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The briefing room was too cold.
Obi-Wan had noticed this about Temple briefing rooms. They were always kept at a temperature that seemed designed to make Jedi uncomfortable. Perhaps that was the point. Keep them alert. Keep them from getting too comfortable with the prospect of yet another mission, yet another war, yet another departure.
He suppressed a shiver and kept his hands folded neatly in his lap.
Across the temple, Anakin was doing the exact opposite of suppressing anything. His leg was bouncing under the table, his fingers drumming against his thigh, his entire body vibrating with barely contained energy. He looked like a tooka trapped in a crate, and Obi-Wan could feel the restlessness radiating off him in waves.
He fought the urge to rest a hand on his leg.
Sit still, Obi-Wan thought pointedly, not bothering to mask the thought. We’re in a Council briefing. Show some decorum.
Anakin’s head snapped toward him, blue eyes narrowing. I’m sitting perfectly still.
Your leg is vibrating the table.
That’s not my fault. The table’s poorly constructed.
The table is fine. You are—
“Knights Kenobi. Skywalker.”
Both of them snapped to attention as Master Windu entered the room, followed by Master Yoda and Master Koth. The three Council members took their seats at the head of the table, their expressions ranging from Yoda’s usual inscrutable sincerity to Windu’s perpetual look of mild disapproval.
Obi-Wan straightened his spine. Anakin, to his credit, stopped bouncing his leg.
But he didn’t stop bouncing his mind, and Obi-Wan could feel the questions pinging off the inside of his skull like blaster bolts. What’s the mission? Are we finally going somewhere good? Do you think there’ll be fighting? What do you think they’re—
Anakin.
What?
You’re doing it again.
Doing what?
Thinking loudly.
Anakin’s mental presence went abruptly, suspiciously quiet. Obi-Wan knew that quiet, the quiet of him deliberately broadcasting nothing while still thinking a thousand things at once.
He suppressed a sigh. He didn’t mean for Anakin to close himself off completely.
Master Windu opened a holographic display in the center of the table, revealing a Separatist outpost on a small, unnamed room in the Outer Rim. The structure was unremarkable, with standard prefab construction and minimal defenses according to the intel, situated in a valley between two rocky ridges.
“This is the objective,” Windu said, his voice flat and businesslike. “A Separatist communications outpost. We’ve received intelligence suggesting it’s being used to coordinate supply lines to the front. Minimal personnel. Minimal defenses. Standard reconnaissance mission.”
“Reconnaissance,” Anakin repeated, and Obi-Wan could hear the disappointment in his voice. “So we just… look at it?”
“You observe it,” Windu corrected, pinning him with a look. “You report back. You do not engage.”
Anakin opened his mouth. Obi-Wan gently kicked him under the table.
“Understood,” Obi-Wan said smoothly, before Anakin could say something that would get them both assigned to archive duty for the next six months. “Observe and report. We’ll be in and out before they even know we were there.”
Windu’s eyes narrowed slightly, flicking between them. “I’m glad to hear that, Knight Kenobi. Because I have it on good authority that this mission is of particular interest to the Chancellor.”
Obi-Wan felt his spine go rigid.
“Chancellor Palpatine?” Anakin perked up immediately, his earlier disappointment forgotten. “He’s involved in this?”
“His office intercepted the initial intelligence,” Master Koth supplied. “He flagged it as a priority and specifically requested that you lead the mission, Knight Skywalker.”
Anakin’s chest puffed out. Obi-Wan could feel the swell of pride emanating from him, and blast the Force if he didn’t find it so endearing.
“Specific requests from the Chancellor are becoming something of a pattern,” Obi-Wan heard himself say, his voice carefully toneless. “He seems to take a great interest in Anakin’s assignments.”
The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees.
Master Windu’s eyes fixed on him like lasers. “Are you suggesting something, Knight Kenobi?”
Obi-Wan held his gaze. “I’m suggesting nothing, Master. Merely observing.”
Obi-Wan, Anakin’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp with warning. Don’t.
I’m not doing anything.
You’re doing that thing where you sound polite but you’re actually accusing someone of something.
I have no idea what you’re talking about.
The mental exchange took place in mere seconds. Obi-Wan kept his face serene, his hands folded, his posture perfect. He was good at that part.
Master Yoda was watching him with those ancient, knowing eyes. “Concerned, are you, Obi-Wan?”
“I’m always concerned, Master.” A slight smile. “It’s part of my charm.”
Anakin snorted. Windu looked pensive.
