Chapter Text
Beneath waves of pain, Obi-Wan senses an undercurrent of something … else. Something has changed in Asajj Ventress. As she guides him onto the ship, pressed up against his side with hands supporting him, something of a small, tenuous connection forms between them. It is hazy, partly because of the pain and partly because neither of them had actually intended it. He senses her, though, more deeply than usual, and now there is finally something there besides pain and hatred.
She dumps him rather unceremoniously into the copilot's chair, though he does not protest as they are in fact fleeing for their lives. Neither speak until they reach hyperspace. He only allows himself a shaky breath once the stars bleed together around them and space narrows to a singular blue-black blur in front of them.
"Well, that was closer than I would have liked," she says eventually. She has finally let up on the death grip she had on the controls.
"Indeed," he says, and finds that it comes out huskily and with only a fraction of his usual bravado. It does not escape her attention. She hums thoughtfully, and he avoids her appraisal by studying his own bruised hands intently. They are beginning to shake now that the adrenaline is wearing off and the pain is beginning to set in. Already it feels like a small fire has been set behind his rib cage and that each inhalation only fans the flames. He keeps his breaths shallow and closes his eyes, attempting to rein it in.
His fruitless attempts last mere minutes before he hears a frustrated sigh from the pilot's chair. He jumps at the feeling of cold hands on him - a jolt back into reality. He must've been drifting.
Her hands move back placatingly. "Peace, Jedi. It's only me," she says, with none of the usual sharp edges to her voice. "I can't have you bleeding out before we get to Coruscant. That would be embarrassing for both of us."
He chuckles in spite of himself and the pain rockets through him. He grunts, hunching forward. She grabs him by the arms before he can slam his face into the control panel.
"You should be lying down. Get up; I'll help you." She sounds resigned to her fate, but he finds he lacks the energy to poke fun. Wordlessly, he straightens himself and allows her to help him to the floor. "Moving will only make it worse. Just ... stay here and try to avoid being an idiot." He blinks slowly and she nods, seemingly satisfied with the response.
The pod is not large, but she manages to disappear from sight. He listens to the sounds of rummaging and a few muffled curses, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a small smile. When she returns, it is with a rolled-up tarp and a med kit. She lifts his head with surprising gentleness to slide the tarp underneath it.
As if to undercut this unexpected behavior, she grabs his chin rather forcefully and peers into his eyes. "You are uncharacteristically quiet. It doesn't bode well for the remainder of this little voyage. I need to know you'll make it." She sniffs disdainfully. "I wouldn't want this to be a wasted trip."
He bats her hand away weakly. "If I expire you are free to dump me wherever you'd like and abscond with any valuables you may find on my person," he mumbles.
She laughs. A harsh bark of a sound and yet very genuine. The sense of accomplishment he feels at having made her do that is surprising to say the least.
"You're different," he finds himself saying as she begins applying bacta to his various wounds. Were he less grievously injured, he would find the energy to marvel at this. "I sense you are finally free from Dooku."
Her hands still, and though his eyes are closed he can see her frown. "I am. I am surprised you can sense it."
"Well, I'm not a complete idiot. Not all the time." He sighs deeply. Within a few moments he begins to drift off, but before he does he hears a soft, thoughtful reply.
"No. Not all the time."
* * *
In dreams, he fights Maul again. This time he lets the darkness flow in him, and he strikes him down. He wakes up sweating, his battered chest heaving. She is sitting in the pilot's chair, watching him intently. She gives another hum. Her face is carefully neutral, but there is a keen glint in her eyes that tells him what she may be thinking. He wonders if she can sense the darkness in him, roiling beneath the surface. He can still feel her, in fact. Her presence is unnaturally calm, and he is surprised that he finds it soothing. He wonders if she is doing it to set him at ease, or if casting off the burden of the Sith has really made such a profound difference in her. Perhaps a bit of both.
He begins to shiver. Caused by the blood loss no doubt. She seems to have bandaged him effectively while he slept though, judging by the constricting feeling around his midsection.
Another tarp falls atop him and he looks up, bewildered. She is standing above him, with her hands on her hips. She rolls her eyes, but sits cross-legged on the floor next to him, picking daintily at a fingernail chipped during their fight. "Don't look so surprised. It's purely self-serving I can assure you. The better your condition when we reach Coruscant, the less likely it is that the Council will have my head."
