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As the worst ones did, it started with static.
Obi-Wan was just leaving Bail's apartment. He'd spent a nice afternoon with his friend—since the start of the war, such visits had been few and far between, but he'd promised to stop by the next time he was grounded on Coruscant. And so he tried not to acknowledge the aura as it started—the faint twinge in his temples, behind his eyes, the strange cloud that seemed to fog his vision. By the time he climbed into his speeder, though, it was difficult to ignore.
The trip back to the Temple wasn't far—twenty minutes with no traffic, if he was lucky. The sun had disappeared, and city lights flashed in every direction. Horns blared, music somewhere far off—
That was what did him in, in the end. The sound and the light and the movement.
He wasn't even halfway home when the pain struck his head so violently he went blind.
━━━━━━━━━
Anakin was just returning to the Temple--quickly sniffed himself as he hopped out of his own speeder, checking for Padmé's perfume. He and Obi-Wan were scheduled to report to the Council in an hour, though as he probed the space for Obi-Wan's presence, he didn't find it. So he must've been out then, too.
He'd barely taken a step when his comm buzzed.
"Speak of the devil," Anakin said as he answered. "Or think of him, rather. I was wondering where you were."
"Anakin?" Obi-Wan's voice crackled back, distantly. In the background, he heard music. A car horn.
"Where are you, Dex's? I don't know how you could be tired of Temple food already. It's better than rations—"
"Anakin." And at the weakness of his voice, Anakin paused. "I'm—it's—"
"Hey," Anakin said, heart rate hitching. "What's going on?"
"I just—" he stammered. "Can you come get me?"
"I—yeah. Where are you? Are you hurt?"
Anakin was already climbing back into his speeder.
"I don't—no. I'm alright. I'm..." His Master, stumbling over words, was so bizarrely out of character that Anakin's heart dropped. "I just...don't feel well."
Oh . Anakin powered up the speeder, changed the gear. He was already soaring out of the hangar bay by the time he replied.
"Hang tight, okay? I'm coming," he said. "Can you activate the tracking signal on your comm?"
No answer. No answer for far too long.
But then there was a beep from Anakin's wrist, and when he looked down, Obi-Wan's location was there.
"Got it," Anakin said. "I'm coming to get you, alright? Just take a deep breath. I'll be there."
As he followed the tracking signal across the city sky, Anakin didn't dare hang up the call. Instead, he forced himself to chatter on about one thing or another—his day, Ahsoka's day, the latest Senate bill Padmé had told him about. Boring stuff, all of it. But it was better than leaving Obi-Wan alone.
And when Obi-Wan hadn't answered in a long time, and the line went dim with static and the distant sound of city streets, Anakin's heart leapt every time.
"Hey," he said. "You with me?"
The response: a soft and weak, "yes."
Until finally he approached the coordinates of the tracking signal. Heaved a sigh of relief. Except...hold on. He was still in the middle of bustling traffic. There were no buildings here, no sidewalks even. Anakin couldn't even slow down.
"Obi-Wan?" A grunt in response. "I think your nav system's messed up. I'm at your location, but it's in the middle of the freeway."
A long pause. Then a quiet reply:
"Down here."
When Anakin's eyes followed, his heart lurched.
Down below the chaos of traffic, a single speeder was pulled over on the side of the road. Anakin zigzagged—definitely the sort of maneuver that his Master would've usually scolded him for—down, toward the weak Force signature in the driver's seat. And exhaled.
Obi-Wan.
His head was down, resting on his forearms on the steering wheel. Shoulders tensed as they moved up and down with shallow breaths, his whole frame wilting. Anakin pulled his own speeder up alongside and practically tripped out of the door.
"Hey," Anakin said. "Hey. What's going on?"
He opened the passengers door to Obi-Wan's speeder and slid inside. Put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, rubbing a thumb back and forth.
Obi-Wan's breath was so shaky, it startled him.
"My head hurts," he whispered.
Always the master of understatements.
Anakin kept rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah," Anakin said simply. "Let's get you home."
"Can't drive," Obi-Wan murmured. "I had to pull over. It got so...so bad, so quickly. I couldn't—make it back—"
"I know," he said. "I'm here, I've got you." Obi-Wan's frame shuddered. "We'll worry about your speeder later. For now, let's just focus on you."
Anakin let go of Obi-Wan's shoulder and opened the passenger door again, then went around to Obi-Wan's side. He opened the driver's door and crouched in front of him.
"Think you can walk?"
Obi-Wan's head was still down on the steering wheel. From this angle, he could see his eyes were squeezed shut.
"Feel like...like I could be sick," Obi-Wan said quietly. "Afraid if I..."
He slowly lifted his head. And right away, the difference was obvious—even with his eyes closed, the light would bleed through. He paled, breathing growing shakier—
"Hey," Anakin said. "I'll help you. You're okay. You're..."