“The Chancellor has been a staunch ally to the Jedi Order,” Master Koth said, his tone carrying a note of reproach. “His interest in Skywalker’s development is understandable, given the boy’s… potential.”
“The boy,” Anakin muttered under his breath, “is twenty-two years old and sitting right here.”
“Then perhaps the man should learn to conduct himself with the appropriate maturity,” Windu said flatly.
Anakin’s jaw tightened. Obi-Wan could feel the flare of indignation, the sharp spike of wounded pride. He reached out under the table and pressed his knee against Anakin’s.
Don’t, he thought, as softly as he could. It’s not worth it.
Anakin’s mental bristle smoothed, just slightly. He didn’t pull his knee away.
“Your mission parameters are as follows,” Windu continued, either oblivious to the exchange or choosing to ignore it. “You will depart at dawn. You will travel to the coordinates provided. You will conduct a passive reconnaissance of the outpost for no more than six standard hours. You will collect any intelligence you can gather without compromising your position. And then you will return to the Temple and report your findings.”
He paused, his gaze landing on Anakin pointedly.
“You will not engage. You will not draw attention to yourselves. You will not—” Windu’s voice cropped a register, “—do anything that results in an explosion, a fire, or a diplomatic incident. Am I understood?”
“Utterly,” Anakin said, his voice a little too bright.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a brief moment. He could already feel the headache forming behind his eyes.
“One more thing,” Windu added, and something in his tone made Obi-Wan open his eyes again. “This mission was originally slated for a different team. We had assigned Knights Tano and Offee to it three days ago.”
Obi-Wan frowned. “What happened?”
“Both were injured in a training accident yesterday. Non-critical, but they’re sidelined for the foreseeable future.” Windu’s expression didn’t change, but there was something sharp in his eyes. “The Chancellor’s office was… insistent that the mission not be delayed. Hence, you.”
Obi-Wan’s frown deepened. A training accident. Two Knights injured. And the Chancellor’s office insisting on a specific replacement.
The pieces were there, but they didn’t quite fit together. Not yet. He filed them away for later examination.
“We’ll handle it, Master,” Obi-Wan said smoothly, pushing his concerns to the back of his mind. “You have our word.”
Windu looked at him. Then at Anakin. Then back at him.
“Your word,” he repeated. “And Skywalker’s?”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Anakin said, with the wide-eyed innocence of someone who had never been on his best behavior in his entire life.
Windu’s eyes twitched.
“Get out of my sight,” he said, but Obi-Wan caught him suppressing a laugh. “Both of you.”
***
They made it exactly three steps outside the briefing room before Anakin’s composure shattered.
“Did you see his face?” Anakin crowed, his voice bounding off the corridor walls. “I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel.”
“Anakin, keep your voice down.” Obi-Wan quickened his pace, tugging Anakin by the elbow. “The Council chambers are right there.”
“So?” Anakin let himself be dragged, grinning like a fool. “They know I’m not going to be on my best behavior. I’ve never been on my best behavior. Why would I start now?”
“Because one of these days, they’re going to assign you to the Archives for an entire year, and I will not be rescuing you.”
“You’d rescue me.”
“I would absolutely not rescue you.”
“You’d rescue me within the first week. You can’t stand being away from me.”
Obi-Wan stopped walking. Anakin stopped a beat later, still grinning, and turned to face him.
“See?” Anakin’s eyes were dancing. “You can’t even deny it.”
“I’m not denying anything,” Obi-Wan said loftily. “I’m simply pointing out that if you end up in the Archives for a year, I will be far too busy enjoying the peace and quiet to mount a rescue.”
Anakin laughed, something warm and unguarded, like he forgot to hide it.
“You’d miss me,” Anakin said, stepping closer. “You’d be so bored without me. Who else would keep you on your toes?”
“The Separatists. The Sith. The entire galaxy, apparently.”
“Not the same.” Anakin was close now, close enough that Obi-Wan could see the dark pupils within his blue eyes, the scar across his brow from a training accident when they were fifteen. “I’m your favorite headache.”
“You’re my only headache,” Obi-Wan corrected, but his voice had gone soft. “You’re more than enough trouble on your own. I don’t need to collect more.”
Anakin’s grin softened, the noise of the Temple fading around them—the traffic, the murmur of passing Jedi, the ever-present thrum of the Force.
“You were worried back there,” Anakin said quietly. “About the mission. About Palpatine.”
Obi-Wan looked away.