"They won't harm you," he assures her, teeth clacking slightly. "You saved my life." He means it.
She must sense his gratitude, because she sighs in disgust. "I didn't do it for you."
"Of course not."
They lapse into silence, and strangely she remains seated by him. He feels cold fingers wrap around his wrist momentarily, checking his pulse. Then a light brush across his forehead to check for fever. She seems almost bored by the motion, but it is so unlike her he can only stare.
"I sense something in you as well," she says softly, eyes piercing. "I sensed it during our duel. The one who was with Savage. His quarrel with you felt very personal. It brought out a darkness in you that I haven't seen before." She looks almost impressed. "You've been holding out on me."
He fights against a sudden burst of anger. "There is darkness in all of us. I am human, after all. Darkness is in our nature. But that does not mean we should give into it."
"You must wonder what it is like, though. Having served both the Light and the Dark I can tell you that the Dark is by far the most unpredictable. There are times that you feel like you have the power to topple nations. Then there are times that you feel like nothing but a pawn in some grand scheme that is beyond all comprehension."
"And the Light?"
"The Light," she scoffs. "The Light is for children and naive fools. It's a myth perpetuated by an oppressive system that prides itself on stripping away freedom and individuality."
"That all sounds very nice. But you don't believe a word of it and you know it."
She growls, but her shoulders relax minutely.
"Who was the other Zabrak?" she asks. And there it is again, that swirling darkness. He struggles with it, finding it difficult to let it go. He feels her eyes boring holes into him.
"An old nemesis," he answers, choosing his words carefully. "I thought, up until yesterday, that he was dead. It appears I was wrong. I have now failed twice in killing him. I cannot fail a third time."
"Sounds like a vendetta. How very Sith-like of you." There is neither praise nor reproach in her voice. Only truth. The neutrality of this observation, against all odds, is what bolsters him to acknowledge his own anger.
"You are right. I have to let go of it. It will do me no good."
"You make it sound so easy." Her tone is inquisitive but guarded.
"On the contrary. It's the most difficult part of being a Jedi. Not letting the damaging emotions rule you. Anger, fear, aggression. All things that give the illusion of power but which ultimately lead to weakness of character and weakness in the Force. I felt them all when I was fighting Maul. And he was correct; it unbalanced me, made me more vulnerable. Perhaps if I hadn't let my emotions guide me, things would have turned out differently. But, there is no use dwelling on past mistakes. Better to learn from them and move on."
She is silent. When he looks over he finds those icy blue eyes on him. She shakes her head. "You confound me, Obi-Wan Kenobi."
He smiles. "Likewise."
After safely dropping him at the steps of the Jedi Temple, she makes a swift exit. The next time he sees her it is several standard months later and he is on Kashyyk tracking down a Separatist mole.
"Ah, Ventress. What brings you here, my dear?" He smiles charmingly, pleased that she snorts in disgust and rolls her eyes. Their typical rapport is back it seems.
She is letting her hair grow back. She rubs irritatedly at the short silver hairs on top of her head. A new habit, no doubt. But strangely, irritation is the worst of it. For once, his presence does not incite abject rage in her. "I'm chasing a bounty, Kenobi, and I do hope you're not here to get in my way. Just because I saved your life last time does not mean I will extend you the same courtesy this time.”
”I’d be suspicious if you did, darling.”
A snort from Ventress, and then she is kicking up dust on her speeder bike, rapidly vanishing toward the horizon. He shakes his head in amusement before taking off in the opposite direction.
* * *
Their quarries, as it turns out, are one in the same. The separatist mole was also a serial gambler and fraud who was wanted on Cantonica for unpaid debts.
Obi-Wan realizes it first, upon seeing her show up to the little hovel where the unfortunate Trandoshan has been hiding out. “Oh dear.”
Mild irritation at the sight of him turns to anger at the realization that they will have to fight over this individual.
“I don’t believe this!” she seethes. “I knew you would kark this up somehow. You have a knack for that.”
He smiles charmingly, which only enrages her further. ”I’m flattered. But I will need to take him. He is wanted by the Republic for questioning.”
