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Anakin doesn’t remember deciding to walk back to his quarters. He had been standing on the Temple steps watching Ahsoka walk away (from you) and then he was moving through the enormous, cold stone halls (it’s your fault) and then he was standing in his living room. Then he was sitting on the floor next to the couch. He still holds her padawan chain in his left hand. At some point the sun had set, and now it is too dark for him to see the beads’ colors. His boots are still on. His arm port is aching from wearing his prosthetic for seventy-two hours straight. (Has it really only been three days?)
(He’ll be moved into a knight’s single quarters now that he no longer has a padawan. He’s never lived in a single suite before, having moved directly from his padawan room in Obi-Wan’s suite to his and Ahsoka’s after Christophsis. (Did she have time to pack all her things?))
He feels the occasional presence of another Jedi passing by in the hallway. There’s a stain near the bottom of the couch. It’s an old, lumpy thing, gifted from Obi-Wan, who inherited it from Qui-gon, a staple in his living space from the very first time he was brought to the Temple. (It was the most comfortable place to take a nap after classes. Ahsoka thought so too.) He thinks he might be hungry. That doesn’t really seem to matter, though. (Is Ahsoka hungry right now?) Distant lights flash through the window from the speeder lanes outside. (She’d only gotten her civilian license a few months ago.)
Time passes. Maybe he should turn the lights on. He doesn’t. (Is she cold?)
Padmé had asked him to check in with her once they got Ahsoka resettled, in the brief words they had had time for at the end of the trial, before they both had to return to their duties.(You don’t deserve her.) (Padmé loves Ahsoka, has considered her something between a sister and a daughter ever since Anakin had explained how Jedi lineages work. She was so excited to tell her about the marriage and now—) His comm is on the table. He should go call her; he usually feels better after talking to his wife. He doesn’t get up.
A familiar presence moves through the hallway, then, and stops near his door.
It’s Obi-Wan.
(He’s pretty sure Obi-Wan had been in another system that morning. When did he get here?) Anakin feels…something. Maybe. He should get up to see what he wants.
He doesn’t.
Time passes.
A sharp knock sounds at his door. He really should get up. It could be important. It would be rude to ignore it, and as much as their relationship is strained right now, he really doesn’t feel like getting into an argument over his lack of manners (you’ve always been a classless Rimworld-rat). Another knock.
He’s kept their Force-bond cinched tight ever since the funeral—since Hardeen, but even through his shields he can still tell when Obi-Wan is paying attention to the bond, if not any substantial feelings or communication. He senses that little poke now, just once, before it retreats. Another knock at the door.
(He’d thought about breaking their training bond a few times, over these last months. It certainly wouldn’t hurt his standing with the Council, not that he thought it was possible for them to disapprove of him more than they already did. But every time he turned the idea over in his head, of bringing it up with Obi-Wan, he’d decided against it. (He doesn’t know what he would do if Obi-Wan agreed to break it.))
(You’re pathetic. He’s made it clear you’re an obligation, yet you still cling to the illusion of his affection. He never wanted you in the first place—)
He wonders if Obi-Wan will go away if he doesn’t answer.
(He wonders if he wants him to.)
After a few more knocks, Anakin has managed to turn his head a little to look at the door and is working up the motivation to try standing when the door slides open and Obi-Wan steps into the suite. The older man calls out “Anakin?” at the same time he reaches up to flip on the lightswitch. The sudden flare makes him hiss in pain and shield his eyes with his arm. For the first time in several hours he feels something other than hazy numbness.
White-hot needles of irritation, stabbing low in his chest, coiled like kicked snakes about to strike.
Once his eyes adjust, he glares venomously at the man in his kitchen, teeth bared like an animal. (You’re lashing out because of your own childish emotions, unbecoming of a Jedi.) Obi-Wan looks back, surprised and a little sheepish. “I’m sorry—” Anakin can feel him cut off a habitual term of endearment. This makes him angrier (he doesn’t know why). The older man’s face is gentle, and sad, and the needles stab again and again.
“I…” Concern appears. “Anakin, why are you sitting in the dark?”
Anakin can’t take it so he looks back out at the window. (Look at you. Coward. Pathetic excuse of a Jedi.) He clamps his mouth shut, so he doesn’t start spitting insults, or crying.
After a long moment of silence, he hears Obi-Wan start walking closer. Without speaking, he sits himself down on the couch beside Anakin’s head, far enough not to touch accidentally.
“Anakin…” He is quiet and soft. “Can we talk?”