“I’m always worried,” he said, a careful echo of his earlier words. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Not like that.” Anakin’s hand found his wrist— a light touch, easily to shake off if Obi-Wan wanted. He didn’t want. “You had that look. The one you get when you’re doing that thing where you put pieces together and don’t tell anyone what they mean.”
Obi-Wan was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was low.
“I don’t trust it, Anakin.”
“Don’t trust what?”
“Palpatine’s interest in you. The convenient timing. The training accident that took the original team out of commission.” He finally met Anakin’s eyes. “It’s too neat.”
Anakin’s brow furrowed. “The Chancellor has been nothing but supportive. He’s helped us. He’s helped me. I don’t see why—”
“That’s because you don’t want to see.” Obi-Wan pulled his wrist free gently, not in rejection, but in the way he always seemed to distance himself when he was about to say something difficult. “You want him to be a good man. And he might be. But I’ve learned that the galaxy is rarely that simple.”
Anakin opened his mouth to argue. Obi-Wan could see it forming; the defense, the rationalization, the loyalty that always made Anakin blind to flaws in the people he loved.
Instead, Anakin’s shoulders dropped. “I’ll be careful,” he said, and it was not a concession, exactly, but it was something. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll be careful.”
“It makes me feel marginally less anxious,” Obi-Wan allowed.
“Marginal.” Anakin’s lips twitched. “I’ll take it.”
They started walking again, side by side, their shoulders brushing with every step. It was a familiar routine, the rhythm of thirteen years of knowing someone, of fighting alongside them, of growing up together in a Temple that had tried to teach them to let go of attachments.
They hadn’t learned that lesson. Neither of them had ever been very good at letting go.
Obi-Wan was just better at hiding it.
“We should pack,” Obi-Wan said as they approached their quarters. “Dawn comes early.”
“Ugh. Dawn.” Anakin made a face. “Why do missions always start at dawn?”
“Because the universe enjoys your suffering.”
“That’s mean. You’re mean.”
“I’m practical. There’s a difference.”
Anakin shoved him lightly. Obi-Wan shoved back. By the time they reached their door, they were both laughing.
Obi-Wan keyed open the door and stepped inside, Anakin following close behind.
“We’ll be fine,” Anakin said, and there was a certainty in his voice that Obi-Wan envied. “We always are.”
Obi-Wan turned to look at him, at his partner, his best friend, the person he had loved since the moment Master Qui-Gon brought a tiny, scruffy, blond nine-year-old to the Temple and the first thought that entered Obi-Wan’s mind was, how pretty.
And to this day, he was still too afraid to say anything about it.
“Yes,” he said softly. “We always are.”
Anakin smiled at him, bright and trusting, and Obi-Wan’s heart clenched in his chest like it always did.
I’ll protect you, he thought. Whatever happens. Whatever’s out there. I’ll protect you.
He just hoped it would be enough.
***
The outpost was exactly as the intel had described it.
Unremarkable. Prefabricated. Tucked into a narrow valley between two rocky ridges that rose like jagged teeth against the grey sky. The structure itself was little more than a cluster of domed buildings connected by durasteel walkways, surrounded by a perimeter fence that looked like it had been installed by someone who didn’t expect visitors.
Obi-Wan had counted sixteen patrol droids from his position on the ridge. Sixteen. That was nothing. A skeleton crew.
It was too quiet.
He adjusted his macrobinoculars, scanning the compound for the third time. The same patrol routes. The same guard rotations. The same emptiness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“See anything?” Anakin’s voice crackled through his earpiece. He was positioned on the opposite ridge, his presence pulsing in Obi-Wan’s awareness, bright and impatient and bouncing with incessantly restless energy.
“Patrol droids. Standard perimeter. Nothing unusual.”
“That’s boring.”
“It’s reconnaissance. Boring is the goal.”
“Boring is the opposite of a goal. We could be doing something exciting right now. We could be—”
“We could be observing, as per our orders.” Obi-Wan lowered the macrobinoculars, rubbing his eyes. “We’ve been here for four hours. Another two and we can go home.”
“Four hours of watching droids walk in circles. I could be watching paint dry. Or listening to Padmé explain how a bill gets passed again. It would be more exciting.”
“You could be doing your duty like a proper Jedi Knight.”
“You could be having fun like a proper human being.”
Obi-Wan smiled despite himself. He could picture Anakin’s expression— the pout, the furrowed brow, the way his whole face scrunched up when he was being petulant. It was absurdly endearing.
Focus, he told himself. Mission first. Then you can be endeared.
“Stay sharp,” he said into the comm. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Something doesn’t feel right, or you don’t feel right?”
