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This is not exactly the reinforcement he’s looking for.
Obi-Wan instructed Commander Cody to bring the troops to retrieve him if he didn’t return from recon in five hours.
It’s been five hours, and instead of the force of the 7th, he gets equally-encumbered Anakin and Padmé, both of whom at least have the decency to look concerned about their current situation, as the guards roughly push them in opposite directions.
Anakin is spectacularly good at not following instructions; that is not new. He suspects Padmé came of her own volition; Anakin unable, or unwilling, to dissuade her.
The pair of them, really.
More pillars are brought out; the new arrivals are cuffed to them as he is to his. (This is not a dignified way to go out.)
In a light tone that belies his present mood, “You didn’t bring the 501st.”
Through gritted teeth, “Haven’t found them yet, but you’re lucky we found you. Any idea where they could be?”
Obi-Wan scoffs.
“Stop fighting. We need to figure out an escape plan,” Padmé snaps.
All manner of creatures and beasts begin to fill the arena, pacing the edge and snarling. The crowd drones, louder and louder, thirsty for blood.
“What, you don’t want to improvise?”
Obi-Wan, in unison with Padmé, “No.”
Anakin, on the defensive, “Alright! …So first we get out of the binders –”
Ignoring Padmé’s previous order, Obi-Wan cuts him off, a touch archly, “You don’t say.”
Before either of his companions can spit back, several geonosians step out onto the balcony above the arena, followed by Dooku.
Obi-Wan’s stomach lurches. No good can come of the Separatists having a trained former Jedi at their disposal. He looks to his left and his right. Padmé’s face pinches in distaste; Anakin scowls.
The geonosians and other Separatists roar in approval. The Count raises a hand, effectively lowering the din, if not silencing it completely.
He addresses the assembled, “My fellow comrades, once again, we have evidence with our own eyes that the Galactic Republic has overstepped its bounds! First, it sends an army! Now it sends politicians and Jedi! They do not recognize us as a valid government, but they recognize we are a powerful threat!”
He carelessly juggles Obi-Wan and Anakin’s lightsabers in his hands, a gesture that reignites the crowd to an unbelievable volume.
Obi-Wan’s ire flares and he helplessly yanks at his chains. Whatever trick they’ve employed to keep Jedi in place is effective. Anakin, takes more drastic measures, and begins scaling the column. The guards don’t appreciate it and pull him down to the ground, hard. Padmé, strangely, pulls at the loops in her hair.
With the same effortless ease, Dooku signals to the handlers and the first of the hungry animals is loosed; a nexu and Anakin its first target.
Obi-Wan finds his mind remarkably clear and the rush of noise seems to dim. As long as he can catch its attention, hold eye-contact with it, for just a few seconds –
Padmé stands beside him. He is so shocked he does not register she’s reaching, on tip-toe for the lock on his binders or that Anakin is not having the easiest time distracting his predator.
His arms fall to his side free. He and Padmé have long enough to look at each other and then realize another beast barrels towards them, this time, a reek. They jump out of the way, but the reek does not give itself enough time to stop.
It smashes into the column which once detained Obi-Wan and topples onto Anakin’s.
As the dust settles, Padmé clambers past him to assist Anakin. Obi-Wan returns his attention to the reek; on its feet, reoriented, and snarling.
Obi-Wan reaches out – reaches out with his hand, reaches out with the Force. The reek is large and brutal, but a living creature all the same.
If this mind trick doesn’t work, the goring will hurt like all hell.
There is a massive crash that shakes the foundations of the arena. Anakin, not one for mind tricks, threw the nexu into the wall. The crowds in the nearby stands scatters.
Blood spills from Padmé’s stomach.
There will be no trifling today. Obi-Wan begins to do the same for the charging reek, though the task is made easier; Anakin repeats actions.
“Dead?”
Anakin shrugs.
Hundreds of battle droids spill out onto the sand. Obi-Wan groans. (This was supposed to be a recon mission.) He readies to Force push them away, to hold them as long as he can. If they are immobilized from the entranceway, at least, they will prevent more attackers from approaching.
“Wait!” Anakin yells.
Pitched, “Oh you want to be shot at closer range?!”
“No, but I would like something to shoot back with!”
