Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan Kenobi glances around the Jedi Council chambers and sees a battle he cannot win. Master Yoda’s rigid posture conveys quiet determination, his Force presence tinged with a deep, aching disappointment. Mace Windu’s trademark frown rests on his face like a suit of armour, and there’s something softer also in his gaze - understanding, perhaps, - though it offers little comfort. The Council radiates no hostility, only an oppressive aura of grim contemplation.

It is how Obi-Wan knows there will be no changing their minds. The argument has been had, behind the close doors and in his absence, resulting in a unanimous agreement. He is summoned here not for a discussion but for a verdict.

“It has come to our attention,” Master Yoda begins, clearing his voice as if he’d been overexerting it prior to Obi-Wan’s arrival, “that your training bond with Knight Skywalker remains intact.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach twists as he looks away in shame. He had not intended to volunteer that truth to the Council, but now that it hangs in the air, exposed and shameful, there is no use denying it. The bond exists, a thread tightly sealed - Anakin’s presence tucked away deep within him: bright, vibrant, and whole.

They hardly use it anymore.

Anakin has been drifting away since the Hardeen mission - a distance Obi-Wan has come to accept with silent resignation. And with Anakin’s marriage to Padmé, Obi-Wan harbours no illusions about his former Padawan’s future within the Jedi Order.

***

Padmé.

Obi-Wan had uncovered Anakin’s relationship with the Senator a year before the war began. The revelation occurred with little fanfare: a quiet, almost accidental discovery. His padawan had carelessly left a half-finished letter on the bedside table.

A very dull and uninspiring letter, in Obi-Wan’s humble opinion, but clearly of romantic origin. He did not read it in full, but the first few lines revealed enough of Anakin’s attachment to warrant immediate expulsion from the Order.

My lovely Angel, Padmé, I miss you so much! I wish you were here with me as I depart on my last solo mission before the Trials. If it goes well, I may soon become a Knight. Can you imagine? The little Ani you met on Tatooine, … a slave boy turned Jedi. I wish I could see you just once again before I go, to kiss you and hold you in my arms like I did on Naboo…

“Foolish boy,” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. “Have I taught you nothing of discretion? You should not leave things like that lying around.”

It was an ironic reprimand, considering that he was the one trespassing into Anakin’s private quarters, rummaging through his belongings while the young Jedi was off on a solo mission to Bothawui. Yet the irony escaped him. What filled Obi-Wan instead was a dull ache: a mixture of resignation and muted sorrow.

Deep down, he had always sensed that Anakin would struggle to adhere to the Code. It was not in his nature to do so. Obi-Wan had tried, tirelessly, to instil discipline and temperance in the boy, but his efforts, it seemed, had been futile.

Anakin had gone ahead and fallen in love. Would likely leave the Order for it.

The thought brought more misery to Obi-Wan than he had expected. He didn’t want Anakin to go, to abandon the Jedi Order - or him. Obi-Wan was attached.

“Oh, well,” he sighed, setting the letter back to where he found it. “We shall cross that bridge when we get there.”

And that was the end of it. Obi-Wan Kenobi did not out his padawan’s attachment to the Jedi Council. He did not even mention it to Anakin when the young Jedi returned from Bothawui a month later, excited and successful in retrieving the artefact. Instead, Obi-Wan embraced him and recommended that the Trials moved forward.

It felt strange to witness Anakin’s face light up with pride and joy at the prospect of becoming a Knight. The moment felt bittersweet. Obi-Wan could not imagine a woman like Padmé would tolerate a secret relationship for longer than it was absolutely necessary. Still, he chose to stay silent.

Then, the war began and the chaos of the crushing political system, the heat of battles and the uncertainty of life over death extinguished all sentimental concerns out of Obi-Wan’s mind. He focused on doing his duty and doing it well. He let strategy meetings and operations planning consume his waking hours as he tried, again and again, to save the burning Republic.

Everything he knew and loved was crushing down around him - democracy under threat and the Jedi Order stretched too thin to uphold the values of peace, kindness and compassion. There was no place for softness at the time of war and so the peacekeepers were turned into army generals, battlefields replacing the negotiation table.

Where did it all go so wrong? Obi-Wan wondered at night, lying sleeplessly on his military cot onboard the Negotiator.

***

Now, faced with his own shortcomings laid bare in front of the highest authority of the Jedi Order, Master Kenobi tries his hardest not to make the wrong move. He schools his face into calm neutrality.

“I understand the risks, Masters,” slipping seamlessly into his Negotiator persona, Obi-Wan attempts to overturn the insurmountable odds. His voice is steady, but only just.

“You are, no doubt, aware of our unparalleled success on the battlefield. The Team, they call us – hardly a suspicious moniker! There is no evidence that either Anakin or I experience negative side effects. But our countless victories? They prove, undeniably, the utility of such bond in combat.”

He lets the words hang in the air, hoping they would carry the weight he intends. Desperate times call for desperate measures. After all, they are at war.

Slowly, Obi-Wan raises his chin. He has no choice but to construct a facade of deliberate intent, masking the painful truth behind a steel veneer of strategy. If they believed it was a calculated choice - a selfless decision made in service to the Republic - then perhaps he could protect Anakin from the fallout. They could never know the real reason he kept the bond – and neither should Anakin.

“Aware of this, we are.” Master Yoda interjects, cutting through Obi-Wan’s defence with a calm but firm wave of his hand. “The benefits, know them well, we do. Consider the risks, you may have. Consider them, too, Skywalker did, hmm?”

A heavy silence settles over the Council chambers. The other Masters exchange wary glances, their expressions shadowed with growing suspicion. Anakin’s reputation precedes him: his impulsive nature and his disregard for risk assessment are well documented. The doubts are clear in their eyes, and Obi-Wan feels the tide shifting against him.

This is not going well at all, he thinks. Anakin isn’t here to defend himself, and Obi-Wan isn’t even sure he would if he were.

They never openly discussed the bond. It had simply been there: an unspoken connection, as natural and inevitable as breathing. Obi-Wan did not sever it, and Anakin never suggested they should. In battle, it has been their greatest weapon, a silent lifeline in the chaos of the war.

Outside of the battlefield, however … How could he even be sure that Anakin would care if they were asked to break it? Is he truly standing before the Jedi Council, risking everything, to preserve something the younger man might not even want?

Am I truly so selfish? Obi-Wan wonders, thinking back at how they got into this mess.

***

Five months into the Clone Wars, Anakin’s Knighting Ceremony was a rushed, sombre affair. The war had only just begun to cast its long shadow over the Jedi Order, leaving no room for joy, no resources for a celebration.

Obi-Wan stepped into the Grand Hall with Anakin by his side, wearing their parade uniform instead of the traditional Jedi robes. The elaborate attire clung to them with a heavy weight, feeling more like shackles than a symbol of honour.

They had returned from combat just hours ago – victorious in their glorious fortune. Yet there was no time for a respite. The Order was desperate, stretched thin by the ceaseless demands of the raging war, and Anakin’s promotion could be delayed no longer.

Obi-Wan’s gaze swept across the ceremonial chamber, his heart sinking at the sight. Only a handful of Jedi were present; so many seats were empty. Some members of the Order were stranded on distant battlefronts, their missions keeping them far from Coruscant. There were a few, however, that they had already lost to the merciless and bloodthirsty beast of war. Obi-Wan’s chest tightened with the weight of loss.

A soft touch on his shoulder pulled the older Jedi from his heavy thoughts. His soon-no-longer-padawan smiled, catching on to Obi-Wan’s worries but putting on a brave face for his Master. Always able to sense when he was feeling out of sorts, always there to offer comfort.

Oh, how I will miss you, Obi-Wan thought, torn between pride and the ache of impending separation.

Anakin deserved better than a token Knighting Ceremony. He worked so hard to get to where he was, and for so many years. Obi-Wan had hoped his padawan would feel the happiness and joy of celebrating his accomplishments. Chosen One or not, he was never spared any hardship of Jedi training. Yet the galaxy didn’t bend to Obi-Wan’s wishes.

“Rise, Knight Skywalker, General of the Republic.” Master Yoda intoned, as the brief event came to an end. “Celebrate, you may, with your Master and friends. Tonight. Ship out to Alderaan, you will, at dawn.”

His now-former-padawan looked back at him, seeking guidance still. Anakin’s surprise was written plainly all over his face. He had expected to part ways with Obi-Wan soon - his Master was needed back on Geonosis - but tomorrow?

“Hurried, your departure will be,” Yoda continued, eyes piercing, as though he had plucked the very thought directly from Anakin’s mind. “Unorthodox, the circumstances are. Needed, you are. Understand, do you?”