And Anakin…thinks about this. Can they talk? He’s not that much of an idiot, he knows they’ve not been able to really, properly communicate for a long time now. Are they capable of fixing this?
But instead of saying that, or literally anything else, he fails to keep a lid on his emotions (stupid) and says, voice gravelly and flat, “Did you vote to expel Ahsoka?”
“No!” And there is genuine fervor in his voice. “Of course not!” He’s almost desperate. “Anakin, you must know that I—I could never be capable of—of—”
Before he can stop himself (useless), he cuts in, “There’s a lot of things I wouldn’t have thought you capable of.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Obi-Wan actually, physically recoil from that. A part of him is vindictively satisfied from getting a reaction, knowing that he can make Obi-Wan feel something enough to show it. The other part of him feels even more guilty. (Why would you say that? See? All you do is hurt people, he doesn't deserve such a horrible padawan he’d be better off without you—)
Obi-Wan interrupts the spiraling of his thoughts, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and scrubbing a hand through his beard. “That…is actually what I wanted to talk about.”
He sighs, long and slow, and all of the sudden he looks so very worn down, tired and old beyond his years. There’s grey hair staining his temples, and Anakin realizes he can’t remember when that happened. “If you really want me to leave you alone, just tell me, and I will.”
In that moment, Anakin’s fear of showing weakness is exactly equal to his fear of someone else leaving him. (They’ll all leave you.)
“But I—I have some things to say, and I would appreciate it if you would at least hear me out.” Anakin doesn't know what to say. He doesn’t want Obi-Wan to leave, even though he’s still upset at him.
(If you were better he wouldn’t have had to hurt you, he doesn’t trust you because you don’t deserve his trust.)
After too much time passes without a response, he just… turns, a little. He’s still not looking at Obi-Wan, but his back is no longer facing the other man. In the corner of his eye, he sees the other take a deep breath and clasp his hands in his lap, folded neatly on his customary tan robes.
“Anakin, I must apologize for deceiving you during the mission at Naboo’s Festival of Light.” What? “While I thought it was the best choice at the time, after reflecting, I have come to the conclusion that my decision to go through with the plan caused needless suffering to you and Ahsoka both.”
…What?
Slowly, he turns his head to look at his Master, incredulous, almost dumbfounded. Obi-Wan apologizing for putting the mission first? When that was the exact reasoning he used to defend his actions at the time? Perfect Jedi Obi-Wan who never fails to put the Code before everything else?
The man doesn’t look away from his hands as he continues, “I made the wrong decision. There were other strategies we could have used to protect the Chancellor that would not have traumatized a teenage padawan—and yourself, as well. I should never have let the others pressure me into doing something that I—that I felt was against the will of the Force.”
He finally turns to meet Anakin's eyes, “I’m so sorry, Anakin. I hurt you. You didn’t deserve that.”
(Every word sings concordance in the Force: truth, truth, truth.)
Anakin has no idea what his face must look like as he gapes up at his Master. Discomfort creeps into Obi-Wan’s expression after a moment of silence, and he glances away again. “I understand that you’re angry with me. While you’ve always had difficulty with your temper, (oh, there it is, here we go—) you have shown remarkable self-restraint and dedication in preventing your emotions from interfering with our fieldwork. Simply feeling anger on its own does not make you bad. It makes me worry how that anger will hurt you, if it might control you.”
Anakin distantly wonders if this is what a short-circuiting droid feels like. Obi-Wan clears his throat, fidgeting, and Anakin would be amused at his discomfort with sincere emotion at any other time but— “I am not here to beg for immediate forgiveness. I only hope that eventually I can earn your trust back.” He stops here, seemingly finished and set to wait for Anakin’s response.
Several seconds of silence pass, and Obi-Wan’s fidgeting worsens as Anakin tries and fails to figure out the right thing to say. Finally he just asks, “Why?”
Obi-Wan blinks, and after a moment begins to speak very slowly, like his earlier speech was rehearsed and now he is working on the fly. “I want to help you. I know that…” he grimaces “That what’s happened to Ahsoka—” Anakin’s metal fist clenches, the overworked neural interface sending him a sensation of pins and needles at the pressure, “has been—difficult for you, probably more difficult than it’s been for me.”
Anakin wants to be angry at that, wants to rage and scream, how dare he think he knows anything about what Anakin’s going though, how dare he compare what he feels to Anakin’s pain—but he can’t. No. Even without the bond, sitting as close as they are, Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s terrible grief and crushing guilt leaking through his shields, pressing down on his presence like a physical weight.
