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When the door to Anakin’s room in the Hall’s of Healing slides open, he expects Vokara Che to walk through it. He wants Vokara Che to walk through it, to give him the all-clear, the green light, the ticked box that says after six weeks, they’re sure his heart isn’t going to give out on him. All that Sith lightning from Palpatine’s—no, Sidious’—fingers had really done a number on him before Master Windu lobbed the Sith Lord’s head off. The memory still stings, even though it shouldn’t. As much as Anakin is looking forward to being told he’s medically cleared, he’s not looking forward to the uphill battle that’ll be righting his mind, his heart, even his soul; all things Sidious has touched and tainted with such subtle precision for so, so long.
The thought fills him with dread and uncertainty, so he does his best to push it away. Propped up, half laying on the medical bed, Anakin keeps his head turned toward the window, watching all the speeders and waiting for Vokara Che to tell him he’s free to go.
Not just free to go from the Hall’s of Healing—free from the Jedi Order. Anakin’s health is the one loose end left to tie up before he surrenders his lightsaber and knighthood in exchange for his wife.
This thought fills him with too many things to name. He knows happiness is in there, though, so the rest doesn’t matter.
Eyes still watching the speeders, Anakin realizes mundanely that it’s not Vokara Che crossing the room, coming nearer. He can tell by the footsteps. Not because he’s so attuned to what the Master Healer sounds like as she walks, but because the sound of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s boots hitting the floor is as recognizable as his former Master’s Coruscanti accent. Closing his eyes, Anakin sucks in a deep breath, another wave of too many emotions sweeping over him. Somewhere inside of him is reflexive, long-worn comfort. Even though he expects to be released from the Hall’s with a clean bill of health, his nerves still seem to stand on end all the time, and Obi-Wan’s mere presence, whether Anakin invites it or not, lulls every one into a semblance of contentment.
Once, he had watched his Master approach a stray, feral dog on a mission. Somehow, the animal that had just been snarling and snapping at Anakin allowed Obi-Wan’s hand close enough to smooth over its matted fur, and soon it was pliant, accepting full body caresses, belly up and all. His Master just had a way with things like that—still does.
“Don’t tell me she sent you in here to give me bad news,” Anakin says. He still doesn’t bother to turn his head, instead waiting for Obi-Wan to enter his field of vision. The older man comes to stand right in front of the large window, the speeders diving into one side of his robes and out the other. He leans back against the frame and crosses his arms.
“I hardly think Vokara Che would pass up the opportunity to do that herself after the grief you’ve put her through all these years.”
Anakin huffs a laugh, then falls silent. Not knowing exactly what to say to his Master isn’t a new feeling, but for over a decade, Anakin has been saying things anyway. Quite often, it’s the wrong thing, but he’s always had the ability to get the words out. Now, he can’t bring himself to speak.
They’d fought, very briefly, in the Chancellor’s office. Obi-Wan had nearly skidded into the room, ignoring Windu and Sidious, only focusing on Anakin with nothing but worry in his eyes. And Anakin, in his delusion and fury and rottenness, had ignited his lightsaber. With no other choice, Obi-Wan had done the same, and they had fought—really fought. So different from the thousands of hours of sparring they’d engaged in together. Anakin remembers, very vividly, how awful it had felt. He also remembers the way his stomach nearly emptied itself when he realized he was losing. Soon after, though, Sidious had realized this too, and struck out with both hands, lightning bolting out of his fingertips. Obi-Wan had parried it, of course he had. Anakin had not. Perhaps he would have died, if Windu hadn’t taken that opportunity to take his lightsaber to the Sith Lord’s throat.
Anakin is grateful that the Jedi Council have chosen to look upon him with pity, rather than weariness after that day; that they see him as a victim, rather than an accomplice. He knows Obi-Wan championed him in the seemingly several days long meeting the Council held after the Chancellor’s death, and he’s most grateful of all for that. With Sidious no longer in his ear, he’s starting to realize just how ungrateful he’s been for a very long time. It burns.