She scoffs. “As if I would give him up to you.” Her hands drift to her belt where her lightsabers hang.
He holds up a hand. “As entertaining as a duel would be, I think we can agree that neither of us have the time. Let me question him here, and then you can take him. The Republic is primarily concerned with the information he has. As for his punishment, I imagine Cantonica will see to something fitting.” He peers down at the Trandoshan, who had been on his knees begging just before Ventress had arrived. “Isn’t that right?”
The Trandoshan rumbles nervously.
Not a month later, he sees her again. Or, perhaps it’s the kinrath venom playing tricks on him. Blasted creatures. He tries to sit further up against the Blbab tree and finds his forehead begins to bead with sweat at the effort it takes.
“Obi-Wan. I thought I sensed you. It seems you’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess,” she says, picking her way through the carcasses of the herd of kinrath.
”Asajj,” he greets. He still manages to sound at-ease despite his breath being worryingly shallow. “Are you really there or is this a spice dream? Either way you look lovely. The hair suits you.”
The compliment catches her off-guard. She fights the urge to brush it behind her ear, and irritates herself at how ridiculous the impulse is.
He does not look well. Something akin to worry stirs in her. Though it can’t possibly be worry. Not for him. For herself, yes. It would be a sorry thing to lose such an entertaining adversary.
She crouches down, at eye level with him now. ”I’m here,” she says softly. “I was hunting down the runaway husband of a very rich, vengeful wife, but this is much more interesting. What happened?”
”I was investigating reports of Separatist scouts in the area. I came upon this herd of kinrath instead.”
“They are especially savage during mating season. You handled the lot of them quite well, I see.”
He chuckles, and his head falls back weakly against the blbab tree. “I only wish I could have avoided their fangs.”
”Indeed,” she says. “Well, don’t just sit there. We don’t have long before the kath hounds come out. My lodgings aren’t far.”
He tries valiantly to get up on his own. She watches him struggle weakly for a moment before huffing and reaching down to help. She manages to get him upright, but he pitches forward almost immediately.
She adjusts her grip quickly. ”Easy.” She leads him to her speeder and helps him atop it, where he sways alarmingly. She climbs on in front of him and pulls his arms around her waist. “Try to hold on.”
She starts off slowly and increases her speed gradually. Her temporary dwelling is only 15 minutes away, but she feels the pressure of his head on her shoulder blade as he sags weakly against her. She steers with one hand and keeps the other hand clamped over his arms, pinning them against her should he lose his grip.
She can feel him losing consciousness and speeds the last few kilometers with her breath held. She dismounts carefully, keeping her hands ready to catch him before he falls. “Be careful, darling. I’d hate for you to mess up that pretty face of yours.”
His lack of response is concerning. She all-but drags him into the house and dumps him on the sleeping mat of the room nearest hers.
He groans, barely conscious. “You’re alright,” she mutters, hoping it to be true. Still, she walks hurriedly about the sprawling Dantooinian house, searching for the med kit.
By the time she returns the muscle spasms have begun. She sits next to him on the floor, and without thinking brushes the hair from his sweaty forehead. She freezes, realizing what she has done. Thank the force he’s barely coherent.
For the second time, she finds herself working his tunic off and treating his wounds. He shifts restlessly, fighting the muscle spasms.
”Hold still,” she admonishes gently, working on a particularly nasty gash. When she looks up, she finds him watching her. His brows are drawn together in confusion.
”Asajj. Why are you here?”
She sighs. “Oh, I’m only saving your life again, darling. It seems I’m becoming rather good at it.”
“You are good,” he assures her. “You may not know it yet, but you are.”
The soft words hit home with force. Something stirs in her chest. It feels warm and familiar and odd all at once.
”The venom has taken its toll. You should try to rest if you can.”
”I’m fine,” he says very convincingly as his eyes slip closed.
”Right.” She watches watches him for a moment, her thumb rubbing circles over his bandaged left arm until he settles into sleep. Then she shakes herself out of it and continues bandaging his wounds. This strange Jedi may just be the thing that finally drives her to insanity. But, it will surely be an interesting ride should that be the case.
* * *
Kinrath venom, when administered in excess, may cause severe muscle spasms, fever, chills, and even hallucinations, her holopad tells her. She wrinkles her nose in worry and glances over for the hundredth time at the Jedi currently shivering and muttering through some strange fever dream.