Obi-Wan met Anakin’s gaze with a measured nod, masking his own unease with practiced composure. The unspoken message was clear: There is no choice. His silence seemed to have given Anakin the answer he sought. The young Knight straightened, the lines of his face hardening as realization sank in.

“Of course, Masters,” he said, bowing his head. Anakin’s voice, though respectful, rang hollow, stripped of its usual fire. It was the response of a soldier. “It is my honour to serve the Republic.”

Only through their bond could Obi-Wan feel the tiny traces of young Jedi’s anguish. For a moment, he wished he could shield his padawan from this. From the unrelenting weight of duty and from the crushing loneliness of war. But the Council’s orders left no room for a debate, and logic offered no refuge.

For all his mastery of detachment, how could he even begin to explain to Anakin that he shared in his pain? That he, too, was in agony?

More importantly, would it even be wise to try?

If shields were lowered, Anakin would unravel him in moments. Their bond was too strong, too intimate to hide behind shallow reassurances or platitudes that would bring neither of them any peace. The younger Jedi would see it - the depth of Obi-Wan’s attachment, the storm raging within, too vast and wild to be controlled or set aside. He would know.

The thought struck like a blow, running through him cold and hollow. Where would that leave Obi-Wan? Alone, and exposed, and even more painfully aware of his universe burning down. He could easily imagine it - Anakin’s reaction. The young Knight, torn apart by his own humiliation and an instinctive desire to shield his Master from further disgrace. He would never intentionally hurt Obi-Wan; that much was certain. He loved him as a father.

Would he feel pity? Pity for a Jedi Master pathetic enough to be so hopelessly entangled in emotions he had no right to feel, force-bound to a man who had given a vow of marriage to another?

Would he tell Padmé? A woman so graceful, so intelligent, that she would likely counsel Anakin, help him navigate the fallout, the damage control … Obi-Wan forced himself to stop, to wrestle free of the thoughts dragging him into darker places. No matter how close they were, Anakin’s feelings were the love for a father figure while Obi-Wan’s… He was not entirely sure what his feelings were, but he knew with absolute certainty that Anakin became essential to his existence.

Such an attachment was dangerous. He knew it. He had always known. Yet now, watching his padawan become a Knight, the realization settled with suffocating weight.

He would have to let Anakin go.

So, with a heavy heart, he considered severing the bond the night after Anakin’s Knighting.

His padawan was sprawled across the couch, passed out after an evening of celebration at Dex’s. They hadn’t drunk much - just enough to dull the edges of their exhaustion. The endless strain of battle had taken its toll on them both, leaving little room for anything beyond the simple comforts of familiarity.

Obi-Wan had expected Anakin to slip away to Padmé - to steal a moment with her before his long mission began. But he didn’t. He didn’t even retreat to his own bedroom.

Instead, Anakin stayed.

And so did Obi-Wan, unable to let the young man out of his sight before their inevitable separation. With Anakin fast asleep, his legs draped over Obi-Wan’s lap and his face uncharacteristically peaceful, the Jedi Master found himself lost in thought.

There was no fixed timeline following a padawan’s Knighting Ceremony. Severing training bonds wasn’t something the Council supervised; it was too personal, too delicate a matter. Asking after it would be considered a gross breach of decorum, and a lack of trust in the Master’s judgment. Yet, for all the discretion surrounding the process, one thing was clear: no Master could allow the bond to linger beyond what was ethically reasonable.

Traditionally, a month or two was considered sensible – enough time to let the bond stretch, fray, and finally unravel. There was no practical use for it after the adjustment period. If anything, such bond was a liability. It tethered the Jedi pair too closely, bound their emotions and thoughts in ways that were no longer appropriate.

With Anakin leaving on his own, Obi-Wan knew that severing their bond before his departure might give them both the space that they desperately needed to reclaim their autonomy. It was no longer right to keep his former Padawan bound to him. They would need to discuss it in the morning.

But before that, Obi-Wan had to assess the state of their bond. He had to be certain it wouldn’t harm either of them to sever it so abruptly. Taking a deep breath, the Jedi Master closed his eyes and sank into meditation.

The room was hauntingly silent. No sounds from outside reached them, and Anakin wasn’t prone to snoring. The dim glow of the lights seemed to coax Obi-Wan into an even deeper state of stillness. Within his mental landscape, he sought the hidden place where his bond with Anakin resided.

When he found it, he lowered his mental shields, and there it was: a luminous, golden thread - vivid, alive - where his Force signature intertwined with Anakin’s. The thread shimmered, its surface smooth and glass-like, radiating a warmth that was both familiar and bittersweet. Obi-Wan let his consciousness brush against it, and an unexpected wave of affection surged back, filling him with a sense of safety, and comfort.

How, he marvelled, could I ever begin to unravel something like that?

Tentatively, gently, Obi-Wan tugged at one of his own threads, testing what it might mean to disconnect.

The response was immediate, brutal.

Pain lanced through him, sharp and unrelenting, tearing through his carefully cultivated serenity like a blade through silk. A searing ache radiated through his chest, something primal and almost instinctive, like a limb being torn away. The Force itself seemed to recoil from his touch.

Somewhere on the edge of his awareness, Obi-Wan heard Anakin stir in his sleep, a low, pained sound escaping him. Even this small, cautious pull - so delicate that it should have gone unnoticed - had hurt them both.

Obi-Wan inhaled shakily and slipped out of his meditation. His heart was heavy with guilt as he reached out, placing a steady hand on the younger man’s shoulder. A quiet reassurance, as much for himself as for Anakin. His padawan didn’t wake, but the tension in his body eased at the touch, breath evening out again.

Their bond wasn’t a simple matter of attachment, that much was clear. It was dependence: the fragile and terrifying knowledge that they were no longer whole without the other.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious in the way they moved in perfect synchronicity without needing words, in the way Anakin could sense Obi-Wan’s presence before he entered a room, in the way the older man could read the emotions Anakin tried so hard to conceal.

Obi-Wan had believed – foolishly and naively - that such a connection could exist without cost. That they could remain tethered without it ever affecting them.

But the Force had not simply entwined their signatures; it had woven them together, strand by strand, thread by thread, until the very essence of who they were had become inseparable.

It would be unimaginable to break the bond now. Unsafe to even try. Because if something so small - a single, careful pull - had sent pain lancing through both of them, if even the idea of separation had been enough to make Anakin stir in his sleep, his body reacting instinctively to the loss… what would happen if Obi-Wan truly severed it?

He did not care to find out.

And so, watching Anakin’s peaceful face, Obi-Wan made his choice. Not forever, he assured himself, just for now.

Just until the space between them grew vast enough to make the severance painless. Until time and circumstance did the work for him, pulling their bond apart naturally. Until Obi-Wan could pretend he had never wished for it to be unbreakable in the first place.

***

As it stands, time and circumstance have not worked with Obi-Wan.

“We have no intention of being unkind,” Master Windu says, his deep voice cutting through the murmur of debate, silencing the chambers. “It is understandable that Anakin’s circumstances are somewhat … unique.”

For a brief moment, Obi-Wan feels a flicker of relief, a fragile thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, they will understand.

Master Yoda nods, his serene expression lending weight to Windu’s words.

“However,” Mace continues, his voice turning heavy, extinguishing Obi-Wan’s optimism. “The upcoming operation is of the utmost importance. This battle could very well determine the entire course of the war. Tell me, Obi-Wan, can you assure me - with absolute certainty - that if Skywalker is injured, you will not react … unwisely?”

The question feels like a slap, but worse is the truth it implies. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to respond, to proclaim with calm and unwavering conviction that yes, he is a Jedi Master, a High General, and of course he can control himself.

But the words won’t come.

His hesitation hangs in the air and before Obi-Wan can recover, Master Yoda delivers the final blow.

“A more important question is,” he muses, ears lifting slightly. “If hurt, you are, Skywalker’s behaviour, remain wise, will it, hmm?”

Obi-Wan’s stomach tightens. He scrambles for an answer, for something logical, something to counter their concerns. But he is cornered. Anakin is not here, and no matter how well Obi-Wan knows him, he cannot speak on another’s behalf. The Council knows it. Force bond or not, he cannot read Anakin’s mind.

“Speculation is a dangerous game,” Master Plo Koon interjects, mercifully sparing him from the need to respond. “We cannot waste time debating hypotheticals. The heart of the matter is this: by allowing the bond to remain, regardless of its benefits, we are placing two of our High Generals at risk of a catastrophic psychological trauma in the heat of battle. With our current rate of casualties, that is a risk we cannot afford.”