“Anakin.”
“I’m serious. You always say something doesn’t feel right when you’re the one who’s off. Remember Ryloth? You had a bad feeling and it turned out you just hadn’t had enough caf.”
“I had a bad feeling on Ryloth and we walked into an ambush.”
“After you had caf. Correlation isn’t causation, Obi-Wan.”
“That’s not—” Obi-Wan sighed. “Just stay alert.”
“I’m always alert.”
“You’re never alert. You’re the opposite of alert. You’re alarmed.”
“Alarmed is better than alert. Alarmed means I’m paying attention.”
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to respond with something cutting about the difference between alarm and alertness, and the importance of not confusing the two when his senses screamed.
The Force rippled.
Not a warning or a whisper. A shout. A tearing sensation that made his stomach drop and his hand fly to his lightsaber.
“Anakin—”
“I feel it.”
The patrol droids had stopped moving.
All sixteen of them. Simultaneously. In perfect synchronization. Their optical sensors swiveled upward, directly toward Anakin’s position on the ridge.
Obi-Wan’s blood froze.
“They know you’re there,” he said, already moving. “Get down, get—”
The first blaster bolt streaked past his ear.
Then the second. The third. A hail of fire erupted from the compound, not just from the patrol droids but from hidden emplacements that had been completely invisible during their four hours of observation. Turrets. Shield generators. A full defensive grid that had been waiting for them.
Waiting for Anakin.
“Fall back!” Obi-Wan shouted, igniting his saber and deflecting a volley of bolts. “They’re targeting your position—”
“I can handle it!”
“Anakin, darling, fall back—”
But Anakin was already moving— not away from the compound, but toward it. His blue blade flashed in the grey light as he launched himself off the ridge, a blur of reckless courage and that infuriating, terrifying confidence that Obi-Wan both loved and hated.
He was going to engage. Of course he was going to engage. He’d had one order— one— and he’d ignored it before the words were even finished leaving Windu’s mouth.
Obi-Wan swore under his breath and followed.
The next few minutes were chaotic.
Blaster fire everywhere. Explosions erupting from the compound. Anakin carving through droids like they were paper, laughing—laughing— as he deflected bolts and sliced through metal chassis. Obi-Wan moved in his wake, covering his back, deflecting what Anakin missed, his focus split between the fight and the growing unease in his chest.
It was too easy.
The droids were falling too quickly. The defensive grid was powerful but sloppy. The whole thing felt like—
Like they wanted us to push forward.
“Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouted, trying to be heard over the chaos. “Pull back! It’s a trap!”
“It’s always a trap!” Anakin called back, grinning wildly. “When is it not a trap?”
“This isn’t funny!”
“I’m not laughing! I’m just accepting the circumstances.”
Obi-Wan had never wanted to strangle someone— or kiss them, either one— so badly in his entire life.
He pushed forward, catching up to Anakin in the middle of the courtyard. They fought back-to-back, the way they’d done a thousand times before, their movements so synchronized they didn’t need to speak. Anakin went left. Obi-Wan went right. Anakin ducked. Obi-Wan leaped. They were a perfect machine, a single unit, two halves of one whole.
And then Obi-Wan saw it.
The sniper.
High above them, tucked into a shadowed alcove on the second level of the main building, a b2 battle droid was aiming its rifle directly at Anakin’s unprotected back.
There was no time to shout, or time to deflect, or time for anything but movement.
So Obi-Wan moved.
He shoved Anakin aside with all the strength he had, putting himself in the path of the shot. The stun bolt hit him square in the chest—a searing, blinding pain that stole his breath and his vision and his everything.
He heard Anakin scream his name.
He felt Anakin catch him before he hit the ground, arms wrapping around him, desperate and shaking.
“Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan, no, no, no—”
He forced his eyes open. Anakin’s face swam above him, blurry and terrified, his blue eyes wide and wrong—Obi-Wan had never seen Anakin scared like this. Never. Not once in thirteen years.
“Go,” Obi-Wan managed, his voice slurred. “Get out. It’s a trap. They want—”
“I don’t care what they want!” Anakin’s hands were on his face, pressing, checking for injuries. “I’m not leaving you!”
“You have to–”
“No.”
Anakin’s voice cracked on the word. He was shaking. His whole body was trembling, and Obi-Wan could feel the terror rolling off him in waves, hot and sharp and devastating.
“Please,” Obi-Wan whispered. His hand found Anakin’s wrist, gripping weakly. “Please, Anakin. Run.”
