Chapter Text
“Patient stable. Now accessing...lower back.”
Obi-wan snapped awake.
His breaths came unsteadily, each ragged and desperate. His hands scrambled for purchase--grabbed his armrests--and he shot to his feet. Knees buckled. He almost stumbled over his robes--robes? Wasn’t he wearing armor?--as he raced to the glass partition.
Satine slept.
Her face was pale against the sheets. Her hair spilled out over her pillow, bleached white beneath the examination lights. A medical droid hovered above her, scanner sweeping up and down her stomach. Her chest rose and fell evenly. Her room was narrow, with barely enough space for a table and her bed, and as Obi-wan raised one hand to the glass, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were the one trapped inside, as if he were suffocating in her stead--
“Obi-wan!”
“Master Kenobi!”
The door swung open, and Obi-wan spun around.
Anakin barged inside, and Ahsoka slammed the door behind him. Obi-wan drew in a breath--to scold them for yelling, to stop them before they could enter the droid’s line of sight, to question why they were here--but what came out instead was a choked inhale.
“Obi-wan?”
Anakin stopped just before him. Through a haze of exhaustion and fear, Obi-wan dimly registered his former apprentice’s worry. Ahsoka took his hand, squeezing it. Her touch was so warm.
“Master...Master, you’re ice-cold.” Ahsoka guided him back to the chair, and he let out a brief stammer of complaint as Anakin busied himself with the tray of refreshments next to him. “We heard the news, and we rushed here as quickly as possible. The Duchess--she--”
She hesitated, at once fearful and awkward, as if afraid to interrupt the silence. Obi-wan swallowed and turned towards Satine.
“She...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. That he had watched Satine die, and that had it not been for the sphere....
“Here.” Anakin’s voice was rough and guarded, the way it always sounded after a bad mission. After a close call. No, after.... Obi-wan’s hands shook as he took the proffered water. The medical droids had admitted Satine to a private suite, and outside her glass walls, his waiting area was pleasant. He sat facing a floor-length view of the Coruscant night, the sky glittering with traffic, the buildings a sheen of light. Tasteless paintings adorned the otherwise sterile walls. He forced himself to focus on one of them now, the way Master Qui-Gon had taught him years ago. The details. The colors. One sense at a time. Neither Ahsoka nor Anakin talked, but he could sense their shared look of worry.
Finally, Anakin reached out and touched his shoulder. “Obi-wan,” he said slowly, “do you want to talk?”
Talk? What had happened was too big for words. Something rose up in Obi-wan’s chest, and he swallowed it down--all he could do now was break.
“You...you need to go, don’t you?” he managed. “Don’t you have something to do?”
They shared another worried look. He couldn’t blame them. His hands still hadn’t stopped shaking. The journey from Mandalore to Coruscant had taken him well over one-hundred hours, and he hadn’t slept for any of it. Not while...not while....
“We don’t,” Anakin said.
“If you were wondering,” Ahsoka offered helpfully, “you were out for maybe an hour. Two, tops. Duchess Satine was admitted two hours ago.”
“Satine. The Duchess.” His voice was low. He forced it to stop shaking. Cleared his throat. “Is she all right? Anakin...could you go read the medical report?”
Anakin obliged. Outside the hospital, a speeder whirred by in a blaze of light. Obi-wan winced. His eyes stung. His entire body ached--only now did he realize the pain in his back, his chest. The pounding in his head. Ahsoka squeezed his hand.
“She’s stable,” said Anakin. “Internal bleeding has been drained and healed. They’re still working on her heart. What...” He hesitated, his eyes half-afraid as he met Obi-wan’s gaze. “...it says here that there was a third-degree burn and a stab wound. Obi-wan....”
Obi-wan looked away.
“A lightsaber?” Ahsoka said.
Obi-wan nodded. It was getting hard to speak. “It was Maul.” He cleared his throat again. “It was Maul. He...stabbed her with the Darksaber.”
