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Whenever Anakin completed a mission and returned to Coruscant, his usual habit was to submit his report as soon as possible and then check in with Ahsoka, ensure that she had everything she needed and would be all right without him for a few hours. Then he would seek out Obi-Wan or Padme as long as his duties allowed, preferably waiting for one or both of them at Padme's personal apartment at 500 Republica.
But today, it was only with great reluctance and hours after debriefing with Shaak Ti, the Councilor on duty, that he proceeded to the entrance of Padme’s Coruscant residence.
As he was in no hurry, he resignedly waited for the security protocols to grant him permission, and then trudged within, the hiss of the door sliding shut remarkably like a condemnation. Heart heavy and body weary, Anakin dragged himself through the main hall and made his way into the parlor, expecting to find both Padme and Obi-Wan there. It was no great surprise when he did.
The glow-lamps in Padme’s spacious apartment had switched to the customary nighttime setting, projecting a warm oasis of relaxing light. The gleam caught on the honey-toned hue of the duskwood paneling, bathing the entire area in a golden incandescence. Richly-threaded tapestries proudly occupied every wall, each depicting a scene from ancient Naboo legend, and the effect of the evening light rendered their colors all the more vibrant. The carpet was plush enough that Anakin sank into it with each step, and the burnished wooden carvings and towering vases of sweet-smelling blossoms interspersed throughout the room were both tasteful and comfortingly familiar. The overall atmosphere was cozy, pleasant, and welcoming.
Then why did Anakin not feel welcome?
Padme and Obi-Wan reclined on an immense sofa in the center of the room, both of them impossibly elegant even in their lounge clothes. Padme was wrapped in a midnight blue robe, her chestnut hair tumbling down her shoulders and silk-slippered feet resting in Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan was clad in dark pants and a forest green tunic, one that Anakin knew was soft to the touch. The two of them were skimming datapads, and affection swelled over Anakin’s melancholy at the sight of them in a rare moment of repose. But at the same time, he couldn’t suppress an anxious twinge when he saw them, unable to ignore how they seemed perfectly content without him.
Both looked up at his arrival, and Anakin swallowed, desperately trying to reassure himself that there wasn’t any accusation or judgement in their eyes.
“There you are,” Padme said fondly, setting down her datapad. “We were wondering what kept you.”
A gentle probe brushed through the Force around him, and Obi-Wan rested a soft and sympathetic gaze upon him. “Did your mission go well?”
Every iota of his being ached to go to them, to bask in their kindness and let them pull him into an embrace, but Anakin held himself back, unable to escape a creeping whisper than he didn’t deserve anything they could offer him—not when he had failed in his duty to the Jedi, to the Republic itself.
“No,” he answered bluntly. “The Hapes system categorically refused to offer any assistance in the war effort. Even with our most generous bargaining terms, they all but laughed in my face.”
Throughout the war, Anakin had become the face of the Republic’s army, the hero at the front of the charge. Even when resentment and suspicion toward the Jedi mounted, Anakin remained beloved by the public, the Hero With No Fear who gave hope that a victory over the Separatists was within grasp.
But nothing he stood for, not the Jedi or the Republic, held the slightest shred of significance to the Hapans. They sneered at him, informed him they had no intent of intervening, and then sent him on his way to relay the shame of his failure.
The sympathy on Obi-Wan’s face didn’t change.
“The probability of success was always low,” he said, clearly attempting to console Anakin. “The Hapans are infamous isolationists, and they have no true cause to assist us. It’s bad news, but nothing we weren’t prepared for.”
The frustration within Anakin threatened to boil over, urging him to snarl at Obi-Wan for his efforts to soothe him. But he quelled it, letting the heat fizzle out and die. While he might not deserve Obi-Wan’s comfort, Obi-Wan didn’t deserve his anger, either.
So he said nothing in response, but he was aware of Padme studying him intently, observing his reaction, and he couldn’t help but flush under her scrutiny. He was too easy to read, especially to her; he needed to do a better job of keeping his emotions in check.
But again, she offered no condemnation, only an invitation.
“Anakin,” Padme said softly, “would you like to kneel for us?”
Her eyes were warm dark pools drawing him in, and he wanted nothing more than to submerge himself and drown in her affection and sympathy.
But he didn’t deserve any of it. He didn’t deserve for either of them to be kind or gentle, not when he had failed. Failed to show his true abilities as a Knight, failed to prove to the Council that he had earned his place in the Order, failed to live up to his name as hero of the Republic.
“I—” His mouth opened of his volition, and he snapped it closed, clenching his jaw.
All he wanted was to acquiesce, to sink down before them and let them whisper tenderly to him, to brush their fingers through his hair as they did everything they could to make him feel precious, wanted, loved.
But he hadn’t earned it. Hadn’t earned their affection or attention, hadn’t earned anything good they could offer him.
What good was a hero if he failed to protect the people he was meant to serve?
“Anakin.” The look on Obi-Wan’s face was so utterly earnest that Anakin could have cried, and his old mentor watched him with an almost liquid softness in his eyes. “It’s not an imposition on us, do you understand?” He gestured to the empty space on the carpet before himself and Padme. “If this is what you want, then there’s no reason you shouldn’t have it.”