And despite him knowing his Master holds no ill will toward him, that the affection between them has not shrunk or even changed, really, Anakin feels as if the distance between them is greater than it ever was. On that first day when he’d woke up in the Hall’s of Healing, still smelling charred, it had felt smaller than ever; so insignificant he could have cried. The way Obi-Wan had looked at him then would forever be etched into his memory.
His Master is kind, maybe the kindest man Anakin knows—but tender, he is not. At least, not until that day. At a very low point, before he was told Padmé was waiting to come in and see him, he wished that he’d never recover, if Obi-Wan would just keep looking at him like that.
Thank the Force he had etched it into his memory while he could, because since that day, Obi-Wan has drifted. Not far, not in actuality, but Anakin is too sensitive to ignore it. After hearing of his choice to leave the Order, which his Master did not seem very surprised about at all, Obi-Wan has been supportive but elusive; caring but aloof. Working up the nerve to tell Obi-Wan he planned to leave had actually made Anakin empty his stomach into the ‘fresher bowl, but after he had told him, he felt very silly. Obi-Wan had taken it so well.
Still, something gnawed at Anakin, and continues to gnaw. If he thought Obi-Wan was hard to read before, it is now as if Anakin is completely illiterate. His Master’s openness—that for so long, seemed like the very opposite—is another thing Anakin now gets to add to the list of things he’s been ungrateful for. Now, he’s coming to know the true meaning of distance, even if Obi-Wan won’t call it that, even if he’s unaware that he’s creating it. And Anakin deserves it, he knows he does. For as happy as he is to finally be in reach of the life with his angel he’s yearned after for so, very long, he knows one of the other emotions swirling inside of him—and feeling more like a gouge—is guilt. Guilt about leaving.
It reverberates now, as he sits, unable to form words. Obi-Wan, of course, suffers no such affliction.
“I wanted to see you before you left.”
Anakin looked away from him, then back. “I’m not gone yet. They’ve still got to let me out of here, and then I have to go back to my rooms and do a final sweep.”
There’s nothing left in his rooms, he knows this. Nothing of his left in Obi-Wan’s rooms, either. He’d messaged his Master weeks ago asking if he minded gathering any of his things he’d left there, and the next day when he’d awoken, there was a box on the empty bed next to him, with Anakin written on the side in Obi-Wan’s impeccable flimsi-script. When Obi-Wan had stopped by later that night to check on him and his precarious heart, he was farther away than ever, and he must have had a long, hellish day of Council meetings, because his whole being seemed heavy; the bags under his eyes puffy and dark.
“I could just message you when I’m heading for the landing platform and you can meet me there,” Anakin offers. He says it out of genuine consideration for Obi-Wan’s time, then internally cringes, hoping it did not come off like he simply wanted the older man to go away.
Obi-Wan gestures with his hand, like he’s brushing the idea aside. “No, no,” he says dismissively, “I don’t need to see you off with a waving handkerchief, Anakin. Really, I sought you out here because I thought this would go better with you sedate.”
Anakin’s face pinches slightly, and he feels his nerves beginning to stir from the slumber Obi-Wan’s presence has lulled them into.
“So you are here to give me bad news, then.”
The smile that briefly flashes across Obi-Wan’s face is a rueful one, and he briefly looks to the ceiling like Anakin has said something amusing.
“No, I honestly am not. I only hope that you will listen to everything I have to say, and ask that you don’t interrupt me. Though, I understand the latter may be asking too much.”
This doesn’t do much to quell Anakin’s rising unease. “I can try, but no promises. What is it?”
Obi-Wan’s gaze grows very serious, but not stern. Somehow, he is still comforting around the edges, if only in his expression. “I need to tell you something, Anakin. Normally, I would keep these kind of thoughts to myself, but…”
And then, Obi-Wan is the one at a loss for words, and it is so foreign that Anakin briefly wonders if this is a dream.
