” He sighs, then gentles his voice. “And this is the part where I admit that we don’t know what was included in the order because the Jedi Council never placed the original purchase.”

“What?” Cody’s voice cracks across the room. Both Rex and Cody sit up straighter—this admission, more than anything else, seems to break them out of their numb stupor. “But—but we were made for you, for the Jedi. We were always told that, over and over and over again.”

“You may have been intended for the Jedi, but it was not through any design of ours.”

“So—you. You never really wanted us?” Rex’s voice is small, perplexed. Obi-Wan does a double take and even Anakin seems taken aback at the turn this conversation has taken.

“What? I don’t—” Obi-Wan shuts his mouth, collects himself, then begins again calmly. “Rex, Cody, why does this piece of information seem to hurt you so much?”

Rex and Cody share a look, and then Cody turns back to face him.

“Growing up, we were always told we were just numbers, cannon-fodder meant only to die for our future Jedi,” Cody begins heavily. He flashes a bitter smile. “Organic droids, they called us. I think, for the Kaminoans, that was a point of pride, a selling point for future clients. I don’t think you can understand how much of a relief it was when you finally found us, and you were nothing like the Kaminoans had told us you would be. No matter what they said, we knew that you hadn’t ordered our creation just to let us die mindlessly. We were meant for more.”  

“A lot of us latched onto that,” Rex continues, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders defensively. “But if you didn’t place the first purchase, then maybe they were right all along, and whoever did order us just meant for us to be brainless droids. I mean, this whole chip thing definitely seems to support their version of events.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathes, his chest aching and the Force swirling deeply around him. He had no idea how much the Jedi meant to the clones—they had always been unflinchingly loyal and devoted to their commanders and generals, but many of the Jedi had just assumed it was the natural result of fighting side by side for months on end in the midst of an unspeakable and ongoing trauma. He has no idea what to say.

“I was born a slave,” Anakin says, abruptly, quietly, interrupting Obi-Wan’s panicked attempts to formulate a response. “Have I ever told you that?” Rex and Cody shake their heads, wide eyed.

“We…guessed, from a couple of the comments you made. And the fact that your mother is a former slave herself,” Rex offers, hesitantly. “But you’ve never explicitly said anything to us.”

“Gardulla the Hutt owned my mother and I for the first few years of my life,” Anakin continues. Obi-Wan hardly dares to breathe—even as a member of the family, there are some things Shmi and Anakin never talk to him about, he suspects because they’re trying to spare his delicate Core-World sensibilities. “And at a young age I displayed what I now know to be extreme Force-sensitivity, but what, at the time, Gardulla attributed to her excellent breeding program. Gardulla periodically forced other male slaves with…desirable characteristics on my mom until she became pregnant with me. I was very, very young, but even after she lost us to Watto in a bet, complete strangers used to comment that my quick reflexes, sharp mind, skilled hands were all thanks to Gardulla and that she must have been so angry to lose such a promising investment. Sometimes I was so angry at the thought that everything I ever did, every accomplishment I strove for would only justify what Gardulla had done to my mom.” He pauses, swallows. “But then I joined the Jedi and I began to use those same talents to help other people, which is definitely not anything Gardulla wanted or planned for. In fact, she’d probably be really pissed if she did know. And then, when I began to learn about the Jedi philosophies on the will of the Force, something just clicked. I’m not great at explaining it, Master, could you…?”

“I—of course,” Obi-Wan says, startled. He clears his throat. “The Force moves through all living things, guiding, but not determining, all of our actions. It’s will is inescapable, like…a river, rushing over stone. It can take a more direct path, around the stone, or if it’s too wide, it can go over. Or, if the obstacle is too tall, it will simply wait and throw itself at the stone over and over again, wearing down the rock little by little, until it forms a small crack to worm its way through. The end result is more or less the same, but through our choices we can dramatically affect the path to get there and the exact definition of that result.”

“Yeah, that. Gardulla made her choice and in doing so changed the shape of the path, but that doesn’t mean that that without her I never would have existed or that her plans for me should in any way affect my own choices—I am a part of the Force, the Force is a part of me, and that makes me a part of something so much bigger than the small-minded schemes of some random Hutt on a forgotten dustball.”

“We’re not fancy, important Jedi like you, though,” Rex says quietly. “I doubt the Force pays much attention to us clones.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Obi-Wan interjects. “You are, all of you, as bright and unique in the Force as any sentient I have ever encountered. I know that this news can only be a terrible shock and that we must talk of what we plan to do about it, but, please, never doubt that fact.”

“Do about it? But what can we do? I thought you said the chip was in our heads?” Cody asks, sounding surprised.

“Yes, well, that complicates matters, and if you truly feel that doing nothing is the best path, given the risks, we will respect that choice,” Obi-Wan responds.  “I have asked you here to break the news, but more importantly, to get your input on what to do next—I know the other troopers look to the two of you as leaders, spokesmen of a sort. Anakin and myself have already committed to aiding your people, and with your permission, I’d like to further involve the Independent Alliance of Tatooine, the Jedi Council, and the other Generals—Knight Secura is conveniently already aboard and would be an excellent place to start. I was hoping you could listen to the suggestions of myself and the others I have mentioned, then provide your own ideas. Together we can fashion an acceptable plan going forward, whether that involves removing the chips or not.”

“Oh, we definitely want the chips gone,” Rex blurts out.

“Rex!” Cody scolds. “We can’t possibly make that decision for everyone.”

“If not us, then who?” Rex demands, in turn. “It’s not like we get to elect a Senator or anything.”

“About that…” Obi-Wan says. Cody’s and Rex’s heads snap towards him, eyes wide and mouths half-open. “I have a plan.”

They cross their arms and lean forward attentively, as they would for any of Obi-Wan’s other briefings, right before a big battle.

“We’re listening.”

***

Obi-Wan really hates the Senate.

There’s just something about the building itself and the people in it that give him such a headache. Even the mere thought of its plush red velvet halls and cavernous central dome is enough to cause him to drag his feet and feel a headache pounding through his temples.

Still, Obi-Wan thinks, this was no time for his personal prejudices, as Senator Amidala leads him and Anakin to their last meeting of the day. With one com call from Anakin just a few days earlier, Senator Amidala had generously agreed to arrange and chaperone a series of last-minute meetings with high-profile Senators currently holding up the Clone Rights bill up in committee. And so, they have dutifully scurried to and fro, from one end of the Senate to another, alternately charming and scaring all manners of Senators into supporting their cause. Well, Obi-Wan and Senator Amidala did the charming, Anakin just loomed silently in the background in his dark colored robes. Obi-Wan doesn’t really understand why some of the Senators seem to be so scared of the display—Anakin looks more awkward than anything else, his hands tucked into the folds of his robes the way Obi-Wan had taught him so long ago—but it works for their goals.

“I saved the best for last,” Senator Amidala warns as they shuffle out of a turbo lift, the tiny Senator positively dwarfed by Anakin and Obi-Wan, even with one of her signature, towering headpieces. “Senator Mee Deechi is one of the representatives of Umbara and a staunch ally of Halle Burtoni, the Senator from Kamino.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan asks with a raised eyebrow. “What sort of experience does a Senator from Umbara have to warrant naming him to the Humanitarian Aid and Sentient Rights Subcommittee?” Umbarans were notoriously xenophobic and insular and probably didn’t even have an equivalent word for Humanitarian Aid in their native language. Senator Amidala shares an eyeroll with him.

“None,” she snorts. “He’s shot down almost every single bill I’ve ever introduced since joining the Senate. I’ve tried befriending him to absolutely no avail—wining and dining, tickets to his favorite ballet, even offering to compromise on some of his favored pet projects. He just seems to derive some sort of sick pleasure out of saying no and is absolutely determined to resist all attempts to change his mind. And his friendship with the Kaminoans has made him particularly intransigent on this particular bill.”  

“You always did enjoy a challenge, Master,” Anakin opines, from his position slightly behind Senator Amidala. Obi-Wan shares a smirk with him. “Don’t worry, Padmé, Obi-Wan’s negotiated with actual rocks before and come out on the winning side. If anyone can convince Deechi to change his mind, its Obi-Wan.”

“Sentient silicone-based life form,” Obi-Wan corrects, for the millionth time. Senator Amidala shoots them both a doubtful look, but stops in front one of the many office doors and knocks politely.

A droid lets them in and Senator Deechi, a thin, pointed Umbaran, rises to greet them. He and Senator Amidala step forward, grasping each other’s elbows to exchange a set of dry, stiff cheek kisses. They both quickly step backwards.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak us with on such short notice,” Senator Amidala begins, voice as smooth as glass. She gestures to Anakin and Obi-Wan. “These are my dear friends, Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, they were the ones who wished to speak with you, but their opportunities for leave are too often brief and last-minute.”

“Of course,” Senator Deechi says, as he looks down his nose at them and gestures to a set of aesthetically beautiful and curving, but hard and uncomfortable-looking chairs. “I was…interested to hear what little bit of politics could possibly interest our war heroes enough to warrant them sacrificing their rare leave. Perhaps, if you voted in support of Senator Burtoni’s and I’s measures to increase clone production, we could provide the front with fresh troops and offer our generals the chance for more frequent leave.”

Senator Amidala’s smile turns brittle.

“While I appreciate your concern for myself and my men,” Obi-Wan interjects with an apologetic smile, “that particular bill is not the one that we came to discuss with you. Rather, I was hoping to hear more about your thoughts on Senator Amidala’s and Senator Organa’s Clone Rights bill. I’m not much of a politician myself, but I have served beside these men day in and day out for nearly a year and a half now, and I was hoping that I can do my part to assuage any concerns you may have.”

“Ah, yes of course.” Senator Deechi waves a hand and gives him an arch look. “Well, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you have wasted your precious leave. I simply will never allow the Senate to spend hours debating what amounts to little more than a pity bill.”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, Obi-Wan thinks to himself. Inside, he smiles savagely, and Anakin gives him a nervous little glance.  Out loud he says, “Hmm? Pity?”

“Yes, indeed,” Senator Deechi says gravely, tapping his fingers on one hand against the other fingers. “Senator Burtoni has shown me that the clones are incapable of self-determination—they are somewhat intelligent, I’ll grant you that, but the evidence was quite conclusive. Their obedience, aggression, compassion, even their higher-order reasoning skills have all been modified to such a degree that they do not count as sentient, at least not as it is commonly understood. I understand the urge, I do, but even if we were to grant them citizenship, they could never be trusted to make their own decisions or to know what is best for themselves. Far better to leave them in the capable stewardship of the Republic.”

“Regardless of your feelings on their intelligence,” Senator Amidala says, in the exasperated tone of someone who has had this argument one too many times, “they are currently risking their lives to defend the Republic and its ideals of liberty and equality. Is it not the basic requirement of citizenship of this Republic to swear to uphold and defend these values?”

“Oh, they’re simply good soldiers, following orders, as they were made to do—it can hardly be called patriotism when they don’t understand what it means. It’s not the same as, say, the pride and loyalty my people have expressed for nearly 900 years. Each generation carefully weighs and understands the burdens of democracy and reasoned debate, consciously choosing to renew our commitment to this great Republic. That is true patriotism.”  

Obi-Wan brushes an imaginary piece of dirt from his spotless robes and then folds his hands, before returning his gaze to Senator Deechi.

"That's a very interesting perspective, Senator,” Obi-Wan says, voice pleasant. Senator Deechi nods, his thin, gray features emanating pleasure. “I’m so glad to hear of it. I will, of course, immediately decrease our fleet presence in the Umbara system.”   

“What?”

“Surely, if your people are so loyal to the Republic, so patriotic, they must be willing to die to defend their planet from the Separatists, no?”  

“Well, now—”

“Oh, no?” Obi-Wan’s voice turns silky, dangerous. "Now that doesn’t sound like the patriotism you’ve been so proudly telling me about. In fact, it seems to me that the clones have done far more for Umbara and the Republic than you and your people have. Afterall, they were the ones who gave their lives to protect your planet and if you’re not willing to recognize that sacrifice, then I don’t see why they should continue to make it.”

“You can’t do that, the Senate would court martial you!”

“Hmm. Maybe,” Obi-Wan hums. “But the Jedi Order does have special immunity and, while I’m sure you could petition to have them toss me out of the Order so you could put me on trial, it would take some time and by then I’m sure your whole planet would be overrun. It would be very difficult for my replacement, whoever they are, to remove a heavily fortified, well-entrenched garrison of droids.”

“You wouldn’t risk your career for mere clones,” Senator Deechi hisses, rising to his feet and looming over Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan jolts to his feet and steps into the Senator’s space, forcing the other man to back pedal.

“It is not your place to tell me what I will and won’t do,” Obi-Wan says icily, his tone still perfectly measured. “You were only too happy to declare war when you realized that it would not be your people dying. You sent us Jedi to far flung planets, to kill and die for you instead, and forced me to watch my brothers and sisters be cut down, mutilated, and destroyed by Separatist armies. The only people who stood beside me, who actively tried to prevent those deaths, and offered me any comfort when we were unsuccessful were the clones. So, if you think for one moment that there is anything I wouldn’t risk for them, you’ve miscalculated. Badly.”

Senator Deechi swallows audibly. Obi-Wan can see Anakin staring strangely at him, almost as if his former Padawan has turned into some sort of stunned bunny rabbit. Beside Anakin, Senator Amidala is gaping similarly, but with a sort of distinctly vicious admiration in her eyes.

  “You needn’t vote for the final bill, Senator Deechi,” she continues, breaking the silence. Her tone is brusque, all business. “We understand that such a position is politically untenable for you. But we do ask that you remove your filibuster blocking the votes within the Subcommittee on Humanitarian Aid and Sentient Rights. We only want the whole of the Republic to have the opportunity to debate and vote on the measure.”

“I will consider it,” Senator Deechi says, stiffly. “In light of your…compelling arguments.” Obi-Wan and Senator Amidala incline their heads politely and Anakin copies them, just a beat too late.

“That’s all we ask,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile. Senator Amidala wraps an arm around his and he tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow. On her other side, she performs a similar maneuver with Anakin. “May the Force be with you.”

“Thank you so much for your time, Senator Deechi, I felt this was such a productive conversation,” Senator Amidala concludes, eyes twinkling as she steers them both towards the door. “I look forward to our next meeting on the Subcommittee.”

They sweep out of the office, the train of Senator Amidala’s dress rustling lightly over the lip of the door. Once they have moved sufficiently far away (Obi-Wan trusts Senator Amidala to know best where the bugs and listening devices are positioned in this building), she breaks into tinkling laughter.

“Oh, Master Kenobi, that was truly a joy to witness. When Ani told me that you wanted to advocate for my bill, I never imagined it would lead to this. Bail will be ever so cross that he had to miss it!”

“It was my pleasure, truly,” Obi-Wan responds easily. Anakin is mute, the same strange, stunned look fixed upon his features. “Do you think it will be enough?”

“We shall see,” Senator Amidala says, with a shrug. “As I said, Deechi was our biggest obstacle getting out of committee, but I’m sure more will make themselves known now that we can finally bring it to the floor.”

“Please keep myself and the Council apprised—you have our assurance that we will provide whatever support, whatever resources you might need to sway any particularly stubborn individuals.” Senator Amidala gives him an assessing look.

“This is very important to you,” she says, slowly. “I did not think the Order had much interest in politics.”

“Hmm, not normally,” Obi-Wan says airily. He sobers. “One of our Knights has fallen in love with a clone commander and indicated their intention to leave the Order, to pursue a life, together. The matter is rather delicate and made no easier by the fact that their rights, as outlined under Republic law, are currently rather murky.” The pre-prepared lie, first suggested by Aayla and approved by the Council, slips easily off his tongue. It’s true after a fashion, as all the best lies are. Senator Amidala’s face softens and Obi-Wan feels a brief flash of guilt for manipulating her like this.

“Oh, that’s so romantic,” she breathes. A new fire fills her eyes. “Please, if you see the two of them again anytime soon, let them know that I will make it my personal mission to ensure this bill is passed and signed into law as soon as possible.”

“That is good to hear,” Obi-Wan says. Senator Amidala squeezes his arm with both hands and moves away. They’ve stopped just outside of her office. “Thank you for all your help, Senator Amidala.”  

“Of course. Thank you, this is more movement than this bill has seen in a whole year. Ani, for once, you didn’t exaggerate at all—his negotiation skills were exactly as advertised. I’ll let you know how it all goes during our next weekly com.”

“Yeah, looking forward to it,” Anakin replies, voice sounding slightly strangled. “Thanks, Padmé.”

With that, Senator Amidala takes her leave and disappears into her office, leaving Obi-Wan and Anakin standing in the sparsely populated hallway.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, as they continue on their way. Anakin is still giving him the strangest of looks. “I think that went rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

Anakin wraps his fingers around Obi-Wan’s bicep and propels them backwards, using the Force to flick open a small locked door and hurrying them inside the small alcove it reveals.

“Anakin, wha—mmph!”

Obi-Wan is cut off by Anakin’s eager mouth, swooping in to cover his. He melts into Anakin’s hold, overwhelmed by the sensation, and kisses back eagerly. His hands rise without his conscious permission to tangle in Anakin’s curls.  

“Force, you have no idea how you look, do you?” Anakin gasps, moving his mouth away the barest few millimeters, as he slips his hands beneath Obi-Wan’s robes. He begins to sink downward, his knees hitting the lushly carpeted floor with a thump that thunders in Obi-Wan’s ears. He stares down at Anakin from above, in a daze, his fingers in Anakin’s hair completely lax. He finally manages to will himself to movement when Anakin finishes shoving the last of his robes away, exposing his reddened, half-hard cock.

“Anakin,” he says sharply, tightening his grip and jerking Anakin’s head back and away from his groin. His plan was to defuse the situation, to stop the maddening sensation of Anakin’s breath on his cock, but if that was his goal, he’s picked the wrong method—Anakin’s eyes roll back in his head and he moans as a ridiculously strong wave of his lust crashes across the bond. Obi-Wan shivers and continues to watch Anakin, wide-eyed. Anakin’s hands have fallen from their position at Obi-Wan’s hips—he now has both hands locked behind his back and is leaning into Obi-Wan’s grip dangerously.

“Master, please,” he begs, staring up at Obi-Wan with heavy lidded eyes. His plush, wet lips are close, too close to the head of Obi-Wan’s cock. “Please, I was so good, I didn’t say anything during your meetings, even though I wanted to jump you right there. Please, let me do this for you.”

“I—” Obi-Wan’s throat is dry. In all of their explorations of each other’s bodies in the two fevered weeks right after Jabiim, he has never allowed Anakin to do this for him—oh, he’s done it for Anakin and Anakin had asked, many times, if he would like the same, but previously Obi-Wan had always managed to distract him from such questions. He wasn’t sure what about this particular act stirs his guilt like none of their other activities—maybe it was because as long as he was giving Anakin pleasure with his mouth or his cock, he could pretend that this was all for Anakin’s benefit, not his own selfish desires. But that line of reasoning crumbles away before Anakin’s all too eager, falling-apart-at-the-seams lust—clearly, he was enjoying this as much, if not more, than Obi-Wan himself. Obi-Wan swallows and carefully, gently secures his hold on Anakin’s head. He tucks a thumb in the hinge of Anakin’s jaw and croaks out, “Open your mouth.”

Anakin complies immediately, eyelashes fluttering closed.

Obi-Wan carefully guides his face forward and shudders at the first touch of Anakin’s lips—he holds Anakin there for a while, suckling at the head of Obi-Wan’s dick and moaning for more, as much to acclimate Anakin to his size and taste as to savor the sight. Obi-Wan keeps his movements slow, shallow, holding Anakin’s head still as his cock slips easily into the warm heat of his mouth, then bumps against the back of Anakin’s throat. Anakin gags and Obi-Wan makes a move to hastily withdraw, but then Anakin’s hands are flying up to grip at his ass and sucking him deeper, wet, messy, and inexperienced, but oh so beautiful, Obi-Wan can’t help the whispered oh, kriff that slips across the bond.

“Hollow your cheeks—suck it, like…like that, good,” Obi-Wan groans out loud, as Anakin follows his instructions perfectly. Anakin melts at the praise, moaning around the cock in his mouth, and Obi-Wan suddenly has to use his free hand to brace himself against the back wall. “Oh, Force.” His head repeatedly bangs against the wall behind him, trying desperately to hold on to any semblance of control as Anakin grows bolder, surer, better under his whispered guidance. On his next glance downwards, he spots Anakin’s hips, stuttering upwards fruitlessly into thin air. Obi-Wan draws Anakin’s head backwards, as he protests wordlessly, but vociferously. He tilts his head back and looks up accusingly at Obi-Wan—a long string of drool stretching thin between his lips and Obi-Wan’s cock before breaking completely—but Obi-Wan ignores the complaints and uses the split-second of relief to shift his weight, bringing his right leg forward to plant it in between Anakin’s thighs and nodding encouragingly to him. Slowly, hesitantly, at first, then faster, Anakin begins to hump at Obi-Wan’s leg, small, little noises escaping from between his teeth and turning into punched-out little groans. Obi-Wan drags his face back in and resheathes his cock in Anakin’s mouth.  They build a rhythm, fire licking up Obi-Wan’s spine, and then Anakin looks up at him from between his tear stained eyelashes and Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan loses it so badly, he might as well never even tried, free hand flying to his mouth so that he can muffle his shouts in the meat of his forearm.

Anakin makes a small moue in the Force at the first, bitter taste of Obi-Wan’s come, but he swallows it all dutifully. When it’s done, he lets Obi-Wan’s softening cock slip from between his lips, giving it little kitten licks, as his grinding against Obi-Wan’s leg speeds up and he chases his own release.

As Obi-wan lolls his head against the wall—dazed, panting, and trying to piece himself back together, all while Anakin continues to rut against his leg—he suddenly finds that the thought of the Senate building no longer inspires quite the same feeling of headache-inducing, foot-dragging dread.

Chapter Text

Once, long ago, on a mission to some far-flung planet in some distant, forgotten corner of the galaxy, Obi-Wan had witnessed two half-feral Loth-cats circle each other in a back alley, muscles bunched and ready to pounce at the smallest of provocations. It had been both fascinating and stressful for Obi-Wan to watch, the moment balancing on a knife’s edge. He had never been quite sure if he should linger and watch or flee to a safer distance.

Watching Shmi Skywalker and Mace Windu interact inspires a very similar set of feelings.

This now the tenth such com meeting Obi Wan has hosted since the inception of Operation Dechip (which was an absolutely terrible name, everyone agrees, but Anakin had this way of just declaring a thing to be so and dragging everyone along with him by virtue of his stubborn persistence alone) nearly three months ago, and yet he still feels as if he must carefully moderate each and every call, so that he is prepared to duck and run for cover at any moment.

But while they didn't seem to like each other very much, Obi-Wan likes to think that each did have an immense sort of respect for the other. He thinks, as the only person close enough to both of them to know them each personally and individually, he’s the only one who has noticed. Obi-Wan swears, they both seem to derive some perverse pleasure out of baiting each other. He knows for certain that Mace has always been one of the Order’s great philosophers and debaters, but that, since assuming the title of Grandmaster, it has been difficult to find anyone willing to truly go toe to toe with him in any sort of verbal exchange. And Shmi tends to respect passion and commitment to one’s beliefs, even if she disagrees with the beliefs themselves. So, Obi-Wan is fairly confident that, deep down, they are both enjoying these interactions too much to actually murder one another.

Fairly confident.

"This plan is absurdly risky," Master Windu argues, voice as even and calm as if he is commenting on the weather. "Brain surgery? Surely the electromagnetic pulse disabling the chips is sufficient."

"As long as the chip remains, depur can and will find a way," Shmi replies placidly, her holo flickering the smallest bit. "Small though it may be. We should not underestimate the cunning of whoever tricked the great Jedi Order into using a slave army." Mace's nostrils flare infinitesimally, the only sign of his displeasure at Shmi's pointed jab. Rex, Wolffe, and Beru, the other three members of this committee shift uncomfortably. It had been agreed that trying to schedule regular com calls with all members of Operation Dechip was logistically infeasible given the speed at which they needed to move, so instead they had compromised on having two representatives from each of the three groups—Mace and Obi-Wan for the Jedi, Beru and Shmi for the Freed Peoples of Tatooine, and Rex and Wolffe for the clones. Mace waits a moment more before continuing.

"Perhaps. But the point remains though that brain surgery remains a risky option, from a physical health perspective. The two clones you tested it on are both still in recovery, yes?"

"Which is why I'm requesting you send a Jedi Healer to Tatooine to aid us in the next few operations. Cut and the others seem to believe that the Jedi can perform miracles and will speed our pace significantly.”

"Of course," Obi-Wan interrupts, before they can really get started. "We use a similar tactic to bolster the clones’ energies and healing factors in the field.”

“Every brother I’ve talked to has expressed a willingness to do whatever it takes to get the chips out, permanently,” Rex asserts. Wolffe nods. Obi-Wan had initially resisted their desire to tell all of the clones of the chip—while he didn’t doubt their loyalty, sharing the information with over a million men seemed like a very poor decision to their stated goal of keeping Operation Dechip a secret. But Rex had only shrugged when Obi-Wan had delicately tried to raise this point.

“It’s not like anyone pays much attention to us. You’re already telling all the active Generals with battalions. For us to even accidentally leak the information to anyone else, someone other than our Jedi would have to actually initiate a conversation with us. Can you name a single Senator—Organa and Amidala don’t count—who would even try?”

Master Windu sighs, bringing Obi-Wan back to the present moment.

"While I appreciate the clones’ faith, bolstering another being with the Force is a learned skill and not one that all of us can do well. And as you can imagine, it’s a skillset in very high demand right now. I don’t even know who we could spare,” Master Windu says.  Shmi narrows her eyes.

“Did you not promise to make this endeavor a priority, just three standard months ago?” she demands. “Surely, for a professed priority, you could spare one or two Jedi.”

“He’s not trying to be difficult, Shmi,” Obi-Wan interrupts yet again. Honestly, this is even worse than having to babysit Anakin and Master Windu. “We don't have any spare Healers lying around—Master Che is already struggling, even with the steps we’ve taken to rush Healer-padawans through their apprenticeships."

“What about one of the Generals, sir?” Wolffe interjects, gruffly. “You all use the same methods during our battles.”

“Yes, but those are in even higher demand,” Obi-Wan sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Not a General then, but a Commander.”

“You sound as if you already have a suggestion,” Master Windu says.

“Yes, sir,” Wolffe replies, tone as clipped and brusque as ever. Obi-Wan can understand why a man so averse to emotional displays has gotten along so well with Master Plo Koon—most humans found the Kel-Dor’s anti-ox mask disquieting, as it concealed the mouth and eyes, two of their own species’ key emotional indicators. “Commander Gree has grown particularly concerned for his corps’ padawan—Commander Bariss Offee—and has been asking us to pass him missions that will take her away from the front.”

“Concern?” Obi-Wan asks, with a frown and a glance over to Master Windu. It is the first time he is hearing of such concerns and, based on the quickly-quelled look of surprise, then disturbance on Master Windu’s face, the first any member of the Council is hearing of it.

“I believe she expressed some disturbing comments to Commander Gree and other members of the 41^st in passing,” Wolffe says. “I do not know the details, only that she has begun to question her role in the war and that Gree believes that a mission away from the front, focused on more traditional Jedi values such peace and compassion, would go a long way towards helping her find her place.”

“She certainly has sufficient experience with battle-field triage,” Obi-Wan says, though it is difficult to keep his voice totally free of concern. He makes a note to discuss the matter with Luminara as soon as possible.

“We would welcome any help you could provide,” Beru adds, her voice low, sweet, and no-nonsense. “And you can let Commander Gree know that we will take excellent care of his Commander while she is with us.”

“We’ll pass it along—he’ll appreciate the reassurance, but I’m sure he’ll insist on providing a list with detailed instructions on how to take care of Commander Offee,” Rex replies, lips twitching.  “The 41^st’s padawan is a tough nut to crack—she doesn’t warm up quickly to outsiders.”

“Of course,” Shmi says, inclining her head. “Beru can be your point of contact for this matter. I’m sure she’ll be happy to arrange a call with Commander Gree to discuss everything with him directly.”  

“Very well, officially the Council will reassign Commander Offee on a long-term humanitarian outreach mission to the Freed Peoples of Tatooine. It’ll be dismissed easily enough—it’s hardly suspicious to cultivate a diplomatic relationship with the government that controls our access to several key hyperspace lanes,” Master Windu confirms, crossing his arms over his chest.

“As I’ve said before,” Shmi responds, with a pleasant smile, “the Freed Peoples of Tatooine make no claim of control over those lanes—your passage is entirely up to Hondo Ohnaka.”

“And the fact that his pirates always seems to target those that do not treat with you or pay your exorbitant tolls?”

“You’ve obviously never worked with Hondo—if I knew how to control him, believe me, I would. Besides, I would hardly call our tolls exorbitant—they are three-quarters of the Hutts’ prices.”

“Hmm. Of course.”

“If that’s all,” Wolffe interrupts, “some of us have a war to win.”

“I think that’s all for today, thank you, Wolffe. Just make sure to send Gree’s com code along to Beru,” Obi-Wan says. “May the Force be with you.”

Wolffe signs out with a sharp nod, Beru following shortly afterwards with a murmured goodbye. Rex salutes and exits the small office off the bridge they’ve designated for these meeting and for a moment, he is left alone with Shmi and Master Windu. The older Jedi Master regards Shmi with ill-concealed suspicion. Obi-Wan clears his throat, breaking up the staring contest.

“If it pleases you, I’d like to speak with Obi-Wan about a personal favor,” Shmi says, archly. Master Windu waves a hand and waits expectantly. “Privately.”

“Skywalkers,” Master Windu mutters. “May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.” He signs off.

“Hold on one more moment,” Obi-Wan warns, as he transfers the com transmission to his vambrace and waves a hand over the door pad. “I’d like to take this call in my quarters, if you don’t mind. A long day, you know.”

“Of course,” Shmi replies easily. “We are both civilized beings, I’m sure we can make idle chit chat—I welcome the chance to catch up with you, without Mace Windu hovering over both our shoulders.”

“I think he’s warming up to you,” Obi-Wan offers. Shmi rolls her eyes—that’s one particular gesture Anakin inherited from his mother. They don’t look much alike physically, but it is at times like these when Obi-Wan sees so much of Anakin in Shmi and of Shmi in Anakin. Her eyes are considerably warmer, fonder when she focuses on him.

“Maybe, maybe not. But how are you doing, Obi-Wan? Ani tells me that you’re hardly sleeping—he worries about you, you know,” Shmi says. Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and, for a brief, panicked moment, wonders if Anakin has told his mother why he’s so intimately aware of Obi-Wan’s sleep habits.

“Ah, and here I thought you kept me on the line to discuss some favor,” Obi-Wan replies dryly. Shmi levels him with an unimpressed look at his sidestepping of her question.

“I can multi-task,” she declares and waits.

“I’m fine, Shmi,” Obi-Wan replies with a sigh. “Not doing well, but I’m surviving. I think that’s best I can expect for the rest of this war.”

“They should not have dumped so much on your shoulders.” Shmi frowns. “I know you’re a Jedi, but it’s too much for any one man.”

“My second in command, Cody, has been a great help,” Obi-Wan responds, shrugging. “Sometimes we confiscate a liter of Fives’ best, not-quite-regulation moonshine, lock ourselves inside my office, and race to see who can finish all of their paperwork first. Loser has to chug whatever’s left in one sitting.”

“I would dearly like to try some of that moonshine.”

“No, you really wouldn’t,” Obi-Wan says, making a face at the memory of his nose and throat burning at the taste of cheap alcohol. Shmi smiles.

“I doubt it can be much worse than laylana. We mash up desert succulents and ferment them until it burns the eyes and tastes like absolute shit—it was the one thing Depur never even tried to take from us, what could they do it? No one enjoyed it, except the crazy slaves. We don’t of course, but we did enjoy the look on their faces when we took whole shots of it without blinking. Ar-Amu’s children do not flinch at the taste of alcohol.”