Wasn’t there? What did it matter if Anakin wanted to kneel for them or not? Why should he have what he wanted when he couldn’t give the Republic what it needed?
The urge to explain overwhelmed him, but so did his oppressive weariness, his crushing disappointment, and the searing awareness of the consequences of his failure, and he found that he couldn’t speak the words. And yet, he still ached to rush to both of them and soak up any love they’d give to him. Tears rapidly mounted behind his eyes; he wanted to tell them everything and yet he was just so tired.
Just a single glance passed between Padme and Obi-Wan, but it seemed to speak volumes, and then Obi-Wan made another attempt.
“You’ll let us check on you, won’t you?” Obi-Wan asked, mild but insistent. “To make certain you’re all right? You know how we worry when you’re off on a mission.”
“But you’ll do that for us, right, Anakin?” Padme sent him a genteel smile. “You’re our good boy, after all, aren’t you?”
Even while despondent, Anakin’s cheeks ignite at the compliment. Good boy. All he’d wanted—all he’d ever wanted—was to be good for Obi-Wan, and then for Padme, and now for them both.
And he wanted it desperately, even more than he wanted their comfort, more than anything—
Padme’s eyes implore him to move, to act. “You’ll be a good boy and kneel for us, won’t you? Will you do that, Anakin?”
Unable to resist, Anakin nodded mutely and approached, sinking to his knees before them. His face burned, and he wasn’t sure if it was with pleasure or shame.
You’re being good for them, he told himself. You’re obeying for them, not for yourself.
But then Obi-Wan’s warm hand came to rest on his neck, guiding him to kneel between Obi-Wan’s spread legs, bracketed in by his knees. It was Anakin’s favorite position, an inescapable reminder that he was safe, loved, and cared for—but now he froze, unwilling to give himself that relief.
Obi-Wan paused as well, a query from him echoing through the Force, followed by a burst of warmth and love and encouragement, all weaving together and wrapping around him like a cozy blanket.
Tears flooded Anakin’s eyes at the sensation, but he stubbornly refused to allow them to fall.
The hand on his neck shifted to press against the side of his face, Obi-Wan’s callused palm brushing against his cheek. “Tell us what’s wrong, Anakin.”
The order was clear and concise and unmistakable, but an undercurrent of worry flowed beneath it.
Sinking, horrible guilt jolted within Anakin for being the cause of concern. But now the time had come: he had to answer. He had to explain. He had to admit his failure.
“I don’t—deserve this.” The words scraped out of his mouth, shaky and halting. Coward that he was, he could barely bring himself to form the words. “You shouldn’t be kind to me. You shouldn’t have any mercy. I’ve failed—I’ve should’ve—meant to protect—”
A lump in his throat swelled too large for him to speak, and he needed to sacrifice words for a gasp for air. For a moment, silence reigned, the lack of response weighing down on him, and then Obi-Wan’s hand dropped away.
Well, at least now you’re getting exactly what you’ve earned. Traitor tears tried to spill out, but Anakin succeeded in his struggle to hold them back.
But then there was another touch, another hand grasping his face, with just the faintest whisper of millaflower perfume.
“Anakin.” Cupping his chin with her manicured thumb and forefinger, Padme tilted face up so she could hold his gaze. With her other hand, she threaded her fingers through his hair, her nails ghosting over scalp and his skin tingling in their wake. “Do you trust us? Do you trust us to know what’s best for you?”
Of course he did. He trusted Padme and Obi-Wan immensely; he trusted them more than he trusted himself.
Unable to speak through his gathering tears, Anakin just nodded his head and sent a spike of desperate affection for both of them through the Force, hoping it would be enough.
“Then trust us now, dear one,” Obi-Wan said, skimming a hand along Anakin’s neck. “Trust us to take care of you.”
He shook his head. Couldn’t they see? Didn’t they realize?
“I’ve failed you.” His voice cracked but he pushed on, words weak and thready. “I was meant to protect you, but I’ve failed.”
“No.” Padme’s grip on his chin tightened slightly, and she forced him to look up at her again, resolution in her eyes. “There’s nothing you could have done, Anakin. The Hapans never would have helped us. No matter if it was you or Obi-Wan or I myself, the result would have always been the same.”
“And if it had been either of us, would you allow us to wallow in hurt and misery?” Obi-Wan pressed gently. “Or would you want us to be fair to ourselves, to let you be there to support us as much as we could?”
Anakin opened his mouth and then closed it again. The deft logic and newfound realization left his mind blank. He couldn’t find any reasoning, but he just knew he was tired and hurting and now he was hurting two of the people he loved most.
The tears surged again, and this time, he doubted he could hold them back.
“I’m sorry,” Anakin choked out. “I shouldn’t need this—I know I shouldn’t—“
“Anakin,” Padme said in that gentle but firm way of hers, durasteel draped in shimmersilk. “You need this. But that’s okay. We want to give this to you. We want to help you.”
“Will you let us help you?” Obi-Wan’s expression was so soft and sincere that Anakin was ashamed to look at him.