After a moments contemplation, Obi-Wan composes himself and abandons the introduction. A deep sigh, and then he looks at Anakin with a look that’s near blank, but there’s a hint of resignation in there, too.
“More than I have ever wanted you to be a Jedi, I have wanted you to be happy.”
Immediately, Anakin’s heart clenches, and he thanks the Force Vokara Che disconnected him from all the monitors that would be sounding off otherwise. Honoring Obi-Wan’s request of not interrupting isn’t hard; Anakin has been stunned to silence. He’s not sure what he expected, but certainly not this.
Obi-Wan continues. “And I have known for quite some time that your happiness may not lie within the Jedi Order, Anakin. Since the beginning of the war, I’ve been making my peace with the fact that you very likely would leave when it ended. I can bear it because I know it’s what you truly want; that it will bring you the peace and joy that you have always struggled to find in the Temple.”
Anakin feels very naked. Exposed. Though he always had an inkling Obi-Wan knew of him and Padmé, of his dissatisfaction within the Jedi Order, being told just how obvious it was—so obvious that Obi-Wan has been quietly preparing himself for the day he would abandon the Order entirely—embarrasses him. But even more so, it plunges the dagger of guilt deeper into Anakin’s gut. His steadfast, loyal, gracious Master. Part of Anakin wants to tell him that it wasn’t all that bad, that peace and joy could be found in the Temple, and that Anakin himself was the problem because he could just almost never seem to find it. But it’s easier to pretend he’s being obedient and not say anything than it would be to actually bring himself to be so honest, so humiliatingly open.
“I have spent what must be hours at this point pondering over whether to say this to you, because the last thing in this galaxy I want you to feel is guilt.” Obi-Wan narrows his gaze and fixes Anakin with an imploring look so severe it’s almost aggressive. “You have nothing to feel guilty about, Anakin. I mean it with every fiber of my being that if leaving will make you happy, that is what I want you to do.”
Then, Obi-Wan’s face softens. His expression is still imploring, but it’s become edged with sadness.
“But,” he says, before swallowing and rubbing a finger over his ‘brow. “In a perfect world, if I could have it my way…” Another sigh, and then he’s speaking very softly, “You would be happy here. You would a remain a Jedi, by my side, and we would exist as we always have until the end of our days.”
Heat prickles at Anakin’s eyes. Swallowing becomes difficult as a lump forms in his throat. He has to twist his hands in the sheet under him to avoid doing something else—he doesn’t know quite what, but inside of him, something is happening that makes him want to do anything but just sit here and listen. Running crosses his mind, but he can’t tell if he wants to run away, or run right into his Master’s arms. Anakin knows Obi-Wan isn’t much of a hugger, and that if he were to do so, it would most likely only be tolerated rather than appreciated—but that wouldn’t matter. Anakin would just need to get it out, whatever it is.
More than anything, though, he feels stuck to where he’s sitting. In the face of such blatant affection from Obi-Wan, Anakin doesn’t know what to do. For weeks, his Master has been a specter; there, but not quite there. And now, he comes to Anakin like this, saying the kind of things he’s had dreams of being told by the older man.
“Because the truth of it is—” Obi-Wan continues, and his voice has gone thick.
(If Anakin were to blink and let the tears fall, he wonders if he would see his Master in a similar, wet-eyed state. His voice certainly sounds like it, but Obi-Wan isn’t a crier. Anakin has always been the crybaby between the two of them, so much so that his Master had once told him that the reason he didn’t cry is because Anakin was hogging all the tears for himself.)
“—I do not want you to go.”
And all of Anakin’s self control and refusal to blink is entirely at once for nothing; the tears fall anyway. There’s too many not to. When his vision refocuses, Obi-Wan has lowered his gaze, and his expression is drawn tight, along with his arms around himself. A self soothing stance. So unlike Obi-Wan’s usual confident sprawl and perfect posture. It’s a one-two punch; the words, and the sight. Anakin hasn’t necessarily been under the impression his Master is happy to be rid of him, but he has never expected this. Has never expected the croak in Obi-Wan’s voice, or the tired look in his eyes, or the fact that he wishes to grow old together and never be parted from Anakin.
