Chapter Text
The sun was dim on Coruscant. It had been years since he’d left Tatooine by now—a decade—and yet he still expected to see the familiar twin suns when he tilted his head up. Their scorching glares were still imprinted on his retinas.
He didn’t imagine they would ever leave.
A figure stilled in front of him. “Guard Eclipse.” The tall Jedi nodded, humanoid features regarding him mildly.
Anakin returned the gesture timidly, not used to being talked to during his shift. For Jedi Masters, Knights and Padawans alike, it was an ordinary sight to see a Temple Guard standing rigidly by the entrance. Whether this was at the Temple stairs, the creche, the halls of healing or the Archives—they were invisible. They were supposed to be.
“The Council requests your presence.”
Anakin swallowed, glad for the faceless mask covering his features. It had been over eight years since he’d last been called by the Council and that day had left nothing but pain.
The hood covering his head dipped down when he bowed to the Jedi in acknowledgement and the medallions on his belt clunked softly against each other as he made his way down the halls. He followed a route that had long slipped his mind, yet was still easy enough to remember. The Council Chambers were not at all hidden, instead sitting proudly behind large, double doors.
He hesitated just outside of them, his trained composure slipping for the briefest moment. He remembered walking out of these chambers all those years ago; the tears burning at his eyes, his trembling hands. The cold betrayal lodging underneath his ribs.
His Master, waiting for him in the hall. His arms reaching out to embrace Anakin, ever placid eyes looking down at him. But Anakin had pushed past him and ran.
He had never spoken to Obi-Wan again after that.
Anakin lifted his chin, blinking the blur in his vision away until the world was clear behind the slits of his mask. He raised his fist and knocked.
The circular room was as chilly and formal as he remembered it to be, as were the Council Members’ appraising looks. When he stood perfectly still in the centre, his hands clasped behind his back and his posture as straight as could be, Yoda tapped his cane to the ground.
Anakin had seen the green troll walk around before. The Grandmaster was one of the only Jedi to acknowledge the Guards’ existence.
“To take off your mask, I ask you, Temple Guard,” the Jedi said.
Anakin frowned, letting his eyes flutter around the room, but none of the other Masters looked surprised or affronted. It was unusual for Guards to remove their mask, to say the least. Yet even Mace Windu looked perfectly at ease.
Reaching his hands up slowly, Anakin pushed his hood back before unclasping the mask, which he clipped to his belt, next to the double-sided lightsaber that resided at his hip. He resisted the urge to run his hands through his curls, which were sure to look awfully chaotic after a whole day of being pressed down.
“Your name, please?” Plo Koon held a holopad in his hands.
Anakin felt slightly offended but kept his face carefully neutral. “Guard sign Eclipse. Given name Anakin Skywalker.”
“Skywalker?” Windu raised a sharp eyebrow.
“Yes, Master.” Anakin put all his effort into remaining polite. Of course Windu would be surprised that he had become a Temple Guard of all things—after all, they had removed him from his Padawanship because he was too volatile, and Guards were known for their composure.
“Well, that is quite the surprise,” Kit Fisto said, nodding thoughtfully. “A coincidence, it is too. Don’t know, we do, if it is a happy one or not,” Yoda added, his small finger tapping against the cane.
Anakin refrained from telling them to hurry up and tell him what he was doing here already.
“Would it not be wise to adjust the roster, Master Yoda?” Windu crossed his arms.
“Why? Fine, it will be. Good, even. Probably.”
Windu looked ready to argue, but Plo Koon interrupted, turning to Anakin. “Guard Skywalker. As you know, there is a war on its way. To supply the clone battalions with some much needed extra men, we have decided to assign Temple Guards to the Jedi Generals that are without adequate Padawans.”
“From your file, we decided you would be a good asset to the war efforts. You score high on the annual examinations. You’re a skilled fighter,” Fisto added.
“Thank you, Master,” Anakin said, feeling a little hollow.
