Chapter Text
It’s three weeks until the third anniversary of his brother’s death, and Obi-Wan has just been laid off from his job in the big city.
New management, said Mace Windu, apologetically. Sheepishly. Genuinely. Mace who wasn’t fired. Mace who had helped him pack his desk and his belongings and then waved off Obi-Wan and the other employees who’d been let go with a sad look on his face. New management, yknow? They’re young and they want some fresh blood, it’ll be okay. You’re smart, reliable — companies will have their hands all over you.
Yeah, well this new management can kiss my ass, he’d thought bitterly at the time, but would never dare to say anything like that to the man’s face.
Obi-Wan knows that all of it isn’t Mace’s fault, and he’s grateful for the man’s support, but he needs someone to be bitter at.
It’s usually Anakin.
It’s usually Anakin, but it’s three weeks until the third anniversary of his death, and Obi-Wan finds that he just doesn’t have it in his heart to be bitter at the dead little brother that had flipped his life on its head so many times he’s not sure he can tell up from down anymore.
You’re Smart, Obi-Wan, you’ll get back on your feet eventually, Said Quinlan — his best friend that he hasn’t called since he walked out of the office building four days ago — late one night.
Obi-Wan sighs and stretches from his place on the couch. He picks up the dirty plate sitting on the coffee table and makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge after dropping off the plate in the sink. It clinks against the other dishes and he takes a drink.
Smart, reliable, adaptable. Obi-Wan pauses in the doorway to the small living area and scoffs. All these things and yet here I am, already wallowing.
He can imagine the look Anakin or Ahsoka would be giving him right about now — the get-off-your-ass-and-do-something look that always managed to inspire a part of Obi-Wan, if only so that the two wouldn’t have something to hold over his head.
“What would you do right now, Anakin?” He asks aloud, not actually expecting an answer — he’s not crazy, after all, but an image in the back of his mind reminiscent of the look the two teens used to give him, and a voice so similar to Anakin’s own whispers, He’d talk to Ahsoka. He’d talk to you.
Obi-Wan can’t very well talk to himself, that would make him crazy, and Ahsoka has wanted nothing to do with him since Anakin’s funeral.
His eyes are drawn to the cell phone sitting on the couch.
-•-•-
“Quin– I– you know there’s nothing left for me there!” Obi-Wan exclaims in disbelief.
Quinlan knows almost everything about Obi-Wan’s family and its chaotic, and, ultimately sad past. And for Quin to recommend this? Obi-Wan must seem worse off than he realizes.
“All I’m saying Obi-Wan — Ben ,” Quinlan adds on the old nickname pointedly. “Is that it’s at least worth considering. You need a reset, a change of pace.”
“But-“
“The city hasn’t been good for you… These past few years I can- I can see it. In your face and the way you talk and live, Kenobi, honestly! You’re a sad sack of ginger walking around on two, equally sad, legs!”
“Oh you are just full of it today aren’t you, Vos? And my hair isn’t even that red!” He snaps back.
Almost every conversation between the two of them ends up in an argument befitting a pair of toddlers, but he’s Obi-Wan’s best friend, and Quinlan isn’t exactly…wrong. Obi-Wan himself can feel it sometimes. The city offered a good job, good money, and new, good people. But the air isn’t fresh like back home and the stars don’t shine and the crickets don’t chirp in the evenings and — dammit, he sighs to himself. Maybe Quinlan has a point, but damn, Obi-Wan hates what it means.
“One month.” He says after another moment of silence.
“Obi c’mon- wait, did you just-“
“One month, and then I’m coming back and finding a new job.” He says before he starts thinking about it too hard and changes his mind.
Going back home for that long is not something Obi-Wan thought he’d ever find himself considering. It’s something he never thought he had the option to consider in the first place. There was always the possibility that Ahsoka would want to go back, or maybe the house would sell; A thousand other excuses pop into Obi-Wan’s brain as to why he shouldn’t go back. Not for a whole month . There are so many memories locked away behind the doors of that old house and feelings tucked under the patio where he and Anakin and Shmi and Qui-Gon used to sit every evening and—
—and to be honest this whole plan is a really bad idea: With everything that happened, with everything that is still happening, it’s just going to be a trip filled with regret and heartache. Obi-Wan knows this.
And yet something inside of him doesn’t want to let go of the idea.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” He begins, and then continues when he can tell Quinlan is about to interrupt him, “but I know you wouldn’t throw this at me without good reason. I mean, it’s been five years since I’ve lived there, I don’t have to talk to anyone, really. Just some time back in the open air.” he knows he sounds pretty unconvincing, hell, he’s doing a pretty shit job of convincing himself .
Quin shows him a little mercy though, “Yeah, buddy, see? And if it goes to shit, when you get back, I’ll cook you dinner every weekend for a month .”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Deal.” because that’s an opportunity Obi-Wan doesn’t want to miss out on.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, maybe come over and help you pack?”
“Sounds good, Quin. Goodnight.”
“Nighty night, Ben.”
And Obi-Wan — Ben, now, he supposes. He is going back home after all — hangs up and carries his phone with him to his bedroom at the back of the small apartment, and as he reaches down to grab the charger laying on the floor, his head becomes level with the framed photo sitting on the nightstand.