“I agree,” Depa Billaba says softly, her voice heavy with worry. “Anakin is incredibly strong in the Force. I know this is not what you want to hear, Obi-Wan, but if something were to happen to you… if he were overcome by grief from a damaged bond - it could very well be his path to the Dark Side.”

A heavy silence follows. Obi-Wan clenches his jaw - they are not wrong. And yet, everything in him recoils from what they are about to demand.

“Waste more time on this, we shall not.” Yoda’s voice is firm, final. “A decision made; it was. Under normal circumstances, punished, you would be, Obi-Wan Kenobi. For your failure as a Master. For keeping this secret, even more so.”

A ripple of discomfort spreads through the Council chambers.

Obi-Wan is beloved. None of them truly wish to punish him.

“Normal, our circumstances are not.” Yoda continues, shaking his head. “Yet sever the bond, you will. Summoned, Skywalker was, back to Coruscant. Supervise the ceremony, I will. Ensure your safety, my guidance will.”

Ensure our safety? Obi-Wan thinks with bitter scepticism.

Or that we actually do it?

He already knows the answer.

***

The soft scent of bluebells greets Obi-Wan as he steps into Padmé’s apartment. It’s a delicate fragrance, sweet and fresh, carrying with it a faint memory of dewy mornings on faraway worlds - an unexpected contrast to the city’s perpetual hum. He watches the bustling streets of Coruscant from her floor-to-ceiling windows, lost in thought.

The sound of soft footsteps draws his attention, and he turns just as Padmé Amidala steps into the room. She is breathtaking, as always - draped in an elegant silk gown the colour of the night sky, shimmering with threads of silver.

“Master Kenobi,” she greets him warmly. “What a pleasant surprise at such a late hour! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Obi-Wan holds her gaze for a beat longer than he should. Beneath the warmth of her smile lies a flicker of unease, like a shadow she cannot quite hide. He knows she is already calculating the reasons for his unannounced visit. There had been no communication from the Jedi Temple, no warning of his arrival.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Obi-Wan returns her smile with practiced politeness. “I am here because I suspect you may have a way of communicating with Anakin … outside of the official Jedi channels.”

Her smile falters. For a moment, Padmé stands perfectly still, expression unreadable except for the tiniest flicker of surprise in her eyes. Then, she takes a measured step back, her brows knitting in a frown of confusion - or perhaps defence.

“What makes you think that?” She asks tentatively, eyes sharp and guarded.

Obi-Wan exhales softly. He does not have the time — or the moral high ground — for this game of denials and veiled half-truths. If he wants her help, he must meet her with honesty.

“I am aware of your … relationship … with my former Padawan,” he says, raising a hand in a gesture of peace and reassurance before she can protest or retreat further. There is no accusation in his tone, no judgment in his words. He is not a hypocrite.

“I am not here to judge you, Padmé. I have no right to. I have known for a while, and, as you can see, I did not report it to the Council. There is no reason for you to believe that I shall do so now.”

A flicker of vulnerability crosses her features, only to vanish as quickly as it appeared. She blinks, clearly taken aback by his admission.

“I am not sure I understand what you mean, Master Kenobi. Anakin and I are good friends. It is not forbidden for Jedi to have friends. I was under the impression that we were friends, too.” Her words are measured, but Obi-Wan feels the sharp edge of her defences rising between them. She is protecting something, or someone.

The Jedi Master sees her love for Anakin reflected in her eyes, plain as day. In a way, it is like staring in the mirror.

“Padmé, please,” he pleads, stepping closer. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. If you can reach Anakin, I need to speak with him — now.”

“Is he in trouble?” The Senator asks worryingly.

“In a way,” Obi-Wan admits, his voice careful. He’s unsure how much of the truth to share, unsure of how much it will take for her to trust him. “But honestly, I think I’m in more trouble than he is. We must speak urgently.”

Padmé looks at him for a long moment, clearly weighing her options. Finally, she exhales, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she makes her decision.

“If you are facing a threat, Anakin would want to know,” she says firmly, gesturing for him to follow. “Please, come with me.”

***

Anakin’s face flickers into view on the holo, features sharp with focus, but a little worn. Onboard the Resolute, he is still dressed in Clone Wars uniform, despite the late hour on Coruscant.

“Padmé?” Anakin’s voice is tentative, expression shifting from weary to startled as he realizes it’s not the Senator on the other end. “Master? How - what … what is happening?”

Obi-Wan exhales shakily, trying to steady himself. He’s rehearsed this conversation endlessly in his mind, but now, with the other man staring back at him in confusion, the words catch in his throat.

“Hello there, Anakin.” He forces a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sorry for disturbing the Senator, but I needed to speak with you. Privately. This … this conversation can’t go through the official comms. Are you alone?”

“I … yes. Yes, I am alone.” Anakin replies, voice laced with growing concern. It’s rare for him to see Obi-Wan struggle to find words, and that vulnerability unsettles the younger Jedi. “What is wrong, Master?”

So much is wrong. Obi-Wan supposes it is best to get straight to the point.

“The Council has discovered that we did not sever our training bond.”

Anakin flinches, as if slapped. His face tightens, jaw clenching as he looks away from the camera. For a long, heavy moment, he says nothing. When his gaze finally returns to Obi-Wan, Anakin is filled with determination - he’s bracing for a fight.

“What did they say?”

Obi-Wan is not here to give him an argument. For once, they seem to be on the same side. “They ordered me to sever the bond when you return to the Temple. Under Master Yoda’s supervision.”

“They have no right!” Anakin snaps, his anger flaring. “Force bonds are a private matter! The Council has no place interfering in something so sacred. No other Master and Padawan have been forced to sever their bond under supervision - ever!”

Obi-Wan suspects that might not be true. Given how quickly Master Yoda volunteered to supervise and how confident he was in his ability to assist, the Jedi Master suspects there had been precedents. He is not about to waste time debating history with Anakin, though.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “The Council doesn’t typically interfere so directly with Force bonds. But I also suspect that few Masters have allowed a bond to linger for nearly three years after a Padawan’s knighting. That… that was a failure on my part.”

Anakin stares at him as if his Master just stepped on his beloved droid. “You regret keeping our bond?”

“No!” Obi-Wan’s denial is immediate, almost desperate. “Of course not. It saved our lives more times than I can count.”

That’s not the real reason he kept it, but Obi-Wan struggles to let the truth rise to the surface. Vulnerability doesn’t come easily to him, not even with Anakin. And so, he helplessly watches the young Jedi folding into himself, withdrawing as though bracing for a mortal blow.

“So, this call is a warning then?” Anakin’s tone is clipped, laced with bitterness. “Thanks, I guess. At least I won’t be blindsided when they drag me into the severance ceremony the moment I set foot in the Temple.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach twists at the image. “I wouldn’t let anyone drag you anywhere,” he says softly, earnestly. “And that’s not why I called.”

Anakin’s brow furrows in confusion. “It’s not?”

“No.” Obi-Wan closes his eyes briefly, gathering the courage he needs to continue. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “I wanted to talk to you … about the possibility of keeping the bond.”

This time, Anakin doesn’t hesitate. His answer comes instantly - a resolute and unshakable:

“Yes.”

Then, eyes wide with hope, he adds, “What do we do?”

In that moment, it feels as though the galaxy itself has fallen away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a fragile, luminous silence. Obi-Wan meets Anakin’s eyes, his own heartbeat steady now.

“We leave the Order.”

***

To be fair to Obi-Wan, it was not his original plan.

When he left the Council chambers, stunned and hollow, the older Jedi had fully intended to obey Master Yoda’s orders.

They made sense.

The bond was dangerous.

And though Obi-Wan was willing to endure the agony of it breaking, of being torn apart if Anakin were to die, he could not force his former Padawan to suffer the same fate. He knew too well what that kind of pain could do - he had felt it once before.

When Qui-Gon died, it nearly destroyed him. He had been young, barely ready to complete the apprenticeship, and suddenly, the foundation of his world had been torn away. The grief, the unbearable loss, the rage - it had burned through him like a wildfire, relentless and all-consuming. He had slain Maul not as a Jedi, but as a man drowning in fury and despair. Not with the serenity and detachment the Code demanded, but with vengeance.

The Council had never spoken of it, mercifully.

Perhaps they had seen his regret. Perhaps they had trusted that he would pull himself back from the edge. And he had, eventually. But if not for Qui-Gon’s final request, his dying wish - train the boy - Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he would have made it.

His younger self was never the best choice to train Anakin, he knew that. And he suspected Qui-Gon had known it too. But perhaps that was the point. Perhaps his Master had seen a way to save them both, to tether Obi-Wan to the Light, to the Order, when little else could. In trusting him with Anakin’s future, Qui-Gon had given his padawan something more than just a duty - he had given him a purpose.

