Work Text:
Meditation was always the one thing Obi Wan thought he knew and understood.
The way he settles into his body, the way his mind calms and he can allow his emotions to be felt, and then let them pass along the ever constant drift of the force, out of himself. He always imagines sitting by a riverbank, the hush of the force, lapping against the shore like water. By stretching out a hand, he can touch the surface, letting his consciousness dip into the depths of everything.
Qui Gon taught him how to find that place, and Obi Wan made it home.
Qui Gon is a good master to them both, but sometimes he just seems to push Anakin further into the turmoil that seems to build in him. With only six years between himself and Anakin, Obi Wan understands that sometimes you don’t need a teacher, you need a friend.
He knows Anakin is powerful, his force signature bright and shining, burning with intensity. Sometimes it seems too much, and those times Obi Wan watches him become unsettled, angry, overwhelmed.
The first time he figured this out Anakin was fifteen, and he had been picking fights with some other padawans. Technically sparring, but no, Anakin was itching for a fight, for an outlet.
So Obi Wan brought him along when he went to meditate, but Anakin struggled to focus and calm in the quiet of a training room, or even in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.
It took some trial and error to find the place that would give Anakin a headstart on his turmoil. Eventually, Obi Wan brought him to the mechanic bay, to one of the smaller offices, where the silence wasn’t so loud. Not where he himself would have preferred to go, but he doesn’t need the quiet to find peace, not anymore.
The muffled sounds of machinery seemed to be just what Anakin needed to relax into meditation, to center and quiet himself the same way Obi Wan did.
After that, meditating together became a habit for both of them, a way for Obi Wan to offer Anakin a refuge from the torrent of energy flowing through him.
When they meditated together, Obi Wan never let himself settle quite as deeply as he usually would, not when Anakin needed his guidance.
He doesn’t mind.
Outside of these moments together he still takes time to settle, to sink down into that calming trance where Obi Wan always felt the most safe. Sometimes alone, and sometimes guided by their Master. He wants Anakin to join him there, to feel at least a splinter of that safety that Obi Wan does, if only for a moment.
When Anakin is 19, they sit next to each other, knees mostly touching in the cramped space, when Obi Wan notices Anakin clenching his fist, hard enough for his knuckles to go white.
Without thinking Obi Wan reaches for it, wrapping his hand around Anakin’s until it relaxes in his gentle grip.
He doesn’t look up, pretends not to pay attention to how his friend startles and stares at him. They sit there in the sounds of droids and clattering tools, of chattering and of the odd static of holopads. Where Anakin’s force signature was agitated like a solar flare, it has now settled. He knows something finally shifted when he hears Anakin take a deep breath, and letting it out slowly.
It takes Obi Wan another half a year to figure out what made the difference: something to focus on. Traditional meditation aids as chrystals or beads never seemed to make a difference. That’s when he tries giving Anakin a rough piece of leather to hold, or a leaf.
Once he tries a circuit board, watching Anakin smile as he lets his fingers stray across the uneven surface.
But it never gives the same result, not the way he had felt that first time.
So Obi Wan tries it again.
Next time Anakin looks like he is ready to crawl out of his own skin and they have made it to their little hideyhole, Obi Wan reaches for his hand.
It’s warm and callused and a bit dry, and just like before, he feels Anakin startle. Truth be told, Obi Wan himself feels a surge of adrenaline at the contact, but he needs to know if it helps.
“Obi Wan?” Anakin asks, and Obi Wan has to smile.
“Let’s just try it. If it doesn’t help, we’ll try something else,” Obi Wan assures him. The way Anakin is looking back at him, the way he decides to trust him, makes Obi Wan smile all the wider.
And it works. It just works.
Qui Gon teases them lightly as they all meditate together, this time with Obi Wan and Anakin sitting back to back, leaning against each other. Contact, connection, any kind of touch makes Anakin settle, and truthfully, it helps Obi wan relax his hold on himself just a fraction.
