Chapter Text
Mick was healed enough to make the trip back to Anchorhead, and Obi-Wan commended Triva on her patience because if that man said are we there yet one more fucking time he was going to open the speeder door, punt him into the road and leave him for the sleens.
“You should see the new ship, Senator, she’s a little beat up, but she’s the fastest ship in the galaxy!” Triva said brightly, oh and how Obi-Wan hadn’t heard that before.
Ironically Obi-Wan hadn’t spent much time in Anchorhead, only every so often he would come to the markets to see the new spiced teas, and it had hardly changed at all. The sun was high in the sky when they arrived, the stone walls of the city broken by the towering archways that cast long shadows down the roads. The mingling of shouts and voices from the spaceport and markets mixed together in a muddlement of languages from basic to huttese to some Obi-Wan couldn’t even make out. He smiled, listening as Reko shouted at Mick to stop poking at his stomach.
“If you can’t walk, let Reko carry you.” Triva sighed, Anakin snorted as Mick perked up,
“Is that an option?” He turned his attention to the Zabrak, who glared at a smirking Triva and scooped Mick up like a damsel in distress.
“You see it too?” Obi-Wan muttered to Triva as the two walked over to the hangar, Triva let out a cackle, patting him on the shoulder good-naturedly,
“Oh please, I’ve been seeing it since we were nineteen.” Anakin chuckled next to him, “I know that Mick won’t like the idea of staying behind but we should have a few drinks tonight, we need it after all that and I can show Skywalker the new ship.”
Anakin perked up, excited at the prospect, Obi-Wan momentarily feared what would happen if he left the two of them alone together on an unattended ship. He shuddered at the thought of such chaos. The three of them chatted as they made their way to the hangar. Obi-Wan was actually starting to relax a little when Triva let out a little squeal at the sight of her ship- and what a ship it was- a real freighter- a-
“Isn’t she a beaut?!”
Obi-Wan let out a sound like a wounded animal, the sheer absurdity, the audacity of the Force to fuck with him in so many ways in such a short time was astronomical. But wait- maybe it wasn’t, maybe this was a different freighter, one that wasn’t at all that one, because there was no way in the galaxy that it had to be that one. It wasn’t. It was a different ship. It was- It was-
“The Millenium Falcon!” Reko called from the ramp. Obi-Wan choked down a muffled sob. He knew it was too good to hope for anything else. He had no idea how it came into their possession, nor how it would come into the possession of a snarky young man and a wookiee within the next twenty years. The goddamn thing didn't even look like it would last another twenty years.
“We are not calling it that!” Triva shouted back to him,
“Oh no,” Obi-Wan humoured, “I think it suits it,”
“See Trivvy! He agrees with me!”
Obi-Wan could really use that drink.
The Millennium Falcon conundrum continued to plague him no matter how many drinks he seemed to down. Though that might’ve just been the caterwauling Anakin and Mick called karaoke. Yeah, it was definitely that. The suns had set over Anchorhead in the past hour, filling the city with a haze of cool night air that masked the sting of sand whipping at their faces as the quartet stumbled out of the cantina. Obi-Wan could hold his spotchka. He could. He definitely wasn’t drunk. Why was Tatooine on its side?
Obi-Wan, ever the observational one, realised he was on his side.
there was also someone on top of him.
He forced his brain to focus long enough to see the dopey grin of Anakin Skywalker staring back at him, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling in the dim, hazy light that emanated from the lanterns around them. He found himself struggling to blink, struggling to look away, to breathe. His heart climbed to his throat and Anakin would not stop looking at him like- like- like however he was looking at him .
The world started spinning again when Triva let out a yelp, the two men whipped their heads towards the noise and Obi-Wan was suddenly very aware of how close they were. Anakin’s padawan braid hung over his shoulder, and for a moment Obi-Wan wanted everything to stand still again as Anakin rolled off him and landed flat on his back in the sand.
“I don’t like sand.” He whined. “It’s coarse and rough and—“ he wiggled with a grimace “—gets everywhere.”
Obi-Wan snorted. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” The two of them started giggling, rosy cheeked and sweet. Triva and Reko were above them, smiles wider and wider the more Obi-Wan looked at them. The cold night air didn’t bother him much now. The sand in his clothes didn’t itch, his head wasn’t spinning. All he could hear was Anakin’s laughter, how he had missed it . He briefly closed his eyes and knew that wherever the other Obi-Wan was… he was smiling too.
The next morning was not pretty. Anakin and Triva took turns heaving up into the fresher at regular intervals. Obi-Wan nursed his throbbing headache by glaring into his caf. Reko lay face down in the middle of the galley mimicking the mating call of a krayt dragon while Mick sat smugly over them all on his little hill of sobriety. (Obi-Wan did not miss the way Mick wordlessly set a cup of caf next to Reko’s head, nor the way his eyes softened when the man looked up and muttered a soft ‘thank you’ to him). He was still fuzzy on the details of the night before, but Obi-Wan’s memory still burned with the glow of Anakin’s laughter, which, regrettably, was cut by the hacking sounds coming from down the hallway.