“Appointed to the 212th battalion, you have been. The Commander to Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi, you will be.”
He wished the mask was still on his face, for he was sure every Jedi Master could see just how the blood drained from his face.
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
It had all happened so very long ago. He had long gotten rid of his resentment and anger, and yet… the disappointment, the hurt, had always stayed with him. It followed him like a shadow. It was painted on his cheeks when he stood guard at a Knighting, it thrummed under his skin when he stared at the braid on his bedside table.
He did not feel betrayal when he gazed into Yoda’s wrinkled eyes, nor when he met Windu’s calculated gaze, but could the same be said when he looked at his former Master? The man who had been supposed to be his teacher, who Anakin had thought believed in him?
Obi-Wan had discarded him after a mere year. This was personal. This was direct and striking whereas the Council’s disapproval had been something distant. Inevitable.
“Report to his battalion next week, you will. Sent to your datapad, details and necessary forms will be,” Yoda continued when Anakin offered no response.
And then he was dismissed.
Like what had happened years ago didn’t matter. Like the Council hadn’t forcefully ripped him away from his chances of becoming a Jedi Knight, only to assign him to the battlefield of their war now.
It all didn’t feel real until he left his post three hours later and met Pelya in the communal quarters.
“Hey, Killer,” she greeted, leaning over the edge of the couch in order to face him. “You get called to the Council, too?”
Anakin walked past her and poured himself a cup of caf. He had taken off his mask upon entering the Guards’ quarters and used the freedom to shoot the Twi’lek a tired look.
“‘Course you were. We don’t call you Killer for nothing, do we?” She smiled with her usual brightness. It was childlike—she was still a child at sixteen years old. Anakin was dismayed but not surprised to discover the Council would assign her to the war.
“I’m surprised they even remembered we exist,” he said, taking a long sip from his beverage. He took a seat next to her on the patchy couch. The stiff plates of armor on his uniform shifted and creaked.
“What Jedi General did you get, then?” he asked, not very enthusiastically. He had hoped to avoid the conversation, but knew there was little to be done when Pelya was excited about something.
And she was excited, alright. Like him, she hadn’t originally wanted to become a Guard. This was her chance to be something more.
“Plo Koon! He has a Padawan, but she’s too young to go along on all missions. I think her name’s Ahsoka? Anyway, well, the Order has Guards to spare, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does,” Anakin said, deadpan. She thumped her fist against his shoulder, causing him to glare when his caf nearly spilled. “Don’t be like that. Aren’t you glad to finally be rid of the same rotation of shifts every week?”
He gave a noncommittal hum.
She shifted on the couch, sitting sideways to face him again. “What battalion did you get, anyway?”
He sighed, running his fingers over the smooth porcelain mug slowly, absorbing the heat. He thought of Tatooine.
“The 212th. Kenobi.”
“Ah.” Pelya grimaced. She was one of the only ones in their division who knew of his actual name and story.
When he had arrived at the Temple Guard Corps at the ripe age of thirteen, he had not spoken to anyone. Being the youngest and the most inexperienced, he had been an outsider to the weary Guards.
He’d been given the call sign Eclipse by one of the Corps Masters, and had never used anything other than that again for years. Whenever someone had asked for his name, he’d spat in their face—terrified that they’d recognize it from the rumor mill.
Anakin Skywalker, the little failure of a Padawan? That kid the Order didn’t know what to do with?
His reputation within the divisions had steadily grown with the years, due to his strong Force presence and skillful fighting. Eventually, the nickname Killer had stuck after the older Guards had watched him take down a group of terrorists attempting to attack the Temple. Of course, this name was only known to the Jedi within the Temple Guard Corps—no Jedi or civilian from outside could know whose faces resided behind the nameless masks, which is why they went by their call signs while on duty.
To Pelya, he had eventually revealed his true name.
She understood the bitterness on his tongue when he spoke the name Kenobi.
As did she understand the pain that accompanied it.