Tears flooded his eyes, and the room swam around him. Though Anakin tried valiantly to swallow them down, he couldn’t regain control. Hot tears spilled over his eyelids, dipping freely down his face.
Obi-Wan made an approving sound. “That’s it, Anakin, he said tenderly, petting his hair. “Stop holding back from us.”
“Let us see you,” Padme murmured. Stroking his arm, she slipped down from the sofa and wound around him to embrace him from behind, hugging him around his ribs, a firm, solid presence. “No more hiding from us now. Show us what’s broken, so we can put you back together.”
Anakin just buried his face in Obi-Wan’s thigh and sobbed in earnest, his frustration and despair pouring out.
“You’re safe,” Obi-Wan whispered to him. “You’re safe here with us.”
Wedged in between the two of them as he was, with Obi-Wan before him and Padme behind him, her soft breasts pressing into his back, Anakin dimly realized Obi-Wan spoke the truth. Never before had he felt more like he was wanted, that he belonged, than he was with them now, held between them like he was something precious, something valuable.
Wrapped in an embrace with the two people he loved more than anything, Anakin soaked in their love and worry for him through the Force, finally letting himself believe they truly loved him back.
Once he’d finished crying, exhaustion overwhelmed Anakin, and he wasn’t steady on his feet when Padme and Obi-Wan coaxed him into standing. But he was able to maneuver well enough as they led him into the fresher and helped him disrobe, and then gently urged him into the sunken tub. Though Anakin wouldn’t have selected the option himself, preferring the speed of a swift shower, he couldn’t deny the relief of submerging his sore muscles in the warm, soothing water. All he wanted was to sink down into the tub and sink into sleep.
Padme and Obi-Wan must have been aware, because Obi-Wan pulled Anakin into his lap, wrapping his arms firmly around Anakin’s waist to hold him there.
“Just stay as you are,” Obi-Wan urged him softly. “It’s right where you belong.”
Warmth surged within Anakin and his face grew hot, and he was content to just laze back in Obi-Wan’s arms, trusting him and Padme to do as they wanted with him.
Together, they massaged sweet-smelling shampoo and lotions into his hair and rubbed luxurious oils into his back, neck, and shoulders, whispering praise and affection to him all the while.
“Just let us take care of you,” Obi-Wan murmured to him, his lips just barely brushing over Anakin’s ear and sending hot shivers racing down his spine. “That’s all you’re meant to do right now, darling.”
“Here, in our arms,” Padme breathed, pressing her lips to Anakin’s collarbone in a series of long, languid kisses, sinking her nails into his skin just enough for the barest hurt. “There’s no other place for you, Anakin. You belong to us, and we adore you for it.”
Even as sleepy and comfortable as he was, Anakin couldn’t help but blush. Compliments were like a drug to him, words he craved but always wanted more of no matter what the caliber, and usually he couldn’t help but feel like he never should have desired them in the first place. But hearing Obi-Wan and Padme speak to him with such gentleness, such care—it was more than he could dream of.
When the bath was through, Anakin was utterly boneless, and though he tried to stand and make his way to their bedroom, he needed Obi-Wan’s assistance. But Obi-Wan didn’t seem to mind, just stroked his hair and nuzzled at his neck, irrepressible fondness for Anakin swelling through the Force.
Once in the bedroom, Padme and Obi-Wan wasted no time in bundling Anakin into warm, soft sleep clothes and then urging him beneath the many layers of blankets on their enormous bed. Too tired and relaxed to argue, Anakin burrowed beneath the covers and curled up against the pillow. A strange sense nagged at him—he was forgetting something, he was sure of it—but then Padme laid down on his left and Obi-Wan on his right, tucking him in between them. All was well, and Anakin let out a pleased sound, too weary for words.
“You’re ours, Anakin,” Padme told him once more, leaning down to kiss his temple. Her loose hair brushed over his cheek, and he caught the scent of the Hsuberry conditioning cream she always spritzed on before bed. “You’re always ours, no matter what.”
“And there’s no one else, dear one,” Obi-Wan said, caressing Anakin’s jawline. “No one else we’d rather have but you. So please come to us, dear one, when you’re hurting, when you’re in pain.”
Tears threatened Anakin’s eyes again, but this time because affection overwhelmed him. He was truly wanted, truly cared for, truly loved—how could he have thought otherwise?
Although Anakin didn’t think he could summon the energy to speak, for Padme and Obi-Wan, he found the strength.
“I won’t,” he promised, his voice muzzy and far away. “I’ll go to you next time.”
The smile shone through in Obi-Wan’s voice. “That’s what we want the most.” And then he, too, ducked down and kissed Anakin, his beard scratching slightly at Anakin’s cheek.
The two of them then settled beside Anakin, wrapping him in their arms. Then, folded in the embrace of the two people he treasured and freshly reminded that they treasured him in turn, Anakin drifted off to sleep. All of his worries seemed distant and removed, his fears of what the Jedi and the Republic would think of him now far away.
The people who he loved in turn loved him back. They wanted him in their home, their bed, their lives, even at his lowest, his very worst. Anakin didn’t think he could ask for anything more than that.