(She was Anakin’s padawan, but she was Obi-Wan’s grandpadawan, and for all that they made it work, everyone involved knew that Anakin was far, far too young to be her Master. Obi-Wan was raising her just as much as Anakin was, and he doesn’t know what he would have done without his own Master to lean on for support.)
(He thinks about his own early padawanhood. Qui-gon, dead; Dooku, gone, a faceless rumor; Yoda, distant, the untouchable Grandmaster of the Order, more a living symbol than a being. It was just him and Obi-Wan, a lineage of two.)
Anakin startles, hard, when a hand lands on his shoulder. “Please let me help you, Anakin.” The man works his jaw for a moment, fighting for the words. “I love you,” (truth, truth, truth).
And Anakin—
—breaks.
His next breath comes out a tiny sob, and he doesn't know which of them is more surprised at it. Obi-Wan gets that look of faintly-controlled panic that he always has every time Anakin cries on him, and then Anakin can’t help but sob again and has to close his eyes, brings his hands up to his face. He curls forward in on himself, half-instinctively trying to hide, and he thinks stupid, weak, control yourself you waste of water—
And then there are arms around him that smell of sapir tea and GAR laundry soap and a little sweat. Obi-Wan slides down from the couch to sit beside him on the floor and pulls him more securely against his chest. Anakin’s head tips forward until his eyes are pressed against his Master’s shoulder and he shudders against him. Obi-Wan brings a hand up to tug through his hair and rests his chin against Anakin’s back.
(He’s craved touch his whole life, and it took Obi-Wan—more reserved by nature and upbringing both—quite awhile to become accustomed to giving him the physical affection he needs. Ironically, the war has actually helped this along, the easy affection between vod’e providing examples to follow and necessity of such close-quarters living pushing him out of his comfort zone.)
The young Knight cries hard for several minutes. He heaves with the force of it, breaths stuttered and gasping. He feels like he’s fallen apart, all his jagged pieces held together only by the arms around him. All he can think is he loves me, he loves me, he said it, it’s true, he loves me.
(He hadn’t ever really thought Obi-Wan didn’t care about him, but sometimes it’s just so hard to believe…)
Anakin is not yet calm, still shaking, his teary face buried in Obi-Wan’s robe, but he’s pulled himself together enough to speak and he blurts the first thing he thinks. “Do—do you m-mean it?”
“Mean what?” Obi-Wan has continued to pet his hair.
“That—that you love me.” The older Jedi goes still now, and Anakin almost flinches, almost panics, apologies crowding up his throat (such a fuck-up—), but Obi-Wan speaks first.
“I—Anakin, of course I love you. I—I practically raised you, how could you think otherwise.” And the older Jedi’s voice is tight with upset, hurt wafting off his presence.
Anakin feels so small and ashamed, meekly offering “You—you never said…”
He feels Obi-Wan begin to pull away from him (—he’s going to leave you like you deserve—) and Anakin, so afraid and lonely, scrambles desperately for a way to fix things—
He opens the bond.
—
Obi-Wan has always struggled to understand his padawan. As a boy, he’d come from such a different world than how Jedi younglings were raised, and as he grew he seemed to just feel things so much. He cares so very much, about everything. An abundance of compassion is of course a wonderful trait for a Jedi to have, but Anakin has never been able to temper it, to focus on acting where he could and letting go where he couldn’t. Every injustice he sees seems to eat at him, to where he feels such personal responsibility to fix everything, to save everyone.
Obi-Wan is so very proud, even as he fears how such empathy wears on the young Knight’s soul.
He had planned, after their blow up fight following his faked death and undercover mission as Rako Hardeen the bounty hunter, to give Anakin some space to cool off. That was the usual way he had handled their fights when the other was still his padawan; trying to confront the boy right away generally led to both of them losing their tempers, Anakin yelling with explosive anger and Obi-Wan turning cold and cutting. Instead, he’d believed it to be better to wait for the other to come to him when he was ready.
But this time, days had turned into weeks, and before he knew it a whole month had gone by with the two of them barely speaking beyond mission-critical communication. Obi-Wan had known that he had to do something, he just…hadn’t known what.
(It was Cody who had finally helped him formulate a plan. Loyal, ever-dependable Cody. Many times through the war Obi-Wan had often thought that he’d have no idea what he would ever do without Cody, a solid, sturdy presence, always nearby even those rare times he and Anakin were deployed separately.)