“Shmi, I hate to be the one to tell you this,” Obi-Wan replies, voice as dry as a desert, “but your son is the biggest lightweight I have ever had the misfortune to drink with.”

“Really?” She blinks, looking taken aback. Obi-Wan nods, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“I can ask the clones—they may have some holo-videos I can share.”

“Oh Ani,” she sighs, and they share a chuckle. Obi-Wan has finally arrived at his small, two-room suite of quarters and he lets himself in, collapsing into his office chair with a huffed-out breath. He unclips his vambrace and sets it on top of the desk so that he can look Shmi in the eye without having to constantly raise his arm.

“Now, what did you really want to discuss?” Obi-Wan continues, once he’s finished finding a comfortable spot in his distinctly uncomfortable chair.

“I have a friend on the Kiros colony—a Togruta named Roshti. Last I heard before he stopped picking up my coms was that they had detected a large Providence class destroyer in the system—Count Dooku’s flagship. That was four rotations ago.”

“What do you need?”

“Can you send someone to check in on him?”

“And by ‘someone,’ I take you mean quite a lot of someones, backed up with sufficient firepower, no?”

“Yes, I think it will be necessary. Roshti and his people are pacifists, artisans. If the Confederacy did decide to attack, they would have had little defense.”

“Not much room for pacifists in the galaxy these days,” Obi-Wan sighs.

“Yes, well. Roshti’s always been a bit of an idealist—but I can’t complain too much. He opened his colony to several escaped slaves, back in the day. I sent the ones who needed some peace and quiet to him and those ideals were very good for them, I think.”

“Well, receiving a credible report of Count Dooku’s whereabouts means that I am obliged to at least send a battalion, maybe two.” He gives a Shmi a suspicious look. “But you probably knew that. Did Roshti really tell you that?”

“Obi-Wan, please. If I had wanted to lie to a Jedi General and waste the Republic’s time, I would have asked Mace to stay on the line. Roshti specifically mentioned it as a point of hope. He believed that Count Dooku would be easier to negotiate with, kinder, than General Grievous. I urged him to take his people and flee—Depur wears many masks, but that does not change what is underneath—but I doubt he listened,” she replies, shaking her head. “Please, Obi-Wan, I am asking this as a personal favor. Roshti, for all our disagreements on his ideals, is a dear friend.”

“Anakin and I will investigate the matter personally,” Obi-Wan reassures her. “We’re on patrol only a few systems over, but it’s been relatively quiet, and we can certainly be spared for a week or two.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Shmi,” Obi-Wan responds, giving her a tight smile. “Our personal connection notwithstanding, you and the Freed Peoples of Tatooine have helped the Jedi Order with so much, especially considering the matter of the chips. It’s only fair that we return the favor once in a while.”

“Shmi! The smugglers are demanding—oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you were on a call,” someone says from offscreen. Shmi glances to the side, briefly.

“No issue, Kaikar, we were just wrapping up.” She turns back to Obi-Wan. “Duty calls. Please let Ani know I said hello—and let me know what you discover on Kiros as soon as possible. How far out are you?”

“Hmm, seven rotations probably,” Obi-Wan responds, doing some quick math. “But with Anakin pushing the engines, we’ll probably make it in six rotations. I’ll message you once we drop out of hyperspace and then once again once we’ve made contact with the colonists.”

“I’ll be waiting. Farewell, my son. May Ar-Amu be with you,” she replies, in her customary farewell.

“And may the Force be with you.”

They each cut the connection. Obi-Wan only sits still for a moment more, before slumping into his office chair and glancing exhaustedly to the chrono—it is nearly one in the morning, according to ship time, but there was still so much left to do.

The door separating his small bunk area swishes open, to reveal a yawning Anakin, unclothed except for a light, low-slung pair of sleep pants and Obi-Wan’s discarded robe (and he knows it is his, not Anakin’s because his are never stained with engine grease). He scratches sleepily at his neck, hooded eyes brightening as he spots Obi-Wan. He lopes over and draws Obi-Wan to his feet, peppering his face with kisses as he draws him back into the bunk area.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan protests, weakly, “I have to—”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait until morning,” Anakin murmurs. He drapes both arms over Obi-Wan’s shoulders, crossing his wrists over each other and gives Obi-Wan a pout. “I stayed up late to wait for you, but you never came.”  

“I—” Obi-Wan swallows as Anakin looks expectantly at him. “I’ll be in shortly. I just need to finish a few more items—don’t give me that look, it’s important. I need Cody to divert the Negotiator and the Resolute to Kiros.”

“New orders from the Council?”

“Your mother, actually. One of her contacts reported a Dooku sighting, shortly before going dark.”

“Mmm, okay, that does actually sound important,” Anakin says, moving away from Obi-Wan reluctantly and turning around to return to the bedroom. “I’ll leave you to it. But before you start in on that insane pile of paperwork, you should know,” he pauses in the doorway and smirks at Obi-Wan over his shoulder, “I spent all evening getting a special surprise ready for you—you wouldn’t want to put all my planning to waste, now would you?”

“Surprise?”

“Well, I can’t tell you—that’s kinda the point of a surprise. Think of it as an…incentive of sorts. The faster you come to bed, the faster you’ll find out.”

Obi-Wan has never rushed Cody through a debriefing call so fast.

(It’s totally worth it.)

***

Despite the late hour he finally gets to bed, Obi-Wan wakes up absurdly early the next morning—in space, there is no sunlight, no changing skies, no true indicators, and so all Obi-Wan’s body has to go off of is his already insane schedule. He sits upright and leans back against the wall, studying Anakin with a pensive air. The other man lays on his stomach in his (their) bunk, spread-eagled and languid-limbed, as the cold starlight from the small window highlights his torso.

He has long wondered what exactly Anakin gets out of their arrangement—unlike Obi-Wan, he has the time and good-looks to get anyone he wants. Obi-Wan knows several troopers who would happily take his place, should Anakin but say the word. For a while now he’s begun to suspect that it is his experience that Anakin values—the younger man seems inordinately concerned with making sure that their sex life is never boring, always suggesting all manner of new activities and worriedly reassuring Obi-Wan that he is always open to anything Obi-Wan wants to try. This is not bad, per se, but the problem is that Obi-Wan knows Anakin, recognizes this sort of singular drive to learn, practice, improve, and become the best all too well: Anakin is training for something. Or, rather, someone.

The worst part of it is that in some way he’s always known he’s just a replacement for Anakin’s mysterious crush—though is it really fair to call it a crush, when it’s clearly persisted for so long? He doesn’t think Anakin is aware of the way he projects when they’re together (and in any other situation, Obi-Wan would be filled with insane smugness at the thought that he can make his partner lose control like that), but Obi-Wan has caught enough stray thoughts to piece it together and confirm his worst fears. Last night—or earlier this morning, depending on how you look at it—only seems to further confirm his hunch.

Don’t say it, don’t say it.

Not the same.

Good enough, it has to be enough.

And Force help him, but Obi-Wan has never, ever loathed another being so much, at least not one who has done so little to actually warrant it. And, like all his feelings regarding his attachment to Anakin, it’s so much harder to grapple with and release into the Force. He can barely contain the seething, visceral hatred he feels every time he is reminded that he is not enough, that, despite everything, some mystery interloper still maintains such sway over Anakin that he thinks about this other man while in bed with Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan clenches his teeth in a very un-Jedi-like fashion. Anakin shifts, rolling over a little and brow furrowing—he can likely sense Obi-Wan’s emotional turmoil, even deeply asleep. This, more than anything else, inspires Obi-Wan to finally reign in his spiraling emotions. Obi-Wan readjusts the blanket to better cover him and runs a hand over Anakin’s shoulder, hovering just a few centimeters from the surface of his skin and using the Force to soothe him back to sleep. Once Anakin’s breathing has evened out once more, he turns back to his thoughts.

Anakin doesn’t speak much of his so-called crush, and so even years later, Obi-Wan really only knows three things about the other man. One, that he is a man, two that he is another Jedi, and three, most galling of all, at some point, he had turned down Anakin.

Who was this idiotic nerfherder? Just who did he think he was, to throw away the adoration of Anakin Skywalker, to be offered everything Obi-Wan wants on silver platter and just…discard it?

Obi-Wan straightens almost imperceptibly, careful not to disturb Anakin, but unable to fully contain the physical reaction that his sudden epiphany inspires.

That was the key—Anakin was here, with Obi-Wan, precisely because this other man was unavailable, because he had rejected Anakin. He’s thrown his chance away—doesn’t know or care that he still could win the whole game, that Anakin would drop everything and come running if only he said the word. Anakin doesn’t have to make a choice, because right now Obi-Wan is his only option. As long as that remains the case, as long as Obi-Wan can keep him occupied and satisfied and away from whoever this other Jedi is…then all he needs is patience. Anakin doesn’t think of him in quite in the same way—but surely, eventually, he will come to see that a reliable, steady relationship with a close friend who would never betray his trust is far preferable to a few-cold kriffs with someone who clearly doesn’t return his devotion.

Obi-Wan nods to himself and thinks that he could content himself very well with such a state of affairs. Afterall, he thinks with a slightly bitter smile, Obi-Wan Kenobi is quite used to not being anyone’s first choice—not his Master’s, not his Padawan’s, and apparently not even his lover’s.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin’s voice is sleepy, confused. Obi-Wan carefully pastes on a calm, warm smile and glances down to meet Anakin’s eyes. “Is it already morning?”

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan hums in confirmation. Anakin raises his hands above his head, stretching out his shoulders and cracking his neck side to side as he sits up and looks over to the chrono.

“E chu ta!” he curses, climbing over Obi-Wan in a mad scramble of limbs. He falls onto the floor and begins to gather up his robes in a hurried rush, flying to put his tabards on in all the wrong order. Obi-Wan watches the scene with a sort of painfully fond exasperation.

“Important meeting?”

“Ahsoka,” Anakin explains, hopping around as he pulls on his boots.

“Didn’t you just give her an hour-long lecture on punctuality?” Obi-Wan asks, amused. Anakin shoots him an annoyed look.

“Exactly. I can’t be late, not after that lecture. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“Based on our bond, she’s still only half-awake and moving sluggishly. If you rush, you might still have a chance.”

“We’re meeting on the Resolute,” Anakin says, bleakly.

“Ah, well, in that case, you have my condolences. Have a nice sprint to the hangar!” Obi-Wan calls out, laughing, as Anakin rushes out of his quarters.

***

Kiros is quiet. Too quiet, Obi-Wan realizes, with a sinking heart.

They’ve successfully repelled the first round of droids, but as usual, this has just bought the Separatist commander enough time to flee to a much better fortified, heavily guarded position.

Separatist commanders are depressingly predictable.

“Sir,” Commander Cody calls out, striding over quickly and pulling Obi-Wan away from his conversation with Rex, as Anakin, Ahoska, and Artoo (in his head, he’s always thought of them as the three As of chaos, since having all three of them in one place is the surest way to upend all of Obi-Wan’s carefully laid out plans) stand a few feet away. “The Separatist commander—Darts D’Nar— is asking for you.” He presses a button and a recording of a tall, muscular Zygerrian blooms to life, his arms crossed imperiously and canines flashing dangerously.

“Master Kenobi. Come to the tower, we will…negotiate terms of surrender,” he declares, the recording winking out as quickly as it appeared.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, equal parts pleasantly surprised and instantly suspicious. “that was easy.”

The com unit is ripped from Cody’s hand by the Force and Obi-Wan whips his head to the side, only to see Anakin’s furious countenance and Ahsoka’s shocked reaction.

“Slaver scum!” he snarls, the com flying into his hand as he crushes between his fingers. “I’ll show him surrender—as if a Zygerrian ever showed the same courtesy to anyone else.”  

“He specifically asked for me,” Obi-Wan reminds him. Anakin snorts.

“As if it isn’t all a big trap anyways. You can’t seriously be—no, you are. You are.”

“Well, if it is a trap, the easiest way to see what he has in store is just to ask him,” Obi-Wan says, in what he thinks is a very reasonable tone. “I can go up and distract him, until you all deal with whatever he springs on us. There, look, we already have a plan in place.”

“Sir,” Cody says, sounding pained, “that’s not a plan.”

“Nonsense. We’ve done it before, to great effect.”

“I should be there with you—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupts, shaking his head. “He didn’t ask for you for a reason—if he’s Zyggerrian, he probably recognizes the meaning of Skywalker. Zyggerians are known for being proud, he likely thinks it beneath him to talk with a former slave.”

“So?”

“So, if we want to distract him, we need to keep him engaged, talking, and he won’t do that with you there. Besides, I need you out here, to deal with whatever chaos he unleashes—let me do my part and I will let you do yours.”

“Fine,” Anakin growls, throwing the destroyed com to the ground as he stomps away, just barely missing Artoo, who rolls out of the way at the last second. “But don’t you dare let him escape—I want to deal with that slaver myself.”

Ahsoka, Cody, and Rex watch him go, Ahsoka’s eyes wide as saucers.

“Ahsoka, can you—”

“Keep an eye on him? Yeah, sure,” she agrees, immediately, bopping Artoo on the head and rushing to follow after him. Artoo trundles after them with a worried whee-woo.

“Cody, Rex, can you—”

“Keep an eye on both of them?” Cody finishes, archly. Obi-Wan sighs and nods. “Of course, General Kenobi.”

“Very well. It seems I have an appointment to make.”

The droids at the base of the tower let him pass without any trouble, as do the ones stationed periodically around the endless stairs leading up to the top of the tower. Once he’s nearly at the top, right outside the doors to what he thinks is the governor’s office, he takes a moment to compose himself.

Obi-Wan puts on a sheepish look and raises his hands in the universal gesture of surrender as he enters. One of the droids shoves at his shoulder with the butt of its blaster and Obi-Wan shoots it an incredulous look—how rude. He turns his attention to the Zygerrian—even larger in person, his lilac skin cast in strange shadows by the sunlight filtering through a large window at the opposite end of the room.

“Why, hello there,” Obi-Wan greets cheerily. D’Nar turns away from his study of the scene unfolding outside of the window.

He scowls and flashes his sharp canines once more at Obi-Wan.

“Hello, Jedi,” he responds, tone dripping with disdain. When he doesn’t continue, Obi-Wan sighs to himself—he dislikes the stoic, silent ones. It’s always so much harder to distract them when they won’t engage with him verbally. He usually has to resort to baiting them into fisticuffs of some sort and its so uncivilized.

“I believe you asked me here to discuss the term of your surrender,” he prods, trying once more to bait D’Nar into monologuing. Sure enough, D’Nar’s eyes flash and Obi-Wan smiles internally, victorious. He gives Anakin a poke across the bond, giving him a heads up as he lowers his arms and smoothly, discreetly activates the com on his vambrace so that rest of his conversation with D’Nar is transmitted.

“My surrender? No, Jedi, I asked you here to discuss the terms of your surrender,” he says, with a snarling sort of chuckle.

“You are entirely surrounded and have no air support for evacuation,” Obi-Wan points out, mildly. “I do not quite see why I should be surrendering, unless of course you were to offer me something terribly valuable in return, such as, say, the location of the colonists.”

“Ha! You Jedi are so predictable. But I think you’ll come around to my point of view.” He removes a thin detonator from his pocket and clicks the red button at the top. There’s a ferocious boom and the entire tower begins to shake. Obi-Wan runs to the window, just in time to see the furious activity of the Republic forces below, running to and fro across a scar in the landscape, trying to put out fires and move wounded out of the blast radius. “There were not colonists in that location, but I can’t make promises for the other eight,” D’Nar laughs cruelly.

Did you get that? Obi-Wan asks across the bond. Anakin’s side is grim, focused.

Yup, eight bombs, Artoo’s already on it. How much longer do you think you can keep him occupied?

Ah, well. I sense he’s not one for conversation, but I do have other methods, Obi-Wan responds with a distasteful curl to the words. Come to the tower whenever you’ve finished, I don’t think I’ll be able to answer my coms for a little while. There’s approximately twenty droids guarding the staircase itself, all stationed behind bends and curves in the stairs themselves—be careful on the way up.

“That is a strong bit of incentive,” Obi-Wan admits out loud, turning his attention back to D’Nar. He unclips his lightsaber from his belt and sets it down on the desk in front of him. D’Nar watches him with a sharp, amused interest in his feline-like eyes.

“What is this?”

“Oh, I was simply trying to simplify things—bombs, lightsabers, these are all rather indirect ways of getting what we both want. What if, instead, we were to resolve this in the Zyggerrian manner?” He raises his fists in a loose fighting stance.

“Interesting,” D’Nar responds. He’s unable to hide the hunger in his eyes or the way his excitement floods the Force around him—he is certain of his victory and simply can’t wait to begin pummeling Obi-Wan into the ground.

“If you win, you get to take me prisoner—I have no doubt you have your orders from Count Dooku—and the satisfaction of having defeated High General Kenobi, Jedi Master. If I win, you will leave this planet quietly and give me the location of the colonists.”

“Oh, how I will enjoy breaking you the way you Jedi broke the Zyggerian Slave Empire,” D’Nar declares, striding over quickly and throwing an overpowered punch as his opening move. Obi-Wan sees it coming and fights the urge to duck—cowards like this were never very interested in a fair fight. If he actually ducked and weaved as he was capable of, D’Nar would quickly lose interest and break out some other way to get what he wanted, whether that was more bombs, a blaster, or the droids.

The blow slams into Obi-Wan like a charging bantha and sends him flying. He lands on the floor with a thud and exaggerates (well, not much of exaggeration, even with his added Force healing factor, that hurt) his injury, pushing himself up slowly.

“Come on, Anakin, hurry up,” Obi-Wan mutters to himself, as he winces at the bruise already blooming across his sternum.

They trade blows back and forth for a while, half-hearted on Obi-Wan’s end and not at all half-hearted on D’Nar’s end. Obi-Wan becomes a little better at timing his own dodges, listening to the Force warning screams, waiting just a millisecond too long, and then darting to the side so that he is still caught by the punch or kick, but only in a glancing blow that greatly reduces the force behind each hit.

He’s thrown clear across the room with the next blow and he fakes exhaustion, terrible injury, allowing D’Nar time to stomp across the room and reach down and wrap his fingers around Obi-Wan’s throat. With this leverage, D’Nar drags him to a standing position.

“I would kill you now,” D’Nar hisses, bringing his face closer to Obi-Wan’s and continuing to press his fingers ever tighter against his neck, “but Dooku wants you on your knees.”

Slowly, surely, D’Nar begins to raise him even further into the air, eyes glinting in triumph, and Obi-Wan feels a brief flare of annoyance—well, this is inconvenient. He’s supposed to be playing helpless, dragging this farce out as long as possible, but at some point, the lack of air is going to force Obi-Wan to act.

“Uh, sir—” one of the spindly droids speaks up in its croaky voice.

“What? What could possibly be so important that you had to interrupt my triumph over the Jedi,” D’Nar snarls. His arm moves and Obi-Wan sways like a ragdoll.

“That’s what I was trying to—"

It’s interrupted by a crunch of its circuits, tossed heedlessly aside to reveal Anakin standing at the top of the stairs, his fist clenched in a Force grip and his face twisted into a dark parody of its usually animated, open self.

“Slaver,” Anakin snarls, releasing his grip on the droid and stalking forward.

D’Nar looks down his nose at him.

“Skywalker,” D’Nar growls, rolling the syllables of Anakin’s name in a way Obi-Wan’s never heard before. “How dare yo—”

D’Nar drops Obi-Wan abruptly, hands flying to his own throat as Anakin raises his fist and clenches. Obi-Wan collapses to the floor ungracefully, inhaling oxygen deeply, greedily, as his arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up. D’Nar is dangling just a few millimeters off the ground with the strength of Anakin’s Force-hold, the tips of his toes just barely brushing against the ground as he fruitlessly tries to find some leverage.

“Not so triumphant now, are you? Not without your bombs to hide behind,” Anakin spits, his face suffused with dark satisfaction. “That’s the problem with you slavers, only as strong as the whip in your hand.” Anakin throws his hand out, slamming D’Nar first into one wall, then the next. A droid tries to stop him, but Anakin just deactivates it and all its brethren with a flick of his chin—he must have done something to the electronics, because as the droids sputter and grind to a halt all of the locks on the cages fail and the room is immediately filled with dozens of screeching, cawing, clacking animals in various states of jubilation and panic. Obi-Wan stares in horror at the scene unfolding before him—he has always known of Anakin’s power, had trained him day in and day out for many years, but this, this is something different. “You will never hurt him again, you’ll never hurt anybody ever again.”  

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan croaks out, scrambling to his feet, to stand in between Anakin and D’Nar, “Anakin, stop!”

For a split-second, Obi-Wan thinks it has worked—he can see the storm across Anakin’s face slowly, reluctantly pulling back, his eyes growing less wild with every heartbeat. Then, he feels a blaster at his temple and a growling voice near his ear.

Oh, you kriffing idiot, Obi-Wan wants to groan out loud, as the rage reignites in Anakin’s features. Knowingly or unknowingly, the Zyggerian has chosen the one path of action that even Obi-Wan can’t save him from—Anakin does not tolerate threats to his friends. At all.

And with a twist of Anakin’s fingers, the Zyggerian is dead, his limbs near Obi-Wan going lax and his body falling backwards. Obi-Wan whirls around and away, neatly ducking the now harmless blaster. He and Anakin are now the only ones left, breathing heavily and staring at D’Nar’s limp corpse.

This is, of course, when the clones arrive, storming up the stairs and into the room at a mad sprint. Ahsoka and Rex, leading the charge, skid to a halt as they take in the tableau in front of them.

“What—” Ahsoka’s eyes flick to D’Nar and then to Anakin. She opens her mouth to finish the question, then swallows.

“I killed him,” Obi-Wan says calmly, stepping forward. Ahsoka, Cody, Rex, and Anakin all give him incredulous looks. “D’Nar was holding a blaster to my head, I did not have any other way to eliminate the threat. We will have to find another way to locate the missing Togruta colonists.”  

There is a long, awkward silence.

“Very well, sir,” Cody finally says. “We’ll do a final sweep of the colony and then meet you back aboard the Negotiator.”

“What was that?” Anakin hisses, as they descend the stairs together. “Why did you lie to them?”

“Because,” Obi-Wan replies, his voice low as he whirls around, “too many of the Separatist commanders you’re sent after end up dead. Do you really think that the Council won’t notice the pattern at some point? There was no reason for you to kill D’Nar like that—you could have deescalated the situation.”

“Not without endangering your life,” Anakin insists. “It was the easiest solution.”

“For Force’s sake, Anakin, I’m a Jedi, I was hardly in any real danger. If you had just paused for a moment, had let me help, I could have knocked his blaster away, and we could have subdued him, together. It may have been easy, but you know it wasn’t right and it certainly didn’t help those missing colonists.”

He stands his ground and stares severely at Anakin—projecting his disquiet and disappointment. Across the bond, he tries to share the horror that witnessing Anakin’s unhinged rage had inspired in him, the way the very core of his being had been shaken.

“I…” Anakin hunches his shoulders, begins to look a little shamefaced. “I know. You’re right—I wasn’t thinking, I—I let my anger get the better of me.” Obi-Wan immediately softens at this expression of contrition. He can feel the sincerity of Anakin’s declaration, the dark cloud across his mind slowly receding. He extends a hand to Anakin’s shoulder, offering his former padawan his support as the words continue to spew out. “I just—I just want the war to end. The Jedi hold us to this impossible standard—how are we not supposed to kill anyone in the middle of a war?—and meanwhile the Ch—the Senate shake their heads at our outdated ideals and demand to know why we won’t act more decisively to end this war.”

“I want the war to end, too, dear one,” he says, gently. “But I would argue that bringing the war to a swift end through so-called ‘decisive’ action, would only hand the Separatists a much greater victory.”

“I know I’m not always the Jedi I should be,” Anakin says, hanging his head, “but I’ll be better, I swear.”

“I know, dear one. I understand, I do. Which is why the Council doesn’t need to know. I will handle the report and then let this be the last time we speak of this, yes?” Anakin nods, slowly, and Obi-Wan continues. “Come, it’s back to the ship for us, we’ll have to start piecing together some sort of plan to figure out where they took the colonists.”

***

It takes over half a day to finish scanning the system before they must finally, reluctantly admit that wherever D’Nar hid the colonists, it certainly wasn’t anywhere in this system. Unfortunately, this leaves Zyggeria as the next most viable option and raises a whole other host of problems. They eventually come up with enough of an acceptable plan to warrant reaching out to Shmi and updating her on the situation—well Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Rex come up with a plan, while Cody protests, vociferously. Obi-Wan and Anakin shuffle a little ways away on the bridge and leave Cody, Rex, and Ahsoka to continue arguing over the final details.

“Obi-Wan, Ani! It is so good to you both in good health,” Shmi says, once they finally do manage to com her, the connection rough and tenuous this far out. Her face is deeply creased with worry. “When you didn’t com me for so long, I began to worry. How is Roshti?”

“We haven’t located Roshti and the other colonists, not yet,” Obi-Wan begins.

“Oh. Are they—dead?” She throws her shoulder back and braces for the worst.

“No, we don’t think so. We swept the whole planet and found not a single body. If they had been killed, why bother to take the bodies with them? We think they were forcibly located, to where exactly, we haven’t yet determined.”

“What? What could Dooku have possibly done with them?”

“It appears that the Zygerrians were involved somehow,” Obi-Wan says hesitantly. Shmi’s face visibly falls.  

“Don’t worry, Mom, we already have a plan for an undercover search and rescue mission,” Anakin rushes to reassure her. “We’ll figure out where the slavers took them—”

“Undercover mission? To where? Zygerria?”

“Yes, D’Nar was close to the Queen, we just need to get into her inner circle—I know Huttese, I can pass as a slaver—”

“You’re also one of the best-known Republic Generals in the Galaxy, with your face plastered over every holo from here to Wild Space,” Shmi cuts him off, aghast. “If even a child on Tatooine could recognize you, the Queen will figure you out in a second.”

“It’s risky, yes,” Obi-Wan interjects, “but someone needs to do it—D’Nar met an…unfortunate end before we could question him.”

“Don’t worry, the rest of the fleet will be parked a short distance away as backup.”

“And we’ll have a small contingent of clones with us—”

“No,” Shmi says, sharply. Both Anakin and Obi-Wan immediately fall into wide-eyed silence and she sighs. “No, just no. I don’t care what precautions you take, what insane Jedi powers you’re planning to use—that’s an absolutely terrible plan. Let’s ignore the fact that everyone will immediately recognize the Negotiator and the Hero with No Fear on first sight—you somehow believe that taking in group of men, who by the way have little to no training in undercover work, who will look exactly like every single clone soldier the Zygerrians and their associates have ever run into, will somehow make you less recognizable?”

“Well…”

“No, I’ll send my own operatives instead. As you can imagine, the Freed Peoples of Tatooine have a dedicated interest in the activities of some the galaxy’s most notorious slavers. We already have a handful of spies already on the ground and, with a few more operatives to help with the execution, they should be well positioned to find Roshti and his people.”

“Will you at least accept a small contingent of clones as help?” Obi-Wan presses, worried. He wouldn’t put it past Shmi to personally join the mission. “The Open Circle fleet would be more than happy to provide whatever firepower and transport you need.”

“I won’t say no to that—having a good extraction team will be critical and it won’t require them to do any undercover work. Very well.”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan calls out.

 The clone commander immediately joins them, barking out a terse, worried “Yessir?”

“Shmi here will be taking over the search for the missing colonists. Please make sure that she receives whatever support necessary to ensure her success—I am placing you in sole command of any further action, but I’d recommend taking Ghost Company with you. This seems like a job requiring a little more…subtlety than Domino Company is capable of.”

“Agreed, sir. Are you no longer headed to Zyggeria then?”

“No,” Shmi interjects, firmly. “My operatives and I have much more experience with this sort of thing than you. I aim only to rely on your men for help evacuating the colonists, once we have found them.”

“Ah,” Cody says, relaxing. “Thank you for somehow managing to talk them out of that insanity,” he continues, fervently. Obi-Wan gives him a betrayed look and Shmi laughs.

“Oh, Obi-Wan, you should listen to your commander more often, it sounds like he understands the definition of ‘undercover work’ far better than you.”

The next hour is spent hashing out the details of the operation, selecting specific code words and carefully plotting out contingencies. At the end of that hour, Shmi bids them all a brusque goodbye, her mind clearly already focused on Roshti and the colonists. Obi-Wan rolls his shoulders back from their hunch as his stomach gives an embarrassing growl. Cody’s eyes immediately snap to him, narrowed.

“I think I’m feeling hungry, aren’t you, brother?” he asks Rex, eyes still trained accusingly on Obi-Wan.

“Oh definitely,” Rex chimes in, turning to Ahsoka, who is trying very hard to keep a straight face as she nods solemnly. “I think it’s time for dinner, don’t you?” Anakin glances at his vambrace, then slaps Rex on the back.

“I’ve got some com calls to take care of. Meet you in the commissary?” he asks.

“Of course, sir. I’ll snag you a tray,” Rex responds and with a nod, Anakin disappears. Obi-Wan watches him go, a worried tilt to his brows.

“If I had tried to wriggle out of dinner like that, you both would have cried bloody murder, but he gets let go with not a single complaint?” Obi-Wan demands, both worried for Anakin and a little insulted that the clones seem to have decided that out of their two generals, it is Obi-Wan that needs baby-sitting.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’ll be along in a bit,” Rex replies, with a wave of his hand. “General Skywalker has a lot of problems, but forgetting to eat is definitely not one of them. He just tries to set aside some time each month to keep in touch with his friends on Coruscant—those calls never take very long.”

Their group makes their way to the commissary and they are joined shortly by Waxer and Boil. Obi-Wan is very pleased—he hasn’t seen the two men in what seems like forever and he relishes a chance to catch up—almost pleased enough not to grimace when a glob of…something is deposited onto his tray by one of the servers. His aversion to the commissary food always makes him feel like such a fussy prig, especially surrounded by the clones, who have never known anything different, and Anakin, who would happily swallow a bug if the mood struck him. Ahsoka is the only one who seems to share his reservations, raised on the same simple but well-made Temple food as Obi-Wan was, but she is also a teenager in the midst of growth spurt and so not even those reservations can hold her hunger in check for very long. They settle themselves into one of the long, thin, cafeteria-style tables, everyone else digging in with gusto as Obi-Wan picks half-heartedly at the edges of his tray.

“Is it true you baited a Zygerrian into unarmed combat, sir?” Waxer asks, eagerly, curiously. “I hear they have two times the strength of humans!”

“Two and half,” Obi-Wan corrects. Waxer’s and Boil’s eyes go wide.

“Woah. That’s so cool.”

“I’m sure it looked a lot less cool in person, I was mostly just allowing him to toss me back and forth—I couldn’t exactly fight back and risk turning his attention back to you.”

“Still, it was very brave,” Waxer says. Cody snorts, though he raises no verbal objection.

“I knew you’d all pull through eventually,” Obi-Wan demurs. “Though, if I may say, you do seem to be losing your touch—it certainly took you long enough.”

“Hey!” Ahsoka says, defensively, “some of those bombs were guarded. By droidekas, too!”

“Oh, like a big bad Jedi like you can’t handle a few droids,” Boil teases. Rex puffs up his chest at the insult to his commander and Ahsoka giggles at the display. Thus begins a good natured round of competition, as the clones and Ahsoka each try to one-up each other with tales of droids killed. Obi-Wan stares at his plate and allows their debate on whether taking out a tactical droid should warrant extra points—the consensus seems to be that while the droids themselves were relatively helpless in one-on-one combat, they are usually guarded by and controlling much more powerful droids, so really destroying one should count for at least two points, potentially more depending on the circumstances.

“Finish your call with the Chancellor, sir?” Rex asks, suddenly.

Obi-Wan looks up sharply from his study of whatever half-mashed nonsense the commissary is calling dinner tonight. At first, he is sure he must have misheard—Rex doesn’t sound like he’s joking, but there’s no way…But the way Anakin freezes in place guiltily quickly dispels that thought.

