Chapter Text
The sound of an explosion stops his heart.
Obi-Wan was in the center of it, rushing after the thief, his Sith damned feet carrying him faster than any of their men could call out warning. All his thoughts were on retrieving the stupid holocron, and he had waltzed lightsaber first into a bomb.
Fear seizing him and mind screaming out along their bond, Anakin abandons the droids he was fighting to find Obi-Wan. He ignores the sounds of everything behind him, the collapsed ruins from the explosion all he can take in. Obi-Wan is under them. Obi-Wan is under them, not responding. His mind is silent, the ever present flickering light embodying Obi-Wan in their bond not answering his desperate pleas for anything.
Anakin leaps up, the air around him crackling. He swallows down stale oxygen, and he flings his fear out from his fingertips; the stone and rubble fly out away from the impact site. The sound of it all crashing somewhere over his shoulder falls on unhearing ears, the continued clashing of ruin no longer touching him. Before him is all he can take in, vision tunneling and his fearful blood rushing through his veins.
Before him stands an unscathed Obi-Wan. An unscathed, younger Obi-Wan, holocron in hand.
His feet are moving before Anakin can tell them to. He’s Force jumped to his friend and pulled him to his chest before he can even think to question it. Obi-Wan is thinner is his arms, a decade more of lightsaber training and the beginnings of middle age replaced with the smaller body of a young man. The silky hair that rubs against Anakin’s face during rare hugs is now shorter, slightly spiky hair that irritates his face. It’s strange, but still he keeps Obi-Wan in his hold.
Obi-Wan is alive.
Tightening his arms before pulling away to look Obi-Wan in the face, Anakin sucks in a breath, his heart breaking. In Obi-Wan’s eyes is no recognition, the reason why Anakin heard nothing for his crying readily apparent. Obi-Wan doesn’t know him yet.
Awkward, incredibly awkward, Anakin steps away. He brings a hand up to scratch his head. “I’m Anakin. I’m so happy you’re alive.” Letting out a breath, Anakin brushes his mind tentatively against Obi-Wan’s, an apology. “I know you, obviously from the screaming in your head.”
“Yes, the screaming in my head; I don’t think I want a repeat performance. On that note, I suspect that since I no longer have such a bond with him, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan swallows, his bones suddenly weary and his eyes sad, “either has rescinded my apprenticeship with him or is dead.”
Anakin grabs Obi-Wan to him again, politeness be damned, sending condolences through their bond. “He died some time ago. You became a knight, and took me on as your apprentice. As I know you, you’re thirty-six.”
“Thirty-six? Ana–” He struggles against Anakin, who lets him go.
“Look to the Force; Obi-Wan, I’m telling you the truth.”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes. Anakin waits as he breathes in, testing intentions and reliability and listening to what the Force is telling him. When Obi-Wan meets him, Anakin gives a soft smile. Obi-Wan doesn’t return it, but he brushes against him in their bond, a quiet promise that he is believed.
“You don’t have a Padawan braid.”
Anakin pulls Obi-Wan’s own between his fingers, rubbing over his yellow bead. Obi-Wan is so young. “I was knighted not too long ago. We just never grew apart enough for our bond to dissolve.”
“Oh.” He watches as Anakin trails down to his next bead.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
Anakin grins. “So I’m older now. I’m twenty-one.”
Before Obi-Wan can respond, a signal flare behind Anakin catches his attention. Anakin sees its color reflecting off Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he lets the Padawan braid slip from his fingers. He gives Obi-Wan a grin.
“That’d be our men. They’ll be happy to know you survived the explosion.”
Obi-Wan shoots him a displeased look. “Our men?”
“Our troops. The 501st and the 212th. We’re in a war.”
Obi-Wan’s questions get drowned out as Anakin jumps back down to rejoin them. He doesn’t want to be the one to explain what’s happening; Obi-Wan, at least the one he knows, cares a bit more about the politics than Anakin does. All Anakin is sure of is the war aspect; he leaves the politics to the politicians.
Stopping for a second, Anakin’s brain catches. Maybe they can slip to see Padmé before heading to the Temple. Anakin would much rather have her explain things to Obi-Wan than the Council. The Council is…not very forth coming, and he’s sure they’ll be even less now Obi-Wan is a Padawan instead of a Master and no longer a member. That, and she needs to see this.
Mind made up, Anakin smiles at Obi-Wan following him back to camp, his grimace clear as day to see with no beard to hide his lips. It’s almost cute how different Obi-Wan looks. Almost; it’s still kind of weird, Anakin thinks.
The cleanup is standard; they won while Anakin was with Obi-Wan, and they didn’t lose too many men. The holocron is in their possession, even if the thief got away. Everyone receives it in stride that Obi-Wan was a good decade and some change younger, Cody taking it upon himself to pull Obi-Wan aside and brief him on how things are run and his role as general. Rex raises an eyebrow at Anakin, his shoulder jerking back to the explosion sight, and Anakin, stumbling, says that he just was overwhelmed with Obi-Wan being younger. The captain, thankfully, leaves his disappearing act at that. They had won.
