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Obi-Wan woke to the feeling of fingers gently scratching over his scalp, stroking through his hair with a feather-light tenderness that made his heart ache. He knew, even before breathing in the familiar scent of leather and White Gull, who it was that had woken him.
“Cat,” he grumbled, hoping his tone conveyed the suspicion that had long since been absent from his mind. He wished he could still hate the other witcher the way he had in the beginning. Cats weren’t to be trusted, and yet Obi-Wan allowed this one into his bed. The rest of his School would be ashamed of him for his weakness.
“Griffin,” Maul purred in response, and Obi-Wan could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sleep much longer and the innkeeper will come pounding on the door to rouse you.”
Obi-Wan sighed, and peeled his eyes open. “I’ve paid for two nights,” he said, shaking his head. “We can stay in bed a little longer.”
Maul’s head tilted to one side, the piercing in his ever so slightly pointed ear catching the light that filtered in through the shutters.
“I’m meeting with Anakin,” Obi-Wan explained, answering the silent question in Maul’s eyes. “We had planned to travel back to Caer y Seren together for the winter.”
The scant few inches between them grew wide. Maul drew back from him, his eyes turning cold. He never liked to be reminded of Obi-Wan’s other responsibilities.
“Then shouldn’t you be the one hurrying me out the door?” Maul sneered. “Wouldn’t want your precious Child Surprise to discover you’ve gone and gotten attached to a Cat.”
Obi-Wan wanted to deny it, wanted to wave off Maul’s concerns. But witchers were not meant to form bonds of this sort, least of all a Griffin to a Cat. Anakin had been cautioned often enough about his relationship with Padmé; if he were to find Obi-Wan a hypocrite…and with a Cat, worst of all. Killers for hire whose very existence was a blot on the witcher order. If it was discovered, Obi-Wan was sure he’d never walk the Path again, and would instead be relegated to a teaching position where the elder witchers could watch him as closely as needed.
Maul stood, not waiting for an answer, and began to gather his things. Obi-Wan wished he would rage and shout and throw accusations with the same sharp, deadly accuracy that he used to throw knives, but Maul was silent, his muscles tense as he fought down his anger.
When he left, he did so without a word. No cheeky suggestion that they might stumble upon each other again in the spring, or hints as to where he intended to hunt next season. Obi-Wan tried to tell himself it was for the best. They could not continue whatever this had been. It would have ended poorly.
The first thing he smelled when he set foot in the tavern, over the cheap ale and the stale sweat of workers enjoying a meal after a day of hard work, was leather and White Gull. He wanted desperately to pretend that it could be just any other witcher, a Wolf, or a Viper, or even a Bear. He would only be lying to himself, though. There was no one else left to lie to these days.
There, in the corner, watching the door with sharp, cold eyes, was Maul. The Cat met his gaze, expression betraying nothing of what he was thinking. Obi-Wan was willing to cede this town to him. A fight was beyond his emotional capability at the moment. Tired and hungry as he was, he couldn’t bear to raise his sword against another witcher again so soon, especially not one who had once held more of his heart than he’d been willing to admit.
Maul inclined his head, gesturing for Obi-Wan to join him, and it was as if a crushing weight had been lifted from his chest. A deep breath in through his nose felt as though he was filling his lungs for the first time in years.
“Griffin,” Maul rumbled, his voice so low that only another witcher could hope to hear it.
“Cat,” Obi-Wan replied, his lips twitching into what he hoped was a smile. He’d likely missed the mark, but smiling was difficult these days, and he was sure Maul wouldn’t hold it against him.
“Your hair is going grey,” Maul noted. He sounded sad. Obi-Wan could hardly hold it against him. “Didn’t think it had been quite that long.”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “What I wouldn’t give for it to have been the gift time gave me,” he said. “I… It is good to see you, Maul. I have many regrets over the way I left things with you. When I heard… When I heard what happened with the Cats, I was afraid I would never have the chance to apologise. It seems Destiny has smiled on me.”
“That would certainly be a first,” Maul scoffed. “Destiny is only ever cruel to our kind.”
There was little motivation for Obi-Wan to argue against that. It was just one shit thing after another, as Anakin had been fond of saying. Perhaps that was why he’d made the decisions he had. Perhaps that was why he’d gone to such lengths in the hopes of preserving the small bit of happiness he’d carved out for himself. It had done him no good, in the end, but Obi-Wan could at least understand why he’d done it.
“I am sorry,” he said, catching Maul’s eye again. “I was so afraid of what others would say, what they would think, that I didn’t stop to consider you. Honestly, I barely even considered myself in those decisions. If I could go back and do things differently, I would. Maul, you must understand, if I could go back, I would not hesitate to love you as fully as I always should have. I cannot abandon the Path, but I would have gladly walked it by your side. That it took me so long to see that is among my greatest shames.”
Maul’s face remained impassive, but Obi-Wan could read his discomfort in the line of his shoulders and the set of his jaw.
“Not the greatest shame?” he asked, his tone aimed toward teasing, though Obi-Wan knew him well enough to hear the accusation under it.
If only he could say it was his greatest shame. If only his mistakes were so few.
“I may have failed to be honest enough with you that we could have been happy,” he replied, shoulders slumping as he spoke, “But I failed Anakin in almost every way. Surely you’ve heard by now that Nilfgaard has a witcher under their emperor’s command?” He couldn’t bear to look Maul in the eye as he spoke, his gaze fixed instead on the scratched, worn wood of their table. “I fear I pushed him to it. If I had listened when he shared his concerns with me, he might not have gone looking for alternatives. Now… now he’s made himself the kind of monster that people have always feared we are.”
A warm hand closed over his, and Obi-Wan finally met Maul’s eye. There was rage there, and sorrow, but there was also understanding.
“You did not make his choices for him,” Maul said. “You cannot blame yourself for his actions.” His lips drew up into a teasing smirk. “You can, however, blame yourself for keeping me your dirty secret.”
Obi-Wan couldn’t help but chuckle. “That I can,” he agreed. “Could you ever bring yourself to forgive me for it?”
Maul grinned, a beautifully vicious smile that never failed to set Obi-Wan’s heart racing.
“I’m sure I could be persuaded,” Maul purred. “I have a room upstairs, if you’d like to discuss appropriate recompense.”
Obi-Wan followed him up the stairs gladly.