Anakin recovers quickly, answering Rex’s question with some response that Obi-Wan doesn’t process, as he settles himself down in the empty spot beside Obi-Wan and begins stuffing his face with the food Rex grabbed for him.

Obi-Wan manages to contain himself (just barely), though he is distracted the whole meal, his quips half-hearted at best. The troopers seem to recognize his distraction, and its source, but say nothing. They even jump in, redirecting the conversation and filling in the gaps to Obi-Wan’s responses when necessary, keeping the conversation going mostly by themselves, bless their hearts. Ahsoka sneaks them both small glances when she thinks they’re not looking, but dares say nothing.

And then they finish up dinner and return to his quarters, where the dam bursts.

“I thought,” Obi-Wan begins quietly, once the door is closed “you said it was just small talk in the Senate hallways?” Even his soft voice feels like the loudest of booms across the strained silence.

"I mean, it was. But then..." Anakin trails off and shrugs helplessly.

"But then what, Anakin?” Obi-Wan demands, sharply. “How did you go from that to monthly com calls? How?"

"See this is why I didn't tell you,” Anakin groans, flopping back into the bunk. “I knew you'd freak out."

"Freak out? Freak out! Would you ever leave Ahsoka alone with him?"

"No, of course not!" Anakin’s response is immediate, indignant

"Oh, it's okay for you to protect Ahsoka from a slimy old pedophile,” Obi-Wan throws his words at Anakin with all the finesse of a child slinging mud, too angry and scared to pause and think, “but the minute I try to do the same it's freaking out?"

"Ahsoka is a child, I'm not. And I know better now. It’s not like before when I believed he was my friend—I know what to look out for, where to draw the line. It’s just a calculated risk.”

"Calculated...?” Obi-Wan sputters. In the course of knowing Anakin Skywalker, there have been innumerable moments that really, truly tested Obi-Wan’s Jedi calm and patience, but none like this. “That makes it sound like you think there’s some sort of reward involved. What possible reward could justify throwing yourself in the path of a man who has repeatedly shown such an unhealthy interest in you?"

"He's the Chancellor of the Republic, Obi Wan, the Supreme Commander of the GAR,” Anakin replies, with a roll of his eyes, as if he thinks Obi-Wan is being deliberately dense. “Having him on our side can only be a good thing. And if all I have to do is sit through some fairly creepy flirting, well. That’s nothing."

"So you do admit he's creepy!" Obi-Wan throws his hands up in the air.

"Stop doing your Negotiator thing,” Anakin says, eyes narrowed and voice full of annoyance. “You know I hate it when you twist my words."

“Anakin, just stop and think this through! Do you even hear what you sound like?”

“No,” Anakin responds, stubbornly. “I have thought it through. And it’s already paid off—remember when Ahsoka had that weird vision about Padmé getting assassinated at the Aldera conference? The Chancellor was the one who approved the redistribution of resources necessary to get me and her assigned to the conference’s security. Or that time you were injured, and we didn’t have enough high-grade bacta? You were in so much pain, I could tell, even if you didn’t say anything and I knew you weren’t going to accept anything when we were still rationing. The Chancellor rushed the approval process for resupply and transport. We got those shipments a whole two months early.”

“And what happens when the next redistribution of resources comes with an asterisk? When flirting isn’t enough to get what you want anymore?”

“It won’t come to that,” Anakin insists. He pauses, then shrugs his shoulders. “I’m pretty sure he’s impotent or something and just gets a weird thrill out of flirting with me and asking about my sex life.”

“I—I have no idea where to even start with that,” Obi-Wan sighs. “You talk about your sex life with him? About…us?”

“Oh, Force, no. He’s just dropped a couple of leading questions and I played dumb—he definitely thought I was kriffing Padmé at some point. Maybe he still thinks that, I dunno. I try not to think about it, to be honest.”

“And despite all of…that you’re still going to insist on going ahead with this insanity?” At Anakin’s nod, Obi-Wan swallows and turns his face to stare at the wall. “I know I no longer have any right to make demands of you. Even when I was your Master, you were never good at listening to me. But, Anakin, I am begging you, please listen to me, just this once. I understand that you think you have the situation in hand for now, but it would take so little to send it all spinning out of your control. You must stop this while you still can.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Anakin promises earnestly.

“That wasn’t exactly a yes or no, dear one.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“How often do you talk?” Obi-Wan asks, changing tack suddenly. The war has taught him to recognize the bitter taste of an impossible stalemate all too easily.

“Three or two times a month? More if I happen to be on Coruscant.”

“Can you at least agree to decrease that to, say, once a month? Use the war as an excuse—say I’ve assigned you more responsibilities what with the Outer Rim Sieges going on as they have.”

“If I agree, will you drop it?” At Obi-Wan’s reluctant nod, he shrugs. “Sure.” Anakin extends a hand and wraps his fingers around Obi-Wan’s belt. His eyes turn mischievous, lascivious. “Now that’s out of the way…”

“No.”

“What—seriously?” Anakin’s voice whiplashes from low and seductive to high and confused in an instant.

“Yes, seriously,” Obi-Wan bites out. “Funnily enough, the in-depth discussion of your ongoing relationship with your childhood abuser didn’t exactly put me in the mood.”

“Attempted abuser,” Anakin corrects thoughtlessly.

“Ah yes, that makes it so much better,” Obi-Wan snarks back. “My point stands. I…can’t, not tonight.”

"Oh." Anakin hand falls away awkwardly and he suddenly looks guarded. "Do you...do you want me to go?"

Obi Wan hesitates—ever since they started this arrangement, he and Anakin have rarely slept alone, whether it's in his bunk, Anakin's, or their various shared tents and other accommodations in the field. It's terrifying how quickly he's gotten used to this new normal, how much he's come to expect and rely on Anakin's presence to keep the memories of battle, death, and blood at bay. For some reason, it’s much easier to keep clear-headed and calm when he tells himself he must be ready to chase away Anakin's own tormented dreams. He suspects Anakin employs a similar technique, though they've never explicitly discussed it. Some days he feels as if they are two, precariously balanced pillars of an old bridge—leaning on each other more and more as the rest of the bridge crumbles away, until the only thing keeping them standing is each other.

"I—no, actually." A pause, followed by a hopeful look from Anakin. "It gets quite chilly shipside, particularly at night.”

When he dares to glance up, Anakin’s eyes are soft.

***

Later that night, Obi-Wan finds himself staring at the wall, his mind alert, on edge, and not the least bit willing to let him sleep.

Anakin is curled tightly around him, every inch of his front pressed to every inch of Obi-Wan’s, breathing deeply, gently. But, despite hours of trying to calm his racing thoughts, Obi-Wan cannot join him in sleep. Obi-Wan begins to slide away, out of the protective cradle of Anakin’s body, slow and careful so as not to wake his partner. Anakin’s arms around him tighten briefly, but loosen with a few well-placed, soothing brushes of his mind across Anakin’s.

Finally, Obi-Wan is fully free and able to slip away. He tip-toes soundlessly to the door of his quarters and quickly makes his way into the hallway and then to the conveniently located supply closet right across from his quarters. He knows the location of this particular closet all too well from the way too many times Anakin’s impatience had been so great, when he could not even wait the three seconds more it would have taken to enter Obi-Wan’s room.

He settles inside, choosing a spot that will still allow him to keep an eye on the door to his quarters. He withdraws his com from the folds of his robes. His contact picks up after the first two rings, looking uncharacteristically harried and sleep-mussed, and he feels briefly guilty for forgetting to check the time on Coruscant.  

“Master Kenobi? Is everything all right?” Senator Amidala asks, sounding confused. When he doesn’t immediately answer, a slim hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, no. Is Anakin…”

“Oh, no, no. He’s fine, well, as fine as any of us can be, given this war. Forgive me,” Obi-Wan hastily corrects. Her shoulders relax a tad, though her brow remains tightly furrowed.

“But this isn’t just a social call, is it?” she guesses, shrewdly.

“No. I—I need your help.”

“Of course, whatever you need.”

“It’s no simple favor,” he warns. “You’ll likely make some enemies and I can’t say for certain how they’ll retaliate.”

“I believe I said, whatever you need,” Senator Amidala replies. “What seems to be the issue?”

“There’s a politician. Currently in the Senate. Who has, in the past, made…overtures to an underage Padawan.”

“What?” Senator Amidala sits up straighter, outrage and frantic worry oozing out of every pore. “Is Ahsoka okay?”

Forgive me, Anakin.

“It wasn’t Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says, evenly. He doesn’t say anything more, he doesn’t need to. Senator Amidala looks confused for only a moment more before recognition dawns and her eyes harden. He continues. “The Council intervened before it was too late and, for a long time, I contented myself with that. But no longer. The politician in question is trying to worm his way back in.”

“I take it there’s little proof or recourse for legal action?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm, of course. What shall it be? Nasty, career-ending rumors? Or something that ends up in the Courts? Everyone in the Senate is hiding something, I’m sure I can find something with enough judicious digging.”  

“The latter,” Obi-Wan says, viciously. “I want him to burn.”

“That can be arranged,” she replies without blinking, a short, no-nonsense nod punctuating the sentence. “Who shall I be investigating then?”

“He’s very powerful and well-respected. Going up against him won’t be very easy, I’m afraid. But I’ve seen the memories myself, and I assure you, there’s no mistake,” Obi-Wan warns. At Senator Amidala’s expectant look, he braces himself and continues. “It’s the Chancellor.”

There’s staticky silence.

“The Cha—Sheev?” she asks, sounding bewildered. In the next heartbeat, her voice turns to durasteel. “That wrinkly sack of shaak shit! I can’t believe I ever trusted him.”

“I—I have to admit I thought it would take a bit more to convince you,” Obi-Wan says, blinking.

“Bail and I have been growing suspicious of the Chancellor for a long time now,” Senator Amidala replies with a sigh. “We’ve even discussed forming a delegation to counter his ever-growing emergency powers. Oh, he talks a good game whenever anybody presses him, I’ll give him that. But if you just take a step back and look at what’s been happening, he looks a lot like just another power-hungry politician. Men like that enjoy power in all its forms and, well…these sorts of things are just another way to demonstrate their power over someone else. It’s less out of character than I would have once believed, unfortunately.”

“Do you think you’ll still be able to help?”

“I won’t lie—this does make any digging I do a lot harder. This won’t just be some light sifting; I’ll need to really break out the shovel.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she reassures him with a wave. “This is exactly the sort of wake-up call Bail and I needed. These things take time—far better to start now than to lose another year of dithering.”

“Where will you start?”

“Where else? The money.” Senator Amidala looks to the side, mouth pinched. “Assault, prostitution, drugs, even illegally invading a peaceful, sovereign planet—this can all be twisted around, softened, explained away, even forgiven. But, oh Shiraya forbid someone misuses those precious tax dollars.”

“I never did understand how someone of your principles could stand politics,” Obi-Wan says, with a shake of his head. “Doesn’t it ever wear you down?”

“Says the man who would have made an excellent politician.”

“Now there’s no need for insults.”

“Oh, Master Kenobi,” Senator Amidala laughs. “It is truly a pity—the Senate is desperately in need of a sense of humor.”

“I must leave soon,” Obi-Wan says seriously, once her chuckles have faded away. He glances up to the door to his quarters, still closed and quiet, beyond which Anakin is still sleeping peacefully. “I cannot thank you enough for your help—both in the matter of the Clone Rights bill and now this investigation.”  

“Please, no thank yous necessary. As I’ve said, whatever I uncover will only help our efforts to reign him in, politically speaking. Besides, he hurt a friend and that is not something I can let go unanswered.”

She flashes him a grim, sharp smile that promises retribution.

Obi-Wan is abruptly reminded that this is the same woman who, at age fourteen, made the entire droid army of the Trade Federation bow before her will. She was frighteningly capable and awe-inspiring even then and, now, with over a decade more of political experience, she is positively terrifying. It is almost enough to make him feel the faintest stirrings of pity for Sheev Palpatine.

Almost.

Chapter Text

The one and only thing this blasted war has been any good for is giving Obi-Wan plenty of excuses to be off-planet during the Annual Master Superlatives.

For two years now, he’s managed to very neatly sidestep the awards, called away by battle and time-sensitive missions. Quinlan is all too happy to keep him informed of his ongoing status as the reigning M.I.L.K. and someone had even told the clones at one point, so now they’re in on the joke too.

One of these days, Obi-Wan is going to ‘accidentally’ miss one of those droid blaster bolts headed straight for Anakin’s legs and not be the least bit sorry.

Unfortunately, Obi-Wan forgot to check the calendar when scheduling this latest leave.

“I just don’t get why you’re so put out about it,” Anakin says, limbs folded awkwardly in the small space of the Temple closet and fiddling with a small, rotund electromechanical component. They’ve been hiding here together—well, Obi-Wan is hiding, Anakin had just shrugged his shoulders and followed him in—for nearly two hours now. Obi-Wan shoots him a withering look.

“Get back to me after you’ve had twelve-year-old padawans walk into a column because they were too busy ogling you,” he replies waspishly.

“Master Yoda says the Superlatives are important to maintaining morale in these dark times,” Anakin replies solemnly. “You’re just doing your part.”

“Haha. Remind me what you got again?”

“Most Likely To Crash The Ship And Claim It Was Part of The Plan All Along.”

“I don’t remember that category…”

“Ahsoka said they added it just for me,” Anakin says, proudly. He frowns a little and begins loosening a bolt with his metal fingers. He flips open a thin plate and peers inside. “Wizard,” he breathes, in awe, as he turns the component over in his hands so that he can examine it from another angle. “What did you say this was supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan replies, with a shrug, not quite able to suppress his smug pleasure at the sight of Anakin’s bright-eyed fixation, all because of something Obi-Wan gifted him. “I just saw it in a junkyard in Sundari and figured you’d appreciate the challenge—I know the Mandalorians use different wiring conventions than most of the rest of the Galaxy.”

“Hmm,” Anakin hums in agreement, bringing the little component closer to his face. “Very challenging—you know, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten my hands on something like this before. They guard their tech so jealously and it’s not very compatible with most other TIF boards, let along the headache that are the heat exchangers, so it’s not like anyone’s going out of their way to get around the embargo.” When he looks to Obi-Wan his eyes are sparkling. “Thanks, Master.”

“Of course, dear one,” Obi-Wan says. Anakin flashes him a brief, but genuine grin, then returns his attention back to the component in his hands. For a few moments, Obi-Wan contents himself with basking in the contentment that Anakin radiates. Then, when the temptation grows too great and he decides that Anakin is sufficiently engrossed in the puzzle at hand so as to not notice his scrutiny, he gently extends a tendril through the Force to brush against Anakin’s mind.

Ever since his realization, many months ago, that he must convince Anakin of his suitability as a romantic partner, Obi-Wan has carefully engaged in little displays of his affection, such as the small, thoughtful token Anakin now holds in his hands. Throughout the whole process, he has carefully, attentively monitored Anakin’s feelings in the Force for even the slightest hints of change. Each foray is an expedition of quiet expectation and bitter disappointment, hoping against hope that this will be the moment that will alter Anakin's feelings towards him. This time is no different—he is confronted with the same tender, enveloping warmth he’s sensed since Anakin was sixteen. The first analogy that comes to mind is the feeling of wonder and belonging that Anakin derives from sitting in a ship’s cockpit as he watches the stars blur by, wrapped in a thick, well-made blanket to repel the cold of space.

It isn’t easy to describe, but then again, reading another sentient’s mental state through the Force is never as straightforward as non-Force sensitives like to believe. Yes, some feelings were more obvious than others and there were some similarities, but on the whole, the way most sentients experienced emotion was completely unique and rather difficult to gage, unless you were extremely familiar with the sentient in question. After all these years, it is easy enough for Obi-Wan to pick out most of Anakin’s emotions without even thinking, almost like blinking or breathing. But it’s hard to try and identify something as ill-defined, sprawling, and complex as love, especially when he has never actually witnessed Anakin in love and so he doesn’t even know what to look for.

Really, the quickest, simplest solution would be for Obi Wan to track down Anakin's crush, shove him in the same room as Anakin, and then observe how Anakin felt in the Force while interacting with the other man. But Obi-Wan is not about to give up one of his few advantages over his unknown competitor—time with Anakin—so good old-fashioned wait and see it is.

In the absence of familiarity, most Jedi just relied on observation, sampling the Force periodically to try and establish which feelings were associated with which impressions in the Force. If you could get the other person to showcase at least two different emotions, it would at least give you some sort of a baseline to work off of. That’s why lies were often so easy to pick out—sentients switched between sincerity and deceit quite often within the span of a single conversation, you just had to ask a few questions you knew the answer to, some you didn’t and then sit back and observe. Emotions were harder—most species don't vacillate between two extremes in just a few minutes unless under unusual stress.

Obi-Wan’s com beeps and he sighs. Anakin tracks the movement with watchful eyes.

“Knight Secura and Master Windu want us in the war room,” Obi-Wan announces. He stands to his feet, opens the door to the closet by the tiniest of slivers, and then gestures expectantly. Anakin gives him an eye roll.

“Coward,” he mutters, but dutifully sticks his head out and looks both ways. He ducks back in and flashes Obi-Wan a smirk. “Coast is all clear, Master, no sight of the enemy.”

Obi-Wan makes his way out of the closet, cautiously, slowly at first, and then faster once they reach the more trafficked areas of the Temple. Obi-Wan tries to project an air of busy purpose, so that no one will approach them. Despite Obi-Wan’s fears, they do indeed make it to the war room in one piece, where they find Masters Windu and Plo Koon deep in discussion and Knight Secura waiting patiently to the side. Master Plo Koon gives a short nod, indicating that he and Master Windu have noted their arrival, and gestures for them to keep themselves busy for a few minutes while they wrap up.

A gentle smile blooms across Aayla’s face as she spots them.

“Aayla!” Anakin greets, with a smile. “It’s good to see you in person for once.”

“Ha! Agreed,” Aayla chuckles. “I at least have the benefit that holos do not distort my natural color—you humans always look so odd, washed out in blue. Bly always complains that the holos turn his yellow paint blue—says that it turns all troopers into some terrible version 501^st. It’s apparently quite the sore spot amongst the other battalions.”

“And how is Commander Bly?” Obi-Wan asks. Aayla shrugs.

“As well as can be expected given the discovery of these terrible chips,” she sighs. “I’m afraid to say he’s handling it far better than I am. Some Jedi I am, no?”

“It’s only to be expected,” Obi-Wan says, gently. “It can be difficult not to worry about the ones we care for, and you have more cause for concern than most. When is his surgery?" Obi-Wan asks. Aayla's face turns pinched.

"He lost the lottery—he’s one of the last on the roster," she says quietly. Faced with so many clones to dechip and such limited resources, the clones had fashioned a random selection process, spread evenly across all battalions, to determine who would get the surgery and when.

"Can't you pull rank and get him in a little earlier?" Anakin asks with a frown. "I'm sure, given the situation, his brothers would understand."

"I offered," she admits. "But he refused, was insulted that I even asked. I've never seen him so angry."

"Can't you—"

"Ani, no," Aayla interrupts, her voice kind but scolding. "It's a risk to his life, yes, but that's his choice to make. And he's already had so many other choices taken away, I won't do that to him.”

“And that’s why you are an excellent Jedi,” Obi-Wan says firmly, “despite all your protestations.”

“I do not believe most of the Council would agree,” Aayla replies, dryly. Obi-Wan waves a hand, glad that they can now joke about this. Aayla’s petition to the Council, supported by Master Plo Koon, had been an…interesting meeting, to say the least. But for all their fervent disagreement, the more conservative members of the Council had at least admitted that freeing the clones and winning the war ranked at least a little bit higher on their list of priorities than punishing a single General who had had the temerity to fall in love.

“Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker,” Master Windu greets them finally. They turn and he gives them a tight nod, arms crossed. Obi-Wan frowns a little at the exhausted, wan cast of Master Windu’s features—it is likely not noticeable to Anakin and Aayla, but there’s a tiny crease at the corner of his mouth, the slightest of bags under his eyes that mark the toll this war has taken upon Master Windu. “Thank you all for your quick response times—Padawan Offee has an update regarding the surgeries for actively deployed clones and as the Generals of some our most prominent battalions, I knew you would all be anxious for news.”

“Good news?” Anakin asks, sounding worried.

“I’ll let Padawan Offee explain,” Master Windu replies, with an incline of his head. He activates the holotable and they are greeted by the flickering, severe face of Bariss Offee. If she is ruffled at the prospect of personally delivering her report to three Council members and two of the most lauded Knights of their generation, she certainly doesn’t show it. Mace nods once, tightly. “Proceed.”

"Our ramp up is proceeding according to schedule," Padawan Offee reports in a measured voice, hands clasped in front of her body. She is straight backed, confident—Commander Gree's original hunch had played out beautifully and she is now so different than the scared, war-scarred teen who had arrived on Tatooine all those months ago. Her months long mission had been a great success—from what Shmi had told Obi-Wan, Bariss, Beru, and Cut had hardly slept the entire time, not until they had hit upon a surgical procedure that was both less risky for the clones and easy to teach to the Jedi healers and clone medics who would need to perform it. The celebrations after the first successful trials had been legendary, apparently.

From that, Bariss had emerged with a newfound sense of serene, but righteous purpose and had volunteered to personally take charge of coordinating the GAR wide chip removal surgeries. Everyone agrees she is doing a superb job and Master Luminara is unbearably proud of her Padawan, even floating the possibility of Knighthood. "A little over 3% of all active battalions have undergone the procedure and after this latest round of medic training, I expect to be able to double our daily procedure rate. Complication rates remain low, though serious when they do occur."

A wave of pleased murmurs passes through the gathered Generals.

“And the recovery times?” Master Plo Koon asks. If Obi-Wan remembers correctly, at least two members of the Wolf Pack are up for their surgeries this week.

“Range from just over two rotations to a standard week, largely depending on the strength in the Force and the experience of the Healer or Commander who is aiding the process. Padawan Tano has proven to be particularly adept at this particular procedure—I have excluded her numbers, as she alone drags the average down by a full rotation.”

Anakin’s chest puffs up considerably. Obi-Wan may be rolling his eyes externally, but even he can’t quite hide the flush of pride that escapes his shields and Master Windu gives him a droll look.

"This is fantastic news,” Obi-Wan compliments. She nods, accepting her due. “Given these facts, do you have any idea if our goal of 100% deactivated, 50% chip free in two years is feasible?"

"Only if we remove the secrecy requirement," Padawan Offee replies with a shake of her head. "I can certainly get to 100% deactivation, as it is easy enough to set off the EM pulse for large groups, and while the clones are a little woozy for a rotation afterwards, it’s nothing too debilitating. But the surgeries require one on one attention and we are currently only using Senior Padawans and Commanders, in order to avoid anyone tracking and questioning the Generals’ actions. Like I said, experience and Force-strength helps speed up the procedures, so I suspect being able to enlist the Generals would speed the process considerably."

"We cannot risk exposure until all the chips are deactivated, at the very least," Master Windu sighs. “I know Ponds would never forgive himself if his hastily planned, ill-concealed surgery was the reason this shadowy creator discovered our plans and detonated one of his brothers’ chips.”

“Let’s prioritize deactivation then,” Anakin offers. “Senator Organa officially wrangled the Kaminoans into submission and kicked them out of the last of the medical outposts, so there’s no longer anyone but Jedi to notice the recovery period.”  

“We must be careful,” Obi-Wan cautions, “and monitor the Separatists closely. No one may notice a woozy squad or two, but they certainly will if we mistime it and disable an entire battalion right before a big attack.”

“Very well, Padawan Offee,” Master Windu says, authoritatively. “Prioritize deactivation, but, unless the battalion is on Coruscant for leave, limit it to no more than 10% of a single battalion in recovery at one time. We look forward to your next update.”

She inclines her head.

“Of course, Master Windu. May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” they all echo as her figure winks out. Obi-Wan and Anakin begin to move away when Master Windu shakes his head and holds up a head.

“Not you, Kenobi,” he calls out. “We have a Council meeting—our Shadows are reporting some…troubling intelligence.”

“Have fun, Master,” Anakin says cheerily, as Obi-Wan shoots a narrow-eyed look of betrayal at his retreating back. He sighs and turns back to Masters Windu and Plo Koon.

“Shall we?”

***

“Pardon, you want me to do what?”

Obi-Wan blinks at the Jedi High Council. Master Windu’s grave eyes bore into the side of his head.

“Demands absolute secrecy this mission does,” Master Yoda emphasizes. “Easy, it will not be.”

“I understood that,” Obi-Wan replies with a wave of his hand. “But I could have sworn I heard you say—”

“You can tell no one of the plan. Not even Skywalker,” Master Windu repeats, interrupting and leveling Obi-Wan with a stern look.

Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. He gapes.

“No one outside of this Council may know that you still live,” Master Mundi continues, side-eyeing Obi-Wan. “It is the only way to ensure your safety and the success of the mission.”

“Surely you can’t doubt Anakin’s loyalty,” Obi-Wan finally manages to say, flabbergasted. “He would never do anything to endanger such an important mission.”

“Of course not,” Master Ti’s hologram says, softly but firmly. “But Skywalker has never been the greatest of actors. You know this, we know this, and, most importantly, Count Dooku knows this. If he were to start questioning Skywalker’s behavior, the entire mission would begin to unravel.”

“And we only get one shot,” Master Fisto adds. “If we fail, Dooku’s guard will be up and we will never get a similar opportunity.”

“We have only a very limited window—we have already engaged the services of a bounty hunter named Rako Hardeen. Once we have him planetside, we’ll need you to place yourself into a suitably tempting position. You’ll be wearing a blaster-proof vest of course, but it’s critical we sell the moment—”

“No.”

“What?” Master Windu’s voice is a harsh crack across the room.

“No I…I—I can’t.”

“Is this about Skywalker?” Master Windu says, disapprovingly. His whole demeanor screams I knew that’s the part you’d dig your heels in about.

“Master Kenobi, you cannot let your attachment to the boy affect your duty to the Republic,” Master Gallia says, a strong hint of reproach in her words.

“You misunderstand me,” Obi-Wan says, quietly, throat suddenly dry. He refuses to stare at the ground like a guilty, scolded Padawan. “As most of you are aware, Anakin and I still share a strong mental link through the Force. Even shielded, Anakin would never fall for such a ruse, not for very long, anyways, and I—I do not think I can break the bond, certainly not without the help of an experienced Force Healer. Even then, I suspect we would need Anakin to lend us his strength in the Force.”

“I understand you two shared a relatively strong Master-Padawan bond,” Master Plo Koon says, mildly, delicately. “But bonds like what you just described are rare. At any rate, they require nearly constant, unshielded bond use for many years…”

He trails off, then shares a look with Master Windu. As one, the entire Council turns to stare at Obi-Wan.

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan responds, with a pursed-lip, humorless smile.

“Show us this bond, you will,” Master Yoda says severely, with an authoritative rap of his gimmer stick. “Verify your claims, myself, I will.”

Obi-Wan stands gracefully to his feet and glides forward, coming to kneel in front of Master Yoda, who extends a gnarled hand and touches the points of his claws to Obi-Wan’s temple. Obi-Wan watches Master Yoda close his eyes and then lets his own eyelids fall shut as well.  

With a deep inhale, Obi-Wan opens up his first layer of shields, the gossamer thin, but durasteel strong ones guarding his surface thoughts.

It is an odd thing, having someone else in his mind who is not Anakin, the infinite, indescribable expanse suddenly just a tad smaller, his atoms sliding against something that’s not quite him, much like he is brushing up against a wall that it is just a tad too rough to be entirely comfortable. Obi-Wan looks inwards, until he locates the glowing pinprick of golden warmth that represents his awareness of his bond with Anakin. He takes a moment to draw a shield across his side of the bond, so that Anakin will not feel Master Yoda’s appraisal—he does this often during Council meetings, Anakin will not be the least bit surprised or suspicious—then gently brings the bond to the forefront of his mind where Master Yoda patiently waits. Master Yoda reaches out, curling a tendril of his senses around the bond, an impression of doubtful-curious left on Obi-Wan’s mind. One’s mind in the Force is not really a physical space, but it is how human brains often choose to interpret such sensory inputs, and so Obi-Wan gets the sense that Master Yoda is gently cradling the bond between his claws, stroking and poking at it with feather-light touch.

Hmph, Master Yoda grunts. There’s a second noise, this one surprised, irritated, and wondering in equal measure. Hmph!

How long will it take you to admit that I am right? Obi-Wan asks lightly.

Such a bond—speaks to your attachment to the boy it does, Master Yoda harrumphs. Unbecoming of a High Councilor, it is.

I know, Master, which is why you should realize that there is no deception here. If I wanted to lie to the Council, I have far more reason to hide rather than exaggerate its strength.

Deny it, you do not even try!

Were you not the one who taught me that there is no try? Only do or do not?

Yoda pushes the image of whacking a ten-year-old Obi-Wan’s shins with his gimmer stick. Even as a memory, the blow stings.  

Why would I deny something that you already knew? I fail to believe the Council was completely unaware of my attachment to Anakin when they nominated me to my current seat, Obi-Wan continues. What Master is not attached to their Padawan?

Not like this, Master Yoda scolds. There’s another feeling of eyes looking the bond up and down. Seen nothing like it, have I, in hundreds of years. Stretch how far, your awareness of each other does?

We can communicate verbally planetwide, across an entire system’s span and we can still send impressions, memories. More than that and our awareness shrinks only to vague binaries—healthy or injured, awake or asleep.

Remarkable, it is.

Remarkably unseemly? Obi-Wan quips wryly.

Hmph. Indeed.

Master Yoda withdraws, first mentally, then physically. When Obi-Wan opens his eyes, he sees the entire Council looking expectantly to Master Yoda. He waits for one moment, then two.

“The truth, Master Kenobi speaks,” he declares, quietly. There’s a sharp inhalation that seems to roll through the Council as one. “Difficult to shield fully, it would be. Impossible, long term. Painful and damaging, severance would be.”

 There is silence.

“If you still believe I am best suited for the mission,” Obi-Wan says, as though nothing has happened, “then I will accept. But I must be allowed to explain the situation to Anakin and fashion some sort of smokescreen—you are right, he is terrible at subterfuge, but we can send him away from Coruscant, away from the vultures in the Holonet press and Dooku’s spies. A meditative retreat, to grieve in peace. Before the war, it was a relatively common prescription when a former Master or close friend died, Dooku will think nothing of it.”

“We are in the midst of a war. We can’t afford to have two of our most highly ranked Generals sidelined by this mission.”

“Then you will have to find someone else,” Obi-Wan responds placidly. He affects an air of unconcerned confidence. “So, what shall it be?”

***

Obi-Wan stops just inside the entryway to his and Anakin’s shared quarters—yet another sign of attachment the Council was sure to dredge back up after this whole mess was wrapped up—leaning against the wall and taking the moment to simply observe Anakin in peace.

He has been greeted with the all too pleasant sight of a shirtless Anakin, sunk deep into the Force as he slowly cycles through his evening moving meditation session. His eyes are closed, brow smooth and worry-free, the Force crystal clear and calm around him as he slowly, carefully surrenders himself to its currents. The Force seems to embrace him with the joy of a mother greeting a favored son, responding so easily, so naturally to his every thought and movement.

It doesn't last long—as attuned to Force as Anakin is in this moment, it takes only a few moments more for him to sense Obi-Wan’s intrusion. His eyelids slowly flutter open and Obi-Wan must remind himself that they have important matters to discuss, he can't just jump his Anakin right then and there. Anakin breaks off the last form and turns to face Obi-Wan, an open, quizzical look on his face. He takes in Obi-Wan’s serious demeanor and nods knowingly.

“Another mission?” he guesses, with a sigh. He rolls his shoulders back and grabs a glass of water from the kitchen, gulping it down and looking unfairly attractive while completing such a mundane task. "Okay, where are we headed?"

"I am headed to the Coruscanti underworld. You are staying right here, at least for now."

"Wait, what?" Anakin slams down the glass of water and looks incredulously to Obi-Wan.

