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“Hey, uh. Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan glances up from his datapad. It’s only then that he realizes how his eyes have been watering from squinting at the tiny, blue-washed holographic projections. He avoids rubbing at them – not now, not when Anakin is standing in front of him all serious like this, still fully clad in their usual armor. His hands pick at each other, rubbing together the different textures of the mismatched gloves – one of ordinary combat fabric, one of waterproof synthleather specially conceived to protect the mechno-arm beneath. There’s a troubled air around him that Obi-Wan can’t quite place.
“Hello, Anakin. Is something the matter?” He inches aside, patting the spot beside him on the bench. Not that there’s any need to do so: there is plenty of space elsewhere; the bench is not so small nor occupied. But to cede to his former apprentice something of his own, to give Anakin anything he has that he may provide – the gesture comes to Obi-Wan naturally. By habit, by necessity.
Anakin doesn’t take his seat, nor does he answer the question. He has always worn his heart on his sleeve; even when he intends to hide himself or refuses to speak of how he feels, his emotions are oft written on his face (or perhaps Obi-Wan just finds every change in his mood unmissable, what with ten years spent caring for Anakin as the boy grew into the man). Which only makes it all the more jarring whenever his face sports this shuttered-off expression, like right now. There’s no telling what goes on behind those dark blue eyes that are studying Obi-Wan with all the storms on a wrathful sea, and it doesn’t so much unsettles him as it is concerning.
Then Anakin, completely unannounced, gets down on his knees.
“…I’m sorry.”
Obi-Wan wishes he could say he’d immediately reacted properly: helping his former Padawan to his feet, asking him what is amiss, telling him all is fine. He wishes he could say he’d slipped out of his warrior-skin and assumed his role as Master and caregiver as easily as he used to. But the fact of the matter is Anakin’s gesture comes so suddenly that it stumps him altogether. For a good few silent beats, all he can do is stare, stunned, dumbfounded, until his heart beats again.
“What… are you talking about, Anakin?” is all he could manage, completely baffled as he leans over and sets both hands on Anakin’s shoulders. “Whatever for?”
Alarmingly enough, his old Padawan hardly reacts under the light touch; Anakin stays there on the ground, slumpedly crouching, his head hanging between his shoulders. Obi-Wan’s first thought is that maybe something has gone wrong with Anakin’s most recent mission which he had not partaken (a battle won with too many casualties, perhaps, or a civilian settlement that he didn’t manage to salvage – perceived failures tend to overshadow accomplishments and affect Anakin the most). As far as he’s aware, though, Anakin’s last mission has been a wholesome success. So why does he…
“I’m sorry… for how I was,” Anakin says, eyes on the ground. He inclines forward, forehead nearly pressed to his knee. “For everything I’ve done.”
“Everything you’ve done?” Obi-Wan echoes, hoarsely. He clears his voice and softens it and speaks in the most gentle tone he is capable of. “What… might you be talking about, Anakin? I admit I’m at a loss.”
His old Padawan does have a penchant for the dramatics, that Obi-Wan knows. But this is far from it. Anakin’s pose right now is one of supplication, and the chills that run down Obi-Wan’s spine are not without reason, considering everything he knows about Anakin’s childhood. Twelve years is not enough to undo the wounds inflicted on a child’s mind. And even if it is merely a gesture of high respect, the solemnity of it all is still far too out of place for the camaraderie between them.
For a long, long while, Anakin doesn’t answer. When he does, it’s in a murmur, low and hoarse. “I haven’t been the best student, Master. I didn’t listen to you a lot of the time, and—I’ve said harsh words about you to others, and to your face as well. Even to this day, while we’re fighting this war, I still do things you warned me not to, just because I…” He pauses, his pose stiff, his shoulders tensing. “I never… really apologized to you, even when I felt bad afterwards, because you were never mad and I was too—I was too prideful to say it.”
Anakin takes in a shaky breath, lets out a shaky breath, his eyes still on the ground, his head still hanging. Obi-Wan’s heart aches for him. Anakin is sincere, that much is clear – far too sincere by far, in fact, with how much he’s trembling from the burden in his own words that he puts upon his own shoulders. His apology has taken on almost a confessional quality to it, and he has spoken as though he had had to carve those words into his own flesh.
“I’ve disappointed you, Master,” Anakin adds, barely a whisper. “I’ve disrespected you so many times. I’m sorry.”
And it wasn’t only the manner in which he spoke those words that was alarming – but the words themselves as well. Obi-Wan distinctly recalls that Anakin had gotten himself in trouble no less than five times throughout his apprenticeship for fist-fighting other Padawans whom he suspected was speaking ill of his Master. He is sure that whatever harsh words Anakin referred to couldn’t be any more serious than the grumbling and grousing of a broody Padawan. And yet now Anakin is dredging up those things to torment himself?