Would Anakin have such a tether? Would Padmé be enough?

Obi-Wan did not know. He was not arrogant enough to assume that his own experiences could be so easily measured against another Jedi’s. No two bonds were the same. Yet Obi-Wan felt, deep down, that his connection with Anakin ran deeper than the training bond he had shared with Qui-Gon.

And that terrified him.

Master Billaba was right, he thought. Anakin was the most powerful Force-user to have ever lived. The fate of the galaxy might very well rest on his shoulders. And Obi-Wan could not be selfish. He could not cling to the bond and risk everything for the sake of his own desires. He could not allow unsorted emotions to cloud his judgment.

So, he went to the Room of a Thousand Fountains to prepare for the severance. The water murmured softly around him, the air thick with the scent of mist and ancient stone.

It should have been a place of peace, of solace, of quiet contemplation. He had spent countless hours here in his youth, learning to tame his thoughts, to accept his emotions, to master the discipline the Jedi demanded.

Now, it felt like a grave.

He meditated for hours, searching for serenity, for the conviction that the Council’s decision was the right one. He told himself that it was. So, when it finally felt like he could accept it, when his breath was steady and his hands did not tremble, Obi-Wan lowered his shields.

The bond flared to life like a supernova.

Obi-Wan staggered under the force of it. He had not examined it closely since the night after Anakin’s Knighthood, letting it simply exist in the background: as constant as breath, as natural as the hum of his lightsaber. Obi-Wan had assumed it would stretch and frail over time - they were supposed to be drifting apart. The war, the constant distance, the unspoken words? It had felt as though they had been slipping through each other’s fingers for months.

And yet the bond told a different story. It had not withered — it had grown.

More than that, there was no longer even a thread to sever. There was no beginning and no end, no strands to untangle, no loose ends to cut. Instead, there was only light: a brilliant, golden current that stretched between them, so utterly fused that Obi-Wan could no longer tell where he ended, and the other began.

Did Anakin know? Could he feel how deeply they were connected?

After all, Force bonds were living entities. They changed, evolved, and grew alongside the emotions that shaped them. When Anakin had been a padawan, Obi-Wan had loved him as a brother. He had been family, an extension of himself, a limb.

But a limb could be severed.

Now, as Anakin grew to be his equal, Obi-Wan’s feelings became something else entirely. They shifted, changed, and grew too strong. Somewhere along the way, Anakin had become his centre, a powerful thread of light upholding Obi-Wan in a galaxy slipping into darkness. The link did not just entangle itself within his force signature – it became the heart of it.

And the younger Jedi must have felt something too for the bond to have become this. A solid, unwavering ray of light that stretched between them, disappearing past Anakin’s mental shields, far beyond where Obi-Wan could reach. A connection so strong did not form by accident. It had to have been sustained by their shared emotion.

Three years ago, Obi-Wan had pulled on the bond to test its strength, its resilience.

Now, he did not dare.

Anakin was no longer just his family. He was part of his soul. To lose him now - in the middle of this war - would break Obi-Wan so utterly. Without Anakin, he would be left adrift, vulnerable to the crushing weight of battles that should never have been ignited in the first place.

The Council was right about one thing: if they lost this on the battlefield, it would destroy them. But what the Masters had failed to see was that it was already too late. It no longer mattered how the bond was broken - whether on the battlefield, beneath the Council’s judgment, or by their own hands. The result would be the same. Neither of them would survive unshattered.

Perhaps Anakin would endure. He had Padmé. He had his power, the boundless strength of the Force itself to sustain him. He might be able go on. But would he stay in the Light? Would he stay in the Order?

It seemed that it was no longer an option for either of them.

***

Anakin stares at Obi-Wan, frozen in shock. His expression is one of disbelief and raw confusion. The silence between them stretches painfully long - one minute, then another. Suddenly, as if a dam has broken, the young Knight bursts into motion, pacing and gesturing wildly.

“Have you gone completely insane? Is this some kind of trick - like the Hardeen mission?” He demands, words sharp with urgency and betrayal. His eyes are wide, almost frantic. “What aren’t you telling me, Master?”

Obi-Wan had hoped, naively, that Anakin might trust him without question. But deep down, he should have known better. His former padawan has never been predictable.

“Please, Anakin, calm down.” Obi-Wan pleads. He glances nervously toward the door, mindful of Padmé. The last thing he needs is for her to overhear this conversation. He knows the truth will come out eventually, but he’d rather face one fire at a time. “Just… hear me out. I need you to listen.”

“I am listening, Obi-Wan!” Anakin snaps, his frustration boiling over. He throws his hands in the air, movements as chaotic as his thoughts. “But you’re not making any sense! You comm me — from Padmé’s apartment, no less — insisting we bypass official Jedi channels because the Council found out we kept the training bond, and then you suggest leaving the Order? What am I supposed to think? Are you dying?”

Obi-Wan wishes, more than anything, that they weren’t having this conversation through a holo. If they were face-to-face, he could reach out, place a steadying hand on Anakin’s shoulder, grounding him the way he always has. Now, words feel woefully inadequate for what he needs to say.

“Nobody is dying, dear one,” the endearment slips out before Obi-Wan can stop it, though his voice remains quiet and composed. “I have given this a lot of thought, and it may be the best solution to several of our problems.”

Anakin just stares, chest heaving. His scepticism is apparent.

“What problems?”

Obi-Wan steels himself. He has rehearsed this conversation, prepared his arguments. But none of it makes this moment any easier.

“First,” he says carefully, “this protects your marriage.”

Anakin blinks. “My what?”

“Your relationship with Padmé,” Obi-Wan clarifies, though the words feel like shards in his throat. He presses on, ignoring the sharp pang of something - something ugly, like jealousy - twisting in his chest.

You have no right; he is not yours. He reminds himself. There are more important things at stake.

“As I have already told her, I’ve known for a while. You don’t have to fear judgment. Not from me, anyway.”

For once, Anakin is silent.

“You can’t keep living a double life.” Obi-Wan continues, gentler now. “Your wife deserves better. You deserve better. I have always suspected you wouldn’t remain in the Order after the war. Now is as good a time as any.”

Anakin’s expression shifts, disbelief turning to indignation.

“Now is the worst time to leave!” He argues, voice tight with conviction. “We are at war, Obi-Wan! We’re needed on the battlefield! Our men —” He shakes his head, face contorted with frustration. “I won’t abandon them! I refuse.”

“We don’t have to abandon anything,” Obi-Wan counters, prepared for this reaction. “The Order is stretched too thin to afford losing us. They need competent Generals, and we can keep our ranks. No longer being Jedi doesn’t mean we desert.”

“Oh,” Anakin says, momentarily thrown. He hadn’t considered that possibility.

“And,” Obi-Wan presses, seizing the moment, “if we are no longer bound by the Jedi Code, we can advocate politically. I know how passionate you and Senator Amidala are about Clone rights. I find myself agreeing with you. As Jedi, we’re not allowed to take political stances, but as military commanders - men who have lived alongside them, fought beside them - we could make a real difference.”

That strikes a chord. Anakin’s expression shifts, the scepticism in his eyes giving way to something deeper - something dangerously close to awe. He studies Obi-Wan as if seeing him for the first time.

“You really thought this through,” he murmurs, eyes searching his Master’s face.

“Of course I did.” Obi-Wan’s lips curve slightly, though there is little humour in it. “You know I don’t make impulsive decisions.”

Anakin opens his mouth, then hesitates, his brows drawing together.

“Wait … what did you mean - my marriage to Padmé? We’re not married.”

Obi-Wan sighs, exasperated. “Anakin.”

“We’re not —”

“I told you. You don’t have to hide this from me. Yes, it’s a breach of the Code. No, it’s not ideal. But I am hardly in a position to judge you. Not when I’ve broken it myself.”

Anakin’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Obi-Wan hesitates, wary of revealing the shameful truth, of Anakin thinking less of his Master. Still, he reluctantly admits, “I broke the Code the moment I chose not to sever our training bond. A true Jedi Master would have done so long ago. And yet, here we are. Even now, I refuse to let it go. That alone speaks volumes about where my future as a Jedi truly stands.”

His former padawan watches him closely, expression unreadable, but Obi-Wan doesn’t look away. His throat tightens as he forces himself to continue.

“You would have left the Order eventually, Anakin.” His voice is steadier than he feels. “And when that moment came, I would have been forced to sever our bond to remain.” The Jedi Master pauses, swallowing hard. “But I don’t want to … I can’t.”

