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After a grueling two weeks in near-complete bedridden isolation and confinement, Obi-Wan limped his way back from the Halls of Healing, nodding to the other Jedi as he passed by.
Obi-Wan tried to hide the way his left knee refused to bend correctly, and the slight hunch in his posture from the many layers of bandages that wrapped about his shoulders, but it was blatantly obvious that he was fighting losing the battle.
Moving hurt.
Everything hurt.
The other Jedi--they cared about him, he knew that as a fact. He could feel them staring, the Force betraying the occasional hint of pity aimed in his direction.
Obi-Wan just wasn’t exactly in the mood to indulge their curiosity and concern; with exhaustion and pain working at his nerves and patience, every worried face, sympathetic glance, or side look just made him move a hair closer to actually snapping.
It was all so much.
Too much...
Nearly fifteen minutes later, Obi-Wan dragged himself across the threshold of his quarters and nearly punched the door’s controls in his eagerness to seal himself inside.
The lights came on, low and warm, illuminating the sparsely-decorated living space.
Though still relatively small, the quarters of a Jedi Council Member were more spacious than others and therefore contained an extra sofa. Force knew why--it wasn’t as though Obi-Wan needed it. Each standard room already had a small couch, and that was more than enough space for his usual guests--that being Anakin, Ahsoka, and the odd Council Member on occasion.
Today, however, he was grateful for the additional furniture.
Without hesitation, Obi-Wan allowed himself to gently topple backwards into the cushions, leaning his head back and allowing the armrest to support his upper spine and neck. Pain arced up his body at the movement, but it soon subsided back to a dull ache.
Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan took a moment to send a silent word of thanks to Master Vokara Che. It wasn’t very common for a Jedi to be allowed to return to their quarters after a mission like the one he’d endured--even after two weeks of treatment.
Of course, he was restricted from going anywhere else except the mess hall and Council chambers, but it was still a blessing to finally be back in his own space.
Obi-Wan slowly let out a long breath.
Just a few more minutes here, he thought, exhaustion weighing him down.
Just a few minutes…
The days that followed went by in a blur as Obi-Wan’s life began to lock into the same rhythm: wake up, work, try to eat, fend off the healer attendant, sleep.
Both Anakin and Ahsoka were busy, consumed by the war just like the rest of the Jedi, occasionally showing up back at the Temple for a few hours before promptly being sent off once more.
To just think of his former-Padawan and Grandpadawan, sent an odd pang of...
Was that loneliness? Obi-Wan buried the thought almost as soon as it came to him.
He had stats finish.
A week into the cycle, Obi-Wan began to feel the emptiness creeping into his mind, dampening his spirits. Despite the ‘low’ feeling, he did his best to ignore it, but it was almost impossible to separate himself from work at any point in the day.
Already, he was working nearly every waking minute, covering for the Masters out on the front lines and in combat…
Dreams began to creep up on Obi-Wan, haunting him in his sleep.
Maul.
Qui-Gon.
Anakin.
Ahsoka.
Satine.
Dooku.
Even the mysterious Sith, Darth Sidious, whispered into his mind--a shadowed figure wreathed in shadow, letting loose the occasional high-pitched laugh that sent shivers racing down Obi-Wan’s spine.
If anyone noticed the paling of Obi-Wan’s complexion, or the steadily-deepening shadows beneath his eyes, they didn’t say anything. Then again, particularly among the members of the Council, they all were looking quite haggard.
Rather than the normal discussions that they held, the meetings were filled with a deep sense of weariness. Few words were spoken, and most issues were resolved by nods and subtle gestures.
While the Jedi on Coruscant were swimming in stats, plans, data, and management, those who attended via hologram often bore physical reminders of the horrors of battle--exhausted and covered with bacta patches.
No matter where in the galaxy they were, everyone could feel the weight of the war on their shoulders.
And as for the war itself, the Republic was losing ground--fast.
One particular night, Obi-Wan had just finished compiling data from a set of failed tactics from an Outer Rim encounter when someone knocked on the door.
Looking up, Obi-Wan’s eyes first went to the chronometer at the corner of his small, rather busy desk, and then to the door.
Ah, it’s already 22:00, he noted.
He leaned back in his chair.
“Come in.”
The door opened with a soft hiss, sliding into the wall to reveal a humanoid form, shadowed from the contrast between the bright corridor lights against the deep gloom of his quarters.
Obi-Wan squinted, eyes refusing to adjust quickly. He caught sight of a telltale set of montrals, too small for Master Ti’s, so that meant--
“Master.” Ahsoka made her way into the room, allowing the door to shut. Blinking, she stared at him, brow furrowing. Obi-Wan noted that she had bacta patches on her arm as well as one on the side of her face.
Obi-Wan felt his spirits lift just a touch, returned the smile, and slowly set down the datapad he’d been holding in his hands.
“Hello, Ahsoka.”
“How are you?” She smiled.
Letting out a breath, Obi-Wan leaned back slightly in his chair.
“Busy,” he admitted. “But otherwise, I'm doing well. Yourself?”
Obi-Wan’s gut twisted a bit at the lie, but he shoved aside the small thread of guilt. Ahsoka shouldn’t be worried about him now. After all, he’d been in attendance when the Council had cleared her to be an escort for a group of younglings departing tomorrow.
Hesitating slightly, Ahsoka’s eyes fell and she bowed her head. “I’m… alright, I guess?” She shuffled her feet, and Obi-Wan leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands.
He could sense something in her presence, as though she were feeling--
Alone.
He mentally cursed the war and all the pain it had caused.
“Is it the Temple?” Obi-Wan asked softly.
Ahsoka hesitated before nodding. “It’s deserted,” she all but whispered.
Obi-Wan bowed his head. “There are a lot of campaigns going on right now. I’ll be the first to admit that seeing it so empty is… unsettling.”
Ahsoka took a deep breath, and then seemed to bite back words, her confused grief and sadness speaking through the Force instead.
“I’m sure it won’t be like this for long.” Obi-Wan supplemented gently.
Through the Force, he could feel that he’d said the right thing, as Ahsoka’s pent up anxiety seemed to lessen.
For a moment, they were both silent, and then Ahsoka seemed to shake herself.
“Well, Master, I just wanted to come and say hello… and just see how you were doing. I’ll be off-planet again tomorrow.” She turned, clearly about to make an exit.
The Padawan had barely taken a step before she hesitated, spinning around to stare back at Obi-Wan.
Before Obi-Wan’s brain had time to process what was happening, Ahsoka arms wrapped around his shoulders and he found himself being pulled into a gentle, yet tight embrace.
Slightly stunned at the unexpected touch, it took Obi-Wan a moment to react. People didn’t just hug him. Like attachment, physical touch wasn’t exactly encouraged among the Jedi.
But, somehow, this felt right .
Obi-Wan reached up and returned the gesture as best he could. He could feel Ahsoka smiling into his tunic, and warmth began to make its way into his chest for the first time in weeks.
“Take care, Master.” She released him and stepped back, expression radiant.
The warmth expanded in Obi-Wan’s chest.
“You too, Ahsoka.”