“Maybe it’s fate,” she tried to soothe. Anakin granted her a saw-edged look over the rim of the mug.
“Or maybe it’s the Council playing a cruel trick on me,” he muttered, chagrined. She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. They probably didn’t even match the Guards to the battalions themselves.”
He inclined his head. “Probably not,” he agreed.
A few older Guards walked past, nodding at them shortly. Anakin wasn’t sure how many of them were being reassigned to a Jedi General, but he imagined the news had spread fast either way. It was sure to cause some feelings of grievance and discontent, but those emotions were voiceless in the Guard Corps.
As Guards, they were expected to be silent; figures of power and safety rather than voices. Seen, not heard.
Their disagreement was as invisible as their faces were.
It was not that they were less than—not officially, at least—more so they were trained to be coolheaded. Unmoved, collected. They were made to be composed; as some composed a speech, they spent their days composing themselves.
Anakin still didn’t quite understand why the Jedi Evaluators had sent him to the Guard Corps. After countless failed postings, one outburst after the other, why assign him to be a Guard?
And yet here he still was. Somehow he was actually good at this task. He wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse yet.
“Will you be careful?” Pelya asked. Her eyes were wide when she looked at him, a deep purple glimmering around her pupils, contrasting against the green hue of her skin.
“Only if you will,” he replied. A forlorn warmth unfurled in his chest, as it seemed to do whenever Pelya looked at him like this. She was just as lost as he had been. Only sixteen years old and being sent to her first battlefield.
And still she smiled. “Aw, you do care!” She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Any other day, he might have denied it and shoved her back. But he could clearly feel her form trembling. Whether with fear for her own life or for his, he didn’t know.
“Maybe,” he hummed.
He pulled her closer, resting a steady hand to the back of her lekku. She was the closest thing to family he had and he already dreaded staring at his comm after every mission, awaiting her reply. The fear that would trickle in with every passing minute, his imagination going wild with every possible way she could have died. Systems away from him and with only strangers to comfort her.
He didn’t want to let her go.
Nevertheless, his arms fell away and she stood, smiling meekly. “See you tomorrow, Ani?”
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed, nodding.
-
But tomorrow never came.
He woke up to a soldier at the door of his sleeping quarters. His bucket helmet vaguely resembled that of a Mandalorian. Orange markings decorated the shoulderpieces of his armor.
Anakin, not yet dressed in his battle attire—it was the middle of the night, after all—was told to get changed immediately. The 212th had been called to an emergency mission to Onderon. Their brigade would be set into action prematurely.
He did not have time to wake Pelya, nor to write her a message. When he emerged dressed in his white, golden-edged uniform, the clone soldier urged him to follow. They made their way further into the Temple.
“CT-7567, Sir,” the trooper finally introduced himself when they walked down the empty, dark halls. Anakin clicked his mask on and shoved the hood onto his head. “Temple Guard Eclipse,” he replied, trying to swallow down his disgust at the number in place of a name.
“Good to meet you, Commander.”
Of course. He was a Commander now. How awfully high of a title. Well, kriff it, he’d be using it to his advantage if need be.
“You got a name?” he inquired as they neared the hangar bay. He refused to be fighting alongside these soldiers and knowing only their serial numbers.
The clone’s helmet turned toward him, tilting slightly. Anakin felt his surprise in the Force. It was nearly foreign to feel someone’s emotions so well—he spent his days around well-shielded Jedi.
“Sir?” The trooper hesitated.
“Your name?”
A brief pause.
“Rex. Captain Rex.”
Anakin smiled, the expression hidden by his mask but still clear through his following words. “Good to meet you, Captain Rex.”
-
The dread that came with the thought of reuniting with his former Master had little time to resurface.
He and Rex traveled the short distance to Onderon together with only two other clones, Boil and Waxer. The flagship, the Negotiator, had left as soon as possible with Obi-Wan and most of the 212th.