He slipped an arm under Obi-Wan's shoulder and pushed both of them to their feet. Obi-Wan felt like dead weight against him. But they were standing, that was the main thing, and then they were hobbling out on the sidewalk and over to Anakin's speeder.
They almost made it, too.
Except for the speeder that sped right by them, blaring its horn.
Obi-Wan pulled free of Anakin's hold and vomited onto the ground.
Anakin's heart clenched. His Master was crouched to the pavement now, and somehow Anakin's hand had found its way to his shoulder and rubbed light circles there, waiting for it to pass.
"Sorry," Obi-Wan murmured.
Anakin waved the apology away and knelt down next to him. "Take your time. Let me know when you're ready to try again."
And when at last he wobbled to his feet again, Anakin took his arm.
The drive home was impossibly slow–Anakin swore they got stuck behind every imaginable red light, got cut off by every single asshole, honked at by every passing speeder. Or maybe that last part was just due to Anakin’s own…ah, defensive driving.
But they did make it. And somehow Anakin managed to get Obi-Wan out of the speeder, through the halls of the Jedi Temple, and back toward Obi-Wan’s quarters without anyone falling down or getting sick. Obi-Wan was quiet the whole way–Anakin was pretty sure his eyes were closed for most of it too, trusting Anakin to lead him. Anakin wasn’t sure whether his own heart was racing out of exertion, or worry that he’d fail.
When the door slid shut behind them, Anakin felt both of them heave a sigh of relief.
Obi-Wan’s commlink had started buzzing sporadically since they’d arrived back at the Temple, and it chimed again now. This time, Bail Organa’s name and icon popped up. As they crossed the living room, Anakin slipped it off Obi-Wan’s belt and put it on silent, clipping it beside his own.
“Get yourself comfortable, okay?” Anakin said, depositing Obi-Wan gently on the bed. “I’ll find your meds.”
“In the cabinet,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing toward the kitchen. Then he leaned forward, head in his hands, and closed his eyes.
Anakin nodded and left the bedroom, careful not to close the door too loudly behind him. He was halfway across the room when his own comm started buzzing–and he cursed under his breath. The Council was probably trying to get ahold of them–he hadn’t had time yet to tell them that Master Kenobi wasn’t up for making an appearance. They were due to be there ten minutes ago.
But when he pulled his commlink from his belt, he was surprised to see that it wasn’t Master Windu summoning him–it wasn’t a Jedi at all.
He clicked the button to answer. “Senator Organa?”
Bail’s blue holographic form flickered in front of him. “Anakin,” he said. “I was hoping you were with Obi-Wan.”
Anakin set the commlink down on the counter and started to dig through the cabinets. “Yeah, I am–”
“Is he alright?” Bail asked. His voice crackled through the hologram. “He didn’t seem himself when he left–he claimed it was just a headache, but he just looked…unsteady. I was worried about him driving home, but he insisted.”
Anakin finally found the pill bottle labeled with Obi-Wan’s name and pulled it down from the cabinet. It was almost empty, Anakin noted with both concern and relief. Relief because it meant Obi-Wan was actually taking the meds when he needed them, in spite of his claims that they dulled the Force. Concern because…well, because he needed them at all.
He dumped one into his palm and started to fill a glass of water. “He should’ve listened to you. I had to pick him up on the side of the road.”
Bail exhaled. “Bad one, then?”
“Yeah.”
Bail looked like he wanted to say more. It had been almost six months since he and Obi-Wan had returned from a mission to a Sith planet–some wretched place called Zigoola–wounded and tormented. The mission had been classified, much to Anakin’s chagrin. But Obi-Wan had told him enough–and he knew Obi-Wan well enough–to know that something was different from before. The fact that Bail knew that this happened often enough to call it a ‘bad one’ was evidence enough.
“I should go,” Anakin said. He had the pill in one hand and water glass in the other. “He’s…like you said. Not great.”
“Yes,” Bail said. “I’m sorry to intrude. I just…wanted to make sure he got home okay. Recently he’s just seemed…”
Anakin nodded. Offered a weak smile. “Thanks for looking out for him.”
Bail looked uneasy as the transmission ceased.
Anakin set down the glass just long enough to send a response to a message from Master Windu–” We look forward to hearing your and Master Kenobi’s report. What is your E.T.A?” Anakin replied quickly, without proofreading, something to the effect of “ Obi-Wan’s unwell, we’ll reschedule.” That would have to be good enough for now.
He reentered the bedroom quietly. The room was fully dark now, and as Anakin’s eyes adjusted, he could barely make out the form of Obi-Wan laying on his side. He hadn’t even bothered to get under the covers. His boots were still on, as were his belt and lightsaber.
“I thought I told you to get comfortable,” Anakin whispered, trying for mirth. When Obi-Wan didn’t answer, Anakin sat down on the side of the bed. “I brought your meds.”
That got a slight grunt. “Don’t know if I can keep them down.”