(He’s never felt more safe than when Cody was at his back, never felt more right in his own skin than when the two were together in the same room, whether strategizing, or discussing some topic that had caught one or the other’s interest, or even just working quietly beside each other.)
(After days of worried glances and mild comments, Cody had finally cornered Obi-Wan the other day and convinced him to explain. He’d ended up spilling everything, his worries over Anakin and Ahsoka both, his guilt at having broken their trust and then failing them, even his doubts that—well.
“I didn't see it before—or maybe I just simply didn’t want to see it,” he had said, pacing in frenzied thought. “I never thought that the Council would just...give up on a youngling without investigating.” (He shoved away the tiny voice that whispered in his head it wouldn’t be the first time.) “I should have tried harder to push for further debate, to change their minds…”
“Have you told General Skywalker this?” Cody cut in, watching him pensively.
“I’m sure he’s aware—”
“But have you told him? Has he heard it from you?” And all at once the realization had smacked Obi-Wan like a wet fish.)
Now, as Anakin’s end of the bond spills open for the first time in months, Obi-Wan is immediately overwhelmed by the sheer depth of feeling. The surface joy at hearing Obi-Wan’s direct words and a simultaneous longing for them to be true as he struggled to accept it. Beneath that, the empty despair and guilt at having failed Ahsoka, at not having been able to protect her, and the grief of her choosing to leave, even if he logically knows that she was not abandoning him specifically. And at the core, a crushing loneliness, and the choking fear that he will lose all the rest of his loved ones to this endless war and its crumbling Republic.
And Obi-Wan sighs, his heart squeezing at his former padawan’s turmoil. He gathers as much love and care and not-leaving-I-promise and sorrysorrysorry as he can muster and sends it careening outwards. Anakin shudders and grabs at the reassurances like a drowning man. His presence clings to Obi-Wan even tighter than his body, condensing ever closer to Obi-Wan’s signature in a way that would be suffocating were it anyone else besides radiant, heartfelt Anakin.
After a few more minutes, the younger Jedi is mostly calm again. Anakin lets him pull them apart this time. His hands rest on the other’s shoulders, and he looks up into Anakin’s splotchy, wet face. He remembers Cody’s advice. Communicate.
“Please, talk to me.”
Anakin takes one shaky breath, and then another, wipes his eyes on his sleeve and sniffs.
“I just… I know you care about me. Obviously. But it’s—sometimes it’s like— It’s just hard to believe it. Especially—especially since you don’t—don’t ever say it.”
And Obi-Wan’s heart aches.
He squeezes his shoulders. “Anakin, I’m so proud of you,” Anakin sobs once. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.” He says through their Force bond, the connection once more flourishing with the exchange of thought and emotion and life. ‘I love you so much, more than anything.’
“Careful, Master, that sounds like attachment.” The words are teasing, but his voice is weak and cracked.
Obi-Wan forces himself to say it, even as fear at the admittance makes his breath catch. “I—am attached to you.” And Anakin looks at him, utterly dumbfounded. He looks down at his clasped hands. “You’re…you are my brother, Anakin. If I were a little older, you—” He has to continue in their minds, ‘You could be like a son, to me.’
He hears the other’s breath hitch again, finds himself also close to tears. He gently takes his former padawan’s hands, face heating with long ingrained embarrassment (shame) at this confession.
“I—before. I’ve—I’ve tried to keep it in check, tried to deny it, for so long, but… I can’t keep—keep lying to myself. Even if it makes me a bad Jedi, I can’t stop being attached, and—and I don’t want to. Even if it’s wrong, and…”
It’s a great effort to drag the words out, but he has to. He needs to say this, to show his thoughts to Anakin. He can’t bring himself to look up from their hands.
“I have…been thinking. About the Council, and the Order as a whole.” He has to pause and swallow. He’s nearly shaking with nerves at this point. “I have begun to have…doubts. Not of the Force,” He throws this out in a rush. “Never the Force, but…of us. The Jedi. The Council. If—if the way we do things is truly the best way to help the galaxy, to prevent ourselves from Falling.”
(He thinks about Padawan Offee. A youngling, a healer, so disillusioned with their leaders she had turned her back on everything she had ever known and all the teachings she had been raised by. It was her desperation for peace, and a belief that the Jedi could never bring that peace, that had turned her to the Dark, led her to killing allies and framing her own childhood friend.