Later, on the ship, Obi-Wan corners him in his rooms. They hadn’t reunited after the battle, Cody probably helping Obi-Wan relearn the ways of the ship while Anakin had done the rounds in the medical wing – he made a point to visit anyone injured when he could; they had gotten hurt on his command, and reading it on flimsi in a report or being told was different than seeing his men in person. Anakin sits up on the bed and feels nerves flutter in his stomach, his friend’s gaze piercing. He didn’t even knock; Obi-Wan always had when he was older, even if he just barged in after.
“You left me stranded with men I have no clue what to do with, Anakin.”
“Cody was with you the whole time, wasn’t he? He would drop for you in a heartbeat, surely you could sense that.”
Obi-Wan strides over, dropping onto the bed like it’s his. Anakin watches, fascinated, as he rolls onto his stomach to give him a glare.
“Having a man being willing to die for me is different from having to interact with said man and fellow clone troops. Honestly, did I teach you nothing?”
That makes Anakin burst out laughing. “You taught me things like mediation is terribly boring.”
“I taught you nothing.”
Anakin blows him a raspberry. “You taught me how to think with my lightsaber.”
“I feel like I’m missing the joke because surely you aren’t implying what I think you are.”
“Recklessness and swing first, ask questions later? I had to get it from somewhere.”
Obi-Wan smiles, lazy warmth projecting over Anakin. Anakin sends affection back. It’s nice, the ease with which Obi-Wan uses the bond now. Not even really knowing him, Obi-Wan’s been more open through it like this than he has for a long, long time outside of combat. Smiling, pleasure curling in his gut, Anakin goes back to sketching on his datapad. He was in the middle of trying to work out how some of Padmé’s more elaborate styles come together before Obi-Wan came in; he hasn’t even come close to undoing them all, their visits together too sporadic and often too short for full undressing.
Time gets wonky when he’s focused, and when he looks back up again, Obi-Wan is right beside him. Contentment radiates off of him, his posture lax, an absent smile on his face while his eyes are closed. Anakin has never seen Obi-Wan this relaxed outside of sleep in all the years he’s known him; it’s almost scary as much as it is something he knows he’ll reimagine over and over, dreaming what it would look like on an older face with a beard.
Bringing a hand down to wind Obi-Wan’s braid between his fingers, Anakin tugs playfully. He gets halfheartedly swatted at, Obi-Wan’s eyes still closed.
“I was enjoying the tranquility of the moment.”
Rolling his eyes, Anakin gives another tug. “When’d you move?”
“Some time while you were scribbling hairdos. Your hair definitely is nowhere near long enough for any of those, Anakin.”
“They’re a senator’s. A friend of ours.”
“Friends with senators? Oh my, what am I doing in my old age?”
“You’re only just starting middle age, Obi-Wan. Thirty-six isn’t anything.”
Obi-Wan cracks open an eye. “Wise, are you?”
“Like Yoda.” Anakin immediately snorts after saying it; he isn’t near the Jedi Yoda is. “But we really do like this senator. She’s smart and kind, and she’s not corrupt. Very handy to have during aggressive negotiations.”
“Does this handy senator possess a name?”
“Padmé Amidala of Naboo. Before we meet with the Council, I want to introduce you.”
Obi-Wan closes his eye again and hums. He then guides Anakin’s hand to the hair on his head instead of his braid. Taking the hint, Anakin starts running his fingers through it, shooting Obi-Wan a bemused look. Obi-Wan has always been tactile, but before it was always in an absent, brother-in-arms way. A clap to Anakin’s shoulder, a guiding hand on his arm to send Anakin in the right direction, an arm slug around his back after drinks or celebrating with their men, a touch to his cheek when Anakin needed grounding. Hugs were allowed after rough experiences and when Anakin got too excited to remember himself, but Anakin was pretty sure he initiated every single one once he hit adulthood. This, Obi-Wan asking to be touched, was new. Anakin wonders what age Obi-Wan stopped. What the Council must have said to him.
———-
The rumbling of Anakin’s stomach brings their lounge to an end. Unlike Obi-Wan, Anakin never ignores when his body tells him it needs food. He stretches and places his datapad onto his pillow while sending thoughts of the ship’s mess hall to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan hums at him. Playing dirty, Anakin throws images of cakes and tea. The terrible sweet tooth Obi-Wan has didn’t just spring up over night; Anakin knows it had to have developed when he was a youngling and that even now he has it.
He’s proven right when soft tendrils of temptation curl in the back of his mind, Obi-Wan’s light flickering. Smiling, Anakin bounces off of the bed, grabbing at one of the legs dangling towards the end of it. Obi-Wan grumbles as he opens his eyes, little things like he’s getting up and really, Anakin? Gleeful, Anakin waits for him to fix his robes. Obi-Wan, however, doesn’t. He just starts walking towards the door, shooting Anakin a look when he doesn’t immediately follow.