When Anakin turns twenty, their friendship is challenged by a strong minded and beautiful senator.
Padmé Amidala of Naboo makes what would have been a standard protection mission, frankly, rather messy.
Anakin pushes forward, driven by what must be infatuation. It irks Obi Wan how careless his friend becomes when he has a point to prove. It irks him the way Anakin looks at the senator, the way he is drawn to her side.
It irks him even more when meditation doesn’t take that odd feeling away, when it refuses to be swept away by the stream.
Qui Gon is off planet, leaving Obi Wan without his guidance. But he is a Jedi Knight now, he should not be reliant on his former master anymore.
It's not until they realize the link between Qui Gon's mission and their own that things finally settle somewhat. The senator is sent back to Naboo with another Jedi Knight, and Obi Wan and Anakin return to the temple.
Afterward, even when Anakin shows signs of being overwhelmed, Obi Wan can’t make himself reach out.
Meditating was supposed to be his safe place, but not even alone can he find a way to settle.
Images of how Anakin looked at the senator, how recklessly he threw himself in harm's way for her flash through his mind when he tries, and it makes him… angry. Anakin’s eyes follow him when Obi Wan leaves rooms without him when they usually go together, and shame churns in his gut.
He spars with Vos Quinlan, eats in the mess hall with a group of newly knighted Jedi’s, slinks off to Dex’s diner or one of the many balconies to quite honestly hide.
“Did I do something?” Anakin asks finally, having cornered Obi Wan outside their living quarters. “Have I upset you somehow?”
Yes.
“No, of course not,” Obi Wan says, the churning shame growing stronger.
They don’t have a bond, of course not, that kind of thing exists between padawan and master only. No other bond either, for that matter; they are Jedi, and Obi Wan is no more connected to Anakin than to any other of their order. But sometimes he forgets just how sensitive Anakin is to the force.
“Alright,” Anakin says slowly, very much looking like he doesn’t believe him. “I just thought… with you not wanting to-” ‘ touch me ’, Obi Wan’s mind fills in the pause, stupidly, “sit with me anymore, I thought…”
“Can’t settle on your own?” Obi Wan asks, tone clipped, noticing how a hurt frown quickly smooths out. Yeah, Obi Wan feels like a selfish bastard.
“I’ll make it work,” Anakin says shortly, turning on his heel and reaching for the little circuit board that Obi Wan gave him all those years ago for meditation, still laying on the shelf by the door.
He doesn’t follow. Stars, he doesn’t follow Anakin, but he wants to.
By now there is more than one rumor circulating about the two of them, with Obi Wan having dragged Anakin away over and over to whatever secluded place they could find over the years.
The rumors tickle something in Obi Wan’s mind, something he will not acknowledge, and therefore he must keep his distance. It’s up to him to sort these feelings out, to let them go. It is not fair to make that Anakin’s problem.
The Room of a Thousand Fountains never really appealed to him, and he can’t go to their customary room in the mechanic bay, so Obi Wan finds a training room. It’s too big for the purpose of just meditating, but it’s empty and it’s far away from the others.
He settles down on the mats, minding his breathing, emptying his mind.
It takes far too long to lower his shoulders, far too long to tune out the hum of the building. The fragile peace that he finally finds is broken when the doors open, barely a sound, but he opens his eyes to see Anakin angrily stalking towards him.
Without a word, Anakin sits down next to him, much too close considering how spacious the room is, their knees knocking together, and he grabs Obi Wan’s hand.
With a look that dares Obi Wan to take back his hand, Anakin settles in his meditative stance next to him, and then huffily closes his eyes.
“Anakin-” Obi wan tries, but Anakin cuts him off.
“No. Whatever it is bothering you, we will meditate on it.”
We.
This time, Obi Wan settles deeper into his meditation than he usually does. Instead of dipping his fingers into it, he steps in fully. He still senses Anakin next to him, his force signature warming him in a way that makes him realize he has felt cold all along.