Most of it is unintelligible, but she catches a softly mumbled “I’m sorry, Master. I failed you.” Ghosts of the past, she guesses. If only she possessed the gift of healing. Ironically, Kenobi probably does. He seems the type to have devoted himself to the study of easing others’ pain.
Still, there is one thing she can do. If only to gain some peace and quiet. So she moves to his side, crosses her legs, and does something she has not attempted in a long time: Jedi meditation.
She sits, reaching out until she feels his own force signature. Though currently in turmoil, it is bright and golden-warm. She flinches at first. The Light Side is here. The memories is evokes are painful. She is surprised to feel a similar pain echoed in him. It draws her closer, and she allows herself to brush up against his presence in the force. She keeps her thoughts calm and safe in an attempt to soothe him. She is utterly shocked when he accepts it, incoherent though he is. So, she wraps her essence around his, and finds that she is pleased when he quiets and shifts into a more restful sleep. She finds too that his calm presence allows her to attain a better meditative state.
* * *
He sits up suddenly, unsure of where he is and what has happened. His head swims and his body protests. He groans.
”I thought I sensed you waking.” Asajj Ventress is standing in the doorway, arms crossed. She seems to find his bewilderment amusing.
The room is a familiar style, and glancing out the window, he remembers. He shuts his eyes briefly. “Blasted kinrath.”
She hums in agreement. “Nasty creatures. You got quite a dose of their venom as well.”
"I’ve never encountered so many at one time.”
"Mating season,” she remarks in apparent disinterest.
"Ah.” He grows quiet, but she finds after her extended meditation that she can sense a bit of unease.
"Well, I’ve made soup. So if you can stumble to the kitchen, you can have some. But I am not serving it to you.”
She is unsurprised when a few moments later he shuffles unsteadily into the room and sits heavily down at the table by the window. She rolls her eyes. Stubborn fool. She resists the urge to caution him about tearing his bandages.
She brings the soup pot to the table as well as two bowls and a ladle, but she draws the line at ladling his soup for him. Though, she watches his shaking hands carefully.
They eat in silence, but his discomfort screams at her, as well as his unease. She drops her spoon and it rattles indelicately around in her bowl. He looks up with a start. “For force’s sake, Obi-Wan. Either put your shields up or let out whatever is bothering you.”
She feels a twinge of guilt when he quickly throws up a weak shield. He must not have realized it. He is still recovering. The fact that he didn’t think to worry about it intrigues her.
She watches him struggle for several moments. Finally, with resignation, he says, “I have the fuzzy memory of a strange dream which you were present for. How much did you … see or hear?”
"I did not delve into your apparently tortured past if that’s what you’re concerned about. Most of what you were saying was gibberish.”
He nods, visibly relieved. “Well … alright then. Now we can move on to my second concern, which is the utter blandness of this soup.”
Her own laughter takes her by surprise. He smiles, pleased with himself.
"I’d like to see you do better.”
"Perhaps I’ll show you sometime,” he says, eyes innocently roaming the room. An offhand remark but it stirs something like fondness in her chest anyway. "How did you manage such a lavish place?” He says, taking in the hand-carved blbab accents and the plush furnishings.
"The woman who contracted me is wealthy. She keeps this as an off-season home. In return for catching her runaway husband, I get to stay here free-of-charge.”
"Well, it was very fortuitous that we crossed paths.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh don’t be so predictable, Obi-Wan.”
"Apologies. I’ll temper my gratitude so as not to bore you.” The words are almost playful, tinged with exhaustion.
"You are anything but boring, my dear,” she assures him. “Jedi though you are.”
He nods, politely stifling a yawn.
"You should rest,” she says, failing to keep a bit of warmth from creeping into her voice.
"I think I’ll attempt it,” he says, pushing himself up carefully from the table.
"I’ll rifle through your pack while you sleep,” she says, prompting a soft chuckle as he limps back into the bedroom.
* * *
He remains in a healing sleep for the rest of the day. She putters about the house, availing herself of the plush sofa and the collection of old holodramas. She checks on him often, relieved each time to see his chest rising and falling. She finds herself oddly missing his company, abut tries not to dwell on it.