Easily fixable disgruntled robes are different. Swallowing down the weirdness, the wrongness in the wrinkles, Anakin opens the door and guides Obi-Wan to the mess. Obi-Wan’s walk is lighter, Anakin notices as he questions their food supply, no war weariness pushing him down to the floor. His footstep are less careful, his strides not the walk of a general. It’s nice. A happy little smile overtakes his face, but he waves it off in their bond when Obi-Wan raises a curious eyebrow. Anakin sends thoughts of the joy he gets being with Obi-Wan.
He gets a funny little flutter back, Obi-Wan’s own lips forming into a pleased smile. Not understanding, Anakin presses further into Obi-Wan’s mind, curious. To his surprise, Obi-Wan’s shields easily fall away and let him in. There’s no first rebuff as Obi-Wan thinks about the consequences of letting him in. Anakin beams; Obi-Wan’s mind glows, golden, from it. It causes laughter, and Anakin settles himself inside Obi-Wan’s mind, letting himself soak up Obi-Wan’s unexpected pleasure from their bond. Obi-Wan likes him, Anakin picks up, the reason he initially came sliding into his thoughts.
Pleased beyond measure, his heart pounding in his chest, Anakin feels relief. It’s good to hear it plainly; it’s good to know that this young Obi-Wan shares that with his older counterpart and isn’t just tailing him because he’s there. Curling tighter with Obi-Wan’s mind, Anakin bumps shoulders with him. Obi-Wan nudges him along their bond as he heads forward into the mess.
Anakin bites his lip as he watches Obi-Wan take in their options. There’s disbelief, then understanding, and finally betrayal. Their choices are military standard; everything is sad tasting and built for performance.
“I distinctly remember you floating images of cake at me, Anakin. I’d hate to have to dismember your beautiful face.”
That’s a new way for Obi-Wan to taunt him; usually such terminology is reserved for enemies on the battlefield. “Relax. There’s a baking underground on board. All the companies have one.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Your sweet tooth is the catalyst, I’ll have you know, Obi-Wan. I handed your men sweets to give you since you never eat, and someone tried some. It was love at first bite.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Anakin raises an eyebrow. He stops the nearest man next to him – it’s Toggle – and asks, “Was General Kenobi and sweets the beginnings of the baking on board?”
“Yes, sir,” is the answer, Toggle looking from Anakin to Obi-Wan and back.
“I told you,” Anakin says as Toggle barely holds back his laughter at Obi-Wan’s betrayed face. “Thank you.”
“No problem, sir.”
Obi-Wan watches as Toggle walks away, and then he sends an annoyed nudge to Anakin through their bond. “So where are these baked goods?”
“If you’re good and eat your meal, I’ll show you.”
“I could just ask someone else. I’m sure they’ll tell me.”
Anakin glows in panic, showering Obi-Wan’s mind in light. “I could order them to not tell you. I won’t let you just live off sweets.”
“I thought I was in command of half of them, Anakin. And I’m not going to live off sweets.”
“You’re like half your age now. I’m sure there’s a clause somewhere that says you only have battle authority now or something. Also, I’m pretty sure you would. Sweets and ration bars.”
That gets an eyebrow raise. “Because this happens often enough that we’ve created rules? Ration bars?”
“They taste better than the food, believe it or not.” Horror crosses his face. “But you can’t live off them! You need to eat meals.”
Obi-Wan grabs Anakin’s arm and leads him to the food. “Fine. If it’ll get you to quiet down in my head.”
“That’ll do it.”
Anakin picks out both of their food; all Obi-Wan does is move his tray along when Anakin makes their way to the next serving. He fills Obi-Wan’s plates higher than he fills his own, commentary on the taste level of what he’s plopping onto Obi-Wan’s plate and it’s nutritional value to balance that out filling the air. The grimace stuck on Obi-Wan’s face is ignored as Anakin cheerily asks if Obi-Wan would like to stay in the mess to eat or return to one of their quarters.
Obi-Wan picks Anakin’s quarters; if Anakin is going to mother hen him he’d rather it be in private. Anakin merely laughs and says it’s nothing their men haven’t seen before.
Eating is done mostly in silence. Anakin watches as Obi-Wan eats, his handling of his silverware less elegant than before; he’s using Jedi table manners instead of a politician’s. Obi-Wan spears his protein and stuffs the whole forkful into his mouth, no little bites or cutting the big piece into smaller ones to make himself look more refined. As a Padawan in peace time, Obi-Wan hasn’t had to negotiate very much yet. His dining habits are of no consequence.
Obi-Wan, for his part, lets Anakin examine him. He’d merely quirked a brow and made a face at a particularly nasty tasting bite. He does, however, force it all down and folds his legs under him as he waits for Anakin to finish. It makes Anakin want to laugh and purposefully slow down his eating, but he doesn’t. He wants to see how much Obi-Wan’ll light up when he sees all the baked goods.