Every sensation, every feeling and thought running throu
gh Obi Wan, he picks up, and lets himself feel. It’s intense, and beneath that ugly feeling he felt while working with the senator, he finds there are more feelings attached, more deeply rooted ones.
Feelings that carry strands of sunshine and heat and rattling energy, that smell like oil and engine exhaust and ache like a burn.
And fear. Just enough to make it real. Qui Gon likes to say not all attachments are bad, not all feelings must be forcefully let go off. Master Windu has expressed other opinions, however, and their conflict echoes in him.
It brings with it a realization, however.
A heavy weight on his shoulder calls Obi Wan back to the now, and he realizes Anakin has
fallen asleep against his shoulder, hands still clasped together.
He feels for Anakin. All of this is rooted in how he feels for Anakin.
He probably has for a really long time.
Meditation didn’t make it go away. His feeling for Anakin didn’t float away with the force, but eventually, Obi Wan comes to accept it. It’s a part of him, a part of what makes him who he is. He is Obi Wan, a Jedi Knight, and he cares for Anakin.
It is customary to give your Padawan braid to your master, or someone you hold dear. Not once did Obi Wan expect Anakin to gift it to him, but he accepts the pang of loss when Qui Gon cut it off, and it is never seen again.
Just like that, they are equals.
With the war brewing, with a clone army aiding the effort of the Republic, they are split up.
It’s months between the times they can see each other in person. After their first mission, after meeting back at Coruscant in the hangar bay, Anakin was the one who grabbed Obi Wan by the hand and pulled him to their usual little office.
The guarded tension around his eyes makes Obi Wan ache for his friend, but he feels it too. It’s heavy and it’s ugly and it’s painful, the things they are forced to do in the name of creating peace.
As soon as the doors close, instead of sitting down, Obi Wan finds himself being hugged tightly. They rarely touch outside of meditation. He has barely touched anyone since they left the temple, and the closeness is bordering on too much.
But he wraps his arms around Anakin in turn, arms around his shoulders, tucking his head into his neck. His hair has grown, dark blonde strands tickle his cheek, and he can’t help but to cup the back of Anakin’s head.
Anakin’s nose is pressing against his neck, it feels so blasted intimate and vulnerable, almost like they are holding the broken pieces of each other together. He smells like sweat, bacta and machine exhaust.
“Did you travel in the engine room?” Obi Wan asks, having to smile because it’s just so him. In his arms, Anakin shudders slightly.
“There was a problem with one of the cores. Mechanic got injured on take off.”
Anakin squeezes him before he lets go, and Obi Wan’s arms fall to his side.
“Good to see you,” Anakin says quietly. The way he has his chin tilted down makes him look at Obi Wan through his lashes. It’s a good look, despite how tired he seems.
“After the briefing do you want to grab dinner? I haven’t had Dex’s for ages,” Obi Wan says, hoping to keep his friend nearby for a little while longer. For him not to go to a certain senator.
Anakin surprises him, however.
Not only do they go to Dex’s, but, much like old times, they return back to Obi Wan’s sleeping quarters after. It’s cramped with the two of them now adults, but Anakin falls asleep on the stiff couch they both curled up in, leaning against Obi Wan’s shoulder.
He should get up, should tuck Anakin in with a blanket and go back to his own room. Instead he enjoys the closeness, the warmth of Anakin’s force signature, the weight against his side until his own eyes grow heavy with sleep.
They don’t have a bond, but Obi Wan swears he can feel the agony flash through the force the day Anakin gets hurt, really hurt.
On instinct alone he makes it through his own battle and makes it to his ship to desperately make contact. Qui Gon confirms what he feared, that Anakin was severely hurt and that he lost his hand to count Dooku, but that he is alive and kept in the medical bay.