For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan allows himself to be utterly, devastatingly vulnerable. Something flickers across Anakin’s face, almost hesitant, unguarded and fragile. Obi-Wan clings to it, pushes forward, because he has to, because now that he started his speech, he finds he can no longer stop the words from spilling out.  

“You ground me, Anakin. You give me strength. Our bond keeps me in the Light when everything else feels like it’s slipping into Darkness. Knowing you’re out there, fighting the same war, feeling it as I do, gives me a reason to keep going when everything else seems lost.” Obi-Wan takes a slow breath, steadying himself. “I do not wish to lose it. I am scared of what it might do to me.”

He lets the implication settle. Lets the silence stretch, thick and fragile, like glass.

Then, he plays his last card.

“I am not above begging, dear one. Please. … Please, Anakin. …” Obi-Wan pleads.

On the other end of the transmission, the younger Jedi sits utterly still, as if the words have frozen him in place. For a moment, Obi-Wan wonders if the connection has glitched. But then —

Anakin exhales, a breath so shaky it almost doesn’t make it out. His lips part, but no sound comes. He falters.

“Obi-Wan, I… you… I cannot do this over a holo!” Anakin finally whispers, the rawness in his voice almost painful. “I need to be there. With you. I need to…” His hand lifts toward the holoscreen, hovering in the empty space between them, a ghost of a touch that will never land. His face twists, pained, conflicted, tortured. “You never have to beg me for anything. I would do whatever you ask. Surely, you must know that.”

Obi-Wan does know. Somehow, hearing it spoken aloud only makes it worse. Of course, Anakin would feel bound to him - Obi-Wan had practically raised the boy! And now, he has made his feelings a weight for the younger man to carry.

Shame floods through him. The realization coils in his gut like something vile, humiliation entangled with fear.

“That is not what I meant,” he tries to fix it, but Anakin’s expression is already breaking, eyes shining too brightly. “You do not have to do anything for my sake,” Obi-Wan insists, scrambling to undo the damage. “I only… I am sorry, dear one. I should not have asked this of you.”

Anakin’s mouth opens, words forming on the tip of his tongue … but, before he can respond, a deafening explosion rips through their transmission. The holo flickers, distorting the younger man’s face into jagged fragments of light and shadow.

Obi-Wan’s blood turns to ice. “What is happening?”

“We’re under attack!” Anakin yells, his face vanishing for half a second before reappearing, blurred and frantic. He reaches for the console - about to cut the feed - then hesitates. For a single heartbeat, his eyes lock onto Obi-Wan’s, pleading.

“Do not cut the bond! Master, I –”

Another explosion roars in the background and the connection fractures. Then disappears. Obi-Wan is left staring at the empty wall of Padmé’s conference room, pulse hammering in his ears.

“What is going on?” The Senator rushes in, startled by the distant echoes of battle and Anakin’s panicked voice.

“Anakin was ambushed.” Obi-Wan barely registers her presence as he reaches for his comm. He must inform the Temple. They need to send backup. “I lost the transmission signal.”

Padmé’s expression shifts - concerned but composed. Too composed. “This has happened before,” she says, attempting reassurance. “Anakin will call back once the worst of it is over.”

Obi-Wan stares at her, incredulous. Her husband is in the middle of a battle, and she’s -calm?

His comm signal goes to Windu’s voicemail. Of course. It is four in the morning. “I must return to the Temple immediately.” The Jedi Master states, voice taut.

“Yes,” the Senator steps aside to let him pass, but then — hesitates. “Obi-Wan…”

Something in her tone makes him pause.

“Anakin is a fully trained Jedi. A Commander. I have complete faith in his abilities. He will be alright.”

“Of course, he will be.” Obi-Wan replies automatically, but his mind is already racing ahead. I will make sure of it.

Padmé watches him closely, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “It’s just…” she gathers her resolve. “Sometimes, I think you’re irrational when it comes to Anakin.”

The Jedi stiffens. “What exactly are you implying?”

“I mean no offense,” she says carefully. “But perhaps you should consider why that is.”

“He is my padawan,” the words come out too quickly, too defensively. “I worry. That is all.”

“Former padawan,” Padmé’s corrects him gently, stepping closer, her hand a light pressure on his forearm. Her eyes search his face. “Anakin is a man now, Obi-Wan. He can stand on his own.”  

“I know.”

Padmé’s eyes soften. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you.” There’s something insistent in her voice now. “I only mean… maybe he should know how much you care for him. Not as a child, but as the man he’s become.”

Obi-Wan exhales sharply, shaking his head. He doesn’t have time for this.

“I appreciate your concern, Padmé, but I must go.”

She nods, resigned. “I’ll let you know if I hear from him.”

“Please do.”

***

Obi-Wan reaches the Temple at dawn. The first rays of sunlight stretch over the gates, spilling golden light across the marble steps. Coruscant is eerily still at this hour: no wind, no hum of speeders, just silence.

It should be peaceful.

Obi-Wan’s heart is anything but.

He moves quickly, boots echoing through the empty halls as he makes his way to the Meditation Chamber. He finds Mace Windu mid-movement, his form fluid and precise as he flows through his moving meditation.

The moment Obi-Wan enters, Windu stills, his eyes assessing. One brow lifts. “Something tells me you are not here to meditate.”

“Anakin has been ambushed,” his words come out rushed, breathless. “The Resolute is under attack. We must send backup.”

Windu’s expression darkens. “And you know this how?” He holds up a hand before Obi-Wan can answer. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. When did this happen?”

“Half an hour ago.”

Mace doesn’t waste time. “He’s near Bothawui. We have a battalion stationed on Naboo - I’ll order them to assist Skywalker immediately.” He taps his comm. Within moments, a confirmation pings back. “Reinforcements are on their way.”

Obi-Wan releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief floods him so forcefully his legs almost feel unsteady. “Thank you.”

Windu gives him a pointed look. “You don’t need to thank me, Kenobi. We’re fighting the same war.”

Then, in a move so uncharacteristic it stuns Obi-Wan into silence, Windu pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “If Skywalker needs backup, he will get backup. But you…” His intent stare locks onto Obi-Wan, cutting through his composure. “You must prepare to let this attachment go.”

Obi-Wan stiffens.

“It does you no good, Kenobi. We both know Anakin is not going to stay in the Order once the war is over.”

***

Master Yoda finds Obi-Wan in the Room of a Thousand Fountains where he retreated to meditate. Or, rather, escape. Ordinarily, he would already be gone off-world. Day X was imminent - their meticulously planned offensive, months in the making. He was meant to lead the Negotiator alongside Master Plo’s battalion, tasked with capturing two of the Separatist Army’s highest commanders. But the Council grounded him.

"Until your mess with Skywalker is taken care of," Windu had said.

And so, for the past few hours, Obi-Wan has had nothing to do but wait. And the waiting is killing him.

At least he knows Anakin is alive. He can feel that much - a brilliant thread of warmth in the Force, strong but shielded behind the mental walls that were once so easy to see through. He does not know why Anakin is shielding.

“Unbalanced, you are, in the Force.” Yoda states simply, folding himself into a meditation pose next to Obi-Wan.

“I’m afraid so,” the Jedi Master leans forward, rubbing his temples. Perhaps - and this was a desperate hope - the Grand Master’s wisdom might actually provide some clarity this time. “I worry for Anakin,” Obi-Wan admits, staring into the rushing fountains. “Though I know he is more than capable of holding his ground.”

“Trained him well, you have.” Yoda hums in agreement.

“Then why am I so on edge?” Obi-Wan shakes his head, frustrated. His hands tighten into fists against the fabric of his robes. “Why does this not sit right? Everyone seems to think I’m being irrational, but something about our bond - it feels off.”

Yoda does not answer immediately. He does not even look at him. Instead, he watches the water - his small form soft, contemplative.

Finally, he speaks. “Fully understand Force bonds, we do not. An ancient thing, they are. Well before the Jedi Order, were they in use.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “What?” He turns fully to look at Yoda, startled. “I was under the impression they were invented by the Jedi.”

Yoda makes a sound - half chuckle, half exasperated sigh. “Invented by the Jedi?” He shakes his head. “No, no, young Obi-Wan. A Jedi tool, Force bonds are not.”

“Then what are they?”

Yoda lets out a low hum, his ears drooping slightly. “An expression of the Force … Many types, there used to be. Banned, many of them were.” A shadow of regret flickers across his face. “Went extinct, the others have.”

 Obi-Wan frowns. “Extinct? What do you mean, extinct?”

“No longer binds us, the Force does. Rare, such blessings have become. Disconnected, we are.”