Taking one last bite, Anakin smiles at Obi-Wan. He gets an eager one in return, this time Obi-Wan hurrying him off the bed. Laughing, Anakin floats their dinnerware into his hands as he scrambles to get ahead; Obi-Wan doesn’t even know where to go. Anakin feels a swell of affection at how excited his friend is. Through their bond, Obi-Wan’s light is flickering quickly, happiness oozing from him.
Anakin stays watching him the whole time. Obi-Wan is less skilled in his negotiations to get more than the allotted amount of baked goods in one run, his conclusions and reasonings still as sharp as ever but his approach not as fine tuned, his focus to get what he wants still too much in the forefront. It draws a weirded out fondness from him and the men; Anakin meets Chef’s gaze and nods at him when they gesture at Obi-Wan debating on whether to get more sweet cakes or cookies, a secret smile in their eyes. Looping his arm through Obi-Wan’s, Anakin takes pity on him and picks up the cookies for himself to share later.
The blinding smile he gets in thanks sets off explosions in his heart and sadness to settle in his bones. Obi-Wan is so carefree with his surface emotions.
He lets Obi-Wan lead him back to his room, a wave to Chef and everyone else waiting for their fix. Anakin doesn’t understand the looks he’s getting, but he turns his focus back to Obi-Wan, seeing him unwrapping a cake to nibble on. The sight of Obi-Wan overstuffing his mouth is the most hilarious thing he thinks he’s seen in a really long time.
“It’s not going anywhere, Obi-Wan,” he says as he plops back onto his bed.
Obi-Wan follows him, his stash spilling onto the comforter and his body. “Yes, it is. My stomach.”
“All of it, right now?” He laughs.
“Are we rationed on Coruscant?”
“The war’s not that badly affecting the core worlds yet.”
Obi-Wan shoves more cake into his mouth. “Then, yes. All of it but the cookies are going today.”
“The cookies are technically mine, you know.”
“But you’re going to give them to me.”
Anakin knocks his leg against Obi-Wan. “I shouldn’t just because you assumed I would.”
“Was I wrong?” Amusement curls between them.
Anakin feels a flush begin to bloom on his cheeks at so easily been called out. This Obi-Wan’s only really known for him like a day. “No,” he mutters.
“I thought so.”
“Shut up.”
“Aren’t you eloquent.”
“Shut up.”
“Of course, Anakin,” he says before switching to a different sweet cake to eat.
Anakin pouts at Obi-Wan, but he pays him no heed. The overly saccharine sweet has all of his attention. Sulking, Anakin grabs his datapad, drawing his knees up. He looks over his earlier drawings of Padmé’s hair, his attempts nowhere near as impeccable as the real designs. Tracing his finger over a braid, a small smile grows on his face. He’s going to see her soon. He’s going to get to run his fingers through her hair, smell it when he buries his face against her, hopefully undo the delicate patterns and remove the ornate pins before helping to recreate it.
Switching to a blank document, Anakin settles himself more comfortably against his pillow. Words begin to spill from him, another unaddressed letter to Padmé that he wouldn’t dare send or hand his datapad over to her to read. His longing for her, his excitement to see her, his worry for Obi-Wan and his confusion about the way he reacts to this younger version, his amusement at how Obi-Wan’s sweet tooth is even worse make it onto the document, tumbling and jumping together as soon as Anakin thinks of them.
The more he writes the more he wishes that they were already on Coruscant, the bustle of the planet whispering in his ear. Sighing, Anakin drops his datapad. He shimmies down next to Obi-Wan and tries to steal a cake.
The ensuing petty fight lifts his mood considerably.
———-
His mood lasts him through the rest of the day. Anakin only slightly grudgingly goes through catching up on his general reports and starting the ones of Obi-Wan’s that Cody hasn’t taken on. He crosschecks everything and signs supply requests and transfers for other generals when he thinks it’s appropriate. His heart drops as he sees more shinies are due to come on, and he completes a form requesting time off for his men. Obi-Wan is probably going to be out of commission for at least as long as the healers can think of tests, and Anakin is going to do his best to be there for it all. He doesn’t like his men being led by anyone other than himself, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and sometimes Master Plo. That, and they deserve time to recuperate. They’ve been on the lines for a long stretch, and the stretches only get longer each time they’re sent out.
By the end of what he can handle – Obi-Wan has a lot of paperwork, and there’s things he nor Cody can touch as they aren’t Jedi Masters – Anakin feels accomplished. He smiles when he comes back to his quarters, Obi-Wan still lounging on his bed. The Padawan is resting on his stomach looking at a datapad, his braid held between his teeth in concentration. He looks so much like his older self, and yet nothing like him at all.
Clearing his throat, Anakin leans down to take off his boots. Obi-Wan hums at him, and Anakin sees that he’s trying to finish whatever he’s reading before looking up. Rolling his eyes at Obi-Wan’s apparently always present dedication to a task set before him, Anakin continues to take off the rest of his clothes. It’s time for bed.