Once on Onderon, there was no time for any thoughts beside survival at all. Anakin brandished his double-sides blade with no hesitation when he stepped onto the crumbling earth. The scent of copper and ash hung in the air.
The world around him shone a brilliant yellow from his lightsabers as he took down droid after droid. Their roger roger’s died with a hiss of his blades, clunky heads falling to the ground soon after. The droids could aim well enough, but had little to no aptitude for strategic thinking. They were no match for him.
The fight brought back a side of him he had long pushed away underneath the heavy mask of his uniform. Although he was still wearing said mask, he felt more free than he had in years; the quiet obedience he had practiced everywhere but with Pelya fell away on the smoky battlefield.
He made his way to the city gates, Rex, Boil and Waxer at his six. Their fighting styles varied, to Anakin’s surprise. Whereas Rex was coolheaded and calculated, Waxer was more brutish, preferring close-range combat. Boil was clearly partial to using his blasters rather than his fists.
They were all skilled. Anakin felt no need to worry about them, and thus he focussed solely on his own opponents. Slicing down droid after droid and pushing them back with the Force, they were soon able to reach the city.
Rex, Waxer and Boil soon joined their fellow soldiers, who were fighting to clear the city of droids all the while keeping new ones from streaming in, too.
“Rex!” One clone called out from the front. Rex ran to meet him in a fleeting hug. “Cody.” he laughed.
Anakin could not see another lightsaber in the chaos, yet. Assuming Cody was Rex’s co-captain, he joined the two and spun his lightsabers to shield them from incoming shots. “Guard Eclipse, good to meet you,” he greeted. Cody saluted, which he swiftly waved away.
“CT-2224, at your service, Sir.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered. “It’s Captain Cody, right? Okay, look, where’s General Kenobi? We can work together to push the incoming droids away from the gates and close them. I can’t be sure I’ll succeed on my own.” He chose to prioritize the mission over his own feelings, for the moment. How very mature of him, Master Windu would be proud.
Cody shot at some droids behind them. Then, he pointed to a cluster of houses down the street. “Over there, Commander. He said something about the Force.”
“Jedi, am I right?”
Is what he wanted to say.
“Right.” He nodded, then shot Cody an appreciative look. As far as that was possible with his mask, at least. “Good luck.”
He found Obi-Wan moving three large containers with the Force. Four clones tailed him to ensure he wouldn’t be shot in the back. Anakin could imagine what he’d been planning—use the containers to push all the droids back and then close the gates—but that was quite arduous. And Anakin hated arduous tasks.
“Hey, General Kenobi!” he called. A bitter taste was left in his mouth after the act.
He pushed the realization of just who he was speaking to away for the moment.
Turning his head, Obi-Wan finally saw him. The man’s hair had grown long, his beard full. His eyes were still the same shade of blue-grey. “Well, better late than never, Guard,” he remarked drily.
Anakin chose to ignore this. “Drop the containers. We’ll push the droids back together until we get enough space to close the gates. Come on!”
The Jedi Knight didn’t drop the containers. “And how do you propose we do that?” He quirked a brow. “There are hundreds of droids—”
Anakin lifted his hand, grabbing a hold of the containers through the Force and pulling until they slammed down to the ground. “Like that. Now come.” He turned and ran back to the gates, leaving a stunned Obi-Wan to follow after him.
Thankfully, the man did, and soon they were pushing against the crowd of metal scrap together. The clones covered their backs dutifully as Anakin and Obi-Wan stood side by side, straining with effort. The droids pushed back, attempting to shoot, but it was fruitless. Inch by inch, their metallic feet left marks in the dirt as they were shoved back.
And Anakin couldn’t help but wonder, glancing at Obi-Wan standing next to him, what his life could have been like if the man had kept him as his Padawan.
The anger that bubbled up at this was enough to push the last row of droids back far enough. The clones rushed to pull the gates inwards, locking the clankers outside.
Obi-Wan doubled over.
Panting, Anakin turned away from him and made his way back to the battle inside the city gates before Obi-Wan would attempt to strike up a conversation.