"Dooku has been reaching out to some of the Galaxy's most talented bounty hunters, as part of a plot to kill the Chancellor, we think. If we are to protect him, we must have someone on the inside. I will be going undercover to fulfill that role."

"Okay...but you'll need backup,” Anakin says, slowly, as if he thinks Obi-Wan has suddenly taken leave of his senses. “I know I'm not great at undercover missions, but I'm sure we can find some role that doesn’t require me to try and lie."

"It's not that sort of mission, dear one."

"What, they're just tossing you into Dooku's clutches without any backup?" A long pause, Anakin’s outrage growing every second. "That's insanely dangerous!"

"Precisely, which is why it is critical that that my cover is airtight,” Obi-Wan says, patiently. Anakin narrows his eyes.

"Just say whatever it is you're trying to say."

"The Council will be faking my death."

"What?”

"I will be taking on the persona of Rako Hardeen, a highly skilled marksman for hire. As an...audition of sorts, he will be completing a hit on me, at which point the Council will capture him and we will switch places. It will give me the credibility necessary to worm my way into Dooku’s potential list of hires and also provide an explanation for my sudden and conspicuous absence from the battlefield."

"I don't like this."

"Then you'll probably like this next part even less,” Obi-Wan says, with a heavy exhale. “No one can know I'm still alive, Anakin. Not the other Jedi, not Senator Amidala, not even Ahsoka. No one. If anyone were to even guess a whisper of the truth my life would be in mortal danger, to say nothing of the mission itself."

"But you're telling me?"

"I know it will be difficult for you to keep it a secret, but I wasn’t about to lie to you. Not about this.”

"...but the Council wanted to."

"Yes, initially," Obi wan admits. At Anakin’s dark look, he turns his tone gently scolding. "As you yourself have admitted, you are a terrible liar. It's not a position without logic. But I explained my own logic and they came around."

"You mean you threw a hissy fit and refused to accept the assignment until they conceded," Anakin snorts. He steps closer, their chests nearly touching.

“Well, yes.” Obi-Wan pauses. “We’ll have to arrange for you to go off planet once the ruse begins—you cannot be allowed near anyone who might guess the truth. But I was thinking…your mother has been none-too subtly complaining that you never visit in person. Perhaps you can go to Tatooine?”

“Faking your death and exiling me to a planet full of sand. You’re right—I really don’t like this plan,” Anakin hums, more amusement than anger suffusing his words. Obi-Wan relaxes slightly—there is still a fraught tension in Anakin’s eyes and shoulders, worry suffusing the bond despite the lightness to his tone and the air of amusement he is trying to project. But worry is better than the anger Obi-Wan had feared. When Anakin speaks next, his voice is slow, reluctant. “We’ll try it your way. But if you’re going up against Dooku, you’re going to need my help, Master.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know,” Obi-Wan reassures him. “I did manage to survive nearly twenty-five years without you.”

“Yes, one of life’s great mysteries,” Anakin teases, the bond still tinged with fear-anxious-don’t-leave-me. Anakin’s flesh hand rises, trailing gentle fingers along the curve of Obi-Wan’s cheekbone, his temple. Obi-Wan can’t help it—he leans into the touch. When he meets Anakin’s eyes again, his eyes are smoldering like a low banked fire, lips slightly parted.

When their lips touch, it is soft and slow—a break from their normal frantic pace, but not so rare that Obi-Wan doesn’t understand the rhythm of this dance. Anakin begins to walk them backwards, slowly, inexorably, his palms flattened against the planes of Obi-Wan’s chest. Obi-Wan redirects them to couch, and Anakin swings a leg over Obi-Wan's, coming to perch gracefully over his lap. Obi-Wan lets his hands rest against Anakin’s splayed thighs, a hint of possession in the spread of his fingers. Anakin pulls back, his breath fanning across Obi-Wan’s nose. His eyes are closed as he cradles Obi-Wan’s head between his hands and leans their foreheads together.

“You’ll come back?” he whispers, a question or demand, Obi-Wan doesn’t know. “You have to come back, to Bant, to Quinlan, to Ahsoka, to me. We’ll never forgive you otherwise, you know.”

“We’re at war, Anakin,” Obi-Wan responds, gently. “I can’t make such promises.” Anakin drags his head into closer and kisses him fiercely. He nips at Obi-Wan’s lips, then draws back again, leaving Obi-Wan panting and chasing the sensation. Anakin grinds down, the tip of Obi-Wan’s dick catching in the crease of his thigh, the heat between them slowly building to an inferno. Obi-Wan repositions his hands on Anakin’s ass, dragging down the hem of his pants and slowly, deliberately rubbing the pad of his thumb against the tight furl of Anakin’s asshole.

Anakin shudders and Obi-Wan pulls away just a fraction.

“Lube?” he manages to gasp. Anakin climbs to his feet and leads them into Obi-Wan’s bedroom (these days, Anakin’s old bedroom has, for all intents and purposes, has been turned into a workshop for all of Anakin’s projects), both of them unwilling or unable to break the kiss as they stumble slowly towards the bed. At the foot of the bed they both pause to shuck off robes and boots, before Obi-Wan crawls onto the sheets, Anakin close behind, nearly on top of him.  

Anakin presses Obi-Wan against the sheets, fumbling with the bedside table with one hand as the other intertwines with Obi-Wan’s fingers, pressing into sheets next to his head. The corded muscles of his forearm stand out in stark relief and, somehow, Obi-Wan grows even more dizzy with want.

“E chu ta,” Anakin breaks away suddenly to curse, glaring balefully at the scraped clean pot of bacta gel in his hands. He pauses, then resumes to kissing Obi-Wan passionately, his words humming against his neck. “Don’t need it.”

“No,” Obi-Wan breathes out, breaking away. He keeps his lips firmly closed and turns away from Anakin’s next attempt at distraction.

“Oh, come on.” Anakin’s voice is desperate. “Please, Obi-Wan, this could be the last chance we have for weeks, we can’t waste it. I’ll be fine, I swear.”

“I said no, Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeats sharply and moving his face even farther away. “I made you bleedlast time.”

In this matter, Obi-Wan had given into Anakin’s demands and his own lusts once and only once before. He has not stopped regretting it since—he had tried to go slow, to be careful, to prepare Anakin thoroughly despite the lack of lube, only to realize that Anakin had been in pain and injured the entire time. He’d been so horrified he’d fallen out of bed in his haste to get away and had barely even remembered to don a robe before frantically comming Painless for pain medication and fresh bacta.

“No,” Anakin whispers, defeated. His fingers clench against Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan leans up and engages him in another, heady kiss.

“Hush now,” he whispers, “there’s plenty else we can do.”

“But I’ll still feel empty,” Anakin whines. “I want you in me.”

“That can be arranged. Flip over, on your knees.” Anakin’s obedience is immediate, unhesitating. Obi-Wan pushes himself up and repositions Anakin’s ass, pulling his hips back and pushing his spine down. Anakin glances back awkwardly.

“What are you—?”

“Patience, dear one,” Obi-Wan says, amused. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I don’t—ohhhh,” Anakin moans as Obi-Wan moves darts his tongue out to lick at Anakin’s hole. The sheets bunch between Anakin’s fingers and strange, weak noises escape his throat as Obi-Wan’s tongue alternately delivers pointed attacks and gentle laves. He turns his head to muffle himself in the pillow. Obi-Wan pulls back.

“No,” he commands, swatting at Anakin’s thigh. “I want to hear you.” He does not resume his ministrations until Anakin assumes his former position, flushed faced turned to the side, blue eyes blown wide and pink mouth hanging open. Obi-Wan rewards him with a particularly long lick. He spits into his hand, thoroughly coating a single finger so that he can insert it next to his tongue. Anakin twitches helplessly, whimpering.

Obi-Wan keeps searching for a few moments more, until his finger brushes up against a small bundle of nerves.

He smiles smugly to himself and begins to stroke at it, slowly, measuredly, deliberately.

Anakin wails and reaches out to Obi-Wan across the bond, tangling around him in the Force and dragging him deep into Anakin’s feverish pleasure. Obi-Wan moans in turn, his movements quickening, every crook of his finger, every twitch of his tongue amplified ten-fold across the bond.

 Anakin spills onto the sheets, gasping wetly, and then, with hardly a whisper of a warning, flips around. He rises up to his knees and engages Obi-Wan in an urgent kiss, tongues tangling as his hand reaches down and curls around Obi-Wan’s leaking, neglected cock. It doesn’t take long for Obi-Wan to reach his own crescendo, Anakin’s bliss still blanketing the bond so strongly it’s nearly suffocating. He can hardly breathe as they collapse back together.

Later, as they lay quietly in bed, Anakin’s head resting on Obi-Wan’s chest and Obi-Wan’s fingers tracing small patterns up and down Anakin’s back, Anakin speaks up.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, “for trusting me with this. I don’t know how I would have reacted if I really thought you had died, but I—I don’t think I could have forgiven you for that.”  

“I remember all too well what it is like to lose one's master so abruptly,” Obi-Wan replies, equally hushed. “I was helpless to stop it, could only clutch desperately at the bond as Qui-Gon slipped away. I…I refuse to put you through that for a mere pantomime.”

“You never talk about Naboo. At least not to me.”

“Hmm, yes, well it’s not exactly a time in my life that I like to revisit. I barely survived the initial destruction of the bond, never mind the torrent of grief and anger that plagued me afterwards.”

“But you did survive.”

“Yes, but only because of you,” Obi-Wan says with a gentle smile. Anakin gives him a startled look. “It was much easier to pull myself out of bed each day knowing that you were depending on me—instead of my own despair, I had to focus on wrangling a small, stubborn nine-year-old boy into eating his vegetables, wearing clean clothes, and finishing his meditation sessions. No small distraction, I assure you, especially when I was convinced you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” Anakin says, automatically. Obi-Wan gives him a look. “I just thought you resented me. Qui-Gon said he would train me, but then I just kinda got dumped in your lap when that fell through. I thought for sure you hated me, and I hated you in turn, at least for the first few weeks.”

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Don’t you realize how hard I had to fight to keep you as my padawan?”

“Wait, what? You always told me that it was Qui-Gon’s dying wish.”

“It was, but that doesn’t mean the Council made it easy for me. It was agreed that you should be trained, but Master Windu wanted you to go to an older Master, one who had already raised a padawan to Knighthood and had the experience to handle you. I practically had to beg, even threaten to leave the Order, before they gave in.”

“You never told me that before,” Anakin breathes. The bond is a fluttering thing right now, tangled with emotion.

Obi-Wan says nothing in return, simply allowing the moment to stretch a little longer into the night and relishing the strong, steady thrum of Anakin’s heart.

***

The last Council meeting before the Rako Hardeen mission is a cold one, stretching long into the evening. It filled with sorting out the details of Obi-Wan’s cover without any of the usual banter that accompany such long, boring meetings. For some, worry for Obi-Wan and his life clearly are at the forefront of their minds; others, the success of this mission and the knife’s edge the Republic balances on; while still others are clearly perturbed by Obi-Wan’s insistence on hiding nothing from Anakin. Masters Mundi and Gallia have never been Obi-Wan’s biggest supporters, but they have always respected each other as Jedi. He gets the sense that the bond, as fresh proof of his obvious attachment to Anakin, has shaken that respect.

He wonders how long it will be before they ask him to step down, to allow a more appropriate Master to be named in his place.

After an interminable debate, the Council meeting disbands, Obi-Wan receiving his instructions on when and where Hardeen will be looking for him later tonight. He has only a few short hours. The Councilors’ holograms either wink out of existence or they physically leave, off to attend to their numerous and ever-growing duties.

“Master Plo,” Obi-Wan calls out as they shuffle out, holding up a hand to forestall the other Master from hurrying. The Kel Dor turns and inclines his head inquisitively, peeling away from Masters Windu, Yoda, and Tiin.

“How may I assist you?” he rumbles through his anti-ox mask. Obi-Wan inhales deeply and steels his voice, reminding himself to keep his words and his surface level thoughts calm and composed, befitting of a Jedi Master

“A friend of mine, Senator Padmé Amidala, is investigating a political matter at my request,” Obi-Wan says, finally, once he believes his voice will hold steady. “I cannot say for certain who she might reach out to or even if she may need any help at all during this ruse, but if she does, I suspect she may contact you. In our past discussions, I have indicated that you share our…fervent belief that this particular politician should be removed from the public sphere.”

Master Plo Koon’s face furrows, then brightens.

“Are we finally trying to publicly shame that terrible man out of office?” he asks, eagerly. Obi-Wan nods. “Oh, that is excellent news.”

“I thought you might feel that way. You made your displeasure with Anakin’s decision very clear.” Shortly after his Knighting ceremony and the battle of Geonosis, the Council had offered Anakin their support, should he decide to come forward and share his experiences with the press. Anakin had demurred.

“And you excoriated me most brutally for that,” Master Plo Koon rejoins dryly.

“He is an adult, it was his decision to make,” Obi-Wan says, defensively. “He simply felt that there was no point in dredging up old wounds, especially when he was the only minor that Palpatine ever seemed to take an interest in and we had a war to focus on.”

“So, what changed then? He seemed fairly implacable at the time.”

“Ah. Anakin is not exactly aware of the current investigation,” Obi-Wan admits, reluctantly. If Master Plo Koon had had any eyebrows, they would have flown off his head at this statement. “I can respect the fact that it’s his decision to make and still admit that it’s terribly shortsighted. If Anakin won’t come forward, I just have to find some other bit of wrongdoing to help bring Palpatine to justice.”

“Interesting approach,” Master Plo Koon says, thoughtfully. “And you are sure that there is something else to find?”

“He’s a politician, there must be,” Obi-Wan says, dryly. “In all seriousness, yes. Most of what Senator Amidala has been able to establish thus far is that he is quite determined to hide his wealth in all manner of shadowy accounts—he has his money spread across the entire Republic, squirreled away in fake corporations and aliases galore. Why do so unless there was something to hide?”

“Is this investigation part of the reason for Senator Amidala’s role in the formation of this new so-called Delegation of 2000? I quite enjoyed the look on Sheev Palpatine’s face when the Delegation was officially announced during floor sessions.”  

“Yes, it was one of the motivating factors, though not the sole inspiration. His ever-growing executive powers are a cause of great concern amongst a certain subset of politicians.”

“In that we are in complete agreement,” Master Plo Koon says, with a shake of his head. “More and more, the success of the war effort seems to depend solely on one man. We spend a good deal of effort protecting him from all manner of insane plots because even Dooku has realized that the Republic’s will and ability to fight seems to rest entirely with Sheev Palpatine. This ridiculous Hardeen mission is the latest example. I do not deny the Chancellor’s office has always been important and that their elimination would be a potential blow to morale, but we have never before been concerned that their absence will cause the entire government to grind to a halt. What happens when the war ends, and he is asked to cede his emergency powers? The Senate must find some way to function without him.”

“Sometimes I wonder if the Senate will even ask for such a thing,” Obi-Wan admits. Master Plo Koon looks up sharply. “They’ve never liked making hard decisions that might affect their reelection chances—this way, they can fob all the controversial items off on Palpatine so they don’t have to defend their votes back home.”

“Then this investigation is needed now more than ever,” Master Plo Koon declares, with an air of finality. “I will of course give Senator Amidala whatever help she requires, you needn’t worry. Please, focus only on this mission, you will need no other distractions if you are to succeed.”

“When have I ever failed this Council?”

“I do not debate your ability to complete the mission, only your ability to do so while respecting your own personal health and safety,” Master Plo Koon replies, archly. Obi-Wan makes a grumbling noise of complaint and Master Plo Koon chuckles, clasping a hand to his. “May the Force be with you, my friend.”

Obi-Wan continues through the Temple, towards Anakin’s bright presence on one of the lower entry levels. Despite Obi-Wan’s misgivings, Anakin had insisted on being there for Obi-Wan’s supposed death—he had claimed his own reaction would be what sold the ruse (and that sounded like Council reasoning if Obi-Wan ever heard it and if he ever figured out which of the other Councilors had shared that particular bit of brilliance with Anakin, he’d stick his foot so far up their ass they’d have a hard time sitting still through the next Council meeting)

“It’ll be easy enough to pretend in the moment,” Anakin had claimed. “You’ll inject yourself with that black-market sedative before, right? Master Windu said it won’t last long, but while it does, you’ll register as dead by any reasonable measure—heartbeat, brain activity—and it’ll feel real, at least for a little bit.”

He murmurs hellos to a few of the other Jedi as he passes, exchanging a brief word here and there when he can—the war often keeps him away from the Temple for months at a time and he misses so much. He’s just setting foot over the threshold to the great entryway, a thin but tall loggia that seems to stretch upwards infinitely and can spot Anakin in the distance, when he hears his name.

“Master Obi-Wan!” Ahsoka calls out, her face lighting up as she approaches from the opposite corner as Anakin. Obi-Wan tries his best not to freeze guiltily. She jogs towards him, smiling. “There you are! Skyguy said you were trapped in Council meetings all day.”

“We agreed to a short break,” Obi-Wan lies smoothly. Anakin has seen that he’s been waylaid and is walking towards them now—with the delay caused by Obi-Wan’s conversation with Master Plo Koon, they have less than an hour to be in position and no time to waste. “Tempers are always better on a full stomach.”

“Are we going to Dex’s?” Ahsoka’s voice is happy, pleased and Obi-Wan begins to panic.

Anakin, Obi-Wan says sharply across the bond, you were supposed to make sure Ahsoka wasn’t here. She shouldn’t witness this. I can’t do this to her.

I gave her plenty of work—she should be in the Archives right now, researching obscure Outer Rim worm species, it’s not my fault she decided to slack off!

“Snips,” Anakin greets out loud. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Didn’t I just give you an important Archival research project?”

“C’mon, Skyguy!” she half-whines. “You can’t seriously expect me to be researching worms in the middle of a war—how can that possibly be important at a time like this?”

“Remember the second battle of Geonosis and those brain worms?” Anakin insists. “Don’t you think that it would have helped to have some sort of familiarity with their biology? Besides, the subjects of these sorts of Archival assignments aren’t really the important part—believe me, you’ll never learn Madam Nu’s organization system better than after having to spend six or seven hours forced to research a totally random and pointless topic your Master assigned to you.”

“It familiarizes you with areas of the Archive you wouldn’t normally go to,” Obi-Wan chimes in, fondly memories of Anakin’s own, vicious complaints ringing in his head.

“Okay, whatever, sure,” Ahsoka says, with a wave of her hand, “I’ll get to it after dinner. Let’s go get some greasy, salty tuber fries!”

“Snips—” Anakin’s voice is annoyed now, but Obi-Wan cuts him off across the bond.

We can’t keep pressing it, he says grimly. She’s a bright girl, she’ll start getting suspicious, and we’re running out of time. When the chase begins, we’ll just have to split up and hope she’s far enough ahead not to see it happen in person. She’ll probably feel the bond snap, but it’s much weaker than ours so hopefully it won’t be too debilitating. There’s nothing to be done for it now.

“So, tell me, how are you progressing with this new reverse grip you’ve adopted?” Obi-Wan says, pleasantly, lightly, as he turns toward open side of the loggia and the forest of columns it frames. It is these columns that mark the official exit to the Temple. They descend the steps towards the military shipyards erected near the base of the Temple, the quickest shortcut to a public hover tram that will take them to Dex’s—a trek they’ve made dozens, if not hundreds of times. It also fairly well known amongst the holo-press—who liked to lie in wait for them to get soundbites every now again. And a routine, publicly known route was perfect hunting grounds for an assassin. “Anakin tells me he tried to talk you out of it, but you absolutely insisted.”

Ahsoka happily keeps up her stream of chatter and eventually Anakin begins to chime in, teasing her ruthlessly in a familiar, well-loved pattern. Obi-Wan stays silent for the most part, chiming in only occasionally when he thinks they are running out of steam and he wants to wind them both back up again.

A blaster bolt shatters the camaraderie.

Obi-Wan grabs Ahsoka’s shoulders, flinging her away from him.

(It’s just a second too soon to claim that Obi-Wan was caught totally by surprise, even with his Force-enhanced senses and reflexes, but, well. He’s not letting his grand-padawan get shot for this mission and if Ahsoka expresses any suspicions, surely Council can smile mysteriously and give some platitude about how in tune with the Force Obi-Wan was before he died, so sad.)

“The sniper’s on the roof,” Obi-Wan calls out, once they have all safely taken cover behind a few crates. He scans the horizon. “There!”

Rako Hardeen seems to realize he’s been spot and begins to sprint in the opposite direction.

“Don’t let him get away!” Ahsoka says, standing to her feet.

“Split up,” Anakin commands, “I’ll try to cut him off from the left!”

And so the chase begins, Anakin tearing ahead and Ahsoka staying stubbornly close to Obi-Wan as they leap over crates of munitions and medical supplies, Rako Hardeen always darting just in and out of the corner of their eyes. It’s frustratingly hard to keep track of his position from below, so Obi-Wan quickly scales one of the low-lying buildings nearby, to gain a better vantage point and to give Ahsoka, who remains at ground level, a precious few seconds of lead time, so that there is more distance between the two of them. He leaps over the gaps between buildings, hot on Rako Hardeen’s trail until suddenly he’s not.

 Obi-Wan slows, cautiously creeping forward.

“I’ve lost sight of the bounty hunter,” Obi-Wan declares into his com. Ahsoka and Anakin’s voices come through his vambrace crackly and staticky, confirming that they too have no visual confirmation. Obi-Wan catches a glint of metal, a whisper in the Force directly across from him and darts back behind a tall outcropping on the roof. He breathes in and out, once, twice, three times, then, from beneath the folds of his sleeves, he slips out the small injector pen that Master Windu handed him earlier today and stabs it into the meat of his thigh. The effect is almost immediate. Obi-Wan’s muscles relax despite the adrenaline of the moment and his vision begins to go a little hazy.

Goodbye for now, dear one, he says, drawing a steel door shut across the bond.

Wait, no, Obi-Wan, you didn’t tell me you were going to block the— Anakin’s thoughts are cut off as Obi-Wan’s shields ripple and settle in place. It’s enough to still sense Anakin, but not enough to maintain their usual chatter and free-for-all mental exchange.

With one last inhale, Obi-Wan walks calmly out from behind his cover and takes a blaster bolt straight to the chest.

It’s a direct hit, and even with the blaster vest, the breath is knocked from Obi-Wan’s lungs. He tumbles over the edge of the roof, Anakin and Ahsoka’s cries of dismay ringing in his ears as he thuds against the ground. The sedative must have some sort of painkiller mixed in, though, for Obi-Wan can’t feel a thing.

He must lose some time because when he next blinks, Ahsoka looms over him, her big eyes wide and scared as the edges of his vision start to blur. He can see that she is ghosting her small hands over his body, frantically searching for an easy to fix-wound, but he can’t feel it, not really.

“Master Obi-Wan!” her voice is small, faraway as Anakin’s pale face suddenly enters his field of view, mouthing something. Obi-Wan blinks muzzily at him, confused—he knows he should be…concerned, but—in the next second, the thought simply runs away from him.

His eyelids feel as if they are weighted down with lead, so he lets them slip shut just one final time. Distantly, he can feel Anakin and Ahsoka grabbing at his consciousness through the Force, but his mind just slips through their fingers like water.

Then, darkness.

***

For all the Council’s concerns, the mission goes rather well—right up until they land on Naboo for the Festival of Lights and everything starts to fall apart. Dooku’s in the wind, completely unresponsive to any of their calls, but a group of hardened bounty hunters can still invoke plenty of chaos with or without Dooku’s help. Most of the bounty hunters have taken the opportunity provided by the ray shield dissolution to cause carnage back in Theed.

 Meanwhile, Cad Bane and Moralo Eval have not lost sight of the bigger picture and had used the chaos to drag the unconscious Chancellor into an empty speeder, hence why Obi-Wan is currently tearing after them in a stolen speeder bike. He can tell through the muted bond that Anakin is not far behind, but it is likely the only backup he can expect—Master Windu and the other Jedi are too preoccupied trying to ensure that the Festival does not turn into a civilian slaughter.

Bane jerks the speeder to a halt, the Chancellor’s limp head lolling to the side and Moralo Eval squealing at the sudden change in momentum. Obi-Wan turns his own speeder sharply, not even allowing it to fully come to a halt before his launching himself off of it in a fantastic somersault. The speeder continues into the trees, where it explodes in a fantastic whoosh of light and sound. He lands lightly on his feet, hands warily raised in a loose fighting stance as Cad Bane gives him a narrow-eyed look.

“Traitor,” he hisses, “Jedi turncoat—what did they promise you? Glory, money? It’s all lies, the Jedi never honor their promises.”

Behind Bane, the Chancellor is beginning to shake himself awake, looking around in confusion and blinking fuzzily at the scene unfolding in front of him. He turns to Moralo Eval, who is watching Bane and Obi-Wan-as-Rako-Hardeen’s confrontation with wide, worried eyes.

As one, they launch themselves at one another, grappling furiously as the whine of a second speeder bike and humming of an ignited lightsaber fills his ears. Anakin has arrived.

Obi-Wan absorbs the blow from a particularly well-place cut to the ribs and turns his head sharply to call out to Anakin, who is charging towards them at full tilt.

“I can handle this,” he calls out in a commanding voice. “Go, help the Chancellor!”

Anakin hesitates only a moment more before changing direction and launching himself at Moralo Eval. Bane and Obi-Wan rush towards each other again, Bane rising into the air to take aim with his wrist guard. Obi-Wan ducks and weaves to avoid the incoming blaster bolts. He jumps into the air, secures his grip, and shifts his center of gravity down, pulling Bane with him. They swing wildly for a moment, before crashing to the ground in a violent tangle of limbs.

Master! Anakin calls across the bond, voice tinny and distant with Obi-Wan’s shields, which have been his constant companions this past month. He can’t quite make out the rest of whatever Anakin is shouting mentally.

Not now, Anakin, Obi-Wan thinks to himself, the response automatic despite the fact that Anakin surely cannot hear him. I am a little preoccupied at the moment.

Obi-Wan rolls away and jumps to his feet, immediately launching himself into a roundhouse kick. Bane catches his foot and uses it to toss Obi-Wan further away from himself.

Or at least, he tries. Obi-Wan uses the Force to fix Bane’s hands in place—halting another being’s movement, especially in the heat of battle, is difficult, so he can only hold it for a moment, but it’s enough to free his ankle and surprise Bane. The bounty hunter’s eyes widen in realization.

“Jedi,” he hisses.

Obi-Wan spins around and delivers a strong blow to Bane’s chest with his fist. The bounty hunter falls to the ground with one, final thud, choking for breath. Obi-Wan kneels immediately and removes a length of synthcord from his utility belt, winding it quickly, efficiently around all of Bane’s limbs. The stillness of the forest night air is broken only by Bane’s curses and promises of vengeance. Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and extends a hand.

“Oh, do be quiet,” he says, using the Force to lull Bane to unconsciousness.

There’s two moments of silence. Then.

Anakin rushes forward, his face a rictus of concern.

"Obi-Wan!" he cries out, voice hushed but tense. He stops a short distance away, muscles quivering with the effort it takes to reign himself in, and stares. "Are you okay?"

Obi-Wan glances sharply to the Chancellor, standing just a few meters away and watching the proceedings with the oddest look on his face.

I'm fine, dear one, he says, fully opening himself to the bond for the first time in weeks. Anakin exhales and dares to dart out his hand, brushing the tips of his fingers against Obi-Wan’s, as if to verify that he's really there. As quickly as it begins, he's withdrawing once more, his Force signature far calmer, centered.

"This is so weird," Anakin says out loud, tilting his head and scrunching up his nose as he stares at Obi-Wan-as-Rako-Hardeen’s face. Obi-Wan can't quite help the small, affectionate smile that blooms across his face.

"Imagine being the one who actually has to see the weirdness everytime you look in the mirror," he responds dryly. "I will be very glad to have my beard back soon."

"Master Kenobi?" the Chancellor interrupts. Obi-Wan straightens his spine and pivots to face Palpatine. The older politician regards him a long moment. "It really is you. I must say, I was unaware of such a...daring plan."

"The Council decided that utmost secrecy was necessary," Obi-Wan replies stiffly.

"Really?” The Chancellor turns his gaze to Anakin, over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He gives the younger man a significant look. “I am relieved that the Council trusts you with such important information, Anakin. It's the very least you deserve."

"Obi-Wan would never lie to me," Anakin replies artlessly, shrugging. Obi-Wan winces internally at the none too subtle implications of that turn of phrase.  Externally, he simply raises his chin and meets the Chancellor's probing gaze evenly. Anakin continues, oblivious to the Chancellor’s scrutiny and sounding apologetic. "I hope you don't blame the Jedi for keeping it a secret from you, sir. We only wanted to protect you."

"Oh no worries, my boy, I understand.” Palpatine waves a hand and puts on a gentle smile. Obi-Wan gets the sense of a piece slotting into place, suddenly making sense of half-finished, particularly challenging puzzle. “I understand completely."

Obi-Wan shifts, clears his throat, desperately searching for some distraction that will bring a stop to Palpatine’s discomfiting assessment.

“We should return to Theed,” is what he finally says, shuffling over to where Bane still lays. He uses the Force to levitate his unconscious body into the speeder, joining a similarly bound and unconscious Moralo Eval. “Dooku did not mention reinforcements, but I doubt he truly shared all the details of his plan with a mere gun for hire.”

Anakin nods, then extends his arm in a loose defensive stance and reignites his lightsaber.

“Of course. Right this way, Chancellor.” Anakin helps the Chancellor into the backseat of the speeder, then goes to hop in the driver’s seat, his usual perch. Obi-Wan stops him with a hand to his shoulder and a quirked eyebrow.

“No lightsaber, remember? Better for you to keep your hands free in case we do run into any trouble,” he says. Anakin makes another face, reluctantly sliding into the passenger side.

“Ugh, if you insist,” he groans. “Could you at least try to get us back to Theed before sunrise?”

“I do not fly that slow,” Obi-Wan responds, insulted.

“Mmm, sure, whatever you say, old man.”  

Obi-Wan secures his hands around the steering with the bare minimum of grumbling, banking the speeder to point it’s nose back towards Theed. He pushes the throttle (perhaps a little harder than he normally would, it has nothing to do with Anakin’s teasing, he’s just trying to get back to Theed and away from the Chancellor as soon as possible) and they’re off, the wind rushing through their hair.

How was your mother? Did she enjoy the chance to finally see you in person? Obi-Wan asks across the bond, partly to pass the time without giving anything away to Palpatine, and partly to revel in finally allowing himself access to the full depth and breadth of their bond once more.

Anakin pushes a handful of happy memories over to him, sharing tzai with his mother and Hondo, the shrieking laughter of the children of Tatooine as Anakin pantomimed out his and Obi-Wan’s best adventures for them, meeting Beru in person for the first time, his sister in all but blood.  

Yeah, though obviously she didn’t really like the reason. I’m pretty sure she realized it was a ruse, though, so she won’t be too mad when you call to apologize.

Ah. Yes, that unpleasant conversation. I suspect I will have to go through several variations of it—Cody, Satine, Senator Organa…ugh.

Heads up, Ahsoka is on Naboo, guarding the Queen and Padmé, so be prepared to have the first of those unpleasant conversations in oh, thirty minutes or so.

She’s your padawan, surely you could explain the situation to her first? Soften the blow…?

Nuh-uh, Anakin says cheerfully, you made me lie to her for nearly a full month. The only thing that kept me going was imagining the look on your face when you inevitably reveal the truth to her and she kicks you in the shins.

Thanks, dear one.

Anytime.

Obi-Wan swings the speeder around and Anakin clambers. He holds a hand up.

“Let me go explain the situation first—Naboo security might panic if they see one of the bounty hunters they were supposed to apprehend suddenly showing up with the Chancellor in tow. And, sir, if you don’t mind, I’m sure the medics would like to check you over before you go any further—if you both wait here, I’ll be back shortly.”  

“Good point,” Obi-Wan says. Let me know when everyone’s been briefed.