He’s pulling his sleep pants on when the sound of the datapad being placed onto his nightstand brings his attention back to Obi-Wan. Who’s looking at him very intently, almost like he’s checking him out. Shaking his head, Anakin sits on the bed. It’s Obi-Wan; Anakin doesn’t know what he was doing, but he definitely wasn’t checking him out.
“How’s your reading been?”
Obi-Wan flicks his eyes up to meet Anakin’s. “You’d probably find it boring. I’m trying to catch up on the war.”
“I would find that boring. But I’m sure you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I’m finding it…troubling. There’s something off about this war, but I don’t have enough of the information yet to figure it out.”
Anakin tugs on Obi-Wan’s braid. “There’s always something off about war.”
“I’m not talking about the morality of it. I’m talking about way it’s unfolding.”
“Well, if you figure it out, I want to know. The sooner we can end this war, the better.”
Obi-Wan sends him an exasperatedly fond look. “You’ll be the first to know.”
“Good.” Anakin winds the braid between his fingers. “Now, did you eat all your sweets while I was gone?”
“I might have.”
“Obi-Wan.”
“I said I would, and I did.”
“Doesn’t your stomach hurt?”
That gets him an eye roll. “Stop being such a mother hen. I’m an adult, Anakin. I know my limits.”
“I did it when you were thirty-six. I’m gonna do it when you’re twenty.”
“Lovely.”
Obi-Wan sits up, his braid slipping from Anakin’s fingers so it doesn’t pull on his head. He smiles at Anakin, his hands coming to slide along Anakin’s collarbones.
“Do you always sleep shirtless?”
Anakin shrugs. “In space travel, usually, I guess. When there’s windows and a breeze, I’ll have a nightshirt.”
Obi-Wan lets out a noise of assent, his fingers slipping away from Anakin. He starts undoing his robes, and Anakin blinks.
“Are you…planning to sleep in here?”
“I am.”
“Oh.” Anakin watches as Obi-Wan shrugs out of his tunics, as easy as anything. “Um, did you want a nightshirt?”
“That’d be lovely.”
Nodding, slightly weirded out – they’ve bunked together before, an inevitable prospect when doing campaigns together for so long both before and during the war, but anything outside of that is unheard of. Anakin didn’t even try to slip into Obi-Wan’s bed for comfort as a youngling – Anakin finds a nightshirt for Obi-Wan along with sleep pants. He waits until Obi-Wan is out of his Jedi clothes before handing them over, taking in just how young he looks.
Obi-Wan doesn’t have a baby face, but it’s weird seeing no wrinkles or bags under his eyes. He still has his top surgery scars – Anakin doesn’t know when he had the operation, but apparently it was younger than twenty – they’re redder, more noticeable than the pale lines Anakin has seen previously when changing. Obi-Wan’s arms are scarless, the nasty cut on his upper arm that he got from Ventress and little absent cuts he’s acquired no where to be found. His stomach is flatter and his build lighter, just starting to fill out, but Anakin already knew that from hugging him. The long scar on his lower leg is absent, and his knees are scraped up.
Sliding back onto the bed, Anakin bumps his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s and knocks along their bond. Obi-Wan knocks back, and he lifts the covers with the Force. That’s new. Anakin lets Obi-Wan slide their fingers together, and he follows when Obi-Wan pulls him under the blanket. Obi-Wan settles himself to be the little spoon. Urged on by Obi-Wan both in his mind and with a tug of the arm, Anakin curls his body around him, sliding his knees under Obi-Wan’s and wrapping him between his arms. The soft strands of Obi-Wan’s hair tickle his chin.
Anakin wants to ask why Obi-Wan wants this, but he bites his tongue as he tastes the sadness leaking from their bond. Obi-Wan’s hold on his hand get tighter, and Anakin squeezes back. Thoughts of Qui-Gon pass through their bond, regret and grief overwhelming. Anakin feels breathless at the weight of it, the pure amount of love and emotion Obi-Wan holds for and because of the man. It suffocates him. It suffocates him, and he’s not the one with the broken bond. He had completely forgotten that Obi-Wan had lost it.
Wrapping himself around Obi-Wan’s sadness, Anakin shoulders what Obi-Wan will let him. He presses his body tighter against Obi-Wan’s, and he listens as Obi-Wan starts to cry. Their bodies shake from the power of his sobs; his sorrow echoes across the walls.
When Obi-Wan gets out the question that Anakin has been dreading, it takes him a few minutes to say it between his tears. How did he die?
Anakin, not knowing how to soften the blow nor all what actually happened in the palace, tells him simply that Qui-Gon died protecting the Naboo, protecting Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon Jinn died fighting against a Sith Lord.
Obi-Wan’s grip gets painful, and the beginnings of rage slide against the sadness inside their bond. Did someone kill the Sith Lord who did this?
Swallowing, Anakin tries to get even closer. He wishes that he could tell Obi-Wan that someone did, that he did, but Maul is still well and alive. How, Anakin can’t explain, because he’s pretty sure that Obi-Wan sliced him in half judging by his legs, but, well. The Force has never been kind.