It shudders through Anakin has he tries to let it sink in. He almost laughs, thinking that this is a bigger shock than what Sidious has done to him.
Tired of keeping quiet, he opens his mouth, if only to mutter, “Master…” with all the same weariness he hears in Obi-Wan’s voice, but nothing comes out.
And before he can find his voice, Obi-Wan starts again.
“I did not want to tell you this. It’s not your job to bear my burdens. I am the Master, and you are the Padawan—no matter how much time has passed since you wore a braid in your hair.
“But I am beginning to understand, given recent events and revelations, that if I did not say it, you would not only go on without knowing I felt this way—you would go on thinking the very opposite. You would assume I am unaffected. That I will watch you leave and simply carry on as I always have. That the loss of you will be just like the loss of everyone else, like Qui-Gon or Satine. Because of him,”—and they both know who him is—“you would think I will let it go, let you go, and move on.”
He almost seems angry now. Obi-Wan’s hands have come unglued from where they were clutched around himself and now they are all over the place, running through his hair, stroking his beard, gesturing with them to emphasize his words. Just as suddenly as that had begun, though, it stops, and Obi-Wan goes very still as he pins Anakin with a look so intense it is sharp.
“That could not be farther from the truth. I can live with it, I can bear it,” he says with a great sigh, “because you will be happy.
“But, Anakin….”
And then, Obi-Wan gets that look again. The one he had the first day Anakin woke up in the Hall’s. The tender one. The one so completely unlike him.
“It is going to break my heart when you go.”
Silence hangs between them, until Obi-Wan seems to notice for the first time that Anakin is crying. The tears are scorching lines down his face, coming in never-ending heavy drops. Anakin wonders how much effort Obi-Wan had put into his little speech, how much focus was expended on getting it all out before he lost his nerve and retreated to the safety of aloofness. It had to be quite lot, if he’s completely missed the obvious, fat tears on Anakin’s cheeks. And that only makes Anakin cry harder.
What a horrible mix; the guilt that threatens to eat him alive with more viciousness than ever, and the chest-tightening joy. Both from being told he’s going to break his Master’s heart. It’s the last thing in the galaxy he wants to do, but Anakin can’t help but relish in the fact that it’s possible. That he possesses the ability to do so, and he’s going to. It’s the sweetest, most fulfilling validation he’s ever gotten, but it’s tainted by the persisting guilt. His emotions claw and bite and maim each other, making Anakin feel raw and tired, unable to stop his tears.
He loves Obi-Wan so much. He doesn’t want to break his heart, but he has to. Right? Even if Anakin will be breaking a part of his own heart that cannot be repaired by another in the process.
Obi-Wan comes to the bed, sitting on the edge of it, by Anakin’s hip.
“Don’t cry,” he says gently. “There is nothing to cry about.”
And Anakin can tell he really means it, that his Master doesn’t think this is a sad thing. He hates the acceptance in Obi-Wan’s voice, and for a second, Anakin hates himself so much for putting it there.
Placing a hand on Anakin’s forearm, Obi-Wan continues, attempting to soothe him. “I only told you because you deserve to hear it. Not to make you cry, not to change your mind.”
Anakin’s hands fly to his face as this turns his rolling, silent waves of tears into vocal, wet, blubbering sobs. With how quickly he does it, he expects Obi-Wan’s hand to fall, but it doesn’t. His Master’s fingers lock around his wrist and he keeps his hand on him, even as Anakin presses his palms to his eyes and his nose begins to clog.
Not once has Anakin cried since waking up after being struck by Sith lightning. Which is odd. But it seems that whatever reason his subconscious had for building that dam and preventing him from doing so is no match for his Master; Obi-Wan’s words break it down ten-fold.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Master,” Anakin rasps, voice shaky and thick from his lungs trying to take in air too rapidly and his salivary glands filling his mouth with too much spit. “I fucked everything up. He—he tricked me.”