In the late morning of the next day he wakes and manages to walk into the kitchen with only a residual stiffness in his limbs. The smell of caf bolsters him further, and she slides a mug his way.
He accepts it without comment. “I believe I’m well enough to continue my search for the separatists today,” he says.
”Well it’s about time. Though, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the excuse to stay an extra night in this house.”
”It’s a lovely house,” he agrees, steadfastly avoiding her eyes. His Jedi propriety amuses her. He must sense it. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, and he hides it behind his cup.
“Sir, the demolitions are set. Evacuating now.” Cody’s voice over the comms.
”Be safe, Cody. We await your signal,” he says, though something tugs at the back of his mind. Something familiar. As if he’s forgotten something.
He makes a mental list. They’ve swept the droid factory, captured or evacuated all personnel. Tested the detonators. Checked the explosives. He reaches out into the Force now, hoping for clarity. He calms his mind, searches inside himself and then expands outward. The distant feeling grows closer. The further out he stretches, the more-
Oh. He closes his eyes to concentrate-
“-enobi. Sir? Are you receiving?”
His eyes snap open. “Cody, we are not clear. I repeat, we are not clear. Someone is trapped in there. I’m going in.”
”Sir, the lower levels are near collapse.” Cody’s voice is stern with alarm.
”Which is exactly why I’m going in alone. When we’re clear I’ll give the signal.”
* * *
The lowest level of the factory has not been used for production since it the place was converted from a protocol droid manufacturing facility. It has, however, been used a makeshift prison from the look of things. The lower levels had been swept, but the thick layers of concrete had blocked their scanners, leading to a near-fatal mistake.
He casts about with the force, honing in on the distinct presence he feels. Debris thickly clogs a tunnel that must have remained hidden during the search, and he has to reach out with the force to move a few strategically chosen pieces of rubble in order to get through. The air becomes clearer when the tunnel opens up to a narrow hall of cells, one of which has a very grumpy occupant.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” Asajj growls.
"Asajj,” he greets cheerily, as if they were mere friends passing one another on the street. “If you missed me that badly you could’ve just sent a holo.”
"I am not in the mood, Obi-Wan,” she says through clenched teeth. Her voice is strained, and he sees the problem now. The top half of the cell has nearly collapsed. The majority of her concentration is being spent keeping several tons of concrete from crushing her.
"Ah, of course,” he says with a humility that grates on her nerves like a dull knife. “Apologies.”
"Just shut up and get me out of here.”
He reaches out with the force, ripping the heavy iron gate from his hinges. “How primitive,” he says with distaste.
”Yes,” she agrees, stepping out of the cell “You could’ve just taken out the control pad.”
He ducks into the tunnel ahead so that she does not see his face redden.
“I don’t know what’s more embarrassing," she says from behind him. "The fact that you had to spring me out of this force-forsaken place or the fact that we can sense one another from so far away now.”
"I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. How did you get here anyway?”
"Bounty hunt went wrong. It was an ambush. They were waiting to transport me to Dooku.”
"Ah,” he says carefully.
"Oh, darling,” she says softly after a moment. “I sense a bit of anger beneath your calm and collected exterior. I’m flattered.”
"Dooku and I have a past. He was my grandmaster, and he took my padawan’s arm.”
"Skywalker looks better with the cybernetic one,” she says lightly. She can sense him releasing that anger, whether it was for his padawan or he was simply covering. She senses his relief as it flows out of him. The whole thing is oddly sweet, and that realization is distressing.
They exit the facility, stopping for her to retrieve her lightsabers from a lockbox on the top floor. The both of them emerge into the sunlight, blinking at the sudden brightness. Unfortunately, Cody had not heeded his orders to stay back.
"Ventress? How did you know, sir?”
"He could smell my hatred from a lightyear away,” she sneers, putting on a good show. “Next time, Kenobi,” she growls, and blinks when he turns partly away from the clone to give her a wink. She shakes her head, stalking off in the direction of her ship, hoping the port authority has not already towed it.
Coruscant’s lower levels hold many surprising things. Not least of which include, several times a month, the great Obi-Wan Kenobi: General of the Grand Army of the Republic and no lightweight. He appears to be on his second drink when she sidles up to him.