Pong Krell, a Master, who Fell to his hatred and disgust for the very soldiers he was responsible for, had forced brothers to kill each other for his own pleasure. Had the war twisted him so unrecognizably, or had he always held such arrogance and cruelty? How had he been granted his rank with such prejudice and Darkness in him?)
“I’ve come to believe that, simply by entering this war, all of us Jedi have failed to uphold our vows to the galaxy, at least in spirit.”
Anakin breaks in, “We didn’t exactly have a choice,” playing devil’s advocate moreso than truly arguing. “We’re the best ones to lead the clones, both in ensuring success and in reducing casualties.”
He nods at the valid point. “Even still, there had to have been some way to—to do better. Perhaps to have prevented open warfare in the first place.”
He fights to keep from grinding his teeth in thought. “Even in fighting this war, we—we have been making the wrong decisions. The…the Rako Hardeen mission.” Anakin sucks in a sharp breath, but does not interrupt. Obi-Wan is grateful. “I meant it when I said it was wrong.
“I agreed to do it because all of the other Councilors thought it was our best chance. I convinced myself that the ends would justify the means. I—I knew it would hurt you…and Ahsoka and others, as well, and I did it anyway.” He can’t fully shield the guilt and regret from slithering through his presence.
“It is our duty to protect the Republic, and the Chancellor, but there were so many other things we could have done. We might have sent a Shadow instead, someone that would not stir suspicion if they disappeared for a few weeks. Taking out or otherwise deterring the bounty hunters themselves would have unraveled the whole plot. We could simply have increased the security of the event.
“Instead we used you, created a situation to engender pain and used that pain to further our goals. It was unconscionable.” Obi-Wan takes a moment to recollect his thoughts and return to the broader topic.
“But, we—the Jedi—have been doing such unconscionable things for years, since the start of the war.” (Since the war started? What about Galidraan? The refusal to interfere with the Hutts? The Jedi were going to do nothing about Melida-Daan’s war, you had to leave to stop it—) “We’ve sent padawans, our own younglings, not just into harm's way but to be slaughtered!”
(He tries to force down memories of children bleeding out on pockmarked battlefields, of holding small hands as he feels a sick toddler’s lifeforce slowly dwindle to nothing, the stench of unwashed bodies and the damp, cold stone floor of a sewer and never-ending gnawing hunger and Cerasi’s surprised face when her own father turns his weapon on her—)
Anakin squeezes his hands, pulling him back to the present night in the Temple. “It was on the Senate’s orders.” His voice is quiet, a rote, unconvincing answer.
“We could have refused!” His voice cracks with his vehemence. “It would have been difficult, yes, but since when do Jedi refuse to do the right thing because it is difficult?”
He continues more quietly, “And then there are the clones.”
Anakin goes rigid.
(They both remember when he had first realized the exact circumstances of the clones in the GAR. Created to fight and die for a conflict they had no part in, prohibited from leaving, unpaid. Just before his Knighting, while he was still serving as a commander in the 212th, Obi-Wan had found Anakin one evening having a panic attack in the refresher in their shared quarters.
He had held the teenager while he shook and cried and vomited into the toilet for nearly half an hour. When he’d finally calmed enough to speak, he told Obi-Wan he’d overheard a natborn officer talking about the troopers like they were property, the clones in the room just ignoring it, refusing to react. And he had known. (By commanding these people, he was acting as a slavemaster, a depur. (He was disgusting, a betrayal of everything his mother ever taught him.)
Obi-Wan, who had been doing his best to compartmentalize everything about the situation, tried to comfort him with the knowledge that they were doing everything they could to treat the clones right and free them as soon as possible. If they refused to lead them, then the men would just be put under others who may be less competent or less caring.
Anakin had thrown up twice more that night before he finally passed out. He did not speak at all for another three days.
Time went on, and they generally did their best not to think about how they were leaders in a slave army. It was the only way to get through each day.
And this was before they knew about the decommissionings, the prejudice held by much of the galaxy. Are there any more horrors their men, some of their best friends are being subjected to without their knowledge?)
“After learning about Umbara…” He feels the flash of rage and sorrow from Anakin’s side of the bond. “I…worry that some of us might not be…fully committed to helping them. Just the fact that we didn’t fight harder for them from the very beginning…”
There’s a long moment of silence. Then, quietly, Anakin asks, “Why did you join the Council, then? If you were having these doubts?”