Anakin’s eyes widened, and Ahsoka gasped. “Then how did she survive?” she demanded. “That’s--”
“A direct heart wound.” Anakin’s jaw was clenched. “There’s no way a droid could’ve saved her, and that’s assuming you got her out in time. Obi-wan--”
“Stop.” Obi-wan stood and swayed, and both Anakin and Ahsoka moved towards him. He brushed them off and strode to the window, his hands clasped behind him. He’d changed into robes on the flight back. Now he remembered. He couldn’t let the Jedi Council know he’d gone to Mandalore. “Stop. What matters now...” He swallowed. The night sky was a blur before him. “What matters now is that we get her stabilized. That we find a place for her to stay. She’ll still be in danger, and I...I was not supposed to be on Mandalore.”
Anakin and Ahsoka glanced at each other. “We...saw the news,” Ahsoka said hesitantly. “Mandalore fell. The clans are in uproar, and the Senate’s called an emergency meeting. We didn’t know where the Duchess was. I...didn’t know you’d gone to her.”
Her question was obvious. Obi-wan left it unanswered.
“Actually,” said Anakin, “the Council was wondering where you were. As you know the most about Mandalore.”
“What did you say to them?” He stared at his reflection in the window. His face bruised and scratched. His eyes puffy and bloodshot.
“Cody was the one who covered for you.” Anakin offered Obi-wan a hesitant, sardonic smile. “You owe him.”
“Did Cody know--”
“No one knew you went to Mandalore, Master,” interrupted Ahsoka. She sank against the wall, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her hand strayed unconsciously to her hip, to her empty lightsaber sheaths. No weapons were allowed in the medical wing. “I didn’t even know, until Anakin told me. You logged her in anonymously, with an all-droid team. And now...” She hesitated, struggled with some unseen emotion as she stared at Satine’s sleeping form. “...even if you don’t want to tell us what happened, the Jedi Council will want answers. About Satine’s reappearance. About you.”
Obi-wan sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, but his head would not stop pounding.
“Hey,” said Anakin. He gave Ahsoka a look that Obi-wan knew too well: back off. “But it’s all right. No one knows you’re back, and you can sneak back to your room.”
Obi-wan swallowed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Ahsoka raised an eyebrow.
“I...you’re right.” He let out a breath. “I do owe you an explanation. But I’m afraid...I’m afraid I tampered with forces that are not meant to be touched. And I’m afraid that...” He trailed off, his eyes fixed on Satine. His adrenaline had fled him for good, had left him with only fear and dread and guilt, and he closed his eyes. He could barely even remember what he’d done in the Sundari throne room. Panic had guided him through everything, had shattered the sphere, had cut down one of Maul’s guards as he carried Satine’s body outside...he had never been that scared before. He had never let his fear sweep over him, possess him so completely and totally....
“Obi-wan?” said Anakin.
Obi-wan shook his head. “I need to be alone,” he said. “And I should be here when she awakens. No, actually, I shouldn’t be. I just--I--I need to clear my mind.” Yes, he couldn’t be here with Satine. This he knew with a sudden certainty, an instinct that brought him both clarity and relief: he needed to leave her. She would be fine, he knew she would be, and he needed to get away now--
Anakin and Ahsoka exchanged another look. “Master,” Ahsoka tried, “you’re tired. Maybe you should get yourself checked up first. Tell the Council about what you saw on Mandalore. I’m sure they won’t punish you for anything. They’ll welcome the information, and so will the Chancellor.”
“No. No, Satine--the Duchess--she wouldn’t want Republic forces on Mandalore.” His response was automatic, instinctive, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Focus. He had to focus. The weight of what he’d done finally settled upon him, and he began to shake once again. He hadn’t just defied the Jedi--he’d almost failed. No, he had failed, and Satine.... He shook his head. “I’ll tell the Council I’m back. Thank you for your concern.”
He saw Ahsoka splutter, saw Anakin frown, but he said nothing as he headed towards the exit. It took all his willpower not to look at Satine as he left.