"Slumming tonight, are we?”
He does not seem surprised to see her. “I’ve been known to slum on a semi-regular basis.”
"Well that is just not befitting. What will the masters say?”
"Master Windu is joining me later,” he informs her, prompting a wicked chuckle.
"This is fascinating. As much as I’d like to stick around to see that-“
"-He won’t be here for another half hour. We have time for a drink.”
"Well in that case-“ She turns to the bartender. “-I’ll have what he’s having. Not that either of us need an excuse, but why are we drinking tonight?” She asks. She finds herself fascinated by the slight flush in his cheeks from the warmth of the tsiraki and has to turn her eyes away forcibly when he levels a suspicious glare at her. But, either by the genuineness in her tone or the alcohol, he begrudgingly offers up an answer.
"My padawan is hiding things from me. There is a growing distance between us and I sense the dark side in him. It’s my fault.”
She groans. “I forgot how ridiculous Jedi drama can be. He’s not your padawan anymore, Obi-Wan. He is responsible for his own decisions.”
"Still. I laid his foundation. If it was not stable enough to withstand the pressures of Jedi life, then I failed him. I failed him.”
“Or perhaps he has failed you. Have you considered that?”
"A student cannot fail his master. If the student fails it is the fault of the master.”
"I do hope you hear yourself, Obi-Wan, and realize the supreme irony in that statement.” She ignores his suspicious eyes and takes a sip of her drink and hums appreciatively. “Well, you may be a fool but you have good taste in liquor.”
"He’s formed an unhealthy attachment," he continues. "He thinks I don’t know. I’ve always known. I should have gone to the council about it at the very start. It was so innocent at first, but … I fear it is now leading him down a bad path.”
"You Jedi and your attachments. You all seem to be incapable of seeing that the same bonds that make you weak may also make you strong if you let them.”
He pauses, glass raised halfway to his lips.
"Do you disagree?” She asks.
"Yes. And no.”
"Very sage.”
"Yes, certain bonds may strengthen us, but certain others may weaken us. Some may do both, but if there is equal chance of both, we would do just as well to avoid those bonds altogether.”
She snorts indelicately. "Yes. Avoid attachment at all costs. We must all be planets unto ourselves. Always orbiting, never touching.”
"Indeed.”
"Pathetic. It is impossible to live without attachments.
"Says the woman who has none.”
"I think the Force bond between us proves otherwise, don’t you?” She says softly. “It angers me, but I’m no fool. I can feel it and so can you.”
"Friendships are not forbidden. Selfish attachments are. You have saved my life at the expense of your own several times. I would say that’s the very definition of unselfish attachment. We are not jealous over one another. We do not put one another before what is right and good. We just … exist as we are - together.”
She blinks at him. Slowly, she reaches over and slides his drink away, ignoring the way their arms brush. “I think you’ve had enough of this.”
He rubs his eyes. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. Windu will be here soon.”
"I should go, then. Don’t drink the whole bar, Obi-Wan.” It’s her way of telling him to be safe. They both know it. She hates that they both know it.
* * *
She conducts her business and collects her next bounty. On the way back to her hotel, she feels a twinge in the Force and decides against her own better judgment to double back to the bar.
Dependably, Obi-Wan is still there. Next to him sit several empty glasses, the only evidence that another Jedi had been there.
"You just missed Windu. Pity. That would’ve been entertaining to watch.”
"You will be entertaining to watch in a few moments if you don’t slow down.” She leans against the bar top and takes his hand in both of hers. Their eyes meet briefly before his dart away. She pries his glass from him gently. Surprisingly, he lets her. “As hilarious as it would be for me to see you slumped over this bar, you do have a reputation to uphold.”
"Since when do you care about my reputation?” He says, and she notices that his consonants are not as crisp as usual. His usually perfect posture is a little looser as well. She is standing close enough that her hip is touching his side, and he has to look up with those sincere eyes to see her.
She brushes his cheek with the back of one finger. She doesn’t know why she does it. "Since we started spending so much time together. My associates reflect back on me, for better or worse.”
"Ah. So you admit we’re associates,” he mutters, probably just to have something to say.