They summon three blasters from the nearest droids; Anakin presses the additional one into Padmé’s arms, miraculously still standing.
Obi-Wan aims for a droid and pulls the trigger.
It doesn’t fire.
He pulls again, this time firing and knocking the head off the droid.
The battle goes well enough, by his estimation, or as well as battles go. He takes droids out one by one, but it rankles that he doesn’t have his trusted lightsaber in his hand. Worse still, that Dooku possesses it.
He spots Anakin tackle Padmé to the ground, who shoots at platoon of droids, neatly knocking them all down.
At least Anakin’s following that part of his mission. Partially.
The blaster is unwieldy and clumsy, but Obi-Wan adapts. It is, at least, less tiring than holding off a horde of droids with the Force.
Hundreds of droids bear down on the three of them. If Dooku’s putting his credits into the Separatist war machine, he cannot complain he isn’t getting quantity.
“General Kenobi!” a voice over his comm cracks.
Clone troopers flood the stands; rush into the arena and onto the balcony. The firefight in the pit becomes an unholy din. If any of them were to be hit with friendly fire, no one would know.
When the battle droids fall into useless scrap heaps, Obi-Wan hears the same clone’s voice, clearer, “Sir, my men have the Count in custody –”
“Don’t let them kill him! He’s got to go to Coruscant for trial –” Padmé yells frantically.
Though Obi-Wan balks at the idea, he does not argue. Into his comm, “Did you hear that Commander?! A senator just ordered your men to keep him alive!”
“I hear you sir.”
Commander Cody jogs up to the exhausted trio with other troopers. He relays the order to the clones above the pit.
Obi-Wan bends over to catch his breath before addressing a clone outfitted in blues, “By the way, Captain Rex, meet your new commanding officer, General Skywalker.”
The captain salutes Anakin with a slightly disbelieving, “Sir.” Anakin, with a fair number of scratches on his own face, returns it.
Turning to Cody, Obi-Wan asks, “What took you so long?”
Embarrassed, “We were coming to get you, sir, when we noticed the battle droid movements on the other side of the mountain range. Called it into General Fisto – he said he’d round up more Jedi. Actually a bit surprised they haven’t arrived yet.”
There is yelling from above and several clones fly clean over the balcony and crash at their feet.
Dooku looks down at them, challenging – no, daring – them to follow him.
It works, for Obi-Wan will not let the man who shook Qui-Gon’s faith lay claim to his lightsaber.
----------
The leaps and climb up the side of the area wind Anakin more than he would like, but their respite was too short.
The look in Padmé’s eyes, as he hazarded one last glance at her, before sprinting after Obi-Wan, is enough to make him want to run back.
He can’t think of her; there’s the mission to complete. (It is the first proper Jedi thought he’s had in weeks.)
Obi-Wan has a better sense of where they are going as they weave through the tunnels, deeper into the mountain.
Anakin nearly smashes into Obi-Wan’s back when he stops short in an open hangar bay. Something yanks at Anakin’s throat and he is smashed into the wall. Obi-Wan remains rooted to the spot.
“Qui-Gon Jinn’s padawans, I presume.”
Count Dooku’s voice both even and menacing.
Obi-Wan, in a tone Anakin didn’t know he could muster, responds a simple, decisive, “Yes.”
Indicating to Anakin, struggling for air, “You, young one, I have no interest in. You have no form or civility in your fighting.” Then turning back to Obi-Wan, “You, I assume, at least have manners. Let us see how much you have retained.”
Dooku unhooks Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from his belt and throws it at him. Obi-Wan catches it before it falls.
Anakin rasps against the invisible grip.
Count Dooku ignites first, the blade red.
A Sith. The man’s gone fucking Sith and no one suspected. No wonder the man can duel and hold someone in place at the same time.
The red and blue blades snap together, Obi-Wan’s form footwork holds well, but, it will not win him the duel, something that terrifies Anakin.
Obi-Wan slips on a lock and the glee Dooku feels in the misstep is apparent. He blows Obi-Wan back easily, sending him skidding across the hangar floor, before slowly approaching him. It is enough to break Dooku’s concentration restraining him.
Anakin pushes back with his own strength of the Force. The two cancel each other out and he falls on his side on the floor.