Obi-Wan sighs. “I had yet to realize much of this. And things had not yet gotten quite this bad. I thought I would be able to…to course-correct. With the new powers and freedoms I would be granted as a Councilmember, I thought perhaps I could push for some restructuring, prevent any other younglings from falling through the cracks in the system.” he chuckles a little mirthlessly. “Maybe even carve out a little autonomy from the Senate.
“I thought everything would be worth it to win the war.” The shame buzzes behind his eyes. “If we could just end the war, then we would have time to fix everything. We could give the vod’e the rights and lives they deserve, could put separations in place to protect us from being misused again by the Senate, but… it’s getting hard to believe things can be fixed, that there will be enough of us left to build something better.”
“I—” Anakin abruptly blurts out, “I’ve been—thinking about leaving. Leaving the Order.” He hurriedly continues before Obi-Wan can do more than blink at that. “I’m m— I’m married. To. Padmé. With Padmé. We’re—We got married and I. I know it’s against the rules but I won’t—I’m not sorry. We…she makes me so happy. I love her and I can’t apologize for that and know I’ll probably get kicked out after the war and even if I don’t I was thinking about leaving anyway at least after Ahsoka—”
He freezes here as the deep cutting pain of her absence floods him, but plows onward, “after she would have finished her training. But I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m sorry and I know I’m a failure, you deserve a better padawan but I can’t—”
He stops, running out of words and breathing hard. “I won’t give up Padmé.”
Obi-Wan…takes a long moment to compose his thoughts. He needs to make sure he does not react out of initial feelings of rejection or shock. Anakin fidgets, both physically and in the Force, and Obi-Wan sends him a gentle request for patience. He decides to tackle the easiest part first.
“Well.” Good, his voice is steady. “A marriage is certainly a surprise. I suppose I should say 'congratulations.'" Then Obi-Wan is almost knocked over by the gobsmacked confusion in the Force.
“You’re—not upset?”
“Anakin,” he chides, the lightheartedness coming easier. The fondness in his presence softens the blow. “I already knew there was something between you and the Senator.”
He yelps, “What?!”
Obi-Wan can’t forestall the sly amused smile. “Neither of you are as subtle as you seem to think.” Anakin’s face colors. “I didn’t want to take any scrap of comfort you could find during this war. I’m sure others have noticed something as well, but you’ve managed to keep it from the general public, so nobody has brought it up much.”
Anakin’s voice is small, “Oh.”
He nods. “And while I’m sure a number of the more…conservative Masters might simply swoon at the audacity,” The other snorts. “I cannot begrudge you what is, ultimately, a symbol of love when the other ways the war has forced us to break our vows are so much more damaging.
“Besides,” he drawls with wry sarcasm, “It’s not as if they can meaningfully punish you at this time. You’re too important to the war effort to be benched or expelled.” Anakin makes a face at the sentiment, uneasy ambivalence leaking through his presence.
(On the one hand, he is proud of his own skills and achievements. But on the other, he hates being reminded that he’s kept around largely for his usefulness, his ability to fight and kill and destroy things. How his superiors can condemn him for being too brash and violent in one breath and then use his violence to complete their goals in the next.)
Obi-Wan’s mouth pulls to a grimace, not wanting to speak the next part, but he’s decided that he isn’t going to hide things. “I…will admit that I am a little hurt that you didn’t trust me with the knowledge of your relationship. But,” he continues before Anakin can get defensive, “I do understand why you did not. I don’t hold it against you.”
Anakin nods after a moment, accepting that at face value. There’s a lull in the conversation then, both of them thinking on what they’ve heard..
Anakin chews on the inside of his cheek, mulling something over, and when he speaks it is…not what Obi-Wan expected. “I feel like…I know that attachments are said to lead to the Dark side because of—of potential loss,” he begins, halting and thoughtful.
Obi-Wan nods. He’d personally taught this to Anakin as his Master. “But…I’ve felt like—” The younger Jedi picks at the hems of his sleeves. “I think, when I’m so surrounded by Darkness, my…my attachments actually help me. Thinking about Ahsoka and Padmé and—you, and Rex and the other guys, it helps keep me—grounded, in the Light. To know what I’m fighting for when it feels like nothing will ever get better.”
Obi-Wan nods slowly, thinking about that. It…makes sense. He can remember a few times where the thought of others, both the troopers and civilians relying on him and his loved ones that would be lost to him forever, had helped him resist the temptation of the Dark.
The silence is easy and companionable as Obi-Wan mulls over what he’s learned. Anakin…might leave the Order. Might choose to leave. Up until a few hours ago, the thought of anyone willingly leaving the Order was ludicrous to him.