"Yes, you caught me,” she humors him, exasperated. “We do associate from time to time. Now come on. Up.” She helps him off the barstool and he sways like a sapling in the wind. She pulls his hood over his head and adjusts her own. “There. Instant anonymity. Step carefully, now. My room isn’t far.”
He manages to stay mostly upright on their brisk walk. Though her arm aches from the odd angle of holding him up by the time they reach her room. He leans heavily against the wall and she ignores the feeling of his eyes on her as she keys in the passcode. She helps him into the room and allows him to collapse onto her bed.
She putters around the room briefly and returns to him with a glass of water and two hydration tablets. “Take both. Trust me, it helps.” To her own dismay, she finds herself helping him hold the cup steady as he drinks, and she finds that she does not mind it. She takes it from him when he is done and sets it on the small table by the bed. She does not move from her seat on the floor by his head, though. She cannot. Not when she can feel his emotions swirling so tempestuously.
He flops bonelessly onto his stomach, face turned toward her. "I keep failing them, Asajj. What’s wrong with me?” He says softly, almost to himself.
She takes a chance that he will not remember this conversation tomorrow, and grabs his face with both hands. She smooths her thumbs across his cheeks and his eyes, dulled slightly from the alcohol, still convey surprise quite effectively. “You listen to me, Obi-Wan Kenobi: there is nothing wrong with you. You have failed no one. We all make mistakes; it’s how we learn to be better.”
He shakes his head. “Stubborn,” she admonishes gently.
She strokes his hair, and he closes his eyes with a sigh. He begins to relax as she continues. She calms herself and projects calm to him as best she knows how. “Go to sleep,” she tells him after awhile, and for once he listens to her.
* * *
Like something out of a bad holodrama, he wakes with a pounding headache in a strange bed in a room he does not recognize.
“Good morning,” comes an amused voice from the corner. He blinks and Asajj comes into focus.
"I would hardly call it good. What time is it?”
“Midday.”
"Ah, not morning either. More lies.”
She chuckles. “If I’d known you’d be so entertaining when hungover, I would’ve tried to get you drunk sooner.”
"I think we can both agree that I should never do that again.”
"Yes, last night was an extraordinary departure from character.”
His face twists with guilt.
"Now stop that. That will do no good. You made a mistake; that is all it was. Learn from it and move on. Acknowledge your feelings about it and release them to the Force.”
He looks up, startled. She shrugs. “I used to be a Jedi, remember?”
"Yes,” he says thoughtfully.
"I remember the right things to say.”
“Meditate with me,” he says suddenly.
“What?”
"Please,” he says with the same casual air of someone asking for another cup of tea.
“I don’t meditate anymore.”
"Yes you do. You have. I remember. On Dantooine. I do remember.”
She narrows her eyes. “Do you remember last night?”
"No,” he says honestly.
”Good,” she snaps back quickly. “Nothing happened.”
"Will you?”
Force help her, his eyes, they are endlessly blue and imploring. His hair is a mess and she wants to smooth it down for him. She sighs. “Yes.” She sits herself down on the floor and closes her eyes, listens to the sound of him rising from the bed and settling next to her.
She steels herself against the Light Side, but is surprised when its presence does not come as such an unpleasant shock as last time. It feels … warmer this time. More familiar.
The Force does not change, she reminds herself in chagrin. Only those who wield it.
Together they attune themselves to the Force. She feels him acknowledge and release a litany of emotions and fears, senses the lightness in his being as they disappear one by one. She supports him through it, wordlessly, with her presence alone. When he is finished, he waits expectantly. She knows what he wants, and part of her rails against it. But another part …
Very cautiously, she takes her fear of the Force and releases it. She does the same with her anger toward the Force, and then her anger toward herself. She stops when she encounters more emotions she is not willing to part with, but when she opens her eyes he is positively beaming at her. She fights with her own smile, shakes her head in mock exasperation, surprised by how much lighter she feels.
“Thank you for meditating with me.”
”Yes well … as long as we don’t make a habit of it.” She stands up and offers him a hand up.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, eyes sparkling mischievously.
“Why did it have to be Magnaguard?” Anakin gripes. “Why not battle droids? I’d take two battalions of battle droids over this, even. I’d take a krayt dragon over this.”
