Chapter Text
The door slid open without so much as a knock. Obi-Wan startled at his desk, turning to see Anakin blowing through the frame. A cloud of negative energy flooded in with him and, if Obi-Wan didn't know better, he'd have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. “Anakin? What-”
“You lied to me.” Anakin’s voice was dark, cold, hateful.
“Excuse me?” Obi-Wan got to his feet as the door closed, sealing them together in his quarters. Anakin folded his arms over his chest, his face set in a deep frown. He proceeded to tick off Obi-Wan's indiscretions on his fingers.
“First, you faked your own death and kept it from me. Then, you’ve been pulling missions from the 501st, keeping intel off of my radar, redirecting things to the 212th. And now I find out that your “special mission” that you needed my ship for was to take on Maul. On Mandalore. By yourself.”
Obi-Wan’s stomach dropped to his feet. “Who told you?”
He didn't know why he asked. He already knew that it was Cody, had to be Cody. He'd been the only one to know. The 212th commander had caught his general alone in the landing bay at two in the morning, fighting with The Twilight. Already dressed like a bounty hunter, Obi-Wan had scared the man so badly that he'd nearly shot him.
Under any other circumstances, Obi-Wan surely would have come up with a viable excuse. Instead, he had elected to put his confidence in one of the most reliable men he'd ever known. He'd left out the bit about coming to Satine's rescue and told him the rest of his plan. Logically, he knew that he was about to do something dangerous; someone needed to know where he was. Unlike Anakin, he could have faith in Cody not to follow him.
What he could not expect from him was not to worry about him. Clearly, that had gotten the best of his friend somewhere in it all. He must've held his tongue until Obi-Wan returned but perhaps he'd been unable to continue after realizing that his homecoming was not a happy one. Obi-Wan had tried to seem as much himself as possible in the countless interactions that had found him between the landing bay and his quarters. He thought he'd been convincing enough but there was no fooling Cody.
“Thanks for the confirmation,” Anakin growled. “What does it matter? I know.”
Obi-Wan took a step towards him, hand outstretched. “Anakin, quiet your mind-”
“No!” Anakin threw his hands up and Obi-Wan dropped his. “I can’t trust you anymore! I can’t trust anyone! I've always wondered how many times The Council has lied to me! How many of those lies were yours?!”
If Anakin hadn't been so caught up in his own emotional turmoil, he would have felt how his words had hurt. Obi-Wan looked up at him, wounded. “I want you to say that again,” he dared, the soft tremble in his voice betraying him.
“Say what,” Anakin challenged back, fists clenched. There was something in him now that Obi-Wan had never felt before. And it scared him. Before that moment, he would’ve told you that he could pick Anakin’s signature out of millions without a second thought; all he’d have to do was close his eyes and reach. Even with a galaxy between them, he could tell you if he was tired, if he was happy, if he needed help. He knew his padawan, his brother, his best friend as well as he knew himself. Who was this?
“That you don't trust me,” Obi-Wan forced out. Even saying it himself was painful. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't trust me, Anakin.”
Anakin's rage seemed to waver for a moment at the pain in his master's voice, but he steeled it almost immediately. “I'm pretty sure you heard me the first time.”
“I was really hoping that I hadn’t.” Anakin didn't respond, and Obi-Wan couldn't stand how their bond strained under the weight of conflict. “I didn’t do it to hurt you.”
“You lied to me,” Anakin repeated venomously.
Obi-Wan shook his head in denial. “I didn't! I...I just didn't tell you everything. I couldn't-”
“A lie of omission then! What's the difference?! What did Satine call you, 'a collection of half-truths and hyperbole'?! I'm pretty sure she was right!”
“That isn't fair,” Obi-Wan all but shouted, and even Anakin seemed taken aback by his tone.
But he couldn’t help it. He was in pieces. He’d spent the last 48 hours sleepless, hemorrhaging inside, and all he’d wanted was someone to take away his datapad and let him grieve. For one brief, hopeful moment, he’d been so relieved to see Anakin darkening his doorstep. He would never be able to hide his suffering from him. And he didn’t want to. He wanted Anakin to give him permission to hurt and maybe, just maybe, let him lean on him until the world turned right side up again.