Anakin looked at him—this man who had been his partner and his best friend and his everything since they were children—and Obi-Wan watched him make a choice.
He wasn’t going to run.
“I’m not leaving you,” Anakin said again, and there was something in his voice that Obi-Wan had never heard before. Something fierce and broken and utterly devoted. “I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you. Do you understand me? Never.”
He stood, lightsaber raised, his body a shield between Obi-Wan and the droids that were closing in.
“Come and get us,” he snarled at the enemy.
And then—
Too many droids. Too many bolts. Obi-Wan tried to push himself up, tried to reach for his saber, tried to do something—
A stun bolt hit Anakin’s shoulder.
Another hit his chest.
He stumbled. His saber flickered and died.
And then he fell, not dramatically or heroically. He crumpled to the ground beside Obi-Wan, his hand reaching out even as his eyes fluttered closed.
Obi-Wan screamed.
He didn’t mean to. It tore out of him, raw and agonized— a sound he hadn’t known he could make. He scrambled toward Anakin, dragging himself across the dirt, reaching for his face, his chest, trying to feel a heartbeat, trying to feel anything—
“Anakin—Anakin, wake up, wake up, please, my dear, please don’t—”
Two more stun bolts hit him.
He felt himself falling. Felt his body—which had valiantly fought off the effects of the first stun bolt— go slack and unresponsive. Felt his vision swim and darken and die.
The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Anakin’s hand, still reaching for him.
The last thing he heard was his own voice, broken and desperate, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
***
Obi-Wan woke up alone.
His head was pounding. His limbs were heavy— wrong—like they were made of lead and dipped in ice. He couldn’t feel the Force. Couldn’t feel anything. It was like someone had reached into his chest and pulled out everything that made him him, leaving only this hollow, aching shell.
He was in a cell.
Cold metal floor. Cold metal bars. Cold, sterile light that hurt his eyes and made his skull throb.
He was alone.
Where is Anakin?
Obi-Wan sat up too fast. The room spun. He put a hand to his head and felt something warm and wet—blood. A gash on his temple. He didn’t remember getting it.
Where is Anakin? Where is Anakin? Where—
“Anakin?” His voice came out cracked and broken. He tried again, louder, desperation clawing at his throat. “Anakin! Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
Not the Force. Not the faint pulse of Anakin’s presence that he’d been able to feel since they were children. Not the warmth, the brightness, the life that was Anakin Skywalker.
Just. Silence.
Obi-Wan’s heart stopped.
“No,” he breathed. “No, no, no—”
He staggered to his feet, almost falling, gripping the bars so hard his knuckles went white. The suppressants were making him weak. His limbs were trembling. His vision kept going in and out of focus.
But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it. He just needed to know.
Is he alive? Is he hurt? Did they—
He couldn’t finish the thought.
“Anakin!” His voice cracked. Tears were streaming down his face—he hadn’t even realized he was crying. “Anakin, please! Please answer me! Please, I can’t—I can’t—”
His legs gave out. He sank to his knees, still gripping the bars, his forehead pressed against the cold metal.
He’s dead. He’s dead and it’s your fault. You saw the sniper. You should have shouted harder. You should have deflected. You should have done something. Anything. Instead, you threw yourself in front of him like some kind of martyr, and now he’s—
“The bait has been set.”
The droid’s voice crackled over the intercom, tinny and emotionless.
Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Prisoner Kenobi. You will remain here until your partner arrives. The bait has been set.”
His blood became ice-cold.
“You—” He scrambled to his feet, shaking, pressing himself against the bars. “What do you mean? What have you done to him? WHERE IS HE?”
The droid didn’t respond.
“ANSWER ME!” Obi-Wan screamed, slamming his fists against the bars. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you dare touch him.”
Still nothing. Just the hum of the overhead lights and the infuriating, distant echo of his own voice.
He slumped against the bars, breathing hard.
They’re using you. They’re going to use you to get to him. They want him, not you. They took you by accident. Or on purpose because they know you’re his weakness. They know he’ll come for you. They know—
“Don’t come,” Obi-Wan whispered into the empty cell. “Please, Anakin. Please. For once. For once in your life, be smart. Don’t come for me.”
He pressed his forehead to the bars and closed his eyes.
He knew Anakin.
And Anakin had never, ever been smart when it came to someone he was loyal to.
“Please,” he breathed, one last desperate prayer to a Force that couldn’t hear him. Please let him be alive. Please let him be safe. Please let him be—”
He couldn’t finish.