The response shocks Obi-Wan. This was Master Yoda - the same Jedi who warned him, chastised him, lectured him about his attachment. Now, here he sits, lamenting the loss of something he has always warned against.

“Isn’t that safer?” Obi-Wan asks him slowly. “You yourself said these bonds are dangerous. That attachment leads to suffering.”

The old Jedi finally looks at him, something sad and regretful reflected in his eyes. “Safer - yes. A great sanctity, safety can be.”

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes. There is something else, something unsaid lingering beneath the surface of those words. “But…?”

Yoda chuckles, his ears lifting slightly, amused. “Clever, you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Understand, you do, the precariousness of safety. Me explaining it, no need there is.”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to groan, pressing his lips together. Master Yoda has too much fun sprawling his cryptic wisdom. “So, what does this mean for us? For me and Anakin?” he wonders aloud.

Yoda lifts a clawed finger. “If a simple training bond, you have - then dissolve it, we will.”

Over my dead body, Obi-Wan thinks. And only if Anakin asks me to.

“If…?” He says out loud.

The Grand Master studies him with unnerving scrutiny, his ears twitching slightly. “Odd, your Force signature feels. Suspect, I do, that your bond is not so simple. Meditated, I have, on your predicament. Hostile, the Force is, to my idea of interference.”

That startles Obi-Wan. “Hostile? The Force itself fought you?”

Yoda hums, noncommittal. “Protective, the Force is, over this bond of yours.”

Before he can question the Grand Master further, a sharp, urgent chime from Yoda’s comm shatters the moment. The old Master answers, and a grainy hologram of Adi Gallia materializes before them. Her expression is grim.

“We were too late,” she says without preamble. “Skywalker’s battalion is completely decimated. We managed to extract a few survivors, but nearly everyone is dead. Skywalker’s MIA.”

Obi-Wan’s blood runs cold. The air in the chamber seems to thin, the distant sound of running water fading into nothingness. His heart lurches violently against his ribs and, for a moment, he cannot move, cannot speak - only hear the hollow ringing in his ears.

Yoda’s face darkens. His claw tightens around his cane. “Thank you, Adi. Collect information, you must. Investigate the cause of the explosions. Too long, you must not linger! A new weapon, the Separatists have.”

“Understood.” Master Gallia nods. Her image flickers once, then vanishes.

Silence returns, thick and empty.

Then Yoda turns, and his sharp stare locks onto Obi-Wan. “Right, you were.”

The other man barely hears him over the deafening pounding of his own heartbeat.

“But time for panic, we do not have!” Yoda continues, tapping his cane against the stone floor, snapping Obi-Wan out of his spiralling thoughts. “Alive, Skywalker is?”

The Jedi Master closes his eyes for half a second, reaching - searching - there. Anakin’s presence, burning like a smothered ember beneath the heavy ash.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Our bond is intact.”

Yoda nods. “Then use it, you will.”

***

When Obi-Wan first reaches for Anakin through their bond, he is met with silence.

The link is there, pulsing faintly at the edge of his consciousness, but Anakin’s mind is a storm: chaotic, turbulent, unreadable. He presses forward, pouring his worry, his fear, his desperate prayer into the Force, willing it to guide him to the younger man. But his pleas go unanswered. The Force remains deaf, unmoving.

“The Force’s fault, it is not.”  Yoda tells him firmly. “Clarity, you need, to realise this potential. Easy, communicating across the galaxy, is not. Possible, it might not be.”

Everything in his heart recoils from the Grand Master’s dry, measured words, so devoid of the urgency burning in his chest. Anakin is out there, lost somewhere deep inside Separatist territory. Their bond might be the only way to find him in time, the only way to bring him home unharmed. Obi-Wan refuses to accept that it may not be enough.

Adi’s ship returns days after the ambush, bringing back what little remains of Anakin’s fleet: few survivors, and even fewer answers. The battle had been a massacre.

“They must have had help from someone Force-sensitive.” Master Gallia tells them, her voice heavy. “We discovered traces of kyber inside the explosives.”

Kyber?

Not a material of war. Not a weapon, nor a tool for destruction.

“It is unclear how it got there,” Adi continues. “Or for what purpose. But we cannot dismiss this as coincidence.”

The Council is silent. Unsettled. Kyber is not known for military use — there is no record of it ever being used this way.

“We will get to the bottom of this,” Master Gallia vows with steely resolve. “But until we understand what we are facing, I strongly advise postponing the offensive. We do not yet understand what new capabilities the Separatists have developed. The Resolute should not have fallen so easily.”

Obi-Wan’s hands clench into fists at his sides.

Back at his quarters, he tries again, reaching into the Force, willing for the bond to respond. His mind stretches, grasping for the light that connects him to Anakin, but something resists him. It is there, just beyond his reach. Close enough to sense but not to touch.

You cannot go all in and still hide parts of yourself from him, the Force whispers. You have to make a choice.

What choice? Obi-Wan scrambles.

What more can he possibly yield? He has already surrendered everything: pleading with Anakin for a life beyond the Order, offering unconditional support for his secret marriage, advocating for Clone rights together. Hadn’t he stood before the other man, stripped of all pretence, and laid his heart bare over their holo conversation?

How is it still not enough?

He shoves again, reaching and pulling, clawing at the bond between them, until his breath is gone, until the room spins and his body trembles from sheer exhaustion. The floor is hard beneath him, unyielding, but the Jedi Master barely feels it. He is empty - drained. There is nothing left: no strength, no resolve, no fight. He lies there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in a long, long time, he feels truly defeated. And in his moment of quiet ruin, Obi-Wan has no choice but to be honest with himself.

This has never been just about protecting his former Padawan. Not about the Republic, the war, or the Jedi duty either. There is nothing selfless or righteous in his struggle, nor any noble, ethical cause.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is in love.

Not in a gentle, distant way he had once convinced himself to be. Not in the way one might love a friend, a comrade, or a brother. No, this love is something else entirely. It is helpless, all-consuming, ravenous. It had dug its claws into Obi-Wan’s soul long before he even recognized it for what it was, long before he could stop it, and long before he ever had a chance of resisting it.

He did not even need Anakin to ask him to leave the Order. He did not hesitate, did not debate the moral consequences, did not weigh his duty against his heart. Him, a man who spent his whole life upholding the Code, looked Anakin Skywalker in the eyes and pleaded for them to leave.

Force help him - who is he kidding?

He told himself he accepted Anakin’s marriage, that he had made peace with it. That he found some noble, selfless understanding of what it meant to love without possession.

But the truth?

He is not at peace. He is not okay with it. Not even in the slightest.

Instead, he is fiercely, agonizingly jealous. Jealous of Padmé, of what she has, of what she’s been given without asking. Of the love the younger man has so freely offered to someone else while Obi-Wan has spent years pretending he did not want it.

Now he is hurting - selfish enough to wish, with every part of his fractured heart, that Anakin was his and only his. Obi-Wan wants him entirely, in ways he has no name for, and regardless of how hopeless it is. And though his love may never be returned, in this moment, Obi-Wan is done deceiving himself.

The world around him shifts.

The familiar walls of his quarters in the Jedi Temple dissolve, fading into nothingness. The air turns cold, sterile, tinged with the scent of damp metal and something faintly acrid. When his vision clears, he is elsewhere.

The space is dim, bathed in sickly artificial light that barely reaches the corners of the room. A prison cell. Anakin lies on a crude metal bench, motionless but breathing, his body curled slightly as though instinctively prepared for a fight.

He is alive. Unharmed. Relief crashes over Obi-Wan like a tidal wave. Before he even registers moving, he crosses the room in a single stride, falling to his knees - reaching out, desperate to confirm what his eyes already see.

As though sensing him, Anakin stirs. His eyes flutter open, hazy with confusion.

“Master? What are you…? Am I dreaming?”

Obi-Wan’s hands land on warm flesh. Real. This is real.

“It’s not a dream,” he exhales, voice trembling. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Anakin stiffens for only a fraction of a second before he melts into the embrace. His arms come up around Obi-Wan, clinging to him, and for just a heartbeat, he buries his face into the older man’s neck.

A deep, shuddering sigh escapes him. “Thank the Force.”

Obi-Wan’s grip tightens, unwilling to let go just yet. But time is precious, and as much as he wants to stay here wrapped up in Anakin, he has no idea how long this connection will last — how long before the Force tears them apart.

He pulls back slightly, eyes scanning Anakin’s face, searching for hidden injuries. His former padawan’s tunic is rumpled, face shadowed with exhaustion, but there are no visible wounds.

“Do you know where you are?”