Anakin lopes off, leaving Obi-Wan and Chancellor Palpatine to stand in awkward silence beside the speeder. The night insects of Naboo chirp loudly, their odd luminescent flashing occasionally in the dark.

“I was under the impression that romantic attachment was frowned upon amongst the Jedi,” the Chancellor finally says, his tone casual, his eyes anything but.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Obi-Wan replies, with a studied air of nonchalance.

“Mmm. Of course. I was only surprised, you see, for Anakin confides in me for many things, but never once has he mentioned your…relationship. You must be very special indeed, to inspire such uncharacteristic reticence.”

Obi-Wan whirls on the Chancellor, fingers clenching against the thin air where his saber normally would be. He glares at the other man.

“Stay away from him.”

“Come now, Master Kenobi,” Chancellor Palpatine says, scolding yet jocular, every inch the kind, grandfatherly politician he’s always made himself out to be. “I know that years ago you refused to let Anakin meet with me because you told him my friendship must have had some nefarious motive behind it. But of the two of us, who was it that cultivated Anakin’s trust and loyalty through years of careful mentorship, only to turn around and coax him into bed? Certainly not I.”

Obi-Wan flinches.  

The Chancellor smiles serenely.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what exactly pulls him from sleep, but whatever causes it, the resulting process is sudden and unpleasant, wrenching him without warning from deep, dreamless slumber.

It’s especially galling because, since the war began, Obi-Wan can count on one hand the number of times he’s been afforded the opportunity for an uninterrupted night’s sleep. But tonight was supposed to be different.  This morning—after months of chasing Count Dooku hither and fro across the Outer Rim—they had safely delivered Count Dooku to justice.

In the end, it had taken two Masters and two Knights to capture him and even then, Obi-Wan, Master Tiin, and Knight Secura had largely been useless—heavily injured, concussed, or otherwise knocked out of the fight in the first handful of minutes. Instead, it had been Anakin who had dueled Dooku into submission, alone and wielding his and Obi-Wan’s lightsabers like a man possessed. Even the normally taciturn Master Tiin had grudgingly admitted it was one of the finest duels he had ever witnessed and Obi-Wan had never been prouder of his former Padawan. But there had hardly been anytime for celebrations, let alone rest—Master Tiin continued on to chase down General Grievous, while Aayla took half the remaining fleet and peeled off, acting as a decoy for the and Separatist rescue attempts.

Anakin and Obi-Wan had barely slept in the week since then—too busy acting as guards for their prisoner and staying alert for the slightest hint of nefariousness. Ahsoka, Rex, and Cody had tried to help ease the burden, shouldering all of Obi-Wan and Anakin’s normal duties so that they could focus on Dooku—but even with that, there was so much still to be done. In addition to the legion of clones guarding him at all times, either Obi-Wan or Anakin had to be awake and present outside of his cell at all times, just in case it came down to another duel. They coordinated interrogation sessions, to little effect—Count Dooku had been suspiciously tight-lipped the entire time, not even rising to Obi-Wan’s usual needling, which of course had only heightened their unease. And of course, there was the logistical nightmare that was trying to hurry towards Coruscant, without actually appearing like they were in a hurry—nothing screamed ‘please attack me, we have a valuable prisoner aboard’ like making a beeline straight back to Coruscant. So, instead they had mapped out the most circuitous route possible, all while under a strict communications blackout.

It had been hellish.

 Tonight was supposed to be different—high-strength Force suppressors, a custom prison cell, dozens of Jedi and clone guards, the whole of the Temple, and the entire Open-Circle fleet now stands in between Dooku and escape. Tonight, Anakin and Obi-Wan had been officially relieved of their duties and they had immediately collapsed into bed, too exhausted for it to be even remotely sexy. Tonight, they were finally supposed to be able to sleep the night through.

He exhales heavily in frustration, thoughtlessly extending an arm to Anakin, only to meet cold sheets.

Obi-Wan sits up abruptly, glancing around as a sudden, sharp fear blooms in his breast.

“I’m here,” Anakin calls out, voice unexpectedly close. Obi-Wan turns and sees that beside him Anakin is awake and tucked up against the headboard. He is tense, unmoving, knees bent close to his chin and arms wrapped around his folded knees as he stares into the middle distance.

“Nightmares?” Obi-Wan queries, yawning away the last vestiges of sleep.

“Like the ones I had about my mother, right before the Hutts came for her,” Anakin replies woodenly. He won’t look at Obi-Wan.

“And?” Obi-Wan prompts, when nothing more is forthcoming. He lays a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and rubs gentle circles. Anakin’s gaze cuts over to him suddenly.

“And…you die.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan has no idea what to say to that.

“You were choking, clawing at your throat and calling out my name. I couldn’t…I couldn’t see why or how.” Anakin stares down at the sheets.

"And what about you? You said I'm calling out your name, so presumably you’re there as well. Do you survive?"

"I don't know."

Obi Wan ponders this for a moment, his instinctive urge to soothe Anakin's fears and claim it was just a dream warring with his experience regarding their accuracy.

"Then we must take what precautions we can," he says, finally. "Dooku is in custody, Ventress probably doesn't care enough to hurt me unless someone else is paying, but that still leaves Savage and Dooku's master, whomever he or she may be."

"Precautions?” Anakin demands, voice tight. “I dreamed you died and all you can speak of are precautions?"

"What else would you have me do?” Obi-Wan sighs. Anakin stays silent and his gaze turns angry, eyebrows slanting viciously. "But I will take the warning to heart and be more cautious. No more solo missions, no haring off after random dark siders, no handling strange Force artifacts."

“You swear?”

“I swear it, please, Anakin, just put this terrible dream out your mind,” Obi-Wan says, a touch of desperation in his voice as he clasps his hands around Anakin’s and pulls it away from the death grip on his knees. Obi-Wan holds his breath, but then slowly, carefully Anakin nods. He exhales in relief and extends his awareness across the bond so that they are even more tightly intertwined than normal. He sends waves of soothing-calm. “Come, let me help you fall back asleep.”  

***

"I don't know why we're wasting Jedi on guard duty," Anakin whines. He fusses with his brand new, clean robes as they stride through the Senate hallways. Both Padmé and Obi-Wan level disappointed looks his way, their own demeanors implacable.

"This vote is very important, Ani," Padmé says, her voice severe. "We must do whatever we can to ensure that Senators feel safe to vote their conscience."

"Shouldn't they just be doing that already?" He grumbles. "That's their whole job. You don't seem to have any problem telling everyone exactly what you think."

"Well, yes, but not everyone is me. And it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that the death threats and assassination attempts against myself, Bail, Garm Bel Iblis, and Mon Mothma have increased two fold since the inception of the Delegation. That sort of thing gives most people pause.”

"More importantly,” Obi-Wan continues, “the Chancellor is currently designated as the Supreme Commander of a large, well-armed military force—it is important that these Senators realize that this title doesn't mean the Jedi or the rest of the GAR would automatically side with the him in any sort of retribution scheme. Some of them might be reluctant to vote to roll back the Chancellor’s executive powers for fear of what it might mean for the security of their planets.”

“Ugh I can’t believe a bill to roll back just one of the Chancellor’s emergency powers is so contentious—it’s about designating special trade zones without Senate approval for Force’s sake,” Anakin sighs. “What are they going to do if they have to debate something actually important?”

“Never underestimate the power of precedent,” Padmé replies, with a shrug. “Anybody who’s been in the Senate long enough knows that what really we’re fighting for is to make the next vote easier. We start small with special trade zones, then move up to his emergency powers regarding the judiciary, and after that the military powers—each vote we’ll peel away more and more Senators as they realize that this is the new status quo. And once we have enough support, then we’ll finally introduce a motion to remove the indefinite hold on elections and their whining will be a lot more manageable because it’s not as big of a jump.”

"Ugh, politics,” Anakin groans.

“There, there,” Padmé teases, though it is half-hearted at best—across the way she has spotted Senator San’a, one of the key, as yet undecided votes. “I’ll handle all the hard parts; all you need to do is stand there and look pretty.”

“In my very itchy new robes,” he points out.

Anakin, Obi-Wan sends across the bond, in warning. He gestures meaningfully to Padmé’s pale, stressed face. Anakin opens his mouth again then closes it again.

“But whatever you need, Padmé,” Anakin sighs, rather ungraciously. Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow but figures it’s the best he can hope for, at least for now.

“Go on, I can tell you want to corner the Senator,” Obi-Wan says encouragingly. “Anakin and I can loiter over here, give you two what privacy we can.”

“Could you? Senator San’a is quite taciturn, I don’t want to give him any reason to clam up further.”

“Perfectly understandable. Go ahead, my dear, we will find some way to entertain ourselves.”

“Thank you, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says, already hustling away across the atrium.

“Why does she like you better? She’s my friend, not yours,” Anakin grumbles, once she’s gone. Obi-Wan finds himself raising his eyebrows yet again.

“You’re in quite the mood today,” he comments. Anakin shakes his head and gives him a tired, but apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, Master, I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Nightmares again?” Obi-Wan asks, gaze and tone sharpening as one. It has been at least a fortnight since they returned to Coruscant, but he thought that Anakin’s nightmares had lessened—at least, he’s stopped coming to Obi-Wan about them. Before Anakin can respond, they are interrupted by the unwelcome sound of Sheev Palpatine’s voice.

“Ah, Anakin! Master Kenobi. The men of the hour,” Chancellor Palpatine greets, his puffy, red velvet robes well-matched to the surrounding ostentatious finery and a small coterie of supporters surrounding him. “Just who I was looking for—we are very glad to see you safely returned to Coruscant, especially after what you’ve just done for the Republic.”

“Thank you, sir,” Obi-Wan demurs, “but it was no more or less than our duty demands.”

“Mmm, if you say so,” Palpatine says dismissively, clearly more interested in Anakin’s response. When none is forthcoming, he prods again. "I watched the security footage of your duel with Count Dooku—may I say, Anakin, it was quite excellently done. If the Council knows what they're about, you'll be promoted to Master before the year is out."

Obi-Wan stiffens.

"Uh, thanks, sir.” Anakin looks more than a little flustered, “but I doubt that. Master Jedi must train at least one apprentice to Knighthood and my Padawan has a little while yet to go."

"Oh nonsense,” Palpatine says with a wave of his hand. “Surely an exception can be made for the Jedi who brought Count Dooku to justice?"

"I don't think anyone will argue my skills with a saber, but I still have a lot to learn about the Force,” Anakin replies with a self-deprecating smile.

“So humble!” one of Palpatine’s followers titters. Giggles break out as Anakin stares in horror. Luckily, he is saved from a response by a commotion brewing on the opposite end of the atrium, where pale-faced Ahsoka is fighting her way determinedly through the crowds. She bumps into the Senator from Rodia and hastily apologizes, then glances up and spots Anakin and Obi-Wan. Her face assumes a grim cast and she changes direction, heading straight for them at a fast clip. Once she pauses in front of them, Obi-Wan notices that she is panting slightly, clearly having run the whole way here.

"Master Obi-Wan, Skyguy, you have to come, right now,” she declares. “Count Dooku has been shot in the head by a clone!"

***

"Sirs, I swear I don't know what happened.”

The clone who shot Dooku—one of the 501^st, a newcomer named Tup, who had been on his first guard duty rotation—looks wretched, his face drawn and head drooping low as he sits slumped in his chair. The assembled Jedi—Master Windu, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan— and the clone commanders—Rex, Ponds, and Cody— share a look over Tup’s head. Obi-Wan clears his throat.

“Could you explain what happened?” he asks gently. “Again? I know you’ve explained what’s happened over and over, but we’re just trying to help you figure it out.”

“I remember everything, but it's like...” Tup trails off, struggling. “It's like I was trapped in my own body. I knew I was doing those things, but I had no idea why.” Anakin examines Tup’s face carefully, then nods once, and turns back to Master Windu and Obi-Wan with a determined slant to his features.

"I stand by my men,” he declares in a tone that brooks absolutely no argument. Ahsoka glances over to her master for reassurance, then nods in determined agreement. “If Tup says he wasn't in control of his actions, then he wasn't in control. It sounds like a strong Force suggestion to me.”

“Yeah, maybe Dooku's Master needed to silence him before Dooku could reveal their identity,” Ahsoka adds in support, crossing her arms over her chest and planting her feet in an imitation of Anakin’s militant stance.  

"That would require Dooku's master to have remained within a certain radius of Tup the entire time or risk his control slipping,” Master Windu replies, with an exasperated shake of his head. “He would have had to enter the heart of the Temple."

“Sir,” Rex says, reluctantly, to Anakin. “I appreciate your faith, but the clones on patrol said there was no one else but Tup around. We would have seen this Sith Master if they had been there.”

"It may sound unlikely,” Anakin presses, hotly. “But it makes far more sense than the bantha-shit idea that Tup just up and betrayed his brothers and the Republic for no apparent reason!"

“You can’t just will your version of truth into existence, absent of all evidence,” Master Windu responds, severely. Anakin’s face turns dark while Rex and Ponds watch them warily, looking as if they’re contemplating physically jumping in between their generals.

"Tup," Obi-Wan asks quietly, derailing Anakin and Master Windu’s brewing argument. "Have you had your chip removed yet? Or deactivated?"

"Uh no sir, I only joined the 501st a month or so ago while we were chasing Dooku. I'm slotted for the next round."

"And who was on guard duty with you?"

"Fives, Robbie, Jacks, Dogma, and Echo, sir."

"All of whom have already had their chips deactivated."

"You don't think...?" Ahsoka’s voice is faint, horrified.

Obi wan nods gravely.

"I think we must at least investigate the possibility. Anakin makes a fair point, though Master Windu’s own observation is equally as valid. So, we must start to look for alternative explanations and this is one of the few things that distinguish Tup from the other clones that were present.”

Master Windu activates his wrist com.

“Master Che,” he says grimly. “We’re on our way to the Healing Halls, with a clone in tow. Be prepared for a full brain scan and examination.”

“Of course, Master, may I ask what for?”

“I’ll explain once we arrive.”

Cody draws Tup to his feet with a hand on his arm and Ponds falls in line so that together they stand shoulder to shoulder with Tup, boxing him in. They make for the Healing Halls at a brisk pace, ignoring the whispers that follow them and the sight of a clone in binders. No one is much inclined to idle conversation, so it is a short but silent walk.

 Once they arrive, they’re greeted by a visibly confused Master Che, all the other apprentices and Healers watching curiously as they go about their business in the bright, white space. Master Windu pulls Master Che aside for a brief, whispered conversation. The blood rushes from her face, turning it the same translucent color as the crystals of Illum, and she steps forward, gently drawing Tup away. He looks around fearfully as he’s forced to lay down on a nearby bed and wheeled off to an examination room. Rex looks torn, staying firmly at Anakin’s side but his whole being leaning towards his brother in distress. Obi-Wan gestures for Rex to follow.

“Go, he’ll need your support right now,” he says. “Besides, there’s nothing more to discuss, at least not until we get Master Che’s evaluation.”

 For several hours, they wait anxiously, Anakin pacing and throwing occasional worried looks towards the door, as Master Windu and Obi-Wan meditate and Ahsoka is torn between copying them or her master. Cody and Ponds stand a little ways away, muttering grimly to each other.  Finally, Master Che and Rex reenter the room, and everyone present reorients to face them, as if they are small pieces of durasteel, caught in the grip of a magnet.

Master Che clears her throat, clearly shaken.

"The chip is capable of sending out small electrical pulses that prevent ion uptake in the synapses, disrupting and redirecting inter-neuron communication, especially in those areas of the brain related to higher functions like decision making,” she says. “From what we can tell, Tup’s was activated relatively recently, likely triggered by some sort of audio-visual signal.”

“They’re rushing him into surgery as soon as we can get an EM pulse to deactivate the chip,” Rex adds, the words crackling painfully. “I’ve already commed the rest of Domino Squad—they’ll be there for him when he wakes up.”

"How in the Sith Hells did we miss this?" Anakin demands. His and Ahsoka’s eyes are blazing. “We’ve removed hundreds of thousands of these things.”

"We always knew the chips could send out electrical pulses, but wrongly made the assumption that such pulses were high voltage, meant to destroy the brain tissue and act as the equivalent of a self-destruct button,” Master Che says, sounding pained. “For obvious reasons, we never wanted to accidentally activate the chips, so I made the call not to study them in situ. It was only after studying Tup's recently activated chip and surrounding brain architecture that we realized that the pulses are far finer and more targeted than we originally thought."

“They can take away our decisions…just like that?” Ponds asks, sounding horrified. Master Che nods once, jerkily. “What else could they make us do?”

“Without the master unit, I likely won’t ever know the full extent of the orders, but their control is so absolute that they could make you shoot your brothers without blinking an eye.”

“And we have no idea who has access to that master unit,” Rex says. “But if one of the orders was to kill a prisoner in cold blood, I can’t imagine that the others are any more pleasant.”

“How many clone chips remain to be deactivated?” Master Windu asks, grave.

“Bariss’ commed me a few days ago—something along the lines of 1 in 5,” Ahsoka replies. “She said we’re on track to meet our goal of full deactivation in six more months.”

“That’s too many.” Master Windu shakes his head. “We must reprioritize chip deactivation, now. We can’t afford to wait six more months for full deactivation—have all available auxiliary personnel switch to building portable EM pulse generators and notify all Jedi Generals that they have until the end of the month to get their battalions to full deactivation.”

“I can take a look at the generators,” Anakin volunteers. “I can probably increase the range, get more chips with one activation.”

“Do it,” Master Windu agrees.

“And I can rendezvous with Bariss in the Thlothian system,” Ahsoka volunteers, squaring her shoulder. “Bring her the new pulse generator and help speed recovery for those clones who need to rotate back to the front.”

“We just got back to Coruscant, Snips,” Anakin says, with a frown. “We’re supposed to be helping with this vote.”

“I know,” she responds, quietly. “Which is why you have to stay, but I should go—my recovery times speak for themselves and right now we need every second. We can’t afford not to send me out.”

“She’s right, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, gently. Anakin shoots him a betrayed look. Ahsoka shakes her head fondly.

“I’ll be fine, Master—you’re the one staying in the Senate and one of the first things you ever taught me was that the front is still far less dangerous than those storied halls.”

“I—you’ve got me there,” Anakin admits, with a sigh. “Could you at least take Artoo with you?”

“I thought the point was to stay out of trouble?”

“Hey now,” Anakin says without heat. He lays a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, you know that, right?”

She gives a cheeky smile and a jaunty little salute.

“Very well, then. Come on, Obi-Wan,” Master Windu says, sweeping away with flourishing swirl of his robes. “We must call an emergency Council meeting.”  

***

The next month is one of the worst in Obi-Wan’s experience—even longer and more exhausting than some of the worst campaigns in this war. Between helping the Delegation rally support for the upcoming vote, directing fleet deployments and resupply efforts, managing their frantic clone chip deactivation program, and worrying about Anakin’s ever worsening moods, he feels as if he is unraveling. But it’s not just him—all the Jedi, from the youngest Padawans to the oldest Masters, are stretched to a breaking point, trying to rally for one last push—even Master Yoda has been called off-planet, to help bolster troops in the Rhodes Sector.

To make matters worse, the miasma of darkness that has hung over the Force for almost all of Obi-Wan’s adult life has only grown exponentially worse since Count Dooku’s assassination. For many years now, the Jedi have had to be careful not to accidentally brush up against the Dark when meditating or reaching out for the Force. It is especially a concern for their strongest, most Force-sensitive members, though most in tune with the Force and its ever-changing, ever-swirling currents, Anakin chief among them. But the Darkness is now so pervasive that even Knights of middling Force-sensitivity are coming to the mind-healers, complaining of constant nausea and headaches. Obi-Wan can’t imagine what Anakin’s going through, but all his attempts to help seem to fall on deaf ears, Anakin rebuffing each and every one of his attempts to help.

“If you won’t let me help you meditate, could you at least go back to Healer J’Kai?” Obi-Wan had demanded, after one particularly explosive argument. “I know you haven’t officially been his patient for many years, but I know that he still considers you a personal friend and he’d hate to see you like this.”

“He’s already swamped with so many other patients,” Anakin had replied, with a shake of his head. “And, yeah, the Council would tell him to reshuffle the waiting list to move me to the front of the line, because I’m the kriffing Chosen One, but I know he’d feel so awful about the whole thing and probably work himself to death still trying to squeeze everybody else in.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t known what to say to that—Anakin wasn’t wrong, poor Healer J’Kai currently had over three hundred active patients listed with the Council—but, despite his personal bias in this matter, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel that Anakin’s case was extreme enough to warrant a reprioritization of the waiting list. Anakin had left the room before he could formulate a proper response.

And that had been the end of that.

With their disparate duties—Obi-Wan plays better with a certain sort of Senator interested in charming small talk about ancient poetry, while Anakin’s connection to the Chancellor means that Senator Organa has decided he’s better used to sway Palpatine loyalists on the fence—he’s hardly ever gotten the chance to press the point any further. Anakin has taken to leaving the bed before Obi-Wan wakes and coming back long after he goes to sleep at night—which is saying something, considering Obi-Wan now wakes at the crack of dawn and goes to bed deep into the night. He’s growing increasingly worried and desperate, trying to formulate excuses to pull Anakin aside—he knows that if he can just get one, uninterrupted conversation with Anakin, alone, he can figure out what’s troubling him so much and help.

Which is why he’s so pleasantly surprised to find Anakin sitting on their bed, as he enters their shared quarters after a long afternoon of meetings in the Senate. His head snaps up and he stands to his feet as soon as Obi-Wan enters, clearly having been waiting for him. Obi-Wan spares a quick thought of gratitude—Anakin in the same room as Obi-Wan, ready to talk? This is more than he dared hope and he won’t waste the opportunity.

Obi-Wan moves forward to embrace him, but the whipcord tension in Anakin’s body doesn’t unwind. He frowns, pulling back to scan Anakin’s face—the dark circles standing out in stark contrast to his tanned skin, the slightly wild and sleepless gleam in his eyes.

“Anakin, not that I’m not glad to see you,” Obi-Wan says, tentatively. “But are you—are you okay? You don’t look well.” Anakin’s grip on Obi-Wan’s elbows turns tight and painful.

“I’ve found a way to save you,” he declares, completely out of the blue. Obi-Wan’s brow furrows as he tries to parse exactly what Anakin is talking about. He looks at the thin, exhausted lines of Anakin’s face and searches his memories for a potential cause.

“Your nightmares?” he says, comprehension dawning as he finally makes the connection.” Is that what this has been about? I thought we agreed that I’d just be a little more careful for the next couple of months.”

“We did. But they didn’t go away—they got worse!” Anakin says, voice pained. “I can’t even close my eyes without seeing you dying over and over and over again. But I figured out how to stop it.”

“I don’t—”

“You’re on some sort of dark platform, confronting a cloaked man—I think he’s some sort of Sith, maybe Dooku’s Master? I’m there and you’re begging me to help, but he’s too powerful and…But I can save you, I know I can, I just need to be better than him. I need to figure out why he’s so strong, learn the same power, and then he won’t stand a chance.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, “that sounds like the Dark Side.”

“So? If it saves you, who cares if its Light or Dark?”

“I care. If the price of my life is you Falling, then I would rather you had let me die.”

“How can you say that?” Anakin demands, recoiling.

"Because I love you!"

Both Anakin and Obi-Wan freeze, the words cracking whip sharp across the silence. Obi-Wan is briefly horrified—but what's done is done. He can't take it back, even if he wanted to. He swallows heavily and squares his shoulders.

"You love...me?" Anakin says. He sounds…confused. Obi-Wan doesn’t dare try to reach him through the bond, too afraid of what he might find.

"I'm sorry that you had to find out this way, I never meant to burden you." Anakin looks shell shocked and Palpatine’s words reverberate in Obi-Wan’s head. "I—I never planned for this to happen—I never even thought of you that way while you were my Padawan, I swear, though I know my word probably doesn't mean much to you right now. It was only after, during the war...I know I should have been content with your friendship, but…I was selfish. But all I've ever wanted was for you to be all you could be, and I won't allow my failings to drag you down, not when you're already a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be."

"You love me?"

"Well yes, I just said that,” Obi-Wan replies, frowning—he feels that Anakin’s own imminent desire to sell his soul to the Dark Side should rank a little higher than Obi-Wan’s ill-timed romantic declarations. “Anakin, I know this is a shock, but I don’t expect anything more from you, I know the feelings are unreciprocated, potentially unwelcome. We can of course discuss it, at some later date, but for now can we please return to the matter at han—!”

Obi-Wan’s words are cut off by a kiss, his head cradled in between Anakin’s hands, like he’s something delicate, precious. Anakin breaks away, suddenly, a giddy grin on his face.

"You love me!"

“I—yes, why do you just keep repeating, I don't..." Obi-Wan trails off as hope begins to bloom, small and quiet, but durasteel strong in his heart. "You're happy—is that because you...?”

“Because I love you too and I’ve been waiting so long for you to say just that.”

Obi-Wan reaches out a tentative tendril across the bond, still half-afraid that he will be rebuffed, but Anakin welcomes him in easily, confusion-joy echoing through his being. It’s familiar…too familiar, and Obi-Wan withdraws quickly, before his own, bitter disappointment can taint Anakin’s mind.

“Your feelings, they haven't changed at all,” Obi-Wan responds quietly. “I know you love me, dear one, but I don't think we mean it in quite the same way."

"What the kark are you on about—Obi-Wan, I love you, I'm in love with you and have been for years."

"Years?" Obi wan says, faintly. Anakin nods. "So, your mysterious crush...?"

"Is you, was you, has always been you," Anakin laughs, half hysteria, half genuine amusement. "Since I was sixteen."

"Oh," Obi Wan pauses, thinks back to all of his jealous, resentful rages when he wondered how Anakin’s crush could possibly be so persistent when he never spent any time with said crush—Anakin was almost always deployed for months at a time, Obi-Wan had reasoned, and they only ran into other Jedi in person for a couple of days every few weeks, so Anakin couldn’t possibly be spending more than a handful of hours in this other man’s presence every month or so. He winces. "Oh.”

Anakin laughs at the look on his face, far more sincerely this time, and swoops in for another kiss. Obi-Wan cedes readily, mouth opening without a second though, his heart lighter than it has been in months, years even. He knows they should continue their conversation, that the war still rages on outside their walls, but suddenly that seems so insignificant compared to the bright, bubbly feeling suffusing the Force around them. Anakin reaches out eagerly across the Force, pulling Obi-Wan deeper and deeper into his mind. Obi-Wan’s consciousness responds, equally as eager, and he tumbles down across the radiant bond at the same time that Anakin sends them tumbling onto the bed in the physical world. There is a dizzying moment when Obi-Wan is simultaneously in bed in the present, the sheets a mess around him and Anakin’s smiling face above, and in the main living space of their quarters, five years ago, watching his younger self launch into a lecture on the fascinating phenomena of the convergent evolution of various flora and fauna across sectors.

Then, he is pulled fully into Anakin’s memories.

Anakin has no clue what’s going on but is perfectly content to listen and watch the light in Obi-Wan’s eyes and “Are you sure you want to listen? I don’t want to bore you with lectures in your free time” and “No, this really interesting, Master, but I had a question…” and “That’s a great question! I’m so glad to finally have a willing audience, Padawan. If you’re interested, I can recommend some flimsis…”  and the constant, bombarding noise in his—Anakin’s? memories from someone else’s perspective are weird—head is finally quieted by having Obi-Wan’s attention just fully, passionately focused on him and the happiness Obi-Wan oozes into the Force and it should just be like this forever and oh is this what love feels like and—

A skip and a jump and then they’re on a mission on some sort of jungle planet, Obi-Wan stripping down to the thinnest of sleep pants in the humid heat and lying awake in the other bed the whole night, watching the sweat bead up and roll across every muscle and slipping a hand beneath his pants and frantically touching himself and quiet, quiet, you can’t wake him up and wake him, this is all his fault, he should take care of it for me, he always takes such good care of me and—

Obi-Wan flirting with Quinlan, with Ventress, with Senator Organa, with the Princess of some random, strategically planet in the middle of nowhere—with absolutely everything that breathes except Anakin and what am I doing wrong? and they don’t deserve him and it burns and—

Standing in a hallway of the Coronet and listening to Satine and “I’d rather share some of you with the Order, with the Republic, with the whole Galaxy than take the risk I’d get none of you at all” and she’s right and Obi-Wan is attached to him, at least a little bit, he told Anakin so, but not enough to change anything, not the same way Anakin is because Obi-Wan is a good Jedi and—

Obi-Wan is kissing his shoulder and he has to bite his lip, barely containing his declarations of love, because he promised Obi-Wan no attachments and if Obi-Wan knew he’d be so disappointed, he’d make them stop and Anakin can’t go back, not now that he knows what Obi-Wan tastes like and I’ll take whatever I can getand—

The shock of Obi-Wan’s words just a few minutes ago, the unexplainable joy and even now, can Obi-Wan really be saying everything Anakin’s ever wanted to hear and it’s too good to be true but Anakin’s dreams never usually feel this real—

Obi-Wan pulls away from Anakin with a gasp and he lays on the bed, panting and overwhelmed. They have ended up on their sides, facing each other and tightly intertwined. Obi-Wan reaches a hand up and traces Anakin’s cheekbones, wondering. Anakin’s eyes flutter open gently at the touch.

“Oh, dear one,” Obi-Wan says. He presses his lips once more to Anakin’s, gentle but no less strong for it. “This is real, you’re here. I’m here with you, I swear.”

For a minute, they breathe in and out together, until both of their racing heartbeats have calmed.

“Do you understand now why I can’t let you die?” Anakin finally says, voice quiet, small.

“No, absolutely not,” Obi-Wan replies, voice firm as his thumbs dig into Anakin’s jawline. “You've seen how the Dark Side eats away at the inside of a person, brings out all their worst traits and suppresses all rationality. If you...Fell, you wouldn't be the man I fell in love with, Anakin, and I wouldn't survive that. No matter what strange new powers you learned, watching you lose yourself and knowing I was the cause...my heart would break, and I don't think I'd recover. You have to promise me that you’ll stop this foolish quest for power—it can only end in pain and suffering for us both.”

“I—”

“No, Anakin, you must promise me. Please.”

“I…I promise,” Anakin says, hanging his head. His voice is jagged. “I just hate this stupid war, it just takes and takes and makes everything so muddy and the Force is always so loud, I can’t do this much longer, sometimes I wish I could just run away, but I can’t—”

“Why not?”

“What?” Anakin’s voice is confused and Obi-Wan sits up, pulling Anakin with him. They sit cross-legged on the bed, hands tangled together as they face each other.

“Let’s run away,” Obi-Wan says. “Together.”

“But—but what about the Order?”

“We’ll resign, from the Order, from the GAR.  As soon as the Separatists sign a ceasefire—it won’t be long now, with Dooku dead and Grievous on the run, the rest of the Separatist Council are terrible cowards.”   

“You’d leave the Order…for me?”

“Of course, dear one,” Obi-Wan responds gently. He laughs kindly. “The only reason I stayed, once I realized how badly my attachment to you was clouding my judgement, was because I feared that I’d never see you again if I left. I know…I know being a Jedi is all you’ve ever wanted and you might not want to leave, I didn’t mean to assume—”

“I’ve always wanted to help people,” Anakin interrupts, with a shake of his head. “And I used to think being a Jedi was the only way to do that. It’ll be…hard to let go, adjust—and I’ll have to talk to Ahsoka, make sure she can find a good Master to finish her training—but, as long as you’re there, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Anakin laughs giddily. Hope stretches, bright and thin, across the bond. “What would we even do?”

“Anything we want, I guess. Where do you want to start?”

 “I’d like to help the clones settle into civilian life,” Anakin volunteers. “Maybe jobs training and counseling, help them come to terms with the chips and what was done to them. How about you?”