He would rather avoid that for as long as possible.
-
Once the battle was over, both the city and its surroundings clear of Separatist droids, Anakin’s previously white armor had turned a dusty brown. The layers of his robes had torn at the edges, the plates of armor scuffed.
He found himself unsure of what to do, now. Did he help the clones salvage the damage, did he assist the medics?
But before he had to figure it out, he spotted a familiar set of brown robes coming his way. Obi-Wan seemed pleased with the outcome of the battle; there was a loose smile on his face and the space between his eyebrows remained unfurrowed.
“Guard Eclipse, is it?” He came to stand by Anakin.
The adrenaline had briskly left his body after the fight, along with the sense of freedom he had experienced on the battlefield. His shoulders straightened now, muscles coiling tight. It felt so natural to fall back into that obedient, neutral stance. Anakin wondered what had happened to the rebel he'd used to be.
To show this cooperation to Obi-Wan, of all people.
He still felt abandoned by Obi-Wan, there was no doubt about it, but it seemed he also ached to prove himself, somehow.
He had become a good Guard even without Obi-Wan. He had found his place in the order despite being rejected.
“Yes, General.”
“I’m sorry to say I haven’t been able to find the time to look over your file. This mission came at a rather surprising time. I assume you are allowed to share your true name with me and the troops?” It was a question with more meaning to it than Obi-Wan perhaps realized.
Anakin had not told anyone his name in years, save for the Council Members the previous day. He was Killer to his peers, Eclipse to outsiders.
Anakin Skywalker was, in some ways, still left standing in the Council Chambers at ten years old. Anakin Skywalker was the Padawan with a braid to prove it, not the nineteen year old Guard left with that severed braid as a mere reminder of what could have been.
If only he had listened more, done better in his classes. Maybe Obi-Wan would have never taken his Padawanship from him.
He hesitated. Was he prepared to grant his former Master the truth? Obi-Wan seemed to have truly no idea of who his new Commander was—what if Anakin simply did not tell him?
That would be too good to be true. The man would see his file, would hear the Council say his name; better to get it over with now.
He refused to let his hands tremble when he removed his mask. The world shone brighter without it, and he blinked down at the ground.
“Skywalker,” he said, slowly meeting Obi-Wan's gaze. “Anakin Skywalker.”
Obi-Wan looked as if he'd seen a ghost. His complexion whitened, eyes blinking owlishly a few times. “Anakin?” he asked, as if he couldn’t believe it was him.
His name, spoken in his former Master's sharp accent, sounded like a symphony.
“You became a Guard? But—”
“Yes,” Anakin interrupted. He did not want to hear Obi-Wan dredge up all the bad qualities that had made him unsuited for Padawanship.
He shifted on his feet, uneasy under the Knight's continuous stare. “And you a General. Congratulations,” he said, for a lack of anything better to say.
Looking taken aback, Obi-Wan nodded, the movement slow. “Thank you,” he replied, but it sounded more like a question. “Anakin, I… I never—”
“Sirs!” A clone with a blonde buzzcut approached them. The markings on his armor told Anakin that it was Rex, whom he had not seen without a helmet on before.
“The Jedi Council is requesting a debrief. They are on holocall for you on the ship.”
Ah, right. A debrief.
“Thank you, Rex. We're coming in now.” He was grateful for the interruption, but kept his face carefully neutral when he turned back to Obi-Wan. “Or did you need me for anything else, General Kenobi?”
“Well…” Obi-Wan looked lost for a moment. Anakin had never noticed the humanity in the man's behavior as a child—the fleeting moments where that blank canvas colored bright with emotion—but it was clear to him now.
But then the slate turned colorless again. “No, not at this moment.” Obi-Wan smiled. It was careful, as though he'd practiced it for hours. “However, I would like to speak with you later.”
“Of course.” Anakin didn't smile back, not used to having to use his face for communication.
He missed the privacy the nameless mask had offered him already.
-