To Anakin’s own ears, he sounds stupid and childish, so he can’t bear to imagine what Obi-Wan thinks of him. They weren’t even talking about him—not really. And yet, Anakin has to bring him up. He’s been so consumed by preparing to leave that he hasn’t notice his apparent desperation to beg for his Master’s forgiveness in the wake of everything that happened in the Chancellor’s office. And in the wake of every other rotten, traitorous, un-Jedi-like thing that Anakin has done since he came into Obi-Wan’s life.
Obi-Wan’s hold on his wrist squeezes briefly. “You’ve done nothing of the sort.”
The tender, strange expression has seeped into Obi-Wan’s voice, and it reminds Anakin of his mother.
He wishes it didn’t, because the thought makes his sobbing intensify further, and soon he’s finding it difficult to breathe. Everything bubbles right beneath the surface of him; how can he say everything he wants to say to his Master? How, even if if had the ability to get words out right now? How does he tell his Master all the reasons for his tears when he can barely stomach the main one pulsating painfully at his temples: it’s too late. Anakin is already enough of an embarrassment that he refuses to go back on his promises to Padmé after already having gone back on the ones he made to Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order. He thinks of the braid in his hair, swaying in the soft, Naboo breeze as he made vows to his angel, and claws at the skin where his head begins to throb.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, leaning closer, voice tight. “You are worrying me. Should I have Vokara bring a sedative?”
The last time Anakin had one of those was after his mother died. After getting fitted with his mech-arm and returning to his rooms, he cried for hours, until his Master brought him a little blue pill, broke it in half, and told Anakin to take it. Anakin was too tired to protest. The next morning, he felt as if he has betrayed his dead mother by allowing himself peace, even if it was only brought on by unconsciousness. He’s learned his lesson; he won’t betray his Master the same way. He’s already betrayed him in so many others.
Anakin’s first attempt at speaking is a wash. After clearing his throat three times, he manages to croak, “No. I’m fine.”
Rubbing at his eyes until spots appear, he lifts his gaze, wet and red, to look at Obi-Wan’s face. It looks very worried, which is nothing new. He’s not used to seeing it so close, though.
“Are you?” Obi-Wan asks.
“Yes.” Anakin wipes at his nose with his sleeve and it comes away shiny. Gross. At least his sobbing has quieted. He’s lost the energy to cry with such ferocity, but his tears require little of that, so they continue to fall. “I’m sorry.”
Obi-Wan sighs. “Enough with the apologies, please.”
Anakin listens because he’s too exhausted to do anything else. Every minute of sleep he’s lost during the war has somehow caught up to him all at one. Only when his breathing has evened out does Obi-Wan speak again.
“I truly did not mean to upset you. I just…I needed you to know. After all of this. I’d like to think that if it were not for him, you would know without it needing to be said; that you would know a great many things I’ve never said.”
Because he is greedy, Anakin asks, “Like what?”
But it seems the meter on Obi-Wan’s honesty has run out, and when Anakin tries to find the tenderness in his expression again, it’s buried beneath the mask of Master Kenobi.
“Don’t push your luck,” Obi-Wan tells him with a small smile. “Your Master isn’t meant for such sentiment.”
Anakin lets it go—or, he tries to. He tries to be satisfied with the fact that the display of emotion and open, raw affection he’s just gotten from his Master is so rare that he’s probably the first to ever witness Obi-Wan in such a state. Still, he aches inside when the older man finally drops his hand from his wrist. So much so that he sits up completely and shuffles around until he’s sat right next to Obi-Wan, legs hanging off the bed and leaning into his Master’s steady, familiar frame. He’d settle for this; for the few places where the sides of their bodies brush, but Obi-Wan gives him more than he deserves as usual, and runs a hand over his hair, again and again.
“Perhaps the next time we see each other, I’ll have recovered enough from this to tell you something else.”