He is already battered beyond belief and still breathing shallowly, but he cannot let Obi-Wan die. Unthinkingly – instinctively – he lunges for his lightsaber, still attached to Dooku’s belt.
“Anakin, NO!”
But he has it back; the natural extension of his arm – his life – the piece of metal and wire which reminds him he has power, he has control.
He takes Obi-Wan’s earlier anger and makes it his own. (Padmé wants Dooku alive for justice; Anakin wants him dead for the same name.)
Where even in pain, Obi-Wan still exercised caution and followed form, Anakin innovates.
Dooku wants to play by the rules, well tough shit; life isn’t dictated by rules.
They move quickly, sidestepping Obi-Wan – back on his feet – every time he tries to engage.
Anakin almost gets the better of Dooku once, bearing hard blows down on him, but Dooku, lighter on his feet steps out of the way, beginning to swing his blade around. Anakin, in forcing himself to get in close, senses he’s about to pay for it.
He’s not sure what’s an uglier red, the despised Sith coloring, or the blood that springs forth, where most of his arm used to be.
Dooku chuckles. Obi-Wan might be yelling.
It is like his head suddenly is made of lead. The wound – stump – his arm – burns as it cauterizes. He isn’t really thinking clearly, but if he could use his other (no, remaining) hand to claw Dooku’s face – no, he doesn’t need physical contact.
Just as Dooku wrapped the Force around his windpipe, so could he to him.
He begins to gather the concentration it will take when there is a roaring noise in the hangar bay; Obi-Wan collides with him and three starfighters come to a halt, jerking his attention away from Dooku.
Masters Windu, Secura, and Fisto leap from their fighters.
“Where’d he go?!”
“Down that corridor – Mace, he’s Sith –”
He lost. It is not the worst thing, but he lost. The sound of retreating feet rings strangely in his head. He gropes for his lightsaber, a foot from what used to be attached to him.
Anakin tries to ask, “Where’s Padmé, has someone seen to her yet?” but nothing comes out.
“Come on,” says Obi-Wan, sounding tired.
Obi-Wan pulls him up by the other arm.
----------
The droid gives Padmé another shot. She winces, not saying anything.
“You’ll need to change the bandages every eight to twelve hours until it stops bleeding. This will keep the wound clean and should prevent infection. Nexu-inflicted injuries can be tricky. Do not overexert yourself.”
Padmé nods. She’d already incurred the displeasure of the droid by arguing with Bail via holo. While she demands the Senate officially declare war on the Separatists, the droid put stitches in the long and ugly gash.
That counts as overexertion in the droid’s programming.
The door to the examination room slides open, Obi-Wan bleeds himself, although only minor cuts and scrapes.
Anakin is not there. She swears her heart stops in his absence. They’d only been separated two hours – he can’t have – she said “yes.”
“Where’s –”
“Surgery. They had to stop the bleeding before attaching the mechanical arm.”
He sits in the chair next to the medical bed and the droid moves from her to him, cleaning and suturing.
He isn’t dead; thank the Goddess of Safety, but surgery. His arm.
“We’ll see him when he gets out.”
“Count Dooku?”
“Still waiting to hear word.”
The medical equipment hums.
She is the only one waiting for Anakin when he is brought to a recovery room. Obi-Wan regroups with other Jedi Masters, to discuss what to do, now that the political traitor and Sith Lord Count Dooku, has escaped.
“Is it always going to be like this when we’re married?” she whispers.
He grins weakly, “Probably.”
She raises her hands from her lap and puts them in his left, uncertain of the gleaming gold one. He squeezes.
The door slides open and, like lightening, Padmé removes her hands. She hopes no one catches the action.
“Though most would consider that duel to be a sign of flagrant disregard for the Jedi code; your master, Padawan Skywalker, has petitioned for your trials upon your return to Coruscant,” says Master Windu. “You have four days to return the senator to Coruscant for her vote on the war, and when you’re fully recovered, you will be tested, and sent back to the 501st.”
A strange gleam comes into Anakin’s eyes, but Padmé speaks up first.
“If it’s alright, Master Windu, I need to return to Naboo for some unfinished work before returning to the senate. Padawan Skywalker will need to be with me for that.”
She barely keeps the corner of mouth from twitching up. Anakin is the same.