He just knelt there, alone in the dark, and waited for Anakin to do the one thing he’d begged him not to do.
He waited for him to come.
***
Anakin woke up angry.
That wasn’t unusual. Anakin woke up angry most days—angry at the war, angry at the Council, angry at the galaxy for being so unfair. It was a low-grade hum in the back of his mind, a constant companion that he’d learned to live with.
This was different.
This was white.
White-hot. Blinding. A rage so pure and absolute that it burned away everything else—the pain in his shoulder where the stun bolt had hit, the dull throb in his head, the cold metal floor beneath his cheek.
He was in a cell.
His hands were cuffed behind his back. His lightsaber was gone. His connection to the Force was muted, suppressed by something in the air—a dampener, probably, embedded in the walls.
But the rage didn’t care about any of that.
The rage fueled him.
Obi-Wan.
He remembered everything. The sniper. Obi-Wan shoving him aside. Obi-Wan crumpling. Obi-Wan’s hand reaching for him, even as he fell. Obi-Wan screaming his name.
Obi-Wan’s blood on the dirt.
Anakin sat up, ignoring the way his vision swam. He looked around the cell—empty, cold, identical to a thousand other cells he’d seen in a thousand other bases. He was alone. There was no one else. No guards. No droids. Just him and the silence.
And the rage.
Where is he? Where did they take him? Is he hurt? Is he—
No. He couldn’t finish that thought. If he finished that thought, he would break. And if he broke, he couldn’t save Obi-Wan.
He would save Obi-Wan.
There was no other option.
Anakin stood, testing his bonds. Standard cuffs. Standard security. They’d underestimated him—a mistake they would not live to regret.
He closed his eyes and reached for the Force.
It was there, just out of reach, muffled by the dampener but there. He could feel it, a distant roar beneath the static. He just needed to grab it.
Come on, he thought, gritting his teeth. Come on. For him. Do it for him.
The cuffs groaned.
Anakin pulled harder. The dampener screamed in protest. His head felt like it was splitting open, like something was trying to crawl out of his skull—
The cuffs snapped.
He didn’t waste time celebrating. He was on his feet, crossing to the cell door, his hands finding the seams and pulling. The metal screeched. The hinges buckled.
He stepped out into the corridor.
A guard droid turned to face him, optical sensors blinking.
“Prisoner escape—”
Anakin didn’t let it finish. He was on it in two steps, his hands closing around his neck, twisting until the metal buckled and the optical sensors went dark. He dropped the wreckage and kept moving.
More droids. More guards. They came at him in waves, and he destroyed them. Not fighting, not really. Fighting implied that there was some kind of exchange, some kind of struggle.
This wasn’t a struggle; this was a slaughter.
He didn’t use the Force. He didn't need it. His hands were enough. His fists. His teeth, at one point, when a droid got too close and he bit down on its wiring and ripped.
He was barely human. He was something else. Something that had been sleeping in his chest since he was a child, since he was nineteen and his mother died in his arms, something that Obi-Wan had always soothed away with a gentle hand.
But Obi-Wan wasn’t there.
And the thing in Anakin’s chest was awake.
***
He found a terminal in the next corridor.
The screens flickered to life as he smashed his fist against the console—security feeds, base schematics, prisoner manifests. His eyes scanned the data, searching, needing—
There.
Prisoner 734: Kenobi, Obi-Wan. Location: Holding Block C, Cell 12.
Alive. He’s alive.
The relief hit him as physically as it did emotionally. He swayed, gripping the console, his chest heaving.
Alive. He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s—
He saw the rest of the data.
Status: Awake. Uninjured. Force-suppressed.
The relief curdled into something colder.
Uninjured. They didn’t hurt him. But they suppressed him. He can’t feel the Force. He can’t feel me.
He’s alone.
He’ll think I’m dead.
Anakin’s hand tightened on the console. The metal buckled beneath his grip.
No, he thought. I’m coming. I’m right here. I’m coming. Just hold on.
He pulled up the security feeds. There—Holding Block C. Cell 12. A small, grey box, and inside—
Obi-Wan.
On his knees. Gripping the bars. His forehead pressed against the metal. His shoulders shaking.
He’s crying.
The sight broke something in Anakin’s chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Obi-Wan cry. Maybe when they were kids. Obi-Wan was the steady one, the calm one, the one who held him together when everything fell apart.
And now Obi-Wan was alone in a cell, crying, because he thought Anakin was dead.
I’m coming, Anakin thought again, and his voice was barely a whisper. “I’m coming. I’m right here. I’m coming.”