Part of Obi-Wan wants to resolve this with levity, giving a lighthearted reassurance that he would’ve thanked Anakin’s unruly years for honing his endurance. But he has lived long enough to know that to make light of something heavy is to insult the one who bears its weight. There is a time and a place for banter, and that time and place is not now. The war has worn Anakin down enough; he deserves care and a listening ear, all of which Obi-Wan is more than ready to give.
Gently his fingers along up Anakin’s jaw, cupping the side of his face. Anakin makes the slightest motion to lean against his palm – which already warms his heart, easing some of his worry – and Obi-Wan doesn’t urge him to look up just yet, just coaxes him to draw back and away. He slides down from his seat on the bench until they are eye-level, though Anakin’s gaze remains downcast. His hand never leaves Anakin’s face, thumb brushing over an almost gaunt cheekbone.
“Anakin… What brought this on?”
Anakin shakes his head wordlessly, strands of hair falling over his face. His hair is messy and matted with sweat, dusty from days of fighting out in the open field, the curls somehow frizzed up and limp at the same time, all of its usual spun-gold sheen lost. Obi-Wan runs a hand through it all the same, his heart bleeding, mourning the loss of sunlight in Anakin’s eyes.
“Anakin,” he repeats, quiet, gentle, encouraging. “I hear you. I forgive you. And I assure you, nothing you have done was ever so grievous as you might think.” He tucks Anakin’s hair back, and now frames his face with both hands. “Now, I would like to know what… urged you to bring this up, all of a sudden.”
“Nothing, Master,” Anakin mutters and goes resolutely silent. Obi-Wan studies him – his furrowed brows, his bitten lip, his downcast gaze – for another few beats, before sliding one hand back to warmly, securely settle at the back of his head. He brushes thumb against a familiar spot behind Anakin’s right ear, where the Padawan braid used to be. Anakin sighs, deeply and seemingly involuntarily.
“I just wanted you to know that I appreciate your teaching, and… you.” Anakin looks up, his eyes glassy even in the dim lighting of the bunker. His bottom lip trembles. “I just had to tell you before it’s too late.”
Obi-Wan furrows his brows. “‘Before it’s too late’?”
Anakin presses his lips into a tight line. To Obi-Wan’s surprise – and utter relief – Anakin’s flesh hand slowly reaches up, lightly draping over Obi-Wan’s own. “We’re fighting a war,” Anakin quietly explains. “I could lose you any day. I can’t bear the thought of you leaving without knowing that I lo—that you are loved.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes soften – and if they water, he makes no mention of it. He breathes out, not quite a sigh, but audible enough that it feels like it has a weight unto itself. He considers Anakin again, his former Padawan, his current partner; his best friend, his sworn brother; in all senses of the word, his other half. Spoken with such genuine care and kindness, Anakin’s words don’t betray a selfish fear of loss so much as it carries a plea and a pledge. More than to keep, Anakin wants to give.
With the same care as before, Obi-Wan touches Anakin’s chin. Not quite to prompt him to look up, just to keep his gaze from falling once more. “Thank you, Anakin. I mean it.” Kindness like yours is hard to come by, these days. He gives a small smile, ignoring the thrumming of his heart. “You did not disrespect or disappoint me, ever. Know that I have never doubted your regards for me.”
And he means this, too – he understands the depth of Anakin’s feelings and takes to heart the sincerity of his declarations, no matter how sweeping. He has never doubted that Anakin is genuine, down to the most solemn I love you. Whether or not Obi-Wan dwells on the implications, the… other possibilities of interpretation, is another matter altogether – matter that lies with him. Not Anakin.
Anakin is staring at him doe-eyed, a slight flush on his face. He has gone from shuttered off to tremblingly open in the span of a few minutes, lips parted like he has more to say. But no words come; he only presses the heel of his hand to his eye and roughly wipes across it, and Obi-Wan can help it no longer. He opens his arms.
“Come here, Padawan,” he says, the old title sliding back into his speech, easy as nothing. In the blink of an eye the ruthless Hero with No Fear is there, nestled up against his chest, clinging at Obi-Wan with his face buried in the crook of his neck, revisiting the carefree youth he has had to end too soon in favor of becoming a jaded general.
Obi-Wan cradles him close. If he cannot stay Anakin’s trembles, he will absorb it all, hold Anakin with his entire body until the sun rises again in his eyes, and the birdsong returns to his voice.
“You’re alright,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss atop Anakin’s head. Far too light to be felt, because nobody needs to know. “You’re alright.”