His whole life, he’s been haunted by the specter of expulsion. First, his trip to the AgriCorps assignment on Bandomeer, where he thought he would never again see any of his friends or the home he was raised in, which was traumatically intercepted by slavers. Then the…everything involving Melida-Daan.
The Council debate involving Ahsoka’s expulsion the other day, realizing that the other members weren’t listening, that they were going to side against his innocent grandpadawan (and they had known she was innocent, could feel the desperate truth through the Force as she pleaded with them), had been one of the worst moments of his adult life. He remembers so clearly what it felt like, being cast aside by the leaders you admired, having everything you thought you were meant for ripped away from you.
Knowing that he had failed to protect her from that same hurt had broken some final thing in him. He realized that this was not the Jedi Order he’d grown up believing in. Rather than engage with a difficult situation that could, potentially damage their public image, the Council had decided to cut their losses and discard a child (his child) like so much refuse.
(It was one thing when it was him, but how could they do that to Ahsoka, who was so talented and strong and bright? Whose optimism and goodness brought so much Light to everyone around her, Anakin and himself included.)
He has always known he was supposed to be a Jedi, because that was the best place for him to use his abilities to help people. But how could they be expected to help the galaxy if they would abandon younglings, turn their backs on their own for political expediency?
(It was after that meeting that Cody had found him in his quarters, too worried and upset to focus on his paperwork, and had more or less sat him down and made Obi-Wan tell him his problems, for all the Obi-Wan is his commending officer.)
Seeing Ahsoka choose to leave, while painful, left him not nearly as surprised as he would have been days previously. At some point, the larger Order had ceased to be a community that could rely fully on each other, had ceased to be a family. (Perhaps, some small bitter part of him thinks, they never had been, at least not in his lifetime, and he had simply been projecting his own desires onto the people around him.)
He would not give up his mandate to the wider galaxy, could never bring himself to sacrifice a planet of people to save a single one, no matter how dear to him. These ideals of selflessness and compassion were the core of him, and he would spend the rest of his life helping others as best he could. But if it was a choice between being a member in this Order, the one that would sacrifice its own members for scraps of reputation, and supporting his family and their wellbeing, there was no contest.
The only other thing to stay his hand would be the war. He has too much of a responsibility to the men under his command, not to mention the civilians they were charged to protect during this conflict, to simply leave. He’s certain that Anakin feels the same, that his sense of duty is the reason he has not yet resigned.
He begins slowly, “If…you were to leave the Order…I think, I would go with you.”
He somewhat expects Anakin to be happy at this decision, but, like always, Anakin lives to defy expectations.
His eyes grow wide and a horrible anxiety swirls into being in his presence. “What?” he gasps out.
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “I would go with you if you left the Jedi.” He suddenly shifts, a new worry sparking into being. “That is, if you would still want me—want me in your life…”
“Of course I—it’s just—” He struggles for words, though the bond pulses with exasperated yes-I-want-you and don’t-be-stupid alongside the shock and anxiety. “I-I don’t—I can’t be responsible for that, for you leaving.”
He blinks. “You wouldn’t be. I’ve just said I’ve been having my own doubts about the Order’s place and future. Your leaving would just be…a final tipping point.
“...Oh. Okay…” His voice is hesitant, but much of the preemptive panic and guilt has resolved. Obi-Wan reaches out to clap Anakin on the shoulder in reassurance, but then frowns when the younger man winces.
“What is it?”
“Ah, nothing,” He’s avoiding Obi-Wan’s eyes, and the older man presses suspiciousness down the bond. Anakin grimaces, “It’s just my prosthetic.”
“Your—Anakin!” He immediately reaches for the offending limb. “How long have you been wearing it?”
Anakin just winces, which is all the answer he needs, and he sets to undoing the straps of the other’s glove as he grumbles about irresponsible padwans not taking care of themselves. Anakin’s presence flairs with the sense of like-you’re-any-better and Obi-Wan ignores it with the poise of a seasoned Jedi Master.
“I can do it myself,” Anakin protests halfheartedly, but he doesn't even try to pull away from Obi-Wan’s hands tugging on his tunic. (He’s not fussing, no matter what certain presumptuous younglings might say.) He manages to disconnect the arm without issue, and sets it and the glove on the side table while Anakin rubs at the inflamed skin on his stump. Pleased gratitude thrums through the bond, like the purr of a loth-cat.
He pulls Anakin back into his arms with a sigh. “We’re going to be alright, dear one.” The promise is to himself just as much as it is to his former padawan.