Ben freezes.
It’s a picture of the three of them: Ben, Anakin, and their next door neighbor, Ahsoka, standing in front of the little brick house that had been home to so many memories. Too many. Anakin has an arm wrapped around Ben’s shoulder, his other arm trying to push Ahsoka out of frame, who is looking up at him with equal amounts of annoyance and fondness. Ben is just smiling towards them both, eyes creased with happiness, and it steals the breath from his lungs for a long moment.
Ben can remember how the sun felt that day, all warm and soothing, and he can hear Anakin and Ahsoka’s laughter as they wrestle in the backyard. They had cold lemonade sitting on the steps of the porch, and though the lemonade was sweet, now the memories only leave a bitter taste on his tongue.
He’ll be back at that house in a few days, and like every other time that he’s visited that small town, not much of anything will have truly changed except for the fact that the house is empty and cold, and Anakin and Ahsoka haven’t set foot in it for a long time.
This was a bad idea, he thinks to himself. And then, It’s too late to be thinking about these things. He plugs his phone up and climbs into the bed and under the covers.
It’s too late to be thinking about these things, But now Ben can also remember how he cried the first time he realized that he couldn’t remember the sound of Anakin’s voice. He sat in his room, curled up on the bed with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, fists clenched, tears streaming down his face. But the grief, the sadness in that moment, wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that it felt selfish: Ben hadn’t felt nearly as sad as he felt guilty . Guilty that he couldn’t remember, guilty that he let Anakin’s memory slowly fade into oblivion. Guilty that he had started the argument with Anakin that ultimately led to their little family falling apart. The argument that ultimately led to his little brother’s death.
He remembers getting up, the blanket still curled around his shoulders, and searching through old boxes until he finally found the camera that contained all of his childhood videos. He’d watched the ones with Anakin in them for hours, but it hadn’t helped.
Nothing ever really had. He doesn’t think anything ever really will.
Ben is curled up on the bed like he had been a year ago when Anakin's voice became less of a memory and more of a slight impression. Like he has been so many times before when thinking about it all just became too much.
It’s too late for this. I’m tired, he thinks, and even though it’s a bone-deep tiredness that can’t be cured by a good night’s sleep, he rolls over and closes his eyes anyways.
-•-•-
Quinlan doesn’t really know what the hell he was thinking when he suggested Obi-Wan spend a prolonged amount of time at the place that’s arguably responsible for the man’s childhood trauma and depression, other than the fact that it just felt right .
Or maybe Quinlan is just an asshole — he’s not really sure. He knows what option Obi-Wan would pick though.
He almost re-evaluates that feeling when he heads over to Obi-Wan’s the next morning and the man looks like he hadn’t slept a wink since Quinlan had gotten off the phone with him.
“You look terrible.” He remarks as he walks past where Obi-Wan is flopped over on the couch.
“Toasts in the kitchen if you want any.”
“And no e–“
“And no eggs,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “Because you hate eggs. I know.”
Quinlan gives him a wide, goofy smile as he heads over to the plate of toast, “I’m tellin’ ya buddy, we’re a match made in heaven.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it has to do with the fact that you’ve mentioned that every time you’ve come over since we were eight.”
Honestly, bud, you need to learn some manners.
“I really hope this isn’t how you treat the ladies you bring over, or the men for that matter.” Quinlan replies as he grabs the plate and heads back to the couch.
Ben finally gives up the pretense of lying there half-asleep — or, well, probably not much of a pretense at all considering the man hadn’t slept at all last night — and throws a pillow at Quinlan’s head.
“Hey!” He startles, shielding his toast.
“C’mon Vos, you know I haven’t seen anyone in ages.”
Which is almost true. Obi-Wan isn’t exactly the type of guy to sleep around for the hell of it — His last long-term relationship had ended in tattered flames and almost left the man to write off dating completely. However, Quinlan had managed to get him on a date recently, and even though they decided to stay friends, Obi-Wan had told him that it wasn’t as bad as he remembered.
“Well, maybe that’s something else this trip will be good for!” He tries, sitting down and kicking his feet up on the small coffee table.
“Or bad for.”
“Hmm,” he pauses, considering, “dinner for two months.”
“Three.”
“Three?”
“Emotional compensation.”
“Fine.”
-•-•-
They spend the afternoon together like that, bickering and laughing and packing Obi-Wan’s suitcase and bags till they’re fit to bursting. At one point Quinlan tries stuffing Ben’s favorite frying pan into a bag full of shoes, but Ben manages to wrestle it out of his hands and back into the kitchen.
“Spoilsport!”
“Why the hell would I need a frying pan?”
Quinlan looks longing toward the kitchen, “It’s your favorite one!”
But finally, Ben’s things are packed and sitting by the apartment door ready to load into the car.
“Y’know,” Quinlan says, “I was gonna offer up the idea of going and getting dinner, but I’m about ready to pass out on a bed.”
Ben pats him on the shoulder as he walks over and collapses onto the couch. It has been a tiring day, and Ben has to agree that he’s just ready to sleep, despite his reluctance to leave in the morning.
“It’s okay, considering you’ll be making me dinner for two months when I get back home, I’m not too heartbroken about skimping out tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah you big oaf.”
And they dissolve into another bout of bickering.