The rage growing between them gets larger and the sorrow transforms into self deprecation. Anakin tries clings to Obi-Wan, his thoughts violent and vengeful. Obi-Wan is a nova like this with no outlet, and all Anakin can do is marvel and hold on.
He can’t offer anything more, and in the emptiness of space, Obi-Wan can do nothing but this.
———-
The next morning, Anakin wakes to Obi-Wan’s hair in his mouth. Groaning, he tries to slip out from bed, but he’s trapped in Obi-Wan’s grip tight like a vise. They’re still stuck together, Anakin’s body wrapped around Obi-Wan’s smaller one.
Anakin takes a deep breath. He sends a questioning press along there bond, and Obi-Wan groggily answers. The hold on his hand is released. Relieved, Anakin takes his arm back and rolls over to stretch himself out. His body popping is like dipping below the surface of a lake; the feeling of refreshment washes over him, his joints happy.
Obi-Wan snorts at him, but he follows suit. Anakin laughs at the popping of his body; at twenty, Obi-Wan’s body is louder than it is at thirty-six.
“Maybe I meditate more.”
“You do mediate a whole lot.”
“The mystery is solved.”
Rolling his eyes, Anakin takes Obi-Wan in. He looks wrecked; his eyes are still puffy, and his voice, what little he’s used it, is obviously hoarse. Grief lingers over him, and Anakin wants to offer more comfort. He just doesn’t think that Obi-Wan will accept it now in the daylight.
“Your bed head is better now, though,” Anakin says, not wanting to break the mood of the morning as much as he wants to.
A hand reflexively comes up to his hair. “How do I style my hair?”
“Oh stars, do you style it. Let me pull up holos; words can’t describe it.”
He scrambles to pick up his datapad, scrolling through the Holonet to find a worthy holo. There are plenty to choose from, The Negotiator a loved figure of the Republic. Anakin settles on a holo from back when Obi-Wan sported his mullet, and then he finds a holo of Obi-Wan escorting Padmé in his formerly current haircut.
Showing Obi-Wan, he feels a large smile form on his lips. Obi-Wan’s eyes go wide in that way Anakin only notices because he’s known him for years, surprise coursing along their bond. A hand comes up to cradle his jaw, rubbing at the smooth skin there.
“I grow a beard?”
Nodding, Anakin lets Obi-Wan take the datapad from him. “It suits you.”
“How long did it take me?”
Anakin shrugs. “Not too long, if I remember right. I think you started growing it right after you were knighted, and I’ve never seen you without it since. Speaking of,” he gestures to Obi-Wan’s arm, “do we need to do anything when we get to Coruscant? Do you have an implant or do you take shots right now?”
“I have an implant.”
“Good. Good. That means we can go straight to see Padmé.”
Obi-Wan’s lips twitch. “Of course. Do you have an implant or take shots?”
“Shots.” Anakin shrugs. “I can’t really grow a beard, though.”
“I can’t even picture one on you.”
That gets him a shoulder check. “That’s not nice.”
“No, I suppose it wasn’t. But really, I like seeing your whole face. You have a beautiful one.”
Anakin feels his face go hot, a blush surely obvious. “Thank you? Nice try saving face.”
“It’s working.”
“Shut up. No it isn’t.”
Obi-Wan look on at him, amused. “Of course it isn’t. Your face is red for no reason whatsoever.”
“Shut up! I’m leaving. I have paperwork to do.”
“If you say you do.”
Anakin shoves himself back into his tunics. “I do, since a certain general decided to shed sixteen years off.”
“That’s hardly my fault.”
A tremor in the their bond betrays that Obi-Wan does feel guilty about it, and Anakin switches gears. He doesn’t even mind the paperwork. “Leave some cookies for me, Obi-Wan.”
“I’ll save you one.”
“Some cookies. Save me some cookies.”
“Making promises you can’t keep is unbecoming of a Jedi.”
Anakin does up his boots. “I’ll do something unbecoming of a Jedi if I only get one of Chef’s cookies.” He turns back to Obi-Wan. “Cody and Rex’s comms are linked to yours, so if you want to hang out or help out with something, they’re there.”
“I’m not a youngling, Anakin.”
“No, you just,” Anakin waves his arm around his room, “were thrust into the middle of a war.”
“I think I’ll survive.”
“You’d better. I’m quite fond.”
“So am I, surprisingly. It is my life.”
Anakin huffs. “You think you’re so funny.”
“I know I am. Go do your paperwork.”
So Anakin goes off to finish what he can of Obi-Wan’s reports, and then he hangs out with Rex for a little bit, telling him he’s put in for time off for the men. Next, he goes to catch up with Artoo. Artoo yells happily upon seeing him, and Anakin offers to wash him. The resounding yes he gets has him laughing. He settles down on the floor, little scrubber in hand, and listens as Artoo updates him on his adventures in the ship and with the other droids.