“Hmm, well. I’ve always dreamed of offering some sort of training to those children the Order is either unwilling or unable to train,” Obi-Wan says, hesitantly. At Anakin’s encouraging look, he continues, in a stronger voice. “Those that are born outside Republic space, that we find too late. It’s not fair that it’s all or nothing—even if they can’t be Knights, we should at least be able to teach them shielding, meditation, and control. The reasoning has always been that non-Temple-trained Force-sensitives tend to Fall at almost three times the rate of Jedi, but I have to wonder if that’s just because they’re never offered a third option. They’re stuck with this immense, scary power and no idea what’s going on—no wonder they’re so fearful and prone to the Dark Side.”  

“You are a great teacher, especially for young, angry Force-sensitives too old to be trained,” Anakin says, a wry twist to his mouth and eyes soft. “I like that idea a lot. And I think the clones would love helping out with a bunch of kids. So we’re starting a school of some sort. Where?”

“No sand, I should think,” Obi-Wan replies, dryly. Anakin makes a face and nods quickly. “So as much as I adore your mother, I think Tatooine is out.”  

“It should still be warm, though,” Anakin muses. “Somewhere green, leafy, with lots of animals and plants for you to study in your free time.”

“I’m sure we can find someplace. And we should ask around—I know we’re not the only Jedi who are questioning their place in the Order because of the war. We can’t make their decisions for them, of course, but I imagine it’d be just a little easier if they knew that they had someplace that would welcome them with open arms if they did decide to leave the Order.”

“Aayla and Bly will definitely want in on the action,” Anakin declares. His eyes are bright, dancing and he swoops in for yet another kiss. “So, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” Obi-Wan confirms. “We’ll let the Council know at the end of tomorrow’s session—oh don’t you give me those eyes, if we’re doing this, I am not facing them alone. You can wait outside—I’ll let you know when we’re ready and then we’re facing them. Together.”

“Together,” Anakin confirms, the Force shining as brightly as supernova all around them. They both collapse back against the pillows, exhausted by all the plans and revelations. Obi-Wan’s stomach grumbles loudly and he groans.

“I don’t think I want to get out of bed to address that,” he groans.

“Then you shouldn’t have to,” Anakin declares and extends a hand. Obi-Wan watches him, confused for a moment. Comprehension dawns and he spot a small, round fruit floating into their room, spinning lazily in the air.

“The Force shouldn’t be used so frivolously,” Obi-Wan scolds, automatically.

“Mmm, yes, because frivolous use of the Force is going to be the breach of the Code that really gets the Council upset, not the fact that I’m deeply, truly in love with another Jedi, who by the way, I’ve been kriffing behind their backs for the past year and a half.”

“Anakin—mmph!” Obi-Wan is cut off by the fruit, which Anakin has now guided into his open mouth. He reaches a hand up and plucks it out of his mouth—it’s a pear, Obi-Wan’s favorite. He gives Anakin an incredulous look. “Why are you using the Force to float a pear into my mouth?”

“It’s like breakfast in bed—it’s romantic!”

A pause.

“You’re really lucky I already love you,” Obi-Wan sighs.

***

“There is one last matter, before we disband,” Obi-Wan says, voice calm and heart fluttering in his throat. The late afternoon, golden-orange light filters in through the wide windows of the Council chamber, painting long shadows across the marble floor

The Councilors look expectantly towards him, their faces ranging serene, tinged with a hint of curiousity. He inhales deeply and reaches out across the bond. They’re ready for us now, dear one.

“Of course, Master Kenobi—why are you standing?” Master Windu asks with a frown, as Obi-Wan leaves his seat and moves to the center of the Council room.

“In this matter, I come before you not as a Councilor, but as a Knight,” Obi-Wan says, folding his hands into his robes. The doors to the chamber creak open and Anakin strides in, exuding nervous, but excited energy. Master Windu’s frown deepens as Anakin comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with Obi-Wan, brushing resolve and love across the bond to bolster Obi-Wan. He smiles at the sweet gesture and extends his own reassurance. Let’s give Master Windu once last heart attack, before we leave, why don’t we?

Oh, yes, let’s. Two of my favorite things: pissing off Mace Windu and watching you go full on Negotiator.A flash of wet, heat and—

Not in the Council chambers! Obi-Wan hisses. Outwardly, he fixes a pleasant, apologetic smile on his face.

“Thank you for agreeing to hear our petition,” Obi-Wan begins.

“Give us much warning or choice, you did not,” Master Yoda rejoins, dryly. His holo flickers, a thin buzzing sound interrupting the connection. Obi-Wan acknowledges the rebuke with a tilt of his head.

“Indeed. I apologize for the sudden nature, but we felt that it could not wait.” He pauses, inhales deeply. “Anakin and I would like to officially announce our resignation from the Jedi Order.”

There is absolute silence.

Then, chaos.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“If you have some disagreement with the Council, with the Order, surely there are better ways to handle it.”

“In the middle of a war? Madness!”

“Why is it always these two? Always!”

“Obi-Wan, for Force’s sake, I know your lineage is prone to drama but—”

Many light years away, Master Yoda raps his gimmer stick against the ground and levels a severe look at the rest of the Council. It’s as effective as if he were still there in person—there is something about Master Yoda’s disapproval that somehow manages to spans across all barriers of space and time.

“Hear them out, we will,” he declares. “Explain yourselves, you will. If disagreement, have you, debate its merits we will.”

Obi-Wan waits for silence before he continues.

“Thank you for saying that, Master, but you misunderstand me. We will be resigning, no matter the outcome of this meeting, that part is quite unavoidable, I fear. We merely wanted to give you the courtesy of heads up before the press got a hold of the information and determine a transition plan for our responsibilities. We have agreed that we are willing to stay at least until Grievous is captured or killed, possibly a little longer depending on how our efforts to free the clones goes, but we cannot stay.”

“Why?” Master Ti asks, her voice kind but confused. “Master Kenobi, you have always been a great proponent of reform, but I don’t think that any of us had any idea that you were this dissatisfied.”

“It has nothing to do with dissatisfaction,” Obi-Wan says gently. He squares his shoulders and intertwines his fingers with Anakin’s mechanical, gold-plated ones. He can feel the weight of the Councilor’s incredulous stares on that tiny point of contact. “But we can no longer fight our attachment—we don’t want to.” Well, there was a little bit more to that story, but no need to bore the Council with details.

“Attachment?” Master Windu’s voice is faint. Obi-Wan raises his chin stubbornly and Master Windu shakes his head disapprovingly. “Obi-Wan, he’s your padawan.”

“Former padawan,” Anakin retorts, squeezing Obi-Wan’s hand. “And the feelings are mutual—as I’m sure everyone here is well aware, no one, not even Obi-Wan, can force me to do something I didn’t want to do in the first place. Besides, I was an adult and a Knight when the relationship began, so the Council can have no complaint on that front—berate us all you want for attachment, for keeping the relationship from you as long as we have, but don’t you dare attack Obi-Wan for that.”

“Lead to fear, attachment does. Darkness lies, down that path,” Master Yoda responds reproachfully.

“While we respect the Code and your adherence to it, Masters, I have to disagree,” Anakin says, uncharacteristically eloquent for once. “Too many times during this war, I have felt myself being pulled into the Dark by the death and hopelessness surrounding me, and each time it was Obi-Wan’s love, his attachment, that pulled me back.”

“You of all people should not be lecturing us on attachment,” Master Mundi says, cooly.

“If not us, then who?” Obi-Wan asks, jumping back in. “Masters, before we leave, I ask that you simply consider for a moment what your literal, dogmatic interpretation of the Code is doing to the Order—I know from sitting on this Council that we are hardly the first Jedi who have begun to question the Code during this dark time.”

“Why does this sound like a pitch for one of your crazy ideas, Kenobi?” Master Tiin’s holo rumbles.

“You know me too well,” Obi-Wan responds, with a thin smile. “Though we can no longer be Jedi in the traditional sense, we still hope to maintain our ties with the Order—you are our family, our brothers and sisters. There is precedent. Members of the Corps are not expected to follow the Code, after all.”

“We want to provide a space for those the Jedi Order is ill-equipped to help—former Knights disillusioned by the war, Dark siders who Dooku manipulated but who are trying to find a better path now that he’s out of the picture, children too old to be Temple-trained,” Anakin continues, voice infused with a very un-Jedi-like passion. “The Force can help them, we can help them, if only we’re willing to bend the Code a bit.”

“Fascinating,” Master Plo Koon says, folding his fingers in a meditative pose in front of his face. He leans forward. “A school of sorts?”

“Yes, exactly. We hope to turn no one away,” Obi-Wan declares, relieved that Master Koon is finally speaking up—he’d been sure that they could count on his support and had been growing increasingly nervous with every passing moment of silence. “Our only requirement would be that they are willing to learn.”

“Hmm.” Master Plo Koon pauses, thinks for a moment. “Could there be a space at this school for those families who want their children trained, but did not want to give them to the Temple creche? Many of the parents I have talked with have often expressed the desire for a third option.”

“Of course. We did not think of that, but I see no reason why we can’t make space. I’m sure the parents, who are more familiar with life outside of the Temple, would be valuable resources for helping the clones adjust to post-war life.”

“The clones?” Master Plo Koon asks, a bright, odd sort of interest in his voice—Obi-Wan can’t quite tell what he’s driving at.

“Ah, of course. We know that many of the clones are struggling to determine what they will do with the advent of peace, but we thought that offering them counseling, housing, and some form of employment at the school might give them the space they need to figure it out.”

The Council pauses, each member deep in thought, their faces varying from troubled to considering. Obi-Wan does his best not to fidget.  

“I think it is an excellent initiative, one that is long overdue,” Master Plo Koon declares, finally. Obi-Wan’s shoulders relax fractionally. “Which is why I too will be resigning from the Order to join this new school.”

“Thank you for—wait, what?” Obi-Wan asks, flabbergasted.

Master Plo Koon steeples his fingers and leans back in his seat, a hint of amusement tinging the Force around him as the Council erupts once more.

“Silence!” Master Windu roars. “There will be orderly debate, not this panicked shouting. We are Jedi, not barbarians.”

“Well, technically, three of us aren’t Jedi anymore,” Anakin points out, completely unhelpfully.

“The Council has not accepted your resignations yet,” Master Windu shoots back. “Until then, as far as we are concerned, you are still a Knight of this Order. Master Koon, if could you please explain yourself?”

“Of course,” Master Plo Koon replies easily. “But I should think the benefits are self-evident. The Jedi Order has always been strictly insular, only reaching out to help when asked by the Senate. There are so many more people we could be—should be—helping. And our isolation from the rest of the Galaxy only hurts us most of all—no one understands the Force or our Order and that makes it easy to blame and demonize us. We are called “child-snatchers” despite the fact that we never take the younglings without their parents’ permission. We are called all-powerful and all-knowing, despite the fact that we are all still mortal. Some citizens consider us just another arm of the government, despite the fact that we’re really a religious order. The opportunity to disseminate our ideals and beliefs to a willing, wider audience is much needed.

“But more than that, this war has changed the Order, changed us and we must acknowledge that—during the war, we allowed strict enforcement of the Code to lapse, because we all agreed it would be inhumane to demand ideological purity in such a time of crisis. But doesn’t such a policy inherently acknowledge that the Code is unsustainable? That we must change and adapt, to better address the emotional and mental health of our people? I believe Master Kenobi’s proposal strikes a fine balance between preserving tradition—allowing those Jedi who wish to follow the Code to do so—and compassion—allowing those members who find that they can no longer do so to still remain a vital and important part of our Order.”

“And you count yourself amongst those Jedi?” Master Gallia asks, frowning. Master Koon inclines his head.

“I have become irrevocably attached to the Wolf Pack—in a way, I consider them the sons I will never have,” Master Plo Koon admits. “Long before Master Kenobi’s proposal, I wrestled with how to handle the matter—dreaming up ever more fantastic plans to keep my men close to the Order and myself. This solution is far more elegant than any of my own ideas and one I’m excited to be a part of. That is, if you two will have me?”

“I—of course, Master Plo Koon,” Obi-Wan responds, touched.

There is another long silence.

“Much to think about, you have given us,” Master Yoda says, finally. Obi-Wan dares to hope—anything more than a flat-out no is better than what he expected. “Accept your resignations at this time, we cannot.”

“What—”

“Calm down, Skywalker,” Master Windu interrupts, with a shake of his head. “We don’t mean never—the Jedi Order is not in the habit in keeping people against their will. We just mean not now. In case you forgot, there’s a very important vote happening soon—one which all three of you have played an integral role in. Once we receive the results of the vote, whatever they may be, and deal with the fallout, then we will acknowledge your resignations and revisit the matter of your proposal. Until then, we must table the matter.”

“Our first priority, this vote must be.”  

“That is more than reasonable,” Obi-Wan agrees. He sends a soothing tendril across the bond. They’re taking it far better than I had hoped, we may yet secure their support. Let us not quibble over this—it will be mere days, weeks at worst. I’ve waited far longer than that for you.

If we’re talking about waiting, I think I win that particular battle, Anakin comments wryly. But okay. Outwardly, he nods to signal his agreement to the Council and Master Plo Koon murmurs a similar acknowledgement.

“Anakin and I will go to observe the floor debates tomorrow morning and keep the Council apprised, as originally planned,” Obi-Wan offers. The Councilors nod in agreement. “Force willing, we will have good news to report.”

“May the Force be with you,” Master Windu says, a strange sort of finality to the usual farewell.

“And with you.”

***

“Well, that was a shit show,” Anakin announces as they make their way out of the Senate pod normally reserved for the Jedi Order. He pauses to stretch his arms over his head and crack his neck side to side.

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan murmurs, exhausted. It is late into the night—the debates having raged on far longer than originally planned. “Senator Amidala’s speech was especially stirring and seemed well received, at the very least. But it will certainly be close, no matter what.”

“Indeed,” an unwelcome voice interjects from behind them. They both turn as one, to find the Chancellor waiting a few feet away, his bony hands clasped together. A look of sad disappointment is fixed upon his face, but it only makes the hair on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck rise. The Chancellor sighs and stares into the distance. “And I seriously fear that the Senate will give into this fear mongering and make the decisive action this war calls for that much more difficult.”

“Chancellor,” Obi-Wan greets, sourly. The Senate is a large building and the Chancellor was surely a busy man—it should be easier to avoid him. “But with Count Dooku dead and Grievous on the run, the war will be ending soon enough.”

“We can only hope,” the Chancellor intones solemnly. “But I’m an old man, jaded by experience—I can’t help but fret, especially as we wait for the official vote tally.”

"Well, the results of the vote should be announced later tonight," Obi-Wan comments. “You won’t have long to wait.”

"And yet it seems like an age. Will you stay with me, my boy?” he asks, turning to Anakin, who shuffles his feet. “Offer an old man some distraction from these dark thoughts while we wait for the results?"

Obi-Wan purses his lips in disapproval.

No need to get your hackles up, it's just this one last time, Anakin says across the bond, sounding both fond and amused. We'll be far away from Coruscant soon enough.

“Of course, your Excellency,” Anakin says, with a shallow bow at the waist.

"I must deliver an update to the Council," Obi-Wan says out loud, with his own far stiffer bow. “I’ll leave you too it.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Obi-Wan allows Anakin and Palpatine to walk away, the Force screeching uncomfortably in his ears—but he can’t say anything, not now, not when Anakin is so determined to handle this himself and would not welcome Obi-Wan’s interference. The rest of the journey back to the Temple is equally as loud and uncomfortable, something dark clouding the Force and choking Obi-Wan’s senses. At first, he thinks it’s just him and willingly leaving Anakin alone with his former abuser, but as he arrives in the Council chambers and can see the same uneasiness in all of the Councilors’ faces, he realizes it must something far greater, to reverberate across the Force like this.

He shakes off his remaining misgivings about Anakin—for it to be affecting the entire Council this strongly, it must be about something far greater. The vote, perhaps. Or maybe Master Tiin’s continuing hunt for General Grievous—it must either be going very poorly or very well for him to be missing such a critical call.

Obi-Wan delivers his report in an even voice, the Councilors pressing him on one or two matters, but for the most part they sit in silence, the only sound the occasional flicker of a holo, as they all lose themselves in their own thoughts. When Obi-Wan’s com beeps with an incoming call from Senator Organa, his breath catches in his throat as he shakily accepts and transfers the call to the Council chamber com system. Senator Bail Organa’s small, blue figure flickers to life in the center of the circle of chairs.

Obi-Wan feels as if the entire room is holding its breath as they wait for Senator Organa to collect himself. Senator Organa inhales deeply and opens his mouth.

"By a narrow but significant margin, the Senate has voted to pass S.B. 12098.”

The whole Council breathes a sigh of relief.

"Congratulations, Senator Organa, we know this was no easy accomplishment," Obi-Wan says, finally. Senator Organa’s face breaks out into a true smile—the likes of which Obi-Wan has not witnessed on his face in a very long time, not since the start of the war at least.

"Thank you, my friend, but it was a joint effort,” Senator Organa demurs. “We could not have done this without the support of so many, this Council included. If congratulations are to be made, I should be congratulating you all as well.”

“Yes, yes, this is all very nice,” Master Windu says, brusquely. “What are the next steps? When will have confirmation that the Chancellor’s office has received the motion?”

“Very soon,” Senator Organa promises. “I'm on my way to Chancellor's office now to deliver the final bill for his signature."

The Council shares a look.

"Allow at least one or two of us go with you," Master Gallia declares.

"You can't seriously be worried that he'd refuse to relinquish his emergency powers?" Bail’s words are incredulous, but his tone…well, his tone tells Obi-Wan that he’s not as disbelieving, as confident in the Chancellor’s intentions as he would like to pretend. More than anything else, he sounds relieved they offered so that he didn’t have to ask.

"This Council has long believed that is important for the Jedi Order to be present and visible at important political events," Master Windu says, which is no answer at all. “And this is certainly an important moment.”

“Very well, the Delegation shall await your escort at the Alderaanian offices,” Senator Organa declares. Master Windu nods.

“We will hurry as much as we can, we understand how anxious you must be.”

“After years of working with you, Master, I have come to realize that ‘you must be feeling anxious’ is Jedi code for ‘I too am feeling anxious but won’t admit it,’” Senator Organa says, one corner of his lips twitching despite the grim situation. “So, please, do not pretend as if you are not equally as troubled.”

“Now, Senator Organa, you simply can’t go around spreading Jedi secrets like that,” Master Windu responds, completely deadpan.

“Ah, yes, how terribly rude of me. I look forward to seeing you in person,” Senator Organa says, his holo winking out of existence.

The Council is immediately a chaotic bustle of activity—as they debate the finer points of which of the Masters currently still on Coruscant to send with Senator Organa. No one really knows what will happen, but they certainly didn’t want to inflame the situation by sending a delegation that might be considered hostile—Obi-Wan’s own intense and rather public dislike of the Chancellor, as well as his and Anakin’s announcement yesterday, immediately disqualifies him. They must offer the Chancellor every opportunity to do the right thing, anything less could tip the delicate scale of public opinion in his favor.

It’s eventually decided that Masters Windu and Fisto will be the ones to accompany Senator Organa. Obi-Wan follows them out of the chambers, anxiously reminding them that Anakin will be with the Chancellor and has absolutely no head for these sorts of politics.

“Kenobi,” Master Fisto finally says, half exasperated, half amused. “I’ll handle Skywalker. I’m sure if I just tell him how very impatiently you’re awaiting his return, he will be out of the room in a split-second.” He gives a lascivious wiggle of his brow bones.

Obi-Wan turns crimson, Master Windu looks faintly ill, and Master Fisto breaks out into peals of laughter, clapping a hand to Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He and Master Windu continue on their way to the hangar, leaving Obi-Wan still blushing and standing in the middle of the hall. Obi-Wan pauses for a moment, watching them turn the corner before he sighs and begins to make his way back to his quarters, where he can pace and worry in peace.

"Master Kenobi!" a high-pitched, familiar voice breaks him out of his thoughts. He looks up, startled. The voice is familiar, but what is she doing in the Temple—but yes, there is Senator Amidala’s figure, hurrying towards him across the wide marble hallway. Her rich purple robes are made all the more distinctive by the stark constant between their color and the sea of white and brown linen that normally defined the Temple. A harried looking senior Padawan is following closely behind, a bewildered look on his face and his shorn red hair practically bristling with outrage.

“Master, I’m so sorry, I tried to stop her, I swear,” the Padawan pants, before Obi-Wan can say anything. “I told her only Jedi are allowed in the Temple without an escort, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“It’s quite fine, Padawan,” Obi-Wan says, with a wave of his hand. “Greater beings than you have tried and failed to stop Senator Amidala when she has her mind made up. Return to your post.”

The padawan shoots one last look to Senator Amidala, but then bows and backs away quickly.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for ages!” Senator Amidala exclaims impatiently, her voice brimming with urgency.

Obi-Wan glances at his com, silenced earlier when they were debating who to send, a little shocked to see forty-seven missed calls.

"I apologize, we just received word from Senator Organa on the vote. We've assembled a group of Councilors to go with him to personally deliver the news to the Chancellor—we must ensure that he relinquishes the emergency powers specified in the bill, peacefully."

"He won't," Amidala says, grimly. "That's what I was trying to com you about: he's been playing both sides. I finally broke the encryption on the last account and saw everything. He's been funneling funds and information back and forth from all the Separatist leaders, mostly to Count Dooku, but also the Federation, the Geonosians, Wat Tambor—all of them. He's been doing it for years, orchestrating the whole thing like a—"

"Like a puppet master in the Senate," Obi-Wan finishes, lips and tongue heavy, numb in his mouth, as Count Dooku's warning all those years ago rings hollowly in his ears.

"Exactly. He's never going to give up those powers willingly, he probably planned the whole war just to get them!"

"He's Sidious," Obi-Wan murmurs, dazed.

"What?"

"He's Darth Sidious, the Sith master we've been looking for—the man who trained Dooku."

"Oh,” Senator Amidala breathes, eyes wide and horrified. “That makes so much sense—he's been purchasing hundreds of rare Force artifacts. I just assumed it was money laundering, but if he's Force sensitive..."

They both pause for a moment, struggling to absorb the full weight of this discovery. Chancellor Sheev Palpatine is a Dark Lord of the Sith, the Dark Lord of the Sith, the puppet master behind this whole terrible conflict. And Obi-Wan has just left him alone with—

"Anakin!" he gasps out loud, turning on his heel and sprinting straight towards the Temple hangar.

Chapter Text

"Master Kenobi!” Senator Amidala struggles to keep up with him—she’s making an admirable effort, but he is a trained Jedi Master and she is in heels. Her shouts echo across the hangar, snagging the attention of nearby onlookers. They look up from their daily tasks, bewildered, and Obi-Wan even hears a few questions in Binary from the Temple droids. “Master Kenobi, slow down for a moment and just think!"

Obi-Wan stops and whirls around, giving her the precious few seconds she needs to catch up to him. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright.

"You don't understand,” he hisses. “Anakin is with him!"

"I understand perfectly well," she responds crisply. The ‘you idiot’ is clear in her tone if not her exact words. "But just tearing off after him like a chicken with its head cut off helps absolutely no one. It took four Jedi to finally subdue Dooku. Can you and Anakin can take down his Master alone? Besides which, Palpatine has been planning this for years—do you really think he doesn't have at thirty backup plans in place just in case he was discovered a little early?"

"I—I don’t...yes. But Anakin is with him and, oh Force it all makes sense now—I thought it was about sex, but he was really grooming Anakin to be his apprentice this whole time. What else can I do?"

"Well, for starters you could at least give the rest of the Council a heads up.”

"Oh. Yes.” For the first time since Senator Amidala’s revelation, Obi-Wan really, truly stops. Not just physically, but mentally as well. She is right—not only is blind panic unhelpful, it could end up doing more harm than good and placing Anakin in even more danger. He inhales deeply, swallows, and begins to speak slowly. “If he’s been playing the long game, he’s not suddenly going to accelerate his plans.”

“Exactly,” Senator Amidala says, with a relieved nod, looking grateful to have the sane, rational version of Obi-Wan back. “He won’t make his move until we come crashing into his office, demanding he give back the emergency powers he’s worked so hard to obtain and forcing his hand.”

“Which will probably happen sometime in the next,” he glances at the chrono, “hour or so—Masters Windu and Fisto are already on their way to meet Senator Organa. So, some time, but probably not much. And he’ll want to…to secure Anakin’s loyalty before that confrontation—with Dooku dead, he’ll need an apprentice to tip the scales in his favor. So even slightly less time.”

“It will be enough,” Senator Amidala says, determined. “It has to be enough. And if it isn’t—I’ll send out a public broadcast, with everything I’ve discovered, everything you’ve told me. If we fail, someone else must take up the charge.”

“Wait until we have already engaged him. Once you start your broadcast, Palpatine will almost certainly want to shut you up as quickly as possible. Hopefully, we shall prove enough of a distraction that you will have time to get your message out—”

“No,” Senator Amidala declares, with a shake of her head. “We must start the broadcast before you confront him—anything else will make his supporters cry ‘coup.’ As a Republic Senator, I have the authority to commandeer the GAR to arrest anyone I suspect of colluding with the Separatists. It was in one of those terrible martial law expansion bills that I protested so loudly. Believe me I know all the technicalities. Allow me to start my broadcast, even if it is only a few minutes, and take the clones with you—you’ll need the backup and it will lend additional legitimacy.”

“Only if you also consent to a clone guard—Waxer and Boil, two of my very best.”

“Very well,” she says, reluctance clear in the tilt of her shoulders. Obi-Wan nods brusquely and types out a command to Rex and Cody—they will help him organize both the group to guard Senator Amidala and to accompany him to the Chancellor’s office. He holds up his hand for a moment, awaiting a reply, and is not let down by Cody’s prompt, succint response. Bless that man.

“Waxer and Boil will meet you at the Temple entrance,” Obi-Wan says. “Cody’s on his way—I only gave the briefest of explanations, you’ll have to explain more on the way.”

“Good, I’ll take them to Bail’s office and redirect the other Jedi to meet you and the clones at Palpatine’s office—we can’t risk the coms, I know for a fact that Palpatine tracks communications in and out of the building. We’ll engage security measures and prepare for the broadcast there.”

“We will wait for as long as we can, but if he’s threatening Anakin, I—I don’t plan to stand idly by,” Obi-Wan warns her. Senator Amidala gives him a startled, considering look, then hums thoughtfully and shakes her head.

“No, of course not,” she murmurs. “Now, if you will please excuse me it appears that I will have to compose the defining speech of my political career, in oh…thirty minutes or less.”

“Go, may the Force be with you,” Obi-Wan says.

Senator Amidala hesitates for the briefest of additional seconds.

“You’ll bring him back safe, won’t you? If anyone can do it, it’d be you,” she says, biting at her lip.

“You have a speech to write,” Obi-Wan replies. By now, a grim, determined Cody is approaching, followed by a large group of equally as determined looking clones. “Let me worry about Anakin and the Sith—the best thing you can do for him now is to focus on your part.”

Senator Amidala closes her eyes, inhales deeply, and then hurries away. Obi-Wan turns to face Cody—and Rex, Fives, Echo, Crys, plus half a dozen other clones. Obi-Wan blinks.

“What’s this about?” he asks, confused.

“We’re coming with you to take down this Sith Lord,” Rex explains, his tone brooking no argument. Obi-Wan turns to Cody, who gives him an unapologetic shrug. Obi-Wan turns back to the men.

"I—I’m touched, truly, but I was only planning to take Cody and perhaps Commander Fox from the Senate guards. We're going up against Dooku's master—it won't be pretty."

"We heard General Skywalker got himself into trouble," Fives interjects.

"Anakin is currently with Darth Sidious, though I doubt he realizes who he really is or how much danger he's in," Obi-Wan admits. "It's the Chancellor. He's been under our noses this whole time."

The men of the 501^st share a long look, then, as one, cross their arms and set their jaws.

"Then we're coming. We don't leave our people behind."

“And we’re not going to leave our commander to go at a Sith Lord alone,” Crys adds, the men from the 212^th nodding vigorously in agreement.

“Troopers—” Obi-Wan begins, exasperated.

"Sir," Cody says softly, cutting him off. "We have no idea what Palpatine has in store for us. I know we're only clones, but surely you'll need all the help you can get?" Obi-Wan pauses, takes in the looks of stubborn determination facing him down, and gives in. He knows when a battle is lost.

"We don't deserve you," Obi-Wan says, with a shake of his head and his heart swelling.

"I think that for so long you Jedi have been called upon to stand alone against this darkness that you've come to expect that's all that you deserve,” Cody says, carefully choosing each word. “But you're not alone, sir. Not anymore."

"Oh, Cody,” Obi-Wan sighs. “After this is all done, let's get a real drink together, not that hand sanitizer Fives calls liquor."

"Hey!"

"Sounds like a plan, sir," Cody responds, lips twitching. He turns to the men. "Okay, men, move out! Rendezvous with Fox and the Senate guards in T-minus 20 minutes!"

***

A grim pallor is cast over Master Windu's face as he and Master Fisto meet Obi-Wan and the troopers at the elevators. Silently, they board—a bit of a cramped fit with a dozen plus clones and three Jedi, but nothing they’re unused to with the war and shared quarters. Master Windu takes out his com as the doors close behind them.

"Senator Amidala should be beginning her broadcast any moment now," he explains as the Senator in question flickers to life.

"People of the Republic,” her holo begins, voice clear and determined. “I come before you to share grim news—it won't be easy to hear, this I know. But for too long, I have carried out my investigations in secret, too afraid of how the public would react. Democracy dies in darkness, that's what Sheev Palpatine is counting on. He believes the worst of our citizens, in our complacency and greed and selfishness. For a long time, I allowed myself to believe the same. No longer.

“For the next hour, I will lay out a full recounting of my investigations into the treasonous actions of Sheev Palpatine and his efforts to undermine faith in our Republic and each other. I will lay the evidence out clearly, concisely and objectively then allow you to make your own decisions. As a precautionary measure, I have asked some of our bravest and most loyal soldiers to detain Sheev Palpatine until justice can be served…”

Master Windu cuts the feed with a flick of his wrist, just as the lift doors begin to slide open.

"I think we've given her enough time," he says, brusquely. He steps out into the carpeted hallway, the door to the Chancellor’s office seeming miles away. "Troopers, stay behind us until we have Sidious subdued—if you see an opening lay down cover fire to allow us time to recover, but your main task is to repel any outside interference. We don't know what sort of countermeasures Palpatine will have in place, so stay alert for anything."

"Yes, sir!" the troopers snap out smartly. Master Windu nods.

"Very well.” Master Windu's face is flinty as he pauses in front of the dark, metal doors and gives them all one last, measuring look.

With a bang, he throws open the doors to Palpatine’s office. The Jedi stride inside, the clones following close behind, in lockstep with their hands firmly wrapped around their blasters.

As they enter the main room, they find Anakin and Palpatine standing near the large, expensive central desk. Palpatine is the first to turn around, his face neutral, genial even, as his eyes carefully catalogue their large, armed contingent and militant posture.

"Master Jedi! How wonderful of you to join us," Palpatine says in greeting. Anakin turns and takes in their grim faces, confusion blooming over his own features.

"Obi-Wan, what—”

"Anakin, please step away from him."

"What is this about?" Anakin demands, confusion still coloring his features, though he can’t help the unconscious way he immediately obeys Obi-Wan’s command.

"Your plans have failed, Palpatine," Master Windu says evenly. Anakin's head whips back around to stare at Palpatine as Master Windu, Obi-Wan, and Master Kit Fisto draw unlit sabers from their belts. "By order of the Galactic Senate, we are placing you under arrest, Darth Sidious."

A pause, an inhale, a heartbeat.

"Well it certainly took you long enough,” Palpatine says with a heavy sigh, sinking down to sit in his richly appointed chair, his wide desk a chasm between him and the Jedi. “I’m curious, which one of you finally figured it out? I was beginning to think I would have to just announce to the Galaxy. Master Kenobi? Master Windu? Or maybe Master Yoda?"

"None of the above," Obi-Wan replies, warily handling his saber hilt and eyeing Anakin, who has backed up slightly but is still far too close to Palpatine for his comfort. But at this point in the war, engaging Dark Siders in clever small talk while maneuvering into position was practically old hat. He begins to slink sideways. "It was Senator Amidala."