Without thinking, Anakin says, “That’ll be soon.”
“Will it?” Obi-Wan asks, tone very neutral, which must be on purpose.
Anakin knows he would feel indignant about being doubted if he possessed the energy for that right now, but he just replies, “Yes, I’ll make it so.” He tries to put all the conviction he can into the words, wanting his Master to believe him. “I’m not really going anywhere, anyway. Right? I’m just…moving,” he says lamely, not knowing if it’s really Obi-Wan he’s trying to convince, or himself. He points out the window to the senatorial apartment complex. “Right there.”
Obi-Wan only hums a sound of assent, but it’s as if he’s just indulging Anakin, not actually agreeing with him.
Tears burn around the rims of Anakin’s already tired eyes again. “We’ll see each other all the time.”
Another placating hum, and the continued stroke of Obi-Wan’s hand through his hair.
Then, Anakin says, so pitifully that Obi-Wan might not even hear it—or, perhaps, he just pretends not to: “Maybe Vokara Che won’t even let me leave today.”
But she does. When she comes in, Obi-Wan straightens, and Anakin hadn’t even realized his Master had been slouching slightly to allow Anakin to lean into him so heavily. Anakin himself is much slower to fix his posture, though he knows he shouldn’t be. He should be jumping to his feet to hear the good news. Instead, he keeps his socked foot lightly pressed to the ankle of Obi-Wan’s boot as Vokara gives him the all-clear he’s waited so many weeks for; years, really. The permission to deliver himself, free of all burden and obligation, directly to his angel.
When she leaves, Anakin feels very strange. Out of his body, or something. Hollow, like there’s not even anything in his body.
Obi-Wan stands, but he doesn’t go far, moving right in front of Anakin.
“I can’t bear to see you off properly at the landing platform,” he says. “Forgive me for my cowardice.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Master,” Anakin says, because there really, really isn’t. Not on his end, at least. Before Obi-Wan can leave, Anakin reaches out and takes his hand in both of his own, struck by a sudden urgency.
“Thank you,” he says, staring into his Master’s face, imploring him to know how seriously he means this. “For telling me.”
He wants to say a lot of other things, but his Master isn’t meant for such sentiment.
Obi-Wan looks at him for a long moment, eyebrows drawing together, mouth parting like he’s going to speak—but he never does. He slips his hand from Anakin’s grip, and right before Anakin’s stomach can plummet in rejection, Obi-Wan takes his face between his palms, leans down, and kisses him on the forehead. Then, he leaves without another word.
For several minutes, Anakin sits there with his eyes closed, trying to commit the sensation of the kiss to memory. It soothes and stings him at the same time. He’d been so sure of everything before Obi-Wan had walked in. Now, nothing feels as it did twenty minutes ago. Anakin’s comlink burns a hole into his periphery after he opens his eyes. He’s been dying to pick it up and call Padmé with good news, but now that he actually has the ability to do so, it doesn’t feel so exciting.
Oddly, it all reminds him of Palpatine—Sidious. The unreality of realizing nothing is as it seems. That this man that he thought was one thing is entirely another.
Though, Anakin can’t tell if it’s Obi-Wan giving him deja vu, or himself.
When he finally manages to pick up his comlink, he still doesn’t know.
And when he unpacks that singular box of his things that had been lying around Obi-Wan’s rooms, at the very bottom, there is a flimsi-holo. Anakin seems to have finally run out of tears, so all he can do is laugh and sigh like a lunatic at the image; him and his Master, eleven and twenty-seven, or somewhere around there, from the looks of it. When Anakin was very small and his Master’s beard was just scruff. Obi-Wan stands in the rain, shrouded by his billowing robe. He’s holding it open, arms spread wide to reveal Anakin under it, wrapped in his own robe like a sleeping bat, standing on his Master’s boots. They look like a set of those dolls that open up to reveal a smaller, matching one, then another, then another. Except it’s just the two of them. It always has been.
On the back, written in the same flawless script as Anakin’s name on the box: If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.