“Well, let’s try,” Anakin said. “Can I help you sit?”
He eased Obi-Wan upward again, until his back was leaning against pillows and the headboard. Obi-Wan was breathing slowly, but hard. He covered his face with his hands.
Anakin hoped it wasn’t necessary, but it didn’t hurt to ask. “You want me to bring over the trash can in case?”
He nodded tersely.
But he did manage to take the pill, and to keep it down. His hands shook as he gave Anakin back the glass of water, and Anakin set it down on the nightstand beside a stack of datapads and books. They sat there for a few minutes, making sure they were in the clear, before Anakin spoke again.
“Okay. Now, let’s get comfortable for real, shall we? I don’t think you need your lightsaber while you’re taking a nap.”
Obi-Wan huffed quietly, but he did unclip his lightsaber and hand it to Anakin. “But the Council meeting–”
“I already told them you’re under the weather. They understand.”
Obi-Wan undid his utility belt, letting it slip to the floor. “You go, at least.”
“I’m not leaving you here by yourself,” Anakin said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Now come on–let’s get your boots off.”
It was Anakin who actually did most of the pulling at Obi-Wan’s shoes, and set them down beside the bed. Obi-Wan seemed to be fading, his eyes closed more often than not, his movements weak. When he was more-or-less in sleep clothes, Anakin helped him lie down again, this time beneath the sheets.
But in the Force, Anakin could still feel it all. He had long ago learned how to block out the constant sense of his Master’s presence–lest he never sense anything else. But when he let himself, he could feel the ache and the embarrassment and the bone-weary exhaustion surrounding him, surrounding them both now. He ran a gentle hand across Obi-Wan’s forehead, and felt the warmth. Obi-Wan hummed.
“You’re not asleep,” Anakin said softly. “You should be.”
Obi-Wan hummed again. He was on his back, Anakin sitting up in the bed beside him. There was sweat on his brow. “Can’t.”
“The meds should be kicking in by now though. It’s been almost an hour.”
Obi-Wan didn’t answer.
This wasn’t the time to ask. Obi-Wan was in no state to answer him genuinely, and to bring it up just felt like kicking him while he was down. And yet, Bail’s words wouldn’t leave his head. They ricocheted in his mind like an echo chamber, until finally Anakin found himself whispering:
“Bail called. After he commed you a few times and you didn’t answer. He called me.” He swallowed. “He was worried about you.”
“Told him I was fine when I left.”
“Right, which was obviously a correct statement,” Anakin said, forcing himself not to roll his eyes.”But, Obi-Wan…he made it sound like…”
He hesitated, trying to find the words. The only thing that came was the sound of Obi-Wan’s shaky breathing.
Anakin forced himself to finish. “Like this has been happening a lot lately. Like…you’re not better,” he said. “Since Zigoola.”
He felt Obi-Wan stir at the words, and regretted he’d said anything. He’d known this wasn’t the time. He should’ve just–
“There’s nothing more to say about Zigoola,” Obi-Wan finally answered. Maybe the longest coherent phrase he’d uttered since this all started. “I already told you what you need to know. It was…a bad place. And now, sometimes, I get headaches. That’s all.”
He turned over on his side, facing away from Anakin now. From a sitting position, Anakin could still see half of his face–how his eyes were squeezed shut. His hair mussed up, sticking to his forehead. His face was flushed and damp.
“But this is…it’s scary,” Anakin said. “What if something happens when we’re in the field? What if we’re under fire, and–”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” Obi-Wan said–his voice quiet, but sharp. “If I can’t carry it all, people die. Systems fall. Don’t think I haven’t considered the consequences of my weakness.”
The stab of pain of those words felt like a training saber to Anakin’s chest. “That’s not–that isn’t what I meant. I meant something could happen to you . If you’re not at your best, and something happens. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Obi-Wan scoffed, pulling the sheet closer to his chin, and the bed trembled a little. He didn’t answer. But he knew they were both picturing it–the memory of war was too vivid not to. This was their reality, and nothing about it was theoretical. Obi-Wan could die. Or Anakin could. Or any number of the people close to them. Any safety, any peace they encountered was temporary. War didn’t permit the luxury of optimism.
Still, Anakin reached over and squeezed his shoulder.
“But when it comes to that,” he said, words soft as a dream, “ if it comes to that–I’ll be there to carry you.”
He heard Obi-Wan exhale softly–whether relief or exasperation or exhaustion, Anakin didn’t know. But he let himself slide down against the headboard himself, until he was laying on his side. Obi-Wan was facing away from him. He studied the rise and fall of his shoulders, the rhythm of his breath.
He wasn’t sure who fell asleep first. Only that the dreams that came were blurry–of speeders and sunsets, of Masters and Padawans, of battlefields and wretched planets far away. Of carrying, and being carried.
They settled into temporary safety, the transient peace of knowing someone else was there.