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Later, Anakin will not be able to say what had possessed him to bring up the Hardeen fiasco. He will not even recall just what he had said. It had been only a passing remark, the kind he had made a hundred times — before.
What he will remember is the look on Obi-Wan’s face, as if Anakin had sucker punched him.
Now is not like before. Now, he is in tune with Obi-Wan’s emotions — now he sees. And he wonders how he had always missed such blinding hurt in his master’s face.
But none of the old arguments and explanations are forthcoming. Obi-Wan does not remind him that he had been outvoted, nor that he had only been doing his duty. And the expression on his face is such that Anakin wishes he would.
Instead, Obi-Wan goes quietly into his bedroom and shuts the door.
He does not spend the afternoon sleeping on Anakin’s shoulder as he so often does. Though he comes out for dinner, it is a subdued affair. He accepts the offered apology without fanfare, but he does not take to any of Anakin’s efforts to talk about it.
Anakin gives him space. This, too, is a mistake.
He wakes in the middle of the night feeling strange and uncomfortable, and it takes him a moment to understand that it is because Obi-Wan’s end of their bond is oddly muted, as if he’s closed it off.
Obi-Wan has not shut him out since ... since. He gets up and goes to Obi-Wan’s bedroom to find the door locked. This in itself is another oddity; he has always known the code, and Obi-Wan knows that he knows it. Later, he will realize that this is just a method of slowing him down.
He remembers opening the door, and it is then that much of his memory whites out.
What happens is this:
When the door opens, Obi-Wan lies still on the bed, crumpled and so, so small. The empty pill bottle is still cradled in limp fingers.
Anakin is already weeping when he takes him by the shoulders and shakes him, pleading with Obi-Wan not to do this again. His efforts elicit no response. Obi-Wan’s eyelids do not so much as flicker.
By the time he gains enough presence of mind to take Obi-Wan’s pulse, it is unsteady and faint. Anakin lifts the slight frame from the bed ( and he is so much lighter than he should be -- how had Anakin thought he had been doing such a good job caring for him? In how many ways has he failed? ) and rushes his master through the darkened corridors to the Halls. The healers swarm around him, take Obi-Wan from his arms, and he is left standing alone, utterly bereft.
The following day finds Anakin seated in the chair at Obi-Wan’s bedside, clutching the older man’s cold hand in both his own. Obi-Wan is sedated, propped against the pillows and half-asleep. He blinks at Anakin blearily when his apprentice whispers an apology.
“I’m… sorry... Master…” Unable to bring himself to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes, Anakin’s gaze remains fixed on the pale fingers clasped in his own. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was thoughtless and cruel.”
And how many times has he said something just like that? How many little barbs throughout the years have built up and up until Obi-Wan feels like -- like he has no choice but to die ? Is the thought of living, remaining with them, so unbearable?
How had he never dreamed that Obi-Wan would try again?
He had never imagined himself so blind, had never truly thought that his efforts would not be enough.
Blind.
Even now, he is still so blind to what Obi-Wan needs.
But Anakin is drawn from the thoughts by a gentle squeeze of his palm, and hesitantly, his gaze lifts to his master’s face.
Even now, Obi-Wan’s gaze is still warm when it meets his own. He’s still not all there; the sedative is powerful, and Anakin is certain that he does not remember just what they’re discussing when he murmurs, “That’s alright, Padawan. I promise it will be alright,” and promptly falls asleep.
Anakin’s heart shatters anew.
That afternoon, Cody comes to the Halls. Anakin does not voice it, but he thinks to himself that Cody has only come now because Obi-Wan is under the influence of too many drugs to properly remember what had transpired with the chips. It is safe to come now.
And if that had indeed been the plan, it hadn’t necessarily been a bad one. Obi-Wan knows that he has not seen Cody in some time, but he doesn’t seem to remember why, and he is so grateful to see his commander that Anakin’s throat feels full, chest aching. It’s been a long time since Obi-Wan has looked this happy. He’d been well aware of Obi-Wan’s regard for Cody; he should’ve convinced him to come sooner. Maybe Cody’s presence would have been enough, where he had not.
He stands in the doorway and watches, afraid to tear his gaze from Obi-Wan for even a moment.
Cody has removed hard plastoid and left himself in only his blacks, and he’s seated on the edge of the bed now. Their hands are joined, Obi-Wan’s head close to his thigh. Obi-Wan is asking after his men and Cody is answering in a gentle murmur, careful not to give any real news of the war lest it upset his general.
Anakin doesn’t recognize the names of the clones they’re discussing. He knows a great many of the 212th, but these -- perhaps they are shinies, brought aboard when he -- when he had been falling, too caught up in his own darkness to pay attention.
He hates himself.
It is only when the drugs have put Obi-Wan to sleep again, head pillowed in the clone commander’s lap and thin blankets tucked up around his shoulders, that Anakin goes to the healer’s desk. The emotion on Cody’s face is such that Anakin has no choice but to give him a moment of privacy, and Obi-Wan is deeply asleep. It isn’t as if he’ll miss him in the few minutes he’ll be gone.
“I need to make an appointment,” he says when the padawan healer comes to the desk, “for an assessment with the mind healers. One for myself, and one for Obi-Wan. The next one you have available. Please.”