“He will have to stay grounded until he has settled with the Mechno Arm,” Qui Gon says, almost regretfully, which makes Obi Wan frown. His own mission should be finished within a week, but the days here are longer, and Obi Wan worries that he won’t make it back before Anakin is shipped off again.
It somehow turns out alright, though, when fighting is changed to negotiations, and a cease fire is put in place. Another Jedi will come to relieve Obi Wan, and he is sent home for some much needed rest.
And to check in on his friend.
When he finally makes it to the temple, Anakin has been released from the medbay. It takes some time to track him down, but when he does, he stops in the door of the mess hall, staring.
Anakin looks pale and strained, and Obi Wan has seen Mechno arms before, but he didn’t know what he expected. It doesn’t look weird. It isn’t visible at all, with Anakin wearing a long sleeve and… gloves.
He is laughing with Quinlan and some other knights, but he is not eating, he is careful with his new arm, not touching anybody.
Finally they notice Obi Wan, and the caught out look Anakin gives him when their eyes meet makes his chest ache.
He decides not to make a big deal out of it, just sits down with the rest of them, trying and failing to catch Anakin’s eye again.
Obi Wan is prepared to slice right through the force forsaken door if Anakin doesn’t open it
right now
, having knocked and called at least three times these past ten minutes.
Not until he makes his threat verbal is he finally let inside, and a sullen Anakin stands in the door, shadows from the light above unkind to his features.
“What?” he asks, and Obi Wan’s nostrils flare.
“Are you avoiding me?” he asks, straightforward, no dancing around it, no putting it nicely. When Anakin doesn’t answer, frustration and hurt churn in his stomach.
He rushed here, he rushed back to the temple just to see him.
“Did I do something?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Leave it,” Anakin says, looking away, but Obi Wan can’t.
“Let me in. Let’s talk about it, whatever it is, please.” Pleading seems to do the trick, Anakin studies him for a long second before stepping back and letting him inside.
The room is strangely neat, except for the corner of his work table where mechanical bits are spread out. Wires, electrical instruments and other nick-nacks cover every bit of the surface. Last he was in here they were everywhere, but war doesn’t let them sit around much.
“Is it because of the arm?” Obi Wan asks after they have stayed silent for too long.
“It’s strong. They gave me a model with sensory input,” Anakin says, which normally would make him sound proud, but something is off.
“Does it still hurt?” he asks carefully, and Anakin looks away.
“No. They have adjusted it a few times, but it doesn’t feel quite right.”
“How so?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Anakin.” This is not the problem, he knows it isn’t.
“I was afraid that you would treat me differently too, alright?!” Anakin suddenly explodes, and Obi Wan looks stunned.
“What do you mean?” he asks, watching as Anakin starts pacing, gloved fists clenching and unclenching.
“The pity! The nosiness, the jokes, the never ending stream of people wanting to see or to touch! Yes, I failed, alright!”
“Wait. stop, hold on, Anakin-” Obi Wan reaches for him, careful not to accidentally touch the arm in question, instead gripping his shoulder. “Count Dooku, Anakin, you survived a duel with Count Dooku.”
When Anakin doesn’t say anything, Obi Wan reaches up, resting his hand over Anakin’s bare neck. His skin is warm to the touch, soft, but he has to focus.
“Listen. Look at me,” he insists, and with both hands on him, Anakin finally gives in. He deflates with a sigh, shoulders lowering, knocking their foreheads together like they did what feels like eons ago.
“Tell me how many Jedi knights who have dueled Count Doku and survived,” Obi wan urges, knowing exactly how small that number is, and how many of those are masters. How close he was to losing his closest friend…
“I’m grateful,” he admits, and Anakin’s eyes meet his. It’s intense, how close they are, and honestly a little hard to actually see him. “That I got to keep you.”
That… was a little more than he planned to admit.
Not willing to face the consequences of that statement, he moves his head to Anakin’s shoulders and heaves a sigh.
“You are my best friend,” he says, hoping to smooth things out. The force feels like static around them, and Obi Wan can’t stand it.