Eventually, Artoo asks if he’s okay; his eyes are not focused. Laughing, Anakin shakes his head as he scrapes at a nasty patch of stained oil.
“I’m fine, Artoo.”
“You are sad. I don’t like it.”
“I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Why am I thinking? I happen to be smart, you know, Artoo.”
“Idiot. You knew what I meant. Why are your thoughts making you sad?”
“I’m not sad. I’m just confused, I guess. Obi-Wan’s…different because of the holocron.”
“He is like how I first met him.”
“Younger, even.”
“I could shock him into treating you better.”
Anakin laughs and pats Artoo. “I think we’re getting on better now, actually.”
“Then I will shock him into behaving once he returns.”
“There will be no shocking Obi-Wan, Artoo.”
A series of expletives the like Anakin has grown accustomed to escape his friend. “I am trying to help, little starlight. He will take notice that he has wronged you if he gets shocked.”
“And I appreciate it. But I like Obi-Wan; you don’t need to hurt him on my behalf.” A sly grin overcomes his face. “You should shock him the next time he insults you, though. Insults don’t work too well when I have to translate them.”
His head whirls in excitement. “Finally.”
“Don’t go overboard! I swear, Artoo.”
“As if I would. My counterpart is the one you must worry about such things for.”
Anakin brushes off the last of the grime from Artoo’s dome. “Threepio is not the one I need to worry about, and you know it. I’m taking Obi-Wan to see Padmé once we reach Coruscant; do you want to come with?”
“Of course, little starlight. I will suffer your friend’s presence to see Padmé and my counterpart.”
“What do you think you and Threepio’ll do?”
Artoo lets out a contemplative beep. “My counterpart enjoys gazing on the balcony. We will do this, and I will tell him of our battles. I will watch over him when he powers down.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“What will you and Padmé do?” Annoyed, he continues, “and Obi-Wan?”
“Hopefully Padmé and I will get to do something romantic after bringing Obi-Wan over. I think she’ll get a laugh out of this.”
“Maybe she will like him better now, too.”
“It’s not that I like him better now. He’s just…more expressive.”
“So you like him better.”
“It’s just a nice change of pace. I do miss him, even though he’s right there.”
Artoo nudges himself against Anakin, a sad little beep escaping him.
“I know. What a mess, huh?” He runs his hand down Artoo. “How’s Arfour? Does she want a cleaning, too?”
“Arfour is in optimal condition. She was already cleaned by one of the maintenance crew.”
“Didn’t wanna wait for me, huh?”
“You are mine, little starlight. Our time together gets rarer and rarer. She is respecting it.”
“Tell her thanks for me.”
“She knows that you appreciate it.”
“Humor the human, Artoo.”
“If I must.”
The two of them spend the rest of the afternoon together, Artoo telling dirty droid jokes and Anakin upgrading the fighters and wandering droids that want them. When Arfour rolls in, beeping happily, Anakin caresses Artoo’s head. They exchange goodbyes, and soon Artoo follows Arfour to go power down.
Wiping his hands, Anakin stands and stretches. He goes to the mess to eat dinner, and afterwards he heads back to his quarters. They should be back to Coruscant in the next few days, and the thought brings a smile to his face. He’s missed Padmé so much, and he can’t wait to see her surprise with Obi-Wan. He can’t wait to see Ahsoka again.
He settles in to watch one of the Holodramas he’s inevitably fallen behind on to wait for Obi-Wan to come back. He wants to know what he did today.
———-
“You’re adorable when you’re focused, Anakin.”
The words jar him out of his Holodrama, Kakalena’s betrayal forgotten, and the compliment brings a flush to his face as confusion, like a bucket of water, crashes over him. That’s like the second time Obi-Wan’s complimented him in such a way. “Thank you?”
“There’s no need to be puzzled by it,” Obi-Wan says, voice filled with something Anakin can’t identify, as he crawls along the bed to bring a hand up to cup Anakin’s face. Right after, he uses it to pull Anakin in for a kiss.
Arms flailing, his datapad falling to the bed, Anakin maybe lets out an embarrassing noise of surprise that he’ll deny if Obi-Wan ever brings it up. Obi-Wan is kissing him. Eyes closed and body leaning in over him and his mind wrapping all around him, kissing him. Anakin tries to find any trace that he’s not seeing and feeling what he is, but there’s nothing to contradict it.
He pulls away, and his voice only slightly shakes when he asks, “What are you doing?”
“I was kissing you. I’m not stupid; I know that we were dating, and you’ve shown no indication that me being a Padawan now bothers you.”
Anakin blinks, and then he blinks again. “What?”
“Anakin, the kiss was nowhere near good enough for you to be this flabbergasted. You weren’t even kissing back.”
“Uh, I wasn’t kissing back because we aren’t dating? How the– why do you think you and I are dating?”
Obi-Wan pulls away from him slightly, sitting on Anakin’s lap instead of hovering over it. “What do you mean why do I think we’re dating? Anakin, you’re curled in my mind all the time when we’re together. I broke down last night crying, and you didn’t say a word.”