Instead, they were doing this. His heart was pounding in his chest and every beat was agony. It took everything he had not to give in to the tears burning behind his eyes. His mantra had stopped working the second Anakin had spoken Satine’s name.
‘He doesn’t know,’ he reminded himself. ‘He doesn’t know she’s gone because you’ve kept that from him too. He’s hurt and he’s lashing out at you but he has no idea that he just crossed the line. He has no idea where it even is.’ He took a deep breath and released it, letting that go into the Force.
“Anakin, don’t you ever consider that I do these things for a reason? Do you really think that I relish keeping you in the dark? It’s not easy for me either.” Anakin scoffed bitterly. “Don’t act like that. I have never been anything but honest with you when I could. I've risked my life, time and again, to protect you-”
Anakin’s anger suddenly swelled until it filled the room. The walls seemed to pulse and a glass on the desk groaned but didn’t fracture. Obi-Wan looked to it and back to Anakin again, shocked, concerned.
“Because you made some stupid promise! Master Qui-Gon was the one who actually wanted me! You just got caught holding the bag!” Obi-Wan outwardly flinched at that, the prior moment forgotten.
“I sure did, Padawan.” Anakin scowled at him, furious. These days, they only used the old titles in affectionate jest. But that had been intended to make him feel small, to remind him of his place. An unusually spiteful move for his master, but Anakin did suppose he’d been the one to start swinging. It wasn’t fair to expect Obi-Wan to pull his punches. “You know, this is starting to sound a whole lot less like me not wanting you and a whole lot more like you not wanting me.”
“And if it is?”
“Tell me.” Obi-Wan buried a hand in his own hair in frustration. “This is a long time coming, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
They stood at an impasse and stared each other down. It felt like hours, but it wasn’t more than a few minutes before Obi-Wan cracked, his shoulders falling. “You know what? You're right. He’s the one who saw something in you and I didn’t. The reasons why are irrelevant. Maybe he would have been better for you. We'll never know that and I'm sorry. I’m sorry, but I'm what’s left of him. I'm what you have.”
“There’s no point in being sorry. What’s done cannot be undone. How many times have you said that to me?” Anakin shook his head in dismay. “It doesn’t change that you could never take me as I was.”
Something snapped in Obi-Wan. “You’re wrong,” he argued. “You're so incredibly wrong. I have. I may be the only one who has.”
“You think I'm a risk, just like the rest of The Council! You've tried to change me-”
“I've tried to teach you,” he countered. “I've tried to help you, keep you safe. You're powerful, Anakin, but power can be dangerous. And the person most in danger has always been you.” It may have been Anakin who pushed them to this moment, but Obi-Wan was suddenly hyper aware of how these words truly needed to be said. Perhaps they’d been building up for years. They were pouring out of him now, all the things he’d thought he’d let go.
‘Oh, Master,’ he thought sadly. ‘What would you think if you could see me now? You would be so disappointed in me. In both of us.’
No matter. The dam was broken and there was no stopping now. If they were going to go after each other, it may as well be all at once. Anakin was angry because Obi-Wan had lied to him. Now, he would tell him nothing but the truth.
“I took you on because I made a promise, true, but I haven’t stayed on this path because of it. Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to give up? I had no experience, Anakin. You wanted Master Qui-Gon’s wisdom? You already have it because I was parroting it. I had none of my own to offer. The Council had no faith in me and cautious optimism at best in you. Your sheer existence broke rules and it was always a battle to get you what you needed. Through all of it, the only person I had on my side was you and you were a child with no training who fought me at every turn. There was no blueprint for us. Do you know how many nights I laid awake, wondering if I was doing right by you? Do you know how many times I asked the Force why, in all its infinite wisdom, it put us together? Do you think I ever got an answer?!”
Anakin swallowed hard but didn’t respond. His hands had loosened, limp at his sides. His gloved fingers twitched, something in the mechanics misfiring as they sometimes did when he got particularly upset. The anger was wispy, but there was an edge of betrayal that was just as sharp as it had been when he arrived. His eyes were lowered, trained on some point beyond Obi-Wan, unreadable.
“I didn’t keep at it because of some deathbed promise I felt bound to. That would never have been enough. I did it because you mattered to me. I did it because you deserved a master who believed in you, not because of some prophecy in the holochrons but because he knew you, all of you, and all the incredible things that you could be. You may have been chosen by the galaxy once, by Qui-Gon once, but I chose you every day for eleven years.”