A look of genuine surprise flashes across Palpatine’s face, followed closely by rage, before it is replaced by his usual amicability.

"Well, well," he chuckles, shaking his head. "I must say, this is not the first time I've underestimated her, but it will certainly be the last—tell me, Master Jedi, how does it feel to be outsmarted by a mere Force-null girl?"

"I wouldn't know,” Obi-Wan replies, with a razor-sharp grin. “Seems like something we should be asking you."

Another whip flash of rage, this time strong enough to be felt in the Force and Sith’s hells how has he been hiding this from them—the strength of his anger nearly bowls Obi-Wan over. This more than anything seems to snap Anakin out of his indecision. He takes another step backwards, closer to Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan dares to breathe a small sigh of relief.

"You're a Sith?" Anakin demands, eyes still fixed on Palpatine and his shock still reverberating throughout the Force. His next words are less of a question than a statement. "You're a Sith."

"Anakin, my boy,” Palpatine says, with a disappointed shake of his head. “All I am is a Force user who refuses to be bound by the Jedi's narrow, dogmatic belief system. I am sorry that I had to conceal the truth from you, but it was only to protect myself—they would have hunted me from one end of the galaxy to the other, simply because I dared to seek out new powers they were too afraid to even dream of.”  

"Don't listen to him," Master Windu warns, "he's a Sith, they lie."

"Of course that's what you would say," Palpatine scoffs. "The pursuit of power should not be demonized, so long as it is for the right reasons. All I have ever wanted is the power to change things for the better, for my people, for the Republic, for you, Anakin."

"Stop talking," Obi-Wan hisses, igniting his saber with a snap and stepping in front of Anakin. Palpatine's eyes narrow. “You've lost, Sith."

"Is that what you think?" he asks, pleasantly. He stands to his feet and presses the com button on his desk. Suddenly, his face and voice twist, furl, and spit into something nearly unrecognizable. "Execute Order 66."

For a moment, nothing happens, then, out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan sees Fox raise his blaster to point straight at Obi-Wan.

"Friendly fire!" Rex bellows, tackling Fox to the ground as all hell breaks loose—three of the clones they brought along are following Fox's lead, raising their blasters to aim straight at the Jedi, as their remaining brothers whirl around and try to tackle them to the ground.

The chips, we forgot about the Force damned chips, Obi-Wan thinks in horror.

Palpatine is visibly confused at the chaos amongst the clones, a frown marring his features as he watches them scatter and try to subdue their brothers. He shakes his head in disgust and snaps out a curved hilt saber.

“No matter,” he snarls. “If you want something done right, best to do it yourself.” Obi-Wan has no time to brace himself as Palpatine ferociously launches himself across the desk, his red-plasma blade casting dark shadows across the room. Anakin's lightsaber flicks out, catching the powerful blow. He grunts and repels the attack, while Obi-Wan and the others scramble to ignite their own sabers and join the fray.

Palpatine, his doddering old man routine now fully shed, turns lightening quick and pulls on the cloud of darkness hanging over the room to anticipate and countermand their every move. Minutes (seconds, hours? it was so hard to tell time in the thick of a duel) in and Master Fisto lets out a cry as Palpatine’s saber makes a move for his neck and slices through his sensitive tentacle-tresses. Those extra seconds give Master Fisto enough time to wrench backwards, preventing decapitation, but he falls to the ground in delirious pain, his severed tentacles smacking wetly to the ground nearby.

Palpatine raises his arm for the killing blow, but Obi-Wan and Anakin recover, charge, and engage, successfully diverting his attention. Obi-Wan can see one of the clones dart forward, grab the crumpled Master Fisto underneath his arm pits and drag him back. The clone neatly dodges both the Jedi and Sith, carefully maneuvering the Jedi master to safety behind a pedestal displaying some of Palpatine’s hideous artwork. The salt-water smell of Natuolan blood and carpet fibers burnt by plasma blades fills the air.

Anakin is the next to fall—taken out by a twist of Palpatine’s saber and a none too-delicate Force shove—followed closely by Master Windu, who loses his hand and his lightsaber in one blow. He falls back, his face pained but silent, as manages to call his lightsaber back to his hand and continue the fight for a few more precious minutes, before Palpatine plunges his saber deep into Master Windu’s gut. Two clones let out a barrage of blaster bolts, which seem to do little but irritate Palpatine as he easily deflects them. The momentary distraction is just long enough for Cody and Crys to charge forward and move the still barely breathing Master Windu out of the line of fire. Palpatine dispatches the clones laying down cover fire with a flick of his wrist, sending them flying into the walls with a sickening crack. He delivers another blow, this one aimed straight for Master Windu’s head. Cody shifts at the last second, using his body to shield Master Windu. The lightsaber connects squarely with Cody’s ribs and he crumples to the ground as Obi-Wan rushes forward, locking blades with Palpatine in a furious series of blows. Palpatine tries to shove him away like he did with Anakin, but Obi-Wan is ready for the trick and rolls out of the way, swinging his saber around as he comes up.

Palpatine’s face snarls with frustration.

It takes a few minutes, but Obi-Wan finally realizes why he's the only one still standing and why Palpatine seems to be struggling: he doesn't want to kill Obi-Wan. He can't kill Obi-Wan, not without losing whatever small chance he might yet have of still turning Anakin, so instead he's trying to neutralize Obi-Wan without killing him, but clearly has little experience in minimizing casualties. Obi-Wan imagines that it's not exactly a prized skill amongst Sith lords, not the way it is for Jedi.

Obi-Wan stumbles, forced back by another glancing blow and the shock of his realization—Sidious is still trying to turn Anakin. He just barely ducks in time and Anakin leaps forward, his blade spinning extravagantly, and face screwed up with protective determination. Palpatine turns and physically shoves Obi-Wan away—it’s not much, only a couple dozen centimeters, but it’s enough apparently. Palpatine has maneuvered them into a corner of the room taken up by a wall-spanning piece of artwork consisting of dark, tangled, metal vines and branches, and, as Obi-Wan slides back, the metal fingers reach out and snag themselves around his ankle, hips, throat.

It soon becomes clear that this is very much not just another one of Palpatine’s ugly pieces of art. The swaying, curling metal vines pull him up into the air and he wheezes as they begin tighten uncomfortably, feeling suddenly as if he is being dunk in an oily well of darkness.

Palpatine whirls away as Anakin remains in front of Obi-Wan, lightsaber raised in one of the few defensive stances of Djem-So and panting heavily. The lights of Coruscanti traffic wink and flicker outside of the wide window, their banal normality somehow turned sinister in the tense, Dark air of the office.

Palpatine pauses.

"I am an understanding man, Anakin,” he says, finally, voice even and reasonable. “I know you are only doing what you feel your duty demands, but there's no reason for us to continue to be enemies.”

“You’re a Sith, you’ve been orchestrating this whole war!”

“The old order must first burn to the ground, before a newer, more just and peaceful Empire can rise in its place,” Palpatine says. “But you can rise with me, Anakin. I know how difficult these past few weeks have been for you. But I promised to help you find a way to save your lover and I honor my promises. I can teach you to stop death."

"That's impossible," Anakin says and Obi-Wan wants to scream because it's less of a confident rebuttal and more of a sort disbelieving curiosity. He chokes and tries to reach out through the Bond—but the Dark is choking everything and the metal vines seem to be blocking a connection to the Force. He tries to reach out physically insteading, straining to wrench his arm free of the vines, but all of his struggles only seem to make the metal branches and tendrils pull tights. But he needs to snap Anakin out of it—doesn't he realize right now Palpatine will tell him anything he wants to hear?

"Only to a Jedi—with the power of the Dark Side, anything is possible. It’s just a matter of having the courage to reach out and take it." Palpatine's voice turns sickly sweet, wheedling. He withdraws, then flicks off his saber and tosses it to the side. Anakin keeps his lightsaber raised, but wary rather than aggressive. "I can help you unlock the power to save the one you love not only once, but a thousand times over—you can protect him from anyone or anything that tries to take him from you. You will have him at your side, forever, the whole galaxy at your feet.”

“A galaxy of ashes. You’d destroy the Jedi, enslave the clones with your chip, assassinate the Senators who stood in your way.”

“Collateral damage—sad, but neccessary. It’s simply a question of whether you love those random Jedi, clones, and Senators more than you love Obi-Wan Kenobi. Are their lives worth his death?”

Anakin and Palpatine face off, the chasm of open space between them crackling with tension and the Force. Obi-Wan can’t tell if the reason it’s so hard to breathe is because of the metal tendrils wrapping ever tighter around his chest or his own screaming grief.

Then, a subtle shift of Anakin’s fingers, repositioning around his saber hilt.

“Yes,” he says. Palpatine’s face begins to stretch into a gruesome smile. Anakin flashes a sharp-toothed, half-wild smile in return and Obi-Wan lets out a muffled scream—he knows that look, knows that Anakin is about to do something unbearably stupid, so stupid even Anakin recognizes it’s a terrible idea. “Yes, their lives are worth everything. They’re my family, my friends, innocent strangers who I swore to protect, and I won’t let them burn, not even to save him. That’s not love—that’s my own selfishness. I’ll never join you.”

Molten rage floods the Force.

Palpatine’s face twists and he raises his hands in an all-too-familiar, clawed gesture.  Anakin snaps up his lightsaber, absorbing the first bolts of Sith lightening with the plasma blade.

“You foolish boy!” Palpatine snarls. He redoubles his efforts and Anakin’s face turns pained, his arms shaking with the effort to simultaneously hold his saber up against the onslaught and maintain his focus in the Force. His foot slips backward against the rug-covered the floor, sweat forming at his temples. “This is all Kenobi’s fault—I nearly had you all those years ago, and then he just decided to interfere. And keep interfering, over and over and over again. Do you know how galling it was to be accused of child molestation by a self-righteous Knight half my age?” Each word only seems fuels his lightning, the sparks and folts seeming to grow tenfold. Anakin angles his lightsaber and falls to his knees, trying to better brace himself. “I’m the most powerful Sith Lord who ever lived—I’ve brought the Republic to its knees and reshaped it in my own image, amassed fantastic powers that most Force users could only dream of, outmaneuvered everyone from the greatest of Jedi to my own apprentices, and then there was this random Jedi, neither particularly powerful or particularly smart, but standing my way at every turn. And I tried to throw him straight into the path of danger, hoping that one of my idiotic lackeys would finally manage to do their damn jobs and kill him, but no.” Anakin gasps as a single tendril of lightening sneaks its way past his defenses—that’s all Palpatine needs. The first tendril is followed closely by a second, then a third until Anakin’s lightsaber flies from his hand and he falls fully to the ground, teeth gritted in pain as bolt after bolt lashes his body. “No matter, I will relish the chance to kill him myself. I’ll do it slowly, painfully, and make you watch until you’re begging to join me. And then, once you’ve realized the mistake you made turning down my generous offer, I’ll finally kill him and bring him back to life so that we can do it all over again.” He pauses in his onslaught just slightly, the lightening fading to thinner, dimmer tendrils. “Reconsidering?”

“Never,” Anakin chokes out, the smell of burnt flesh and synth-leather heavy in the air.

“A pity,” Palpatine declares, raising his claw-like hands to deliver the final surge.

All of a sudden, Palpatine body jerks, then twists oddly, and there is the added smell of blaster discharge.

“I don’t kriffing think so,” Cody spits out.

Palpatine whirls around, little sparks already flying out of his fingertips, and Obi-Wan follows his gaze to see Cody, clutching at his bloodied side with one hand as the other aims a blaster at Palpatine. In a split second, the Sith lightening flies from Palpatine’s hands, connecting squarely with Cody’s chest—but it is a sputtering thing, Palpatine clearly weakened by the previous, unanticipated shot straight to the back. Cody screams and falls against the nearby wall, but through it all he never releases his hold on the blaster, squeezing out a few more shots. Each one slams into Palpatine, seeming to weaken and infuriate him in equal measure. The blaster jams and after a couple of useless, clicking pulls of the trigger, Cody gives a growl and throws the now useless blaster at Palpatine’s head.

Palpatine dodge to avoid the projectile—too focused on electrocuting Cody to deflect it properly with the Force—and steps back straight into Anakin’s lightsaber.

His sickly yellow eyes go wide with disbelief, mouth opening for one final screech as Anakin jerkily twists and pulls at his saber. With an arm quaking effort, Anakin pulls the saber free from Palpatine’s body with squelch, cleanly severing him in two.

The two halves topple over, thudding against the ground with a sickening sound.

No one dares to breathe for a moment.

Then Cody slides down the wall, coming to rest with a final thump. He’s silent, too silent, even within the terrible stillness of the room.

Rex pushes forward, past the other clones, and falls to his knees beside Cody.

“Vod, no, no, no, vod, don’t leave me,” Rex is crying, his face a mess of snot and blood and tears. “We almost made it out, you’re almost there, hang on—No!”

His wailing scream of anguish will haunt Obi-Wan’s dreams for the rest of his life.

***

The entire Temple is still, heavy with grief and even the thousands gathered in the center atrium can’t seem break the silence, their movements as slow and hushed possible.

The Jedi and clones have gathered, to mourn the victims of Order 66. Even those still in the Halls of Healing demanded that they be allowed to attend—there’s Master Fisto, looking oddly off balance with his right-side tentacle tresses cut so short, while his set on the left side remain the same length; Master Windu, still attached to an IV drip and in a hover chair; Commander Fox, still recovering from the concussion Rex gave him while wrestling him to the ground; Bariss Offee, her burned arm held gingerly at her side, disfigured by the clones whose chips she had been trying to deactivate at the time of the Order; Bly, his face still marked by a giant, blooming yellow-green bruise from where Aayla had been forced to defend herself. Aayla herself is only lightly bruised, but Bly still flinches everytime he sees her and so she keeps her distance, for now, until the injuries he inflicted fade. Senator Amidala, the newly elected Chancellor Organa, and the rest of the Delegation of 2000 are also present, their faces drawn with grief. At Chancellor Organa and Master Windu’s invitation, a small group of stiff-backed Separatist diplomats stand at the back of the room to pay their stilted, but sincere respects, watched carefully, distrustfully by a group of clone escorts. Even the Free Peoples of Tatooine have elected to send a representative—a plainly-dressed, but proud Shmi Skywalker, who stands side by side with Anakin.

They all stare, stone-faced at the bodies laid to rest in the grand atrium of the Temple, the only spot big enough to hold them all. A hundred Jedi and clones had spent all week hastily preparing funeral pyres—the Council had decreed that, should their brothers consent, the clones would be permitted state funerals in the Temple, the first non-Force-sensitives allowed such an honor in nearly one thousand years. But, they had decided, it was only appropriate given the magnitude of the moment and the devastation wrought by Order 66 not only on the Jedi, but on the clones forced to carry out Sidious’ bidding.

Order 66 had been disastrous, though not nearly as disastrous as it could have been. A little under 15% of the clones had been forced to turn on their Jedi commanders by their still active chips. Most had been quickly, harmlessly disarmed by their brothers before they could injure anyone and then returned to their senses hours later by Echo and Fives’ quick-thinking splice efforts once Palpatine had been defeated.

Most, but not all.

And so now thirty-one clones, fifty-four Jedi Knights, and one Padawan now lay in state, their bodies concealed with fresh, white linen. Cody’s corpse is in a place of honor at the center of the room, his right arm folded across his chest, clear even under the thin barrier of the linen sheet. But Obi-Wan can’t stare for too long, his own guilt and pain forcing his eyes to skitter elsewhere. He leans into Anakin and his lover squeezes his shoulder, offering what strength he can.

Helplessly, Obi-Wan’s eyes drift to the smallest of the biers, closely positioned next to a much larger platform, as if the second body is guarding and protecting the second. Master Billaba stands the foot of both, her face still stained with tears. Master Windu has positioned his hover chair as closely as possible to his former Padawan, offering her what support he can.

Her Padawan, Caleb Dume, had always been a bright, curious boy who loved exploring the planets they deployed to. As was always the battalion’s custom, a single clone, Commander Grey, had been deployed to babysit Caleb when they first landed planetside, to make sure the thirteen-year-old boy didn't get lost or hurt during his adventures.

They had been alone together when Order 66 went out, no other brothers nearby to intervene when Grey took out his blaster and shot the poor child point blank. By the time Master Billaba and the rest of the battalion arrived, the Order had been countermanded and Grey had been himself again, mad with grief and performing useless chest compressions on the long dead boy. He'd paused only long enough to listen to Master Billaba's explanation and their medic's confirmation that there was nothing to be done for Caleb.

Then, Grey calmly picked up his blaster and shot himself in the head.

He wasn't the only one. Most of the clones currently lying in the atrium had killed themselves once they realized what they had been forced to do. Still more had attempted it and cursed their brothers for saving them—those clones, plus the brothers and Jedi healers assigned to protect them from themselves, were amongst the only members absent from the funerals today. They had delayed the funerals as long as possible, to allow as many of the deployed battalions to return to Coruscant as possible—not a terribly long wait, what with Grievous finally dead at Master Tiin’s hand, Palpatine’s manipulations laid bare, and Chancellor Organa’s determination to sue for peace and a diplomatic conclusion to the crisis. From what Obi-Wan understood, the details were still caught in committee, but progressing well—everyone was just so tired of fighting. The Republic Senate would agree to fundamental reforms to address the Separatists’ concerns, while the Separatists, particularly the Federation and Banking Clan, would pay reparations for their role in conflict.

With some unseen signal, thousands of clones stamp their heels against the floor and thump their palms against their shoulders in unison.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum!” they shout, their words ringing throughout the Temple, throughout all of Coruscant and the Galaxy, it seems. One by one, they begin to list the names of the dead, their words sure, strong. When one brother falters, another will lay a hand on his shoulder and take up the chant with double the intensity. As they finish each name, that person’s bier begins to lower into the pyres, the doors sealing shut around them, and shooting a brilliant golden light into the air.

It takes an age, but then all eighty-six names have been read aloud and their bodies nothing more than light and smoke.

“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” Obi-Wan murmurs into the terrible stillness as he hangs his head and tries to not to break under the weight of so many dead for so little reason.

The mourners disperse slowly, reluctantly and, for several long minutes, Obi-Wan and Anakin can only watch them numbly.

Finally, Shmi lays a gentle hand upon Anakin’s shoulder.

“Come, Ani, Obi-Wan. I believe you two owe me some introductions,” she says, pulling them out of their dark thoughts with the practiced ease of a woman who has had to do this way too many times for way too many friends.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan murmurs, shaking himself. He gestures to Rex and Ahsoka, who haven’t moved, both of them hunched over where Cody’s body once lay as if the weight of the world is upon their shoulders. “Ahsoka and Rex should be along any moment now.”

As if called by their names, Ahsoka and Rex trudge over, their footsteps heavy, weighted against the Temple marble. They come to a stop in front of the Skywalkers and Obi-Wan and attempt wan smiles. Shmi clasps an arm to Rex’s upper arm.

“Captain Rex, it is so good to finally meet you in person—thank you so much for looking after my family for so long. I know it is no easy task,” she says, her voice warm and sympathetic without being condescending. He inclines his head silently, accepting the greeting without comment—silence has been Rex’s default for the past few weeks. Once he makes eye contact, Shmi nods, then turns to Ahsoka. She opens her arms and immediately scoops the Togruta girl up into a big hug. “Oh, my dear, I know we haven’t officially met yet, but I’ve heard so much about you that I feel as if I already know you—and I know that no one deserves to lose a friend this way, but especially not you.”

Ahsoka lets loose a watery laugh.

“Does Skyguy really complain about me that much?” she asks. Shmi smiles.

“Oh, it’s not just Ani, though I’ll admit a good deal of it comes from him. Padmé, Bariss, Obi-Wan—they all speak very highly of you.”

“She calls you Ani too?” Ahsoka asks, a familiar gleam in her eyes lightening both her demeanor and the Force around her. Anakin winces.

“Mo-om,” he whines. Anakin and Obi-Wan’s coms beep and Obi-Wan glances down. He shares an uneasy look with Anakin, then turns back to Shmi, Rex, and Ahsoka.

“Unfortunately, we may have to cut this short,” Obi-Wan says, apologetically. “Anakin and I have been called before the Council. They’re going to deliver their final verdict on our resignations and our…suggestion.”

“Nonsense, we’ll wait for you outside the Council rooms,” Shmi says, confidently. Ahsoka opens her mouth.

“Well, you see, normally the Council doesn’t like people just loitering around…” Ahsoka begins, then trails away at Shmi’s implacably serene look. “On second thought, that sounds like a great idea, maybe you can tell me more embarrassing childhood stories about Anakin!”

“Hmm, of course. And perhaps you two can tell me more about how long it took my two idiot sons to admit they were in love and just kiss already?”

“Shmi!” Obi-Wan exclaims, going crimson. Shmi levels a stern look his way.

“Obi-Wan, you told me how you and Anakin used the power of love to defeat an evil Force wizard and are now planning to quit the Jedi Order to run away together—if you’re not sleeping together already, I certainly hope you’re planning to start soon.”

“If you keep talking like that, you’re going to give him and Ahsoka a heart attack,” Anakin interjects, amused. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan just look pained. “Obi-Wan’s weird about sex, all the Jedi are. You’re not supposed to talk about it, especially in front of other people and especially especially not in front of younglings.”

“Whatever for? It’s just a normal, natural part of life—you two clearly love each other very much, I’m very happy for you both. Besides, with all the slaves freed and the Hutts finally gone, I’ve found myself with a lot more free time on my hands—gossip is really the only way to keep my mind occupied these days.”

“We’re leaving. Now,” Obi-Wan says, quickly, before Anakin can launch into some weird, detailed rendition of their tortured love affair thus far—he loves Shmi, a lot, and on the one hand, he’s very glad she and Anakin are so open with each other, but he’s also not quite ready to share so much with her. Anakin rolls his eyes, but by then, Master Plo Koon has arrived with Wolffe in tow, forestalling any further teasing.

They quickly make their way to the Council chambers—no one wants to leave the Council waiting and irritate them even further, right before what’s sure to be an already contentious debate. They nod one final time to their compatriots—Ahsoka giving a goofy thumbs up, as Rex, Wolffe, and Shmi nod solemnly in return. Then, Master Plo Koon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin turn and enter the Council chambers.

“Master Koon, Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker,” Master Yoda begins, gravely. He looks as if he’s aged three hundred years in the past few weeks. “Accept your resignations, this Council does. But, a decision on your proposal, yet to be discussed it is.”

“I believe that we have already made our case,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “I can continue argue the point until I’m hoarse, but I don’t know what more I can add that would change your minds.”

“And yet you have already begun to change other Jedi’s minds,” Master Kolar says severely. “Already dozens of other Jedi have petitioned to join your new school, though it doesn’t even exist yet.”

“I would argue that some of those Jedi, such as Knight Secura, would have left the Order no matter what we had planned,” Master Plo Koon says, folding his arms over his chest. “The school only offers an alternative path.”

“And what of Skywalker’s Padawan? Ahsoka Tano is one of our most promising young members, but you have persuaded her to instead abandon her vows and follow you straight into this craziness,” Master Mundi says.

“Anyone who has seen me with Anakin and Ahsoka knows full well that it is usually me following them straight into craziness and not the other way around,” Obi-Wan returns, dryly. “As our decision affects her, we felt it was only right to inform her of our plans. We simply laid out the facts and our own reasoning, then allowed her space and time to come to her own decision. We never wanted to unduly influence anyone.”

“You are highly visible members of this Order—whether you want it or not, you hold a great deal of sway over a great many of our members. If you insist on following this path, you will almost certainly cause a schism the Jedi Order,” Master Gallia says, accusingly. “After everything we just went through, you wish to split us up and make us even weaker.”

“We want nothing of the sort—that’s why the Council’s approval is so important. With your blessing, we can make clear that we are not separate, but rather two sides of the same coin. Our interpretation of the Code might be a little different, but we still share the same values, the same mission. We’d be like…like a new branch in the tree.”

“An independent sect,” Master Windu says, quietly, the first time he’s spoken this whole meeting. “Closely linked with our Order, but not quite bound by the old Code or the Council.”

“To help, where the Code or the Council would traditionally forbid it,” Obi-Wan says. He squeezes Anakin’s hand and lets his voice ring out, clear and strong. “I only want to help. Please, let me help.”

“I move to officially approve the creation of a reform-focused sect of the Jedi Order, led by Masters Kenobi and Koon,” Master Windu says. His voice is heavy, exhausted.

“Mace!” Master Mundi says, sounding scandalized. Master Windu cuts his eyes to the side and gives a weary shake of his head.

“Ki-Adi, every hour I can feel Depa slipping away, blaming herself and falling ever farther away from the Light, and I just don’t know how to help her. I’m beginning to suspect I can’t—that the Code forbids me from providing unconditional support and compassion she needs right now.  We can negotiate the exact terms, but I won’t lose my Padawan and hundreds of equally as vulnerable Jedi, not when there is some alternative I can offer them.”

“In agreement, we are,” Master Yoda says. Master Mundi turns to him, looking equally as betrayed. “Agree with Master Kenobi’s approach, I do not. But, insist that Kenobi abandon his chosen path, I cannot. Blind I was, to the Sith, to my own faults, to the cracks within the Order. Change, needed it is. How, who am I to say?”

“If even the Senate can recognize their need for reform, how can we demand any less of ourselves?” Master Ti says. She purses her lips. “I too vote to bless the creation of Kenobi’s new sect and its accompanying school. All in favor?” There’s a chorus of ayes and raised hands, not anywhere close to unanimous or enthusiastic, but enough. Master Ti nods, satisfied. “Very well then. Let us discuss the details.”

Obi-Wan walks out of the Council chambers, nearly three hours later, still in shock.

Ahsoka, Rex, Wolffe, and Shmi are waiting for them, their faces expectant as the doors slide open to reveal Master—no, just Plo for the Kel Dor had insisted if they were doing this together, as equals, then Obi-Wan had to start calling him by his first name—Plo Koon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin.

“It is done,” Plo Koon says, a bright, happy radiance surrounding him in the Force.

“Really, truly?” Ahoska says with a sharp inhale. She smiles.

“Of course—I can’t believe you ever doubted us,” Anakin responds, placing his hands on his hips and letting loose a relieved, disbelieving laugh.

“They’ll recognize us and our school as an independent subset of the Order—not bound by the Code, but one that would allow Jedi to move freely back and forth between the Temple and our school without any repercussion. We’ve agreed to forfeit our claim to any Jedi titles such as Knight or Master and to offer a semi-permanent position at our school for one of the Masters to give seminars on the benefits of the traditional Code.”

“They also offered us funding but Obi-Wan told them to stick it where the stars don’t shine,” Anakin adds, cheerfully.

“That’s not quite what happened—”

“That’s exactly what happened,” Plo Koon says, with an amused shake of his head. Obi-Wan swears even Wolffe’s lips are twitching. “But it was the right tack. This way we won’t be beholden to the Council’s whims.”  

“And they can claim plausible deniability if we start any not-quite-Senate approved slave revolts,” Rex adds quietly. Obi-Wan’s heart swells—it’s the first time that Rex has spoken in weeks, apart from a few one-word responses when prompted. Shmi pats Rex’s arm approvingly, whether at the fact that she likes his slave-revolt idea or has picked up on what an important step this is for Rex, Obi-Wan doesn’t know. Maybe both—Shmi’s a discerning woman.  

“Tell me, Shmi, have you ever had a shaak burger?” Obi-Wan asks suddenly. Shmi frowns, then shakes her head, all while Ahsoka practically starts jumping up and down with joy.

“We’re going to Dex’s to celebrate,” she crows excitedly. “Shmi Skywalker, we’re about to change your life.”

“I look forward to it,” Shmi responds, bemused. Ahsoka interlaces arms with her, so that Shmi is bracketed on either end by Rex and Ahsoka. They begin to sashay away, Ahsoka chattering excitedly about the upgrades on the new Temple speeders and how she’s been dying to try them out.

“Snips,” Anakin calls out, fondly. “Leave the driving to me or Rex, you know you don’t have your Coruscanti license yet.”

“Skyguy, c’mon, I’ve flown multi-million credit fighters through the middle of a war zone! You know I can fly a dinky little speeder.”

“Yes, well, the flying skills learned in a war zone don’t really transfer to a Coruscanti traffic jam, which I know you know because you’ve failed the Temple speeder test. Twice.”

“Ugh! Shmi, can’t you—” her voice fades out as she, Shmi, and Rex turn the corner. Anakin and Obi-Wan drift a little behind. Anakin puts a hand to Obi-Wan’s upper arm, gently drawing him to a stop.

“Are you…upset?” Anakin asks, hesitantly, his gaze searching Obi-Wan’s face as he reaches out in the Force and curls a questioning tendril around Obi-Wan’s thoughts.

“No, no, nothing of the sort,” Obi-Wan hurries to reassure him. “I just suppose that for a long time, I have had a series of itemized goals laid out in front of me—finish that mission, win this battle, negotiate this armistice—that I don’t really know what to do with myself now that all those clear stepping stones are gone. I know we had planned for it, but it seems so unreal now that it’s truly happening. What do we even do?”

“Well, first there’s Dex’s,” Anakin says thoughtfully. Obi-Wan barks out a laugh. “I’m serious! All the best decisions happen on a full stomach. But then after that I figure we can start by scouting out locations for our new school—just the two of us, the Twilight, and the fluffy king-sized bed I just installed.” Heat floods across the bond.

“Will we actually be scouting out locations or is this all just some sort of elaborate excuse to get me alone for the next three months?” Obi-Wan asks, suspiciously. Anakin shakes his vigorously and affects an air of innocence.

“Why can’t we do both?” Anakin protests. “Aren’t you the one that taught me to multitask?”

“Yes, and you’ve never been very good at it—you tend to just fixate on whatever you wanted to be doing in the first place.”

“Hey now! I’ve done my research—Archival research, aren’t you proud!—and even plotted out our itinerary. There’s this jungle moon in the Outer Rim, out past Mandalore, that I think might be worth checking out—according to the Archives, it’s got some old abandoned Jedi Temples, which hey, prebuilt facilities is definitely a plus.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Obi-Wan says fondly. He kisses Anakin soundly, the Force singing between them. As he pulls away reluctantly, he opens his eyes to drink in the sight of Anakin Skywalker, here and alive and his. “When do we leave?”

Chapter Text

“Good morning,” a voice whispers in Obi-Wan’s ear.

Anakin’s mouth sucks at a sensitive spot just below his jawline and Obi-Wan stretches luxuriously, situating himself even more firmly into his partner’s embrace. He smiles to himself, eyes still closed.

“Mmm, a very good morning to you as well,” he hums. He cracks a single eye open and squints at the weak light filtering in through their bedroom window. “What time—?”

“Hush,” Anakin says, trailing a featherlight hand down his shoulder, across his ribcage, his stomach. He pauses briefly once there, then slowly, carefully moves his hand downward and wraps around Obi-Wan’s slowly rising cock. His breath hitches. “Rex is taking care of any distractions. We have the whole morning to ourselves.”

He bites at Obi-Wan’s neck just as he twists his hand in that particular way Obi-Wan likes so much. Obi-Wan moans and settles back down into Anakin’s arms.

 “Oh, oh!” he gasps, as Anakin begins to grind against Obi-Wan’s buttocks, his breath fanning warm and wet across Obi-Wan’s neck. In the Force, Obi-Wan clings to Anakin, fully immersing himself in the glowing, warm light of the bond. He feels faint, dizzy. Yes.

Almost without thinking, Obi-Wan shifts to his back and hooks his leg up and over Anakin’s hip, the thin sheet falling away with a whisper as the new position allows him to feel so much more. He glances over to Anakin, staring at him with blown-wide eyes. His red mouth is hanging open slightly, his curls sweat-slicked to his forehead and limned in white-gold from the early morning light. Anakin’s cock brushes up, catches against his hole, and they both whine.

Obi-Wan reaches out and snags the small jar of bacta gel on his bedside table—still open from their activities last night and dips in to grab a dollop.