The younger man shakes his head, frowning as he struggles to recall. “No. I was knocked out by the explosion, and when I woke up, I was already here.”

“I will get you out,” Obi-Wan promises. “Did they communicate with you?”

“They haven’t spoken to me much. Just brought some water.” Anakin’s brow furrows. “I don’t know if they realize exactly who I am, or if they’re waiting to negotiate a hostage exchange.” Then, his gaze sharpens as he studies Obi-Wan. “But how are you here?”

The older Jedi hesitates. The answer is one he barely understands himself.

“I… am not completely sure,” he admits, exhaling slowly. “But Master Yoda has been guiding me, teaching me to expand the use of our Force bond. Why were you shielding?”

“I wasn’t…” Anakin starts, defensive, then stops. “Oh. I … I think I might have been, unconsciously. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Obi-Wan stares at him, half disbelief, half exasperation. “I always worry about you. And it took me hours of meditation to get through to you like this.”

Anakin looks down. “I am sorry.”

“We have to find out where you are, dearheart.” Obi-Wan says as he reaches up, fingers brushing against his former padawan’s temple as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

Anakin’s eyes flicker with something unreadable before the calculating glint returns, sharp and knowing. “I think I know how to get their attention.” He smirks.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” the Jedi Master warns him.

Anakin tilts his head in mock innocence. “Would I ever?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan deadpans. “Repeatedly.”

The young Jedi laughs under his breath but doesn’t argue the point. “You’ll come back?”

Obi-Wan nods without hesitation. “I will try to reach you again in a few hours. Or —” he pauses, considering. “You could try to reach me.”

“How can I do that?” Anakin asks, intrigued.

Obi-Wan blushes. A flicker of warmth creeps up his neck, colouring his cheeks.

“What worked for me,” he says carefully, “was being completely honest with the Force about why I needed this to work.”

Anakin watches him, expectant, waiting for more. “You’re being vague.”

Fearing that withholding the truth, however shameful, might prevent Anakin from succeeding, Obi-Wan forces the words out. “Honest about my feelings for you.”

Sharp blue eyes lock onto his, searching for the truth beneath the words that weren’t spoken. “Feelings for me? Is this about our last conversation?”

Obi-Wan swallows hard, his control slipping like sand through his fingers.

It is and it isn’t, dear one.

But he does not say that. Instead, he forces himself to remain practical, his expression composed. At least, as composed as possible when standing in the middle of a Force-bonded vision inside a Separatist prison cell.

“This is hardly the place for such a discussion, dear one.” Obi-Wan says gently. “Let’s concentrate on getting you out of here first. Then, I swear, I will tell you anything you wish to know.”

As he feels the Force pulling him out of the vision, he does not add, even if your rejection ruins me. He knows that once Anakin Skywalker is free, once the war is over, he will look at Obi-Wan with all the certainty of a man who knows exactly what he wants. And it won’t be him.

***

“We have reports of significant Separatist activity gathering on Geonosis.” Master Depa Billaba informs the Council the next day. “Interspace transmission frequencies have spiked by nearly three hundred percent, which is far beyond standard fleet communication. Additionally, we are tracking a sharp increase in financial transactions between Hutt Space and Geonosis, with credits moving in staggering amounts.” Her fingers tighten slightly against the armrest of her chair. “All evidence suggests they may be preparing a new fleet.”

Master Windu leans forward slightly. “That’s secondary evidence at best,” he counters. “It could just as easily be a diversion - an attempt to pull our attention toward a planet too far from Coruscant to launch a successful offensive.”

Depa exhales, shaking her head. “That’s the thing,” she says, raising a hand in subtle disagreement. “Master Gallia’s intelligence suggests otherwise. Reports indicate that the Separatists’ space travel capabilities have been upgraded.” Her sharp gaze sweeps across the assembled Masters.  “And…” she adds with growing unease, “we still have no clear understanding of what they’re doing with kyber, or how they’re sourcing it. Given the unknowns, I believe it would be prudent to keep the battlefield as far away from the Core Worlds as possible. We cannot risk their advancements reaching Republic space before we understand their full capabilities.”

“I agree with Master Billaba,” Obi-Wan says, stroking his beard in thought. “We cannot afford to wait for them to come to us, we must strike first …”

Before he can finish the sentence, the world around him fractures.

The Council chambers dissolve into shifting shades of grey and the walls blur, the sound of a heated discussion fading into another Force vision. A disorienting pull tugs at his mind, and suddenly, he is elsewhere. It is a sensation Obi-Wan is slowly becoming accustomed to - existing in two places at once, his body still seated in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, but his consciousness suddenly pulled light-years away.

Over the past twenty-four hours, their ability to connect through the Force has sharpened to an almost instinctive level. Anakin, in particular, has shown a startling affinity for it. Obi-Wan suspects it has something to do with his impossibly high midi-chlorian count: his former padawan is able to not only reach his Master but to somehow pull the other man to him.

The vision sharpens, and Obi-Wan abruptly finds himself staring at a sight that makes his stomach drop. Anakin is strapped into an escape pod, hands moving rapidly over the control panel, about to eject into open space.

“What in Sith’s hell are you doing?!” Obi-Wan’s voice rings with alarm.

Anakin barely glances up, his mouth curling into a smug grin. “I’m escaping prison,” he announces proudly, as if he isn’t actively about to launch himself into a death sentence. “With extremely important intelligence, I might add. Listen, Master —”

“You are in Separatist space!” Obi-Wan interrupts, horrified. “Even if you somehow manage to eject safely, they will just shoot the capsule! You will never make it out alive. This is madness, Anakin!”

The young Jedi rolls his eyes, unfazed. “Relax. I’ve reprogrammed the capsule’s navigation to follow a completely randomized trajectory,” he explains, as if this is a perfectly reasonable course of action and not absolute lunacy. “They shouldn’t be able to track my movements long enough to get a clear shot. Plus, once I’m outside their shields, I can transmit the data to you. You won’t believe the insanity —”

“I eagerly believe your insanity!” Obi-Wan snaps. “Please, don’t do this, Anakin, there has to be a safer way.”

“There isn’t time,” the younger man insists, his expression sobering. “You need this data. If I get caught, fine - whatever. But you will have the intel. This will end the war. We will win.”

“Force give me strength,” Obi-Wan mutters under his breath.

He knows that there is no argument in existence that will make Anakin change his mind. Once the young Jedi is set on a course of action, especially one that involves reckless self-sacrifice, he will see it through, consequences be damned. Stubbornness has always been his padawan’s greatest flaw. Or his greatest weapon, depending on the situation.

In this case, Obi-Wan clearly sees that words will accomplish nothing. Luckily, he has spent years learning how to deal with Anakin’s particular brand of lunacy.

This better work, he prays silently to the Force, and, with one last exasperated sigh, Obi-Wan reaches out - not physically, but through their bond - and he pulls.

The air around them thickens, warping ripples across the fabric of reality. Time slows, then snaps. With a sudden, disorienting lurch, Obi-Wan is yanked violently back into his physical body. He lands with an undignified thud against the cold marble floor of the Jedi Council chambers, his arms full of one very real, very solid, very shocked Anakin Skywalker.

A stunned silence greets them.

Obi-Wan groans from beneath the tangled limbs. Anakin, sprawled awkwardly atop him, blinks dazedly at the row of Masters staring down at them in complete and utter disbelief.

Somewhere in the room, someone coughs.

“Unexpected, this is,” Yoda finally remarks, observing them thoughtfully. “Troublesome, but… intriguing.”

Obi-Wan exhales, quickly disentangling himself from Anakin as they scramble back onto their feet.

“At least Skywalker is alive.” Mace Windu notes dryly. “Care to explain yourselves?”

Before Obi-Wan can even attempt damage control, Anakin steps forward. “I’ll do you one better,” he announces, dusting off his tunic as though he didn’t just materialize out of thin air in the middle of a Council session. “Chancellor Palpatine is a Sith Lord.”

The Jedi Council erupts in a cacophony of sheer chaos.

***

Hours later, long after the Council has put discussions of Anakin’s stolen intelligence on hold, after Vokara Che has given them both a thorough examination in the Halls of Healing, after they have finally retreated to the quiet sanctuary of their quarters,

Obi-Wan snaps.

“How can you be so reckless?” His voice is sharp with frustration. “If you have no regard for your own life, do you not care for those who love you? Do you have any idea what your death would do to Padmé?”

Or to me? The words hang unsaid, trapped behind clenched teeth.

Anakin, who had been sipping from a cup of caf as though nothing had happened, slowly sets it down. His movements are deliberate, controlled, but the tension in his shoulders is unmistakable. He fixes Obi-Wan with a heavy stare.