"I like to think of it as an interesting challenge,” his old master says, unflappable as always. He’s already cut down several of the elite fighting droids, and irritatingly there isn’t a hair out of place.
Anakin spins, taking out the legs of one and plunging his lightsaber into its chest.
Obi-Wan, having just thrown three of them to the back wall, smirks. “We have company,” he says.
Anakin frowns. “What-“
"Are you boys having fun without me?” Comes a silky, familiar voice. “That’s hardly fair.”
Asajj Ventress lands between them, having jumped from somewhere above. He turns, holding his lightsaber at the ready in spite of the oncoming droids. He narrowly dodges an electrostaff to the knees but keeps his eyes glued on the Sith.
Obi-Wan, though. He looks completely unbothered. “Hello, Asajj. Care to join in the fun?”
Ventress smirks, and there is something knowing in her eyes, something about the way that she looks at Obi-Wan that ignites a suspicion in Anakin. He watches her unclip a single lightsaber from her belt, which when ignited, shines yellow. Obi-Wan, busy with three of the magnaguard is watching her with something like a smile on his face.
”Oh you know me, Obi-Wan. I can never turn down a good fight.”
Ventress goes to Obi-wan’s aid, running one of the three droids through from behind. When it falls, Anakin sees that knowing look pass between them again.
”Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan says lightly.
”Of course, dearest,” Ventress says playfully. Their banter is entirely comfortable, slightly flirtatious, and to Anakin’s utmost astonishment, they fight like two halves of the same whole in combat.
* * *
Between the three of them, they make quick work of the remaining Magnaguard. Anakin moves about their remains pretending to be searching for the encrypted hologram while Obi-Wan inspects Ventress’s new lightsaber. He’d seen it several moments ago, but feels the need to give them the privacy of whatever this moment is. Ventress lets his friend hold the lightsaber, ignite it, and examine its hilt.
”Hard to say to whom it may have belonged. It’s well-worn but also well-constructed. A good weapon.” He hands it to her, meeting her eyes. “It’s good, Asajj,” he assures softly, and there is something deeper behind it that gives Anakin pause. Making up his mind, he picks up the device and returns to his friend.
”Found it,” he says to Obi-Wan. “Ventress,” he greets. “You fought well.”
”You’re not so bad yourself, Skywalker,” she says mildly. Obi-wan’s presence has tempered her it seems.
”You ditched the red, I see.”
”Yes, I thought it was time for a change.”
”Of course. You seem to have also realized that a single blade is the superior method for combat.”
She lets out a surprised chuckle. “Ah, the age-old debate. I’ve only had it for a few months as of yet.”
He glances at Obi-Wan, who is smiling gratefully, and nods to Ventress. “Only time will tell.”
She nods back, with none of her usual blinding-hot fury. “Well, I must be off. I’m hunting a Nikto who betrayed his clan for the Hutts. The pay isn’t great, but I’d welcome any chance to ruin a Hutt’s day. It’s been fun, boys,” she says, and then she’s springing back up and over the rock formation from which she had descended.
"I agree. It has been fun,” Anakin says pointedly to Obi-Wan, searching his face. His old master merely strokes his beard and motions for Anakin to follow him.
That night, they eat at a small cantina with sparsely lit booths and clientele who talk in hushed tones. Obi-Wan sips h’kak bean tea rather than something stronger, and Anakin watches his friend closely.
"You may ask, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, always a step ahead.
"Are you two-“
"-Friends? Yes, I believe so.” he pauses thoughtfully. “Strange, isn’t it?”
"Very. How did it happen?”
"She saved my life after Maul, as you well know.”
"Yes. I’ll never forget the looks on everyone’s faces when she walked you to the steps of the Temple.”
"And after that we … just kept meeting. She just … kept helping me, or I her. Mostly she helped me,” he admits, just to make Anakin smile. “She’s different. You can sense it, can’t you?”
”Well, yes. Apart from the hair and the lightsaber, yes actually. Her rage, her darkness. It’s subsided greatly. Which leads me to believe that you’ve helped her much more than you realize.”
Obi-Wan inclines his head humbly, and Anakin is struck by the sheer goodness in him.
”Never change, Obi-Wan,” he says to his friend, his brother. “I think the planets would cease to turn on their axes if you ever did.”