He finds his thumb rubbing small circles on Anakin’s neck soothingly.
“You want to see it?”
Yes.
“No. And before you make any other assumptions, it’s not because it upsets or disgusts me, but because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Obi Wan leans back enough to look at Anakin properly, regretting moving his hand away from his neck, but it just got too intimate.
“I don’t mind when it’s you,” Anakin says, lifting his gloved hand between them, and oh, that just isn’t fair.
They let go of each other, the only sound between them is the glove moving against the durasteel digits of Anakin's new hand. Obi Wan half expects the arm to make noise, but of course it doesn't, not even a hum of gears moving.
He expected the crude, skeletal hand that he has seen diagrams and prototypes of, but of course one with touch sensors has to be more sturdy.
Anakin holds it palm up, face still as he untangles the glove from each finger, as if it's uncomfortable. Which would be reasonable, considering how new it is for his body.
It looks a lot like a human hand, each finger with joints, even a vague indent of where nails would be. When Anakin turns it over, the knuckles reflect the ceiling lamp sharply. There is another joint at the wrist where the rest of the arm travels up inside his sleeve.
Obi Wan wants to touch. He wants to know if it's cold, how it would feel against his own hand. How hard it can grip, or how gently.
As if reading his mind, Anakin turns his hand over again and opens it, as if he is offering it to Obi Wan.
They still don't speak, but they look at each other and Anakin gives him a nod, and Obi Wan reaches out.
With one finger, he traces Anakin’s new palm.
He wonders if anyone has already done this. Carefully he traces imitation of muscle under the durable metal. There is no give when he pushes down, and when Obi Wan looks up, he notices Anakin is staring at their hands, lips parted.
"Does it hurt?" Obi Wan asks, it comes out lower than he intends, but it feels wrong to speak louder, as if something would break.
"It's alright," Anakin says, his voice a little rough.
So Obi Wan keeps exploring. He traces each finger, looking up to see if he causes discomfort, but Anakin gives him no indication to stop, so he doesn't.
It might be selfish of him, but given the chance, he can't resist.
He fits their hand together, flattening his palm against Anakin's. The mechno hand isn't particularly cold, all smooth lines until the joints. Obi Wan's other hand he fits to the underside of Anakin's new hand, covering it completely.
"It's still you. Maybe even a little more you than before, considering how obsessed you are with droids," Obi Wan gives a careful smirk, one which Anakin returns. "How long until you start tweaking it yourself?"
"Just waiting for the right tools," Anakin's smile widens, looking just a little caught. "Put the order down yesterday, but the physician says I need to let my nervous system adapt to the new signals before I start playing around with it."
Anakin's fingers flex around his, index finger tracing upwards Obi Wan's wrist, just inside his sleeve.
It's an intimate feeling, but he pretends not to notice. Best not to.
"Better listen to the doctor, Anakin, or you might fry something you don't want to fry."
They pull apart, the tension between them dissipating, replaced by their comfortable banter.
Anakin still puts his glove back on before he prepares tea for Obi Wan and Caf for himself.
It's not that Anakin's temper has gotten worse over the years. Quiet the opposite, he has gotten a better and better grip on himself and the force, and what was before a need, is mostly now just a chance to catch their breath.
Anakin doesn't need Obi Wan to anchor him as much. More than once has Obi Wan seen him, deep in meditation with that old circuit board in his hands.
It warms him that something he gave Anakin still helps bring peace.
With both of them temporarily grounded at the temple, they grab every excuse to spend time together. Anakin keeps seeking him out to spar, to grab lunch, to bully Vos into giving them the latest gossip.
When it's just the two of them, he has taken to repeating how Obi Wan reassured him before, by knocking their foreheads together.
It's bittersweet, because it does nothing to keep his attachment at bay, nothing to lessen the hurt when he talks about things he did with Senator Amidala.
Obi Wan finds Anakin in one of the sparring rooms.