“Hey!” said Anakin, but Obi-wan could not look back. He swept down the hall, his hands clasped together, almost colliding with a medical droid. At this time of the night, in this part of the hospital, the halls were empty.
“Hey!” Anakin’s footsteps thudded down the hall, and a droid beeped in complaint. Obi-wan couldn’t bring himself to speed up as Anakin caught up to him. “Obi-wan. Obi-wan, you’re clearly not okay. What happened?”
Obi-wan stopped. They stood in the center of the hall, alone, and Anakin’s face was half-shadowed. He was now taller than Obi-wan, and when he took him by the shoulders, Obi-wan couldn’t look away.
“I...” he began. He took a breath. “Anakin, I don’t want to involve you in this.”
“You don’t want to involve me?” said Anakin incredulously. “Obi-wan--you used my ship to get to Mandalore. What happened there? It obviously traumatized you. There’s no way the Council will believe anything you tell them in this state.”
“I just need to rest.”
“Oh, sure. And we all know how well you sleep under stress.”
“Anakin...”
Anakin’s hands tightened on his shoulders. “Obi-wan, you can’t just walk away. You should talk to Duchess Satine at the very least. Ahsoka can notify you when she awakens, and you can--”
“No.” The idea of talking with Satine was unbearable. Obi-wan shrugged away. The air conditioning kicked in, and a cold wind blew down the hall. “No. I can’t. I just need to sleep. Let Satine--I mean, the Duchess--rest and heal. Don’t let Ahsoka summon me. I’ll notify the Council I’m back right now, and--”
“You think they’ll let you sleep if you--”
“--Anakin--”
“Obi-wan, you’re not making any sense!”
“You are out of your place.” Obi-wan jerked away, and Anakin’s eyes widened, hurt. “I am notifying the Council. And I am going to bed. Satine can’t see me now. I can’t see her. Do you understand?”
Anakin opened his mouth. Closed it again. And then he let out a frustrated breath. “Fine,” he said. “But if the Council doesn’t wake you up at some ungodly hour and drag you off to debriefing, we’ll talk in the morning. We need to talk, all right?”
Obi-wan looked away.
“All right?”
“Good night, Anakin.”
Anakin spluttered out a protest as Obi-wan strode down the hall. As he turned the corner and collected his lightsaber from the receptionist, his walk slowed into a limp--his right hip was throbbing. Pain stabbed up his right knee.
He barely made it into the lift.
Obi-wan sank against the wall as the lift carried him down. The light was dim, and his reflection in the door was ghostly. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking. The lift hummed faintly.
In a day, perhaps a little more, Satine would awaken. And then...what could he possibly say to her? You died. I saved you. You died. He imagined her huddled on the bed. Her back scarred from the wound from which he’d failed to save her.
And Mandalore...he would need to tell her about Mandalore.
Obi-wan closed his eyes. His head pounded. He had never felt like this before, so bruised and ragged, tossed and torn from corner to corner. Satine had died. He had felt her breath leave her, had choked out her name.
His hand strayed to his wrist com. He typed in his code, and a lump rose to his throat. Automatically, without thinking, he swiped through a week’s worth of notifications. Clung desperately to the familiarity of each motion. He typed in the access code for the Jedi Council’s communication channel, pulled up the most recent message: Grand General Tiplee, asking him once again for his whereabouts. Would he be available for a mission on Averax? They would leave first thing tomorrow morning. Five hours time.
The lift dinged. Floor one. Obi-wan took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. His heart had finally slowed, and his hands--although they had not stopped shaking--had regained some of their feeling.
The lift doors opened, and in flooded the conditioned air and chatter of the lobby, the cool chirp of the receptionist, the hushed talk of droids and nurses. Obi-wan stepped outside, and the lift shut behind him. No one paid him any heed as he pushed his way through the crowd, as he raised the wrist comm to his lips.
“Obi-wan Kenobi, reporting for duty,” he said. His voice was calm, collected. Finally his own again. “Put me down for Averax.”