—
It’s some time before the silence is broken again. Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s thoughts humming through the bond, engaged but not distressed. He himself is content to simply bask in the lack of heavy, stifling misery that had been creeping up on him for weeks, not thinking of anything at all.
Suddenly, with a little focused crease to his brow, Obi-Wan says, “When did you get that stain on my couch.”
He can’t help but snort. Trust Obi-Wan to fuss about a stain after pouring his heart out on Anakin’s floor. “I think you mean my couch. You must be going senile in your old age.”
Ignoring the other’s sputtering, Anakin grins and leans down and lightly bonks his forehead against his Master’s in a Mandalorian kov’nyn, a habit he’d picked up from his boys in the 501st. Obi-Wan always seemed to like the gesture.
‘Thanks, Master.’ he sends, willing Obi-Wan to understand just how much better he feels after this conversation.
Obi-Wan hums. ‘I’m glad it worked out so well.’ Anakin lets the man gather him into a hug again.
After a bit, Anakin reaches out again. ‘We have to be honest with each other from now on. No lies.’
Obi-Wan repeats, ‘No lies.’ His marriage was the last major thing he had been hiding. Despite his anxiety over the future, the honesty between them has him feeling lighter, revitalized.
(Anakin’s Master already knows his worst secret: his actions on Tatooine after his mother died, where he killed dozens of Tusken warriors.
He’d confessed in his hospital bed the day after the anchor implant surgery for his prosthetic. How he’d killed them even when he didn’t have to, could have escaped with non-lethal force, and how he’d wanted to kill the civilians too and had just barely stopped himself.
(Some part of him had thought ‘Avenge her. Kill them all, even the children. She would want you to kill them all,’ and he had snapped out of it. His Amu would never have wanted that. She herself had been the one to teach him the Law of the Desert. “This world is harsh, Ani. Sometimes you must kill, or be killed. But remember, life is precious in the sands. Take it only if you must.”)
Obi-Wan had hugged him and thanked him for telling the truth. He’d said he was disappointed, that he had believed Anakin to be better than that. (As much as that had cut Anakin to his core, it had felt different from all the other times he’s known Obi-Wan was disappointed in him. Better. Cleansing.) But, he still believes Anakin when he says he will be better, and he thinks the Council will also believe him. Anakin was terrified of telling the Council, but he did not argue. (That, too, was cleansing.)
Obi-Wan stood next to him as he confessed again in the intimidating Council Chambers. Ordinarily, such an incident—committed by a minor who had not been expelled for Falling—would have the Order and the local judiciary negotiating for a suitable punishment, usually some sort of community service. But considering Tatooine’s lack of legal institutions recognized by the Republic and the war Anakin is scheduled to be deployed into (as one of the most powerful Force-sensitives in recorded history) it was decided that he would be put on probation as a padawan, rather than immediately Knighted as had been planned. He would also be required to attend mandatory Mind Healer sessions for the foreseeable future.)
(This did not last long. Once it became clear just how vital his skills as a duelist would be with him as a General, he was within a few months granted the rank of Knight and given his own legion. His Mind Healer sessions similarly began to fall apart as he was granted less and less leave back on Coruscant and duties of Jedi Healers revolved more and more around simply treating as many war casualties as possible.)
(He hopes if they leave the Order, he can still pick back up his sessions with Dr. Ash’ko.)
“In that case,” Obi-Wan murmurs aloud, “there are a few stories that I think I should share from my own padawanhood.”
Happy at the promise, Anakin relaxes into the hug. They lean back against the couch, listening to the sound of traffic while contentment hums in their bond.
Eventually, Anakin’s stomach growls, prompting a snort from his Master. “Anakin,” the man says, amusement trickling over him.
“Obi-Wan,” he shoots back, a little embarrassed but definitely not going to show it.
“Anakin,” the other repeats. Definitely amusement.
Anakin sticks his tongue out petulantly. He wriggles out of the embrace, Obi-Wan spitting as he catches a mouthful of his hair. “Let me up, old man, I have to call my wife.”
He moves towards the kitchen, Obi-Wan’s chortling filling the too-empty space with warmth and light. Grabbing for his comm, he notices that the jar of pre-mixed tzai loose-leaf they keep on the counter is gone. In its place is a scrap of flimsi with a doodled smiley face, a pair of small pointed montrals on top and scribbled lekku dangling over the side. He smiles at it, small and sad and hopeful. Maybe they will be okay.