He turned away from the terminal.
And he ran.
***
The base was a maze of corridors and rooms, but Anakin didn’t care. He carved his way through it like a blade through flesh. Droids fell. Soldiers fell. Everything fell.
He found an armory and picked up a blaster. He found a storage room and picked up a thermal detonator. He didn’t use them—he didn’t need them. He just kept going, one foot in front of the other, his mind fixed on one single, driving purpose.
Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.
He could hear the guards screaming. He could hear the alarms blaring. He didn’t care. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered except—
The door to Holding Block C.
Anakin kicked it in.
The room beyond was lined with cells—maybe twenty of them, all empty except one. At the far end. In the corner.
Anakin’s eyes found Obi-Wan immediately.
He was still on his knees. Still gripping the bars. His head snapped up when Anakin appeared, his eyes wide and red-rimmed, his face streaked with tears.
For one terrible moment, he didn’t move. He just stared at Anakin like he was seeing a ghost.
Then his lips parted.
“Anakin?”
His voice was barely a whisper. Broken. Hopeless.
He thought I was dead. He thought—
“I’m here,” Anakin said, and his voice came out rough, scraped raw by everything he’d done to get here. “I’m here, Obi-Wan. I’m here.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered. Something in his expression cracked open.
Anakin crossed the room in three strides, his hands finding the cell door and ripping it off its hinges. The metal screamed and the hinges shattered, but he threw it aside like it was nothing.
And then he was on his knees in front of Obi-Wan, his hands cupping his face, looking at him, cataloguing every bruise, every scratch, every tear track.
“Are you alright?” Anakin demanded. His voice was shaking. He couldn’t stop it. “Are you hurt? Tell me the truth, Obi-Wan, I swear to the Force, if you lie to me right now—”
“I’m fine.” Obi-Wan’s hands came up, gripping Anakin’s wrists, holding on like he might disappear. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I was so—I thought you were dead, I thought they’d killed you, I couldn’t feel you, I couldn’t—”
He was rambling. Anakin had never heard Obi-Wan ramble in his entire life. Obi-Wan was always measured, always controlled, always a step ahead of his own emotions.
But not now.
Now he was falling apart.
“Look at me,” Anakin said, and his voice was softer now, gentler, the rage receding just enough to let something else through. “Look at me, Obi-Wan. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes met his. Red-rimmed. Desperate. So full of love that Anakin could barely breathe.
“You came,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I told you not to come. I told you it was a trap. I told you to run, and you—”
“I don’t care.” Anakin’s thumb brushed away a tear from Obi-Wan’s cheek. “I don’t care if it’s a trap. I don’t care if it’s a thousand traps. I would walk into a thousand traps for you.”
Obi-Wan’s breath hitched.
“You’re incorrigible,” he said, his voice breaking.
Anakin pulled him into a crushing hug.
Obi-Wan’s hands fisted in his tunic, pressing his face into Anakin’s shoulder, and Anakin could feel the wet heat of fresh tears soaking through the fabric. He held on tighter, one hand cradling the back of Obi-Wan’s head, the other wrapped around his waist.
“I’ve got you,” Anakin murmured into his hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m here. I’m not letting go.”
Obi-Wan’s shoulders shook. He was crying in earnest now, great heaving sobs that made Anakin’s chest ache with how wrong it was to see him like this.
“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan gasped. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—I can’t—”
“Don’t apologize.” Anakin pulled back just far enough to look at him, his hands still cradling Obi-Wan’s face. “Don’t you dare apologize. You’re allowed to fall apart. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to need me, Obi-Wan. I need you. I need you every single day.”
Obi-Wan stared, his lips parting like he wanted to say something.
But before he could, an explosion rocked the base.
Alarms blared. Distant shouted. The sound of droids mobilizing.
Obi-Wan’s eyes sharpened—the Jedi in him surfacing despite the suppressants, despite the tears, despite everything. “We need to move.”
“I know.” Anakin helped him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. “Can you walk?”
“I can make it.”
"You don't have to make it." Anakin pulled Obi-Wan's arm over his shoulder, taking his weight. "I've got you. Lean on me. I won't let you fall."
Obi-Wan looked at him—really looked, his eyes tracing the lines of Anakin's face like he was memorizing them.
"You came for me," he said again, and this time there was wonder in his voice. Wonder and disbelief and a tenderness that made Anakin's heart skip.
"I will always come for you," Anakin said. "Always. That's a promise."
***
They moved through the base together.