Anakin was visibly shaking. Obi-Wan wasn't sure exactly why. He didn't feel the rage from him anymore, only something blank and empty. His own mind was too clouded to see clearly, his heart too heavy. The weight he'd been carrying for the last decade was suddenly crushing him.
“You seem to idolize my master but, from your place, that is an easy thing to do. The difference between us is that I knew him, really knew him, in all his greatness and all his ineptitude. I know what it felt like to disagree with the very fiber of some of the things he held most dear. I respected him anyway. I trusted him anyway because I knew that, no matter where we stood, he always had my best interests at heart. After all we've been through together, I sincerely hoped I would have earned the same from you.”
“You don't understand.” Anakin sounded lost, shattered. “You just...you don’t understand, Obi-Wan.”
“I imagine you’re right,” Obi-Wan conceded. “And neither do you. But you will. Because one day in the not so distant future, you will find yourself at odds with Ahsoka.”
That made him lift his head. Obi-Wan captured his gaze and held it as something familiar flashed in Anakin’s eyes. Obi-Wan knew that feeling well, the overwhelming surge of protectiveness that had hit him at the mere sound of her name. One does not threaten a padawan while the master still breathes.
“I know you think that will never happen, but it will. You’ll shield her from things she could not possibly be ready to comprehend - perhaps you already have - and she won’t understand why. It will not be because you don’t trust her. It will not be because you want to deceive her. And it certainly will not be because you don’t ache to have her beside you. It will be because you love her. And on that day, I'll be there to help you through. I’ll let you decide why that might be.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating and not at all peaceful. It was an uneasy détente in which nothing seemed resolved. Obi-Wan's senses, honed for the battlefield, told him to remain wary of the second wave. And yet, nothing came.
“Are you finished?” Anakin’s voice had lost its sharpness but he was guarded now, dangerously quiet. Obi-Wan realized he was shaking too, his nails dug deep into his own palms. He forcibly released them. He really thought he would feel better after all of that. He didn’t.
“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes, I’m finished.” He dropped to sit on his bed, brutally exhausted. Moments later, the surface sunk as Anakin sat stiffly beside him. Their shoulders brushed briefly, and the knot in Obi-Wan’s chest unraveled just a little. “Are you?”
“Almost.” Anakin inhaled deeply, the breath rattling. Exactly seven counts passed before he released it. “Tell me that this was the last time.”
Obi-Wan looked over at him, crushed. He had thought for a moment that they had come out on the other side of their ordeal. Only then did he realize that they actually stood on the precipice, their bond pushed to the very verge of breaking.
“Tell me that you'll never lie to me again.”
“Anakin-” Obi-Wan reached for him in the Force. He let himself relish in finding him there, forever open, the one constant in his life that had survived peace, war, and everything in between. He tried to commit that feeling to memory, knowing full well the consequences of what he had to do. 'I love you, Anakin. I love you, I love you, I love you.'
“Promise me, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan braced himself and set fire to what was left of Anakin's trust. “You know that I can’t do that,” he whispered.
The glass on the desk suddenly exploded into razor-sharp fragments. The bond seemed to follow in kind. Anakin shoved him away violently, descending fully into his pain and his anger, locking him out. It ripped the air from Obi-Wan’s lungs and he could say nothing as Anakin vanished from beside him. He tore open the door without touching the panel and stormed out of the room.
Obi-Wan didn’t know how long he stayed there, unmoving, staring into nothingness. Eventually, he got up to gather the shards of glass and toss them in the waste bin, feeling them prick and cut his fingers despite how carefully he’d handled them. He fell into his chair, spending a few moments watching his blood bubble to the surface of his skin before shaking himself of the morbidity and wiping them on his pants.
He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, extracting the simple wooden box that housed Qui-Gon’s teapot and a pair of teacups. He ran his fingers over the pot reverently as he removed it, feeling the coolness of the ceramic and the curves of the tiny cherry blossoms pressed into the surface. He emptied his canteen into it and set it to warm on the nearby hot plate, waiting until steam rose from the spout.
Blinking back tears, he prepared himself a cup of tea and nursed his broken heart.