Anakin, give me your hand, he commands across the bond, but Anakin’s hand is moving even before he finishes the thought and they’re so entangled, both physically and in the Force that Obi-Wan can’t quite tell if it was he or Anakin who is controlling the movement. He reaches and twists their fingers together, generously coating both their hands. He perhaps takes a little longer than he strictly must, playing with Anakin’s fingers and caressing his palm as Anakin just watches, wide-eyed.

Finally, he begins to gently guide Anakin’s hand down. He moans out loud when Anakin’s finger enters him and leaves his own fingers to brush up against where Anakin is stretching him out.  Anakin’s head falls forward, as if his neck can no longer support its weight, and rests against Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His eyes are mere slits, staring dark and heavy and hungry at the stretched lines of Obi-Wan’s body. Obi-Wan stretches his other arm above his head and grasps at the bedposts, using it anchor himself and rock against Anakin’s fingers.

Oh, you’re so beautiful like this, Anakin thinks and shudders.

Right there, add a third finger now, Obi-Wan instructs, clenching his fingers against the bedframe at the feeling of fullness—Obi-Wan’s a little unused to the stretch since Anakin generally much prefers being on the receiving end of things. The tip of Anakin’s finger bumps against his prostate and Obi-Wan arches his back.  Oh, yes, oh Force.

“Now?” Anakin whispers. Obi-Wan considers for a moment, then nods his head. Anakin’s hand disappears, then reappears a minute later, wrapping around Obi-Wan’s thigh and lifting it up higher.

Obi-Wan’s breath hitches as Anakin enters him in one smooth, powerful thrust, eyes rolling back in his head. He gives Obi-Wan a moment to adjust, then pulls back and pushes forward again, his fingernails digging little half-moon circles into Obi-Wan’s leg.

Obi-Wan gasps and digs his fingers deep into Anakin’s shoulders on the third thrust.

Oh, right there, good job, dear one, you’re being so good, so perfect just for me, he pushes across the bond. Anakin’s hips stutter and Obi-Wan spreads his thighs wider. “Oh, very good, dear one.”

Anakin melts at the praise, a blissed out quiet peace suffusing the bond—like inhaling a potent drug. Someone whimpers—Obi-Wan can’t tell if it was him or Anakin—and then their hips are moving frantically, as they twine together in the Force and the physical world. As Anakin pushes into him, his love—and love seems such a trivial word for everything that Obi-Wan is experiencing, tenderness and affection and loyalty and devotion— swamps Obi-Wan’s every sense. Anakin knows exactly how to make Obi-Wan lose it and it has nothing to do with his prostate or that secret spot where his neck meets his shoulder and everything to with Anakin’s ability to play their bond like a fiddle, enveloping Obi-Wan in crashing waves of his love as the Force sings with the rightness of it all.

Obi-Wan’s mouth hangs half-open, small, forced pants escaping him as everything spirals out of control. His hand drifts down, wrapping around his cock as he begins to pump in time to Anakin’s thrusts.

Let go, I’ve got you, let go, Anakin chants, lifting Obi-Wan’s legs impossibly higher as he snaps his hips forward. He ducks his head forward and fastens his teeth around the meat of Obi-Wan’s deltoid, burying his scream and muffling his pleasure as his hips begin to lose their rhythm. He pulls Obi-Wan along with him, their bond bursting into tilting, colorful flashes.

Obi-Wan gasps and arches his back as the world shifts—melting and molding and recrystallizing into something new, something better.

When he comes back to himself, he realizes Anakin’s softened cock has slipped out and he has repositioned them so that they are spooning once more. Obi-Wan’s hand is sticky, covered in his come, and he makes a small face. Anakin chuckles against his back.

“Stop making that face,” he says, still nuzzling against Obi-Wan’s neck, “I’ll go get you a cloth—just give a second to enjoy the afterglow.”

“How do you know what face I’m making?” Obi-Wan replies, equally lazy. “You can’t see me right now.”

Anakin strokes against the bond and raises a mental eyebrow. After a decade together with a wide-open Force bond, they are intimately attuned to each and every shift in each other’s emotions. Ahsoka complains and says it’s creepy, the way they sometimes operate more as if they are a single person—moving gracefully in sync, finishing each other’s sentences, and carrying out entire conversations in the blink of an eye. But it does make for some fantastic moving meditation sessions—and also some fantastic sex.

Suddenly, the Force shifts in warning. Anakin curses and Obi-Wan scrambles to wipe his hand on a corner of the bed sheets and snatch at his sleep-pants, discarded early last night.

The tranquil, heady air is shattered by the bang of a door opening and the patter of two tiny sets of feet.

“Daddy! Papa! Grandma Shmi is here! Grandma Shmi is here!” is the only high-pitched warning they get before two small balls of energy dive-bomb them, both of them punched in the gut by excited, eight-year elbows and knees.

Rex pokes his head into the bedroom, an apologetic smile on his face.

“I held them back as long as I could,” he says.

“One would think that years of watching Anakin and Ahsoka would make you a much more effective babysitter,” Obi-Wan grumbles, with very little heat. Luke and Leia shoot gap toothed smiles at their Uncle Rex.

“Thanks for the sleepover, Uncle Rex!” Luke sing-songs, ever polite. “And the waffles—I love your waffles!”

“Of course, Big Blue,” Rex responds, using the clones’ preferred name for Luke. They had been horrified at the concept of calling Luke and Leia by their given names—“You mean they don’t get to choose their names?”—and generally just refer to the twins by their chosen nicknames, Big Blue and Little General. Obi-Wan was really looking forward to when the twins were thirty-five and horribly embarrassed by the fact that the clones were still referring to them by the childish nicknames they’d chosen for themselves when they were three.

Rex gives a little salute and disappears—off to teach his weekly “How to Deal with Jedi Mumbo-Jumbo 101” seminar for the families of Force-sensitive children brought to Yavin IV. Technically, the official title was “Introduction to the Force for Non-Force Sensitives,” but Obi-Wan despaired of anyone at this school ever referring to the classes by their official titles—he had worked hard to properly name those classes and he hated to see all his work ignored, but he also recognized a losing battle all too well.

 Anakin sits up, picking Leia up as he repositions himself against the headboard and uses a judicious application of the Force to keep the bedsheet positioned strategically over his lap. He deposits Leia back in his lap once situated and directs his full attention to his daughter.

“Grandma Shmi’s here, huh?” he asks, booping at Leia’s nose with his mechno-finger. She giggles. “And this was so important it couldn’t wait just thirty more minutes?”

“She brought Uncle Hondo with her!” Luke adds excitedly from his perch wrapped around Obi-Wan—for an eight-year-old human, he’s doing an excellent impression of some sort of clinging, sentient vine.

“Oh, Plo won’t like that,” Obi-Wan murmurs, lips twitching. Plo Koon always pouted for days after Hondo Ohnaka’s visits, when Hondo’s wild stories and fabulous gifts ensured Plo was temporarily dethroned as the twins’ Favorite Uncle. “Well, then. It sounds like we should all get dressed so that we can go say hello. Go on now, scooch.”

Luke and Leia scramble off the bed, chattering to each other the whole way in a strange mixture of twin-speak and Amatakka that they preferred. Ten years later and Obi-Wan is still barely proficient in the secret language of Tatooine’s slaves—it doesn’t help that the twins are always throwing him off with their terrible grammar and completely made-up words. The noise fades as they run to their room and Obi-Wan blinks for a moment, feeling very much as if a great hurricane has swept in and out of the room in the past few minutes. Luke and Leia are truly a force of nature—they take too much after Anakin and Padmé to be anything else.

The twins were the result of a diplomatic mission to Wild Space gone awry—the natives had none-too-gently insisted that Anakin and Padmé participate in a local fertility ritual before they’d allow them to begin any negotiations. And there must have been something in the tea they had forced Anakin and Padmé to ingest because both Padmé’s implanted birth control and the Plan B pill she’d hastily taken post diplomatic disaster had failed spectacularly. Obi-Wan likes to joke that the Force had really wanted grandchildren, a joke that had Anakin and Padmé now accept with a lot more grace, eight years later.

In the end, it had all worked out better than Obi-Wan had first feared. Apart from a three-month period in the beginning where Padmé and Anakin hadn’t been able to look each other in the eye, they had settled easily into a slightly odd but loving co-parenting arrangement. Padmé adored the twins, but freely admitted that she was too busy with restructuring the entire Republic to give them the attention they deserved. And so Luke and Leia spend most of the year with their fathers and are shipped off to Naboo during Senate recesses, where their mother spoils them rotten and dresses them up in fabulous little outfits that they of course destroy as soon as they land back on Yavin IV.

 Anakin drops a quick kiss to Obi-Wan’s lips, then hurriedly rolls out of bed. Leaving the twins alone and unsupervised for too long is a recipe for disaster and so it’s probably for the best that Anakin is hurrying to clean up the evidence of his and Obi-Wan’s activities so that he can chase after the twins—still Obi-Wan can’t help but be a little regretful that the moment has been so thoroughly broken.

But, hopefully, if all his plans go well, they’ll have at least two weeks of romantic, sexy, and completely twin-free mornings.

Obi-Wan smiles to himself and feels a small flutter in his stomach.

Today is the day. As soon he secures Shmi’s blessing, he’s going to ask Anakin to marry him.

***

            It takes a little effort and some finagling, but soon enough, Luke and Leia have been wrestled out of their pajamas and into clean clothes.

            “Your father and I need to speak with your Aunt Ahsoka before we can go see Grandma Shmi,” Obi-Wan warns the twins. He had been hoping to damp their enthusiasm but seems only to have redirected it.

“Auntie Socks!” Luke and Leia exclaim, linking hands with their fathers and practically dragging them out of their little house and in the humid, dense jungle area. Obi-Wan patiently allows them to lead their little group toward Ahsoka’s own dwelling, towards the outskirts of the residential quarters and closer to the main cluster of temples where most classes, communal meals, and meetings took place. Nearby, Fives and Echo are repairing a set of droids and laugh at the sight they make, two grown men being led around by two very determined little children. Anakin shoots them a rude gesture when Luke and Leia aren't looking.

Cutting through the residential quarters is a fair bit of a walk, the quarters themselves being quite a bit larger than they had originally planned. Only a handful of persons were supposed to live in the outlying buildings, in order to most of the students and teachers centrally located, but within a few years it had become clear that they had drastically underestimated the popularity of their new school.

These days, Yavin IV is home to close to eight thousand residents. There are of course the core one thousand Yavinist Jedi—the former Jedi Knights and Masters who have officially chosen to break with the Code and join the reform movement founded by Obi-Wan and Plo Koon nearly a decade ago. But there are also hundreds of non-traditional students, a thousand of their family members, some three and a half thousand clones, plus a thousand or so more short-term residents. These visitors could stay anywhere from a few days to a few months and were often other clones, Orthodox Jedi, or former Separatists trying to grapple with the effects of the war on their lives. Once, Obi-Wan had hoped that these sorts of guests would trickle off eventually, as the years passed and the wounds of war faded. But Healer J’Kai, who had happily taken up Anakin’s invitation to act as Yavin IV’s chief mind healer, had only shook his head at Obi-Wan when he expressed such a view.

“Healing from trauma isn’t linear—some sentients will be fine for years and then have a terrible episode, others will periodically relapse and recover for the rest of their lifespans,” he had explained in an unbearably sad voice. “For as long as there is anyone left alive to remember the war, we will continue to see sentients seeking our help. I’d recommend just clearing an area of the brush and designating it for additional housing. It’s hardly going to let up, not in our lifetimes, at least.”

“Hello!”

Luke’s cheerful voice pulls Obi-Wan out of his dark thoughts. He watches fondly as Luke and Leia wave enthusiastically to random passerby and receive joyful greetings in return—the two of them have all of the Temple residents wrapped around their little fingers. It's cute in moments like these, decidedly less cute when Luke convinces Fives that yup, Daddy and Papa would totally approve of him test flying the brand-new X-Wings.

Finally, they come to a stop in front of Ahsoka’s little cabin, a small garden of strange jungle fungi out front. Ahsoka is currently perched on one of the largest of the mushroom caps, cross-legged, eyes closed, and smiling softly to herself as she meditates.

"Hiya Auntie Socks!" Leia chirps.

"Hello, little one,” Ahsoka keeps her eyes closed, her serene smile turning gentle, mysterious. “Off somewhere exciting today?"

"Grandma Shmi is here!"

"Oh, now that is exciting," Ahsoka agrees indulgently, finally opening her eyes. Bariss Offee emerges from the stone dwelling behind Ahsoka, drawn out by the commotion. She's as cool and collected as always, not a single fold of cloth out of place, despite the damp, hot air of Yavin and the early hour. The same cannot be said of Senator Chuchi, who follows closely behind and looks decidedly bed rumpled and grumpy. Her hair frizzes and curls as she yawns sleepily.

"Morning, Master Kenobi, Master Skywalker," she says. Obi-Wan and Anakin send her apologetic looks—Obi-Wan hates to intrude on their time together like this when the Senator only manages to escape her duties once a month or so to visit Bariss and Ahsoka. "What's this I hear about your grandmother?"

"She's here! And she probably brought presents," Luke explains excitedly.

"Ah, presents! But have you been good enough to earn those presents?” Senator Chuchi responds, her accented voice curling wide and long across the words. “My understanding is that naughty little boys and girls don't get presents from their grandmothers."

"We've been really good!" Leia insists. All the adults raise their eyebrows and Leia stamps her foot. "We have been, we have, I swear!"

“Hondo's here as well," Obi-Wan interjects hastily, partially to redirect the brewing tantrum and partially to steer the conversation back to the true reason why he and Anakin have stopped by.

 Bariss, Ahsoka, and Senator Chuchi share a look.

 Shmi usually only brings Hondo along on her visits when there was illicit "cargo" to be moved. Tatooine might be free, but there were still hundreds of planets under the control of the Hutts and Zygerrians. Ahsoka and Bariss led the Yavinists' efforts to help the slaves of these worlds—Ahsoka had taken over Shmi's spy network and assumed the mantle of Fulcrum, while Bariss continued to investigate Depur’s new chip designs and develop surgical procedures to counter said changes. After Bariss dechipped and taught the procedure to the newly freed slaves, then Ahsoka would train them in basic combat and counterintelligence. Together, they gave them the tools they needed to return to their planets of origin and set up a homegrown freedom network. Obi-Wan was also fairly sure Senator Chuchi was involved somehow (he had learned from personal experience how hard it was to share any secrets from someone who shared your life so intimately) but whatever it was, Ahsoka and Bariss kept it tightly under wraps, to protect their lover's life and political career.

"Mmm, perhaps we should join you then,” Ahsoka says, finally. Senator Chuchi whispers something to Bariss and Bariss nods in understanding, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek as they duck back inside together.

Luke's eyes dart back and forth between Ahoska and his fathers, eyes wide.

"Are you helping the slaves? Can I come? I've been practicing my piloting!" he asks, hopefully. Leia's dream jobs changed every week depending on whoever she was enamored with at that particular moment. Currently they were on Princess and Chancellor of the Republic, just like her idol, Uncle Bail. Obi-Wan doesn't have the heart to tell her that she would be a terrible Chancellor—she has far too much of Anakin's and Shmi's fire and unwillingness to compromise. But Luke has held one dream and one dream only ever since he was two years old: rebel pilot. Ahsoka laughs and ruffles his hair.

"Not this time, Skyboy. Children should just be children, not soldiers. But maybe one day, when you're older," she replies, the bitterness of her words soothed a little by time. She hops to her feet and goes to stand by Anakin.

Bariss reemerges, alone this time, and raises an eyebrow at Luke and Leia.

"Well then, best not to leave your grandmother waiting," she hints. It's unsubtle but does the trick nicely enough, sending Luke and Leia careening away and guiding their group back onto a large, well-trafficked foot path.  It’s only a short while longer before they’re in sight of the small but bustling landing pad area. Luke and Leia eagerly scan the ships, both with their eyes and with the Force.

Their heads whip to the left and zero in on a flashy, red cruiser and the small figure gray haired figure in brown standing beside it

"Grandma Shmi!" they shriek. Shmi kneels down and opens her arms.

"My little storm! My little dragon!" she says as Luke and Leia barrel into her embrace. While some like to say that Leia is daddy's little girl or that Luke is his Papa's shadow, the twins are first and foremost the stars in their grandmother's eyes.  Leia begins excitedly telling Shmi of all their exciting adventures since they saw her last. Shmi listens patiently, attentively, occasionally throwing in a question or two about the exact storyline of their elaborate pretend games. "I'm very glad to hear that you defeated the evil Empire. And that you made sure your loyal companions, Artoo and Threepio, got out safely as well. It's very important to win, of course, but even more important to win the right way and not sacrifice other people's freedom and happiness for your own. I am very, very happy to know you already understand this lesson—I have such wise grandchildren!"

Luke and Leia beam and latch onto Shmi's skirt as she stands to her feet. She spots Ahsoka and Bariss hovering a few meters away and tilts her head towards the ship, just slightly. They nod and disappear as Shmi claps her hands together. She holds her hands out expectantly. Anakin ducks forward and presses a kiss to her cheek, stepping back to allow Obi-Wan to do the same.

“Shmi, it is so good to see you,” Obi-Wan greets, warmly. He tilts his head. “I’m so very glad you could come.”  

“As I was glad to receive your invitation,” Shmi replies. “Considering how rarely you two ever come to visit me on Tatooine.”

“You know how Anakin hates sand,” Obi-Wan replies, lips twitching. Leia scowls.

“Sand is yucky! Why do you live in such a terrible place, Grandma?”

“It is my home, little dragon,” Shmi replies fondly, ruffling Leia’s carefully plaited hair. “It may be harsh and ugly to some, but it is too bound up in who I am. Come now, I am in need of some food after that long journey. You and Luke can tell me all about your adventures over breakfast.”

Luke and Leia clamor to lead the way towards the school’s communal dining hall, skipping ahead as their grandmother and fathers follow close behind, fond smiles gracing their faces.

“You came at a great time, Mom,” Anakin begins conversationally, his eyes glinting with humor. “Guess who else is visiting?”

Shmi pauses for a moment, then smiles widely as understanding dawns.

“Mace is here?”

“Yup,” Anakin replies, popping the ‘p.’ “He and Depa are giving a series of lectures on the history of traditional saber forms, culminating in an explanation and demonstration of the Vaapad.”

“It’s quite popular,” Obi-Wan chimes in. “We had to move it outdoors just to get enough space.”

“Truly? Or is he just hiding from the Senate again?” Shmi asks, amused. The Yavinists held a strict no-politics rule—both Obi-Wan and Plo Koon felt the Orthodox Jedi had failed to keep themselves sufficiently separated from the whims of the Senate and refused to allow any official political business to take place on Yavin. As a result, the Yavin IV “guest lecturer” spot had become quite the coveted position for members of the High Council, who relished the chance to escape the pestering of the Republic Senators.

“Neither really,” Obi-Wan admits, softly. “Master Billaba is considering taking another Padawan, a young man named Ezra Bridger, and wishes to seek the blessing of Grey’s brothers. Master Windu has accompanied her to lend his support.”

After the war, Master Billaba had spent half a year on Yavin IV, recovering from the sudden, terrible loss of Caleb and Grey, but had ultimately decided that her path still lay with the Code and had returned to Coruscant. It had set a precedent—one that had finally convinced Masters Mundi and Gallia that an independent sect would not tear the Order apart, but ultimately make it stronger. Many Orthodox Jedi came to visit Yavin IV and try life outside the confines of the Code, but the majority decided to return to the fold, their purpose and faith restored by the knowledge that they had tried another way and still believed the Code was the best path forward.

“I’m so very happy for her,” Shmi says. They duck through the worn, stone entryway, their footsteps echoing against the flagstones. “Isn’t Ezra the orphaned youngling that her vision of Caleb led her to?”

“Yes,” Anakin confirms. “She’s carefully followed his progress ever since she brought him back to the Temple and now wants to claim him as soon as he’s of age. Her visions have recently returned, and Master Yoda believes Caleb’s Force ghost is trying to play matchmaker.”

“I’m sure Mace is overjoyed. I know how anxious he is for another grand-padawan, not that he would ever say anything to Depa,” Shmi says with a shake of her head. “Didn’t want to pressure her.”

“For all that you two fight like feral loth cats, I do believe you are Master Windu’s best friend,” Obi-Wan says, dryly. Shmi looks vaguely horrified. “I don’t think he’s confessed that anyone else. Certainly not to me.”

Shmi is saved from responding by their arrival in the bustling, towering main commissary, wide skylights bathing the room in the morning light. When they had first arrived, this room had been half-destroyed, roof completely gone, but over the months of rebuilding, he and Anakin had grown unbearably fond of the open roof (yes, okay, they had kriffed here once or twice, pushing their sleeping bags together as the stars spun above) and had decided to install a transparisteel canopy rather than restore the roof to its original state. The room is bustling, families, students, clones and Jedi mingling freely in the large space and chatting as they use unleavened bread to scoop a rice and egg mixture into their mouths. Plo Koon raises a hand in greeting from across the room, where he sits with Wolffe and the rest of the Wolf Pack.

“Grandma!” Luke tugs at her sleeve to capture her attention and moving determinedly towards where Aayla and Bly sit, a shared sleepless look in their eyes that Obi-Wan remembers all too well from raising two newborns. He loves his children, but he doesn’t miss those days, not at all.  “Come see baby Tol! He’s really, really cute!”

Aayla smiles, warm but exhausted, as Obi-Wan, Anakin, the twins, and Shmi fold themselves down onto the benches to join their little breakfast group. Three other younglings chase each other in circles around the table and cry out in joy at seeing Luke and Leia. Bly tries to wrangle a spoonful of oatmeal into a toddler’s mouth as a set of older teens watch their siblings with the particular embarrassment that only teenagers can express.

For some reason, all those years ago, when Quinlan had told Obi-Wan that Aayla and Bly wanted to raise a “bunch of bouncing babies,” Obi-Wan had just blithely assumed that Quinlan was exaggerating for effect. Many of the clones and their partners had difficulty conceiving—a side effect of all the changes wrought on their genetic structure by the Kaminoans and then all the treatments they had gone through to undo those changes—but Aayla and Bly hadn’t let that slow them down for a moment, adopting a whole host of orphaned Twi’leks and young, not yet decanted clones who had been seized from the Kaminoans at the end of the war. They were up to ten and still counting—the oldest of their sons and daughters had been pre-teens when Aayla and Bly had adopted them and so were now young adults, forging their own way in the Galaxy.

Aayla gestures to the communal plates in front of her as Luke and Leia press closer, trying to sneak a peek at the newest addition to the Secura family. Aayla smiles indulgently and shifts the traditional Twi’leki woven wrap to allow them a better look at the still slumbering baby. Kote, the Secura youngling closest to Luke and Leia’s age, rolls his eyes and gives them both a hard poke, trying to entice them to join him and his other siblings in their game of tag. Luke and Leia, predictably, are outraged and jump up to return the favor. Bly juggles the toddler in his hands expertly.

“Good to see you, Shmi,” he says, with a nod.

“And you. Little Seela has grown quite big since I was last here,” she says, extending a finger for the toddler in question to wrap her hand around. Seela babbles and Shmi nods very seriously, as if they are having a very serious, coherent conversation. “Ah, of course, thank you for pointing that out, little dancer.”

“How long are you visiting for this time?” Aayla asks. Shmi glances to Obi-Wan and Anakin.

“Only a few days, I should think,” Shmi replies. Obi-Wan nodded in agreement—all he needs are a few hours of quality time alone with Shmi to secure her blessing. A few days was plenty of time to find a sufficient excuse for sending Anakin and the twins off on their own. He only pays half a mind to the rest of the conversation, his thoughts currently focused on planning his proposal to Anakin. He doesn’t want it to be too overblown, but Anakin does like soap-holo-worthy declarations of love and so Obi-Wan thinks that he might go with hand-picked flowers and a poem-like proposal speech.  

A worried, gentle prod pulls him from his thoughts and he meets Anakin’s eyes across the table—he’s shielding tightly, so he’s confident that none of his thoughts escaped, but they so rarely block any parts of their minds off from each other these days that the very act of shielding probably attracted Anakin’s attention. He flashes a warm, loving smile at Anakin.

Nothing to worry about, dear one, he reassures Anakin. His trust in Obi-Wan is absolute and so his dear guileless lover accepts Obi-Wan’s explanation unhesitatingly and they turn back to the breakfast conversation without further ado.  

***

“…and so I’m asking for your blessing,” Obi-Wan finishes, inexplicably nervous. He looks expectantly to Shmi and is taken aback by the decidedly stony cast to her impassive face. “I know it may be a little overdue at this point, but I—well. Uh, Shmi…I apologize, but I seem to have offended you and I never meant to…I just. What did I say?”

Shmi says nothing for a long moment, taking a long sip of her tzai, as they sit in the kitchen of her guest quarters, on the third day of her visit. Anakin had agreed to take the twins back to their house, so that Shmi and Obi-Wan can have the afternoon to themselves, free of the distractions Luke and Leia so effortlessly and unintentionally provided. The conversation had gone well, at least at first, but now Obi-Wan wants to fiddle with his teacup, as if he is a naughty child once more.

“Are our traditions not good enough for you? I know they are not legally binding in the Core and I suppose it is natural to want to a wedding ceremony following your own beliefs, but...I—I must admit, it hurts me to know that you place such little weight upon my people’s beliefs.”

“What?” Obi-Wan blinks, completely wrong-footed.

“You act as if you and Anakin are not already married,” Shmi says, as if that is any explanation. She looks down at the table with a little furrow between her brows.

“Because we’re not?” Obi-Wan replies, an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice. “Unless I’m completely forgetting something really important, Anakin and I have never gotten married.”

“But I’ve seen you teaching Luke and Leia to make tzai,” Shmi insists. “And I’ve tasted it—you two added another ingredient.”

Obi-Wan opens, then closes his mouth.

“Shmi,” he says, in what he thinks is an admirably calm voice. “Can you explain exactly what a marriage ceremony on Tatooine entails?”

She regards him silently for a moment.

“Depur never recognized our marriages, tried to take them from us, as they stole everything else, so we could not use trinkets or jewelry to mark our commitment, not like you do in the Core. Instead, we had to share something that Depur could never take away—tzai. When two slaves wish to get married, they teach each other their family recipes and find a new way to blend them together. And after that, they’re married—it’s not really a big ceremony or celebration, but it’s still important. Didn’t Ani explain all of this?”

“No, no he did not.”

“You mean…? Did he explain any of this?”

“No. I was under the impression that sharing tzai was indicative solely of my adoption into the Skywalker family.”

“Yes, sharing tzai,” she clarifies, still seeming shell-shocked. “But learning the recipe, making your own variation—no, that’s definitely a marriage. But how long ago was this? I know it was before Luke and Leia were born, but…”

“It was shortly after the Clone Wars started,” Obi-Wan says, finishing the last of his tzai and quickly, efficiently beginning to clear the detritus off the table. Shmi blinks rapidly. “We weren’t even together at the time—he was still technically my Padawan.”

“Oh Ani, really?” Shmi sighs. Obi-Wan finishes his cleaning and stands to his feet.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Shmi, it appears I have a husband to murder.”

“By all means,” she says with a shake of her head. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like a go at him once you’re finished—marrying you without your knowledge or consent, what was he thinking?”

“Force only knows,” Obi-Wan replies, as he storms out of Shmi’s guest quarters.

There must be something in his face or brewing in the Force around him, because for once not a single person stops Obi-Wan. A few clones and a Yavinist hastily jump out of his way, another pair stop one of the new visitors from stepping in his path with a hushed whisper. All the others watch him, wide eyed, as leaves crackle and branches snap underneath his boots.

He stomps into his home and surveys the scene unfolding in the main living area—Luke, Leia, Anakin, and Artoo currently engaged in a rendition of their favorite game, Let’s-see-how-many-objects-Daddy-can-float-at-once-including-us!”

“Anakin Skywalker!” Obi-Wan booms from the entryway, hands on his hips and feet planted militantly. Luke, Leia, and Anakin all look up as one, freezing guiltily in place. Luke and Leia hover awkwardly in the air, arrested mid-giggle. Obi-Wan uses a hand to gently, but firmly lower them to the ground. They all watch him with wide eyes and Artoo shuffles from side to side to express his discomfort.

Obi-Wan stomps closer. He hears whispers of relief as he bypasses Luke and Leia, while Anakin holds his hands up in a placating gesture of surrender. Obi-Wan goes toe to toe with him, their chests practically touching, and glares.

“Hey, now, I don’t know what I did this time—and I’m sure I deserve it, whatever it was,” Anakin begins hastily. “But I would also like to take this time to remind you that you love me very, very much, so much you took on like, three whole Sith lords, and helped reform two millennias-old bureaucracies…so, yeah. Just keep that in mind.”

Obi-Wan pokes at his chest with a single finger, eyes narrowed.

“You’re right, I do love you,” he says, jabbing his finger to emphasize his point. “So much so that I was going to ask you to marry me—I had plans, big, romantic plans involving a private resort, 500-count real silk sheets, and absolutely no twins.”

“Hey!” he hears Luke exclaim in an offended tone before he is hastily shushed by his sister. Anakin’s eyes have turned all gooey.

“You want to get married?” he breathes.

“Of course I do, dear one,” Obi-Wan’s voice softens momentarily, despite himself. “The only reason I haven’t asked before now is because, well—you’re my best friend, my brother, my lover, the father of my children, the burning supernova around which everything I am rotates. A piece of legal flimsiplast saying that we agreed to bind ourselves together seemed…redundant.” Anakin gives him an awed look, but somehow this is what spurs Obi-Wan to regain his feelings of righteous indignation. “So, imagine how I felt when I found out that all my plans were ruined because not only were we already married, but my complete nerfherder of a husband had failed to inform me of that fact for over twelve years.”

Anakin freezes in place, eyes growing as wide as saucers.

“Daddy’s in trouble!” Leia crows, giggling madly with Luke.

“Ah, haha. Oops?”

“‘OOPS’? I FIND OUT THAT YOU MARRIED ME OVER A DECADE AGO IN A SECRET TEA CEREMONY AND ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS ‘OOPS’? I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE COUCH, ANAKIN SKYWALKER, BECAUSE THAT IS THE ONLY PLACE YOU’RE SLEEPING FOR THE NEXT TWELVE YEARS!”

“Obi-Wan, dearest, brightest light of my life—wait what, where are you taking me?”

“Luke, Leia, follow me!”

“Where are we taking Daddy, Papa?”

“To find your Uncle Plo—he’s going to be officiating your father and I’s second wedding, in public, right now.”

“Wait, huh? I thought you just said—this makes no sense.”

“Silly Daddy, it makes perfect sense! You’ve been married for years your way, but now it’s Papa’s turn to show you how much he loves you. It wasn’t very nice of you to keep that all to yourself.”

“Very good, Leia. Thank you. It’s so reassuring to see that our daughter did not inherit her brains from you.”

“Uh…do I get any say in this?”

“I don’t know—did I get any say twelve years ago?”

“…you’re never going to let this go, are you?”

(He doesn’t.)

“Chin up, dear one, all our friends will be there. It will be beautiful.”

(It is. Rex surreptitiously wipes a tear from his eye.)

“Can we at least put it aside for next couple of weeks or so? I would really like to not spend my entire honeymoon exiled on the couch.”

(He does, in fact, spend the entire honeymoon on the couch.)

“I am a man of principle.”

(Of course, Obi-Wan caves after the first day and they end up having completely wild make-up sex all over said couch, the kitchen counters, the balcony, and practically every surface in the private resort suite…everything except for the bed, which Obi-Wan forswears out of vindictive spite.)

“And I love you for it.”

(He does.)

“Force help me, I can’t believe I’m saying this after the stunt you just pulled, but, yes, I love you too.”

(He really does.)

(And he may have banned Anakin from the bed, but he has said nothing about joining his husband on the couch, so after everything is said and done, they fall asleep, curled together in the too small space of the couch. Because Obi-Wan may be a man of principle, but he still loves his husband most of all.)

THE END