It's dusk, the sky coloring with the setting sun through the misty atmosphere around the temple.
He is already meditating, eyes closed, back straight. His back is to the door, the light shining through his hair making him look ethereal, like something out of a dream, something just out of reach.
Anakin doesn't stir as he approaches, steps muted against the padded mats. He should make himself known, but Anakin most likely already felt his force signature, much like Obi Wan currently feels his.
It's still strong, stronger than in their youth, and radiating warmth with an intense brightness.
The nape of Anakin's neck is bare, his hair curling at the ends. Without thinking, Obi Wan reaches out to touch him. It feels right, like he was meant to, like they are two parts of a whole.
Anakin's skin is warm. Soft. His thumb traces the firm muscle of his neck. His index finger brushes against the soft strands of hair, his pinky just touching the hem of his black robe.
The skin prickles under his hand when he draws small circles, touch light as if he doesn't really dare to trust that it's real.
When Obi Wan is about to pull back, Anakin's quiet voice keeps him in place.
"Don't stop."
Stars, Obi Wan is frozen on the spot. It's not as if Anakin wouldn't notice someone kriffing touching him, really, Obi Wan doesn't know what he expected. For them to continue whatever their friendship is growing into to go unacknowledged, to pretend that the warmth, the longing he feels when he is watching his friend, when he is nearby, isn't there.
Slowly, Obi Wan draws another circle with his thumb, just behind Anakin's ear, and Obi Wan loses his breath when Anakin leans into the touch, angling his head to the side.
The soft sigh Anakin emits sends a tingle down his spine, and his touch grows bolder.
Anakin has a mole, just above his neck line. Obi Wan circles it, then spreads his hands wide.
He barely notices kneeling down, so focused on his new task. It's almost as if something guides his hand, he plays with the strands at the nape of his neck, reaching up, carding his fingers through that thick mope of hair.
It makes Anakin shudder, his hands folded in his lap and holding perfectly still, besides how he angles his head to allow a better reach.
Obi Wan thinks maybe he has gone too far when he grazes against the shell of Anakin's ear, then thumbs his earlobe, because this time it seems like Anakin bites back a noise.
"Obi Wan," Anakin whispers, and next he knows Anakin has turned towards him, Obi Wan's hand caught and pressed against his cheek.
"Anakin," Obi Wan breathes back, and they watch each other, eyes dancing. He can't help it, he moves his thumb over Anakin's cheekbone, warm and giving under his touch.
It's Anakin who leans into his space, Anakin who rises to his knees to push forward, to reach for him. It's a clumsy kiss, Obi Wan sees it coming but is helpless to resist.
Anakin pulls back, studying Obi Wan for regret or rejection. He shouldn't do this, he should not grasp for what Anakin allows him. Because if he does, how is he supposed to let go?
He is but a man. A Jedi, yes, and a general. He should have better control of himself than this, but after wanting for so long, after everything evolving between them, Obi Wan can't deny himself this.
When he leans in, Anakin looks almost relieved, a soft smile playing on his lips, as if he is telling himself told-you-so.
This kiss is less clumsy, both hands are now on Anakin's cheek and neck, holding him close.
They shuffle closer as they try for a better angle, one that allows it to become more. One kiss turns into two, turns into three, and Obi Wan stops counting, stops caring.
"I never thought you would let me," Anakin admits when they finally pull apart to catch their breath.
"Me neither," Obi Wan admits, kissing the scar just under Anakin's eye.
It almost feels natural to sit down together after that, settling down to meditate with knees knocking together, hands entwined, warm and a little clammy.
Anakin's force signature is so strong now, so blindingly bright that it feels like it’s all there is. There is only Anakin and him, in this room overlooking the setting sun.
Beyond the horizons there are battles to be fought, politicians to convince, plans to disrupt. In here, it's just them. For a while they are not Jedi, nor generals. Two parts of a whole, as the sun slowly sets.