“It’s nice to do that? And I’m not an asshole; you just lost your master.”
That gets him a stare of his own. “Anakin, even still having our bond after your knighting is against the Code because it means we’re attached. That, and your easy affection, and you’re telling me we aren’t dating?”
“Um,” Anakin flushes. “Yes?”
“Kriffing remarkable.” Obi-Wan looks at him like a puzzle he needs to solve, and Anakin doesn’t think he likes being on that side of Obi-Wan’s attention again. He has not missed that look, a constant when he was a Padawan, at all. “You’re exactly my type, and I’m not even with you.”
“Excuse me? Your type?”
Anakin tries to think back. He only knows of Satine; any other lovers Obi-Wan’s had haven’t popped back into his life, or they’ve kept their affair with the man behind them much better. Both he and Satine are blonds, he thinks off the top of his head, but that’s a bit superficial and probably not what Obi-Wan meant.
Obi-Wan saves him from having to think any harder by continuing on. “You’re kind, and from what the men say, you’re brave. You’re loyal and reckless–”
“Reckless? You have not seen me be reckless this whole time you’ve been like this?”
“You abandoned your battle position to come find me after an explosion went off with no idea what caused it or if there were more. Loyal and reckless, Anakin.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s just loyalty.”
That gets him an eyebrow raise. “That that is your ideal of ‘just loyalty’ only proves my point even more. I’m sure that you’re only going to prove it further our next engagement, assuming I’m still like this.”
“We could argue this all day, but you don’t remember any of my counterarguments.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Obi-Wan says dryly. “Argumentative. Also another thing I seem to be attracted to.”
“You do not–” Flashbacks of all the arguing he saw Obi-Wan and Satine did in only the short time he’s seen them interact flicker in his mind. All the flirting with Ventress comes back, too, and Anakin instantly wants to recoil at having even incidentally compared himself to her. “We aren’t dating!”
“Do you want to?”
Anakin only just stops himself from just blinking at Obi-Wan again. “Are you being serious? You can’t be being serious.”
“I’ve already thought I was breaking the Code with you anyway, and I’ve grown fond.”
“I can’t. I’m already with someone.” He could stab himself, he doesn’t have Padmé’s permission, but fair’s fair. Obi-Wan needs to know that Anakin can be trusted with the admission that Obi-Wan is willing to break the Code. “I’m with Padmé.”
A mix of both surprise and disappointment swirl in Anakin’s mind as Obi-Wan examines the truth of the statement, and Anakin struggles to swallow. Obi-Wan even lets some of his emotion through on his face. Anakin hesitantly tangles his hands with Obi-Wan’s for tactile comfort.
“So, you’re just affectionate, then.”
“I suppose.”
“You and Padmé are exclusive.” It’s a statement. “I don’t suppose I could ask Padmé’s permission to try dating you?”
That short-circuits his brain. “You…weren’t kidding when you said you’d grown fond.”
“No.”
“Uh…I, um, haven’t thought of you romantically.”
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t tell. Feel free to say no.”
“Shut up.”
Anakin looks at their joined hands, and he tries to think of dating Obi-Wan, of their bond staying like how it’s been the past while, of Obi-Wan continuing to trust him with blinding smiles and his sadness, of curling up with him in bed to sleep at night. It’s appealing, but guilt wiggles in his mind. He loves Obi-Wan, but he’s not in love with Obi-Wan. He’s in love with Padmé.
“Padmé’s my wife, Obi-Wan. I…don’t want to lose you, though.”
The use of wife garners surprise, Obi-Wan’s amazement glowing in his mind. “You won’t lose me, Anakin.”
He’ll just lose their new intimacy.
“But wife?”
“Yeah.” A smile grows despite himself. “We’re married.”
“Congratulations. Did…the older me know?”
Anakin shakes his head. “I…think you knew that we were intimate. I’m pretty sure, but we never talked about it.”
“And the two of you are content, hiding a marriage from the Jedi?”
“Of course not. But duty comes first.” He raises an eyebrow. “You thought we were dating and still Jedi, remember?”
“Two Jedi hiding within the Jedi is different. I imagine I see you far more often than you see Padmé.”
“You have me there.”
Obi-Wan lifts his hand, pressing a fleeting kiss to Anakin’s. Anakin feels his heart flip from the action. “Do you still plan to take me to see her after this conversation?”
“Of course!” Anakin lifts his eyes from their hands. “Unless–unless you no longer want to.”
“Oh, I do love to torture myself.” As soon as Anakin’s panic starts rising, Obi-Wan sends waves of calmness through their bond. “Anakin, I would love to meet Padmé. You said we were friends.”
“You are. I’m pretty sure you two met up without me to complain.”
A sad smile crosses Obi-Wan’s lips. “Do we now? Then I definitely want to meet her.”
“Obi-Wan…”
“It’s not the end of the world, Anakin. You don’t return my feelings, and you’re married. It happens.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“I’ll get over it.” His smile breaks. “I always do.”