Chapter Text
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“-and that’s why I’d pick a Corellian freighter every time,” Anakin finishes, thunking his glass down for emphasis. “Alright, your turn.”
Obi-Wan hums and swirls his drink. His normally uptight Master has deigned to slouch sideways on the tiny couch in Anakin’s cabin, boots propped up on the arm. They’re both a few drinks in, nothing that would impair them if the ship was attacked but enough to relax a bit. And now they were playing an old game from long stakeouts and trips with nothing else to do.
Anakin tries to think of what he might ask after Obi-Wan, maybe between those two types of tea he despises, those rants are always-
“Which would you pick,” Obi-Wan starts slowly, “The lives of the entire Jedi Order, down to the babes in their cribs, or the life of your wife?”
Anakin freezes.
“What?”
“Which would you pick,” Obi-Wan repeats, tone eerily detached, “The lives of the entire Jedi Order, down to the babes in their cribs, or the life of your wife?” He hasn’t looked up from his glass, apparently fixated by the movement of the liquid inside.
“That isn’t funny, Master,” Anakin rasps, throat dry. “I-I’m not married so that’s-”
“Which would you pick,” Obi-Wan still hasn’t looked at him, “The lives of the entire Jedi Order, down to the babes in their cribs, or the life of your wife?”
Terror abruptly bleeds into rage because “Are you threatening her?” He standing when did he stand-
Obi-Wan looks up.
Anakin wishes he hadn’t.
“Which would you pick, my dear?”
Anakin just stares wordlessly.
Obi-Wan sighs, a bare breath of sound for the exhaustion within it. He stands.
“That’s what I thought.”
The door hisses shut behind him and Anakin goes down like a puppet with its strings cut.
Which would you pick?
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