“I think we need to talk,” he says, tone unreadable. “You promised to answer my questions.”

Obi-Wan looks away, gathering his courage. This is it. He knew this moment was coming and yet, he is still not ready to hear Anakin’s thoughts on the mess between them.

But a promise is a promise.

“What would you like to know?” he asks, forcing his voice to remain even.

“First of all,” Anakin begins, sounding agitated, “I want to know why you keep insisting that I’m married to Padmé.”

Obi-Wan blinks. That was not the first question he expected.  

“I found a ring in your desk drawer,” he admits, carefully watching Anakin’s reaction. “I was looking for a mission report when I came across it. Later, I saw the same ring on Senator Amidala’s hand.”

Anakin’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “You do realize that Tatooine doesn’t have any sort of marriage ring customs, don’t you? Why would I give anyone a ring?” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face before continuing. “Padmé asked me to install a listening device inside a ring her mother gave her when she became Queen of Naboo. She wanted a discreet way to record conversations in the Senate. That ring is a family heirloom, Master. That’s why she always wears it.”

Obi-Wan stares at him. That explanation… actually makes sense. Anakin’s face is open, honest. There is no deception in his eyes.

“So… your relationship with her…?” Obi-Wan asks warily.

Anakin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Is friendly, Obi-Wan! We had a fling, years ago, but that is long over. Force, she’s like a sister to me now. Did she not tell you that?”

“She did.”

Now that he thinks back on it, he recalls how firm Padmé had been in her denial of any romance. He had assumed it was a defence mechanism; one he had dismissed as mere deflection. Had she been telling the truth?

Anakin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Well, Master, for someone so clever, you can be really obstinate sometimes.” He steps closer, coming to stand beside Obi-Wan at the window. “Why were you so fixated on me and Padmé?”

Obi-Wan does not answer immediately. He is still trying to process the fact that, apparently, Anakin does not have a wife. Which means he was never planning to leave the Jedi Order after all. Which means he - Obi-Wan Kenobi - had humiliated himself over a false assumption.

“Master?” Anakin’s voice cuts through the stillness, quiet but insistent. The pause has stretched too long. “Please, tell me the truth.”

When Obi-Wan finally lifts his gaze, there is no escape left, no refuge in silence. Only quiet surrender. “I am sorry, Anakin. I suppose I was blinded by my own feelings.” He takes a slow breath. “I am in love with you.”

Anakin’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks utterly shattered - something inside him fracturing into a million pieces. He sways slightly, as if the room itself has tilted, shock rippling through the Force so strongly that Obi-Wan can feel it.

“What?”

Obi-Wan swallows. “My feelings are by no means your burden to carry,” he says too quickly, wanting to make that clear.  “My offer to leave the Order still stands, but if you wish to stay, then we will stay. Master Yoda’s order to sever our bond was rescinded, after all.”

Anakin blinks rapidly, as if trying to process too many things at once. Then, slowly, a smile breaks across his face – disbelieving and filled with something like wonder.

“A Dyad in the Force,” he murmurs, the awe in his voice unmistakable. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Obi-Wan watches him carefully, searching for shame, for regret - but there is none. Yet there is still the matter of their bond to discuss - the strength, the permanence of it.

He takes a measured breath. “It may not be possible to break such a connection. But if that is what you wish, then we will endeavour to find a way.”

Anakin recoils as if struck, eyes burning with something fierce. “I would never -” he looks offended by the suggestion. “I want the Dyad!”

Obi-Wan’s expression softens, though his voice remains careful. “Dear one,” he murmurs, a quiet plea wrapped in affection. “You do not have to agree to this bond for my sake. I am prepared to accept —”

“No.” Anakin cuts through his words, raw and urgent. “You had your big holospeech moment, now is my turn!” Then gently, almost reverently, he asks, “do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Obi-Wan gasps.

Anakin surges forward, relentless. “Do you, Obi-Wan? Truly?”

His face is a battlefield of emotions: hope, fear, devotion, agony - all at war, all breaking through at once. It’s as if he’s held these feelings in for so long that he’s forgotten they could ever be spoken aloud.

“You said I was your anchor in the Light,” he continues, “but how can that be when you’re made of the brightest, purest light in the galaxy? Each time I look at you, I am in agony. I am torn apart between the desperate desire to bask in your presence and the terror that I might stain you with my darkness.”

His breath shudders. He is unravelling, piece by piece.

“I want you.” Anakin says, with the finality of a vow. “Beyond reason, beyond measure - more than any person should ever be allowed to want anything. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” his voice drops, hoarse, near breaking, “and I thank the Force every damn day for binding us together. For making you mine - when I hardly deserve you.”

Anakin exhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with the force of his confession.

“But I will try. I will do my best, I swear it. I will be whatever you need. I will do whatever you ask, gladly and without hesitation.” He searches Obi-Wan’s face, pleading. “Because I know you. I know you would never hurt me. I trust you with my life, and with my soul. And I want you to trust me with yours.”

The young Knight takes another step forward. His breath is uneven, eyes burning with something wild and wretched.

“I want you to love me. So badly. Because having your love - it’s like breathing, like the sun rising. Like the most potent drug that somehow saves your life every single kriffing day.”

He takes Obi-Wan’s hands into his own.

“You say I could leave the Order, or I could stay. But don’t you see? I don’t care.” His voice trembles, but his conviction is unwavering. “But you care. And that is enough. You are enough. So, I will follow you. I must follow you. Because if there is anything – anything - I can do to bring you happiness, I will do it. Always.”

Obi-Wan kisses him.

Not because words fail him but because he needs to calm Anakin’s storm. The young man is unravelling before him, his love too fierce, too uncontained, and the Jedi Master can feel it spilling into the Force, crashing like waves against the shore. Obi-Wan must show him, with a gentle touch, that it is alright to feel this much. Love this much.

That he feels it, too, and that, of course, Obi-Wan adores him.

The kiss is chaste – barely a touch of his lips to Anakin’s – but it is enough to quiet the Force around them. Anakin exhales, the tension melting from his body as he surrenders into Obi-Wan’s arms. Then, slowly, reverently, he kisses back.

Their bond flares open, and Obi-Wan feels it - the light, vast and consuming, wrapping around him like the warmest embrace. He meets it without hesitation, pouring his own devotion into the connection, sending waves of affection, tenderness, and sheer adoration back to the other man.

When they finally break apart, Obi-Wan rests his forehead against Anakin’s.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Yes?” Anakin echoes, barely believing.

“Yes, I will spend the rest of my life with you. I cannot imagine any other way.” A smile tugs at Obi-Wan’s lips as he closes his eyes, pressing closer.

Anakin makes a sound - something between a laugh and a sob - as he nuzzles his cheek, pressing every inch of himself into Obi-Wan’s space. His joy flares in the Force, burning bright - a supernova of sheer, unrestrained happiness.

“I love you, too, dearheart.” Obi-Wan murmurs, just to see if it’s possible for Anakin to be any happier.

It is.

Anakin’s smile is brilliant, radiant, blinding. He surges forward, capturing Obi-Wan’s lips again.

This time, it’s fire.

Anakin kisses him like he has been waiting his whole life for this moment - like he has been holding back for years and can no longer bear the distance. His hands slide up Obi-Wan’s arms, curling around the nape of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Obi-Wan gasps softly against his lips, and that is all the encouragement Anakin needs. The kiss deepens, slow and searing, and then suddenly there is heat and devotion poured into every touch.

Obi-Wan sighs into kiss, his fingers finding their way to Anakin’s hair, threading through the soft curls. His padawan shudders, a quiet, desperate sound caught between them, and Obi-Wan swallows it with another kiss, memorizing the warmth, the way Anakin leans into his touch like he belongs there.

When they break apart, breathless and dazed, Anakin doesn’t let go. Obi-Wan smiles, brushing his thumb over the younger man’s cheek, his voice low and warm. “Still think you’re the lucky one?”

***

In the Room of a Thousand Fountains, two Jedi Masters shiver in discomfort, sensing intense agitation in the Force.

“I draw the line at holding a wedding ceremony in the sacred Halls of the Jedi Temple,” Mace Windu says, arms crossed.

“A wedding ceremony, they do not need.” Yoda counters, amusement flickering in his eyes. “A Force Dyad, they are. Recognized by two hundred and thirty-seven ancient legal codes across the galaxy. Our own Code, including.”

Mace pinches the bridge of his nose. “You mean to tell me that out of all the attachments the Jedi Order forbids, this one is technically legal?”

Yoda shrugs.

“Loopholes, there are.”

Chapter Text