It was slower this time—Obi-Wan was still weak, still trembling, still paler than Anakin liked. But he was there. He was alive. He was warm against Anakin’s side, his presence a grounding weight that kept the rage at bay.
Anakin fought with one hand, lightsaber swinging elegantly as he used it brutally, efficiently, taking down every enemy that got in their way.
Obi-Wan’s arm was around his waist, his fingers gripping the fabric of Anakin’s tunic. He wasn’t fighting, but he was watching, directing, his tactical mind still sharp despite everything.
“Left,” he said, and Anakin pivoted, swinging across an approaching trio. “Right—two of them—”
Anakin swung again. The droids fell.
They made it to the hangar bay.
A shuttle was waiting. It was standard Separatist transport, small enough for two people, fast enough to outrun pursuit. Anakin half-carried Obi-Wan up the ramp, deposited him into the co-pilot’s seat, and slid into the pilot’s chair without missing a beat.
The engines roared to life. The hangar doors opened. Anakin punched the throttle and they shot out into the open sky.
Anakin had left a trail of destruction in his wake—thermal detonators set to blow, fuel lines compromised, a chain reaction that reduced the entire base to rubble. He hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d just… done it.
For him, the voice in his head whispered. You did it for him. You would burn the whole galaxy for him.
Anakin looked at Obi-Wan.
He was slumped in the co-pilot’s seat, his eyes closed, his breath coming in slow, steady rhythms. He looked exhausted. He looked broken. But he was alive. He was here. He was safe.
Anakin reached over and took his hand.
“I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened around his. He didn’t open his eyes.
But he smiled, something small and fragile.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
***
The shuttle hummed beneath them, a steady vibration that should have been soothing but wasn’t. Anakin had been staring at the same patch of hyperspace for what felt like hours, his hands gripping the controls so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
He couldn’t stop replaying it.
Obi-Wan on his knees in that cell, alone and vulnerable.
Anakin’s jaw tightened. The rage was still there, simmering beneath his skin, but it was dulled by exhaustion and overwhelming relief that Obi-Wan was here.
He glanced to his left.
Obi-Wan was in the co-pilot’s seat, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and even. He’d been like that for the last three hours—meditating, or trying to. The effects of the suppression were still working their way out of his system, and Anakin could feel the faint pulse of his presence coming back in waves.
He’s coming back, Anakin thought. He’s coming back to me.
He didn’t realize he was staring until Obi-Wan’s eyes opened.
“Anakin.” His voice was hoarse, but steadier than before. “You’re brooding.”
“I’m not brooding. I’m thinking.”
"You're brooding. You get a little line between your eyebrows when you brood.” Obi-Wan reached out, his fingers brushing Anakin’s forehead. “Right here.”
Anakin caught his hand and held it. Pressed his lips to the knuckles without thinking.
“You scared me,” he said quietly. “Back there. When you went down. When I woke up and couldn’t feel you. I thought—” He stopped, swallowing. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Obi-Wan’s expression softened. He turned his hand in Anakin’s grip, lacing their fingers together.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't." Anakin shook his head. "Don't apologize. You saved my life. You always save my life. I'm the one who should be sorry. If I'd listened to you—if I'd fallen back when you told me to—"
"You'd have been shot in the back by a sniper instead of the front by an army." Obi-Wan's thumb traced circles on Anakin's palm. "It's not your fault, Anakin. It's never your fault."
"It's always my fault. I'm reckless. I'm impulsive. I never listen. And you—" Anakin's voice cracked. "You got hurt because of me. You got captured because of me. They were after me, Obi-Wan. They wanted me. And they used you to get to me."
Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled his hand free—gently, not in rejection—and reached up to cup Anakin's face.
"Look at me," he said softly.
Anakin did. Obi-Wan's eyes were clear now, calm, the same steady blue they'd always been. The tears were gone. The desperation was gone. In their place was something warm and unwavering.
“I would do it again,” Obi-Wan said. “Every time. If I had to choose between you and myself, I would choose you. Every. Single. Time.”
Anakin’s breath caught.
“That’s not—you can’t—Obi-Wan, you’re worth more than—”
“I know what I’m worth.” Obi-Wan’s thumb brushed Anakin’s cheekbone. “And I know what you’re worth. And if the choice is between a galaxy without you and a galaxy with you in it, I will choose you. Always.”
Anakin stared at him.
Something in his chest was cracking open. Something he’d been holding back for years, something he’d locked away so tightly he’d almost convinced himself it didn’t exist. But it had always been there, hadn’t it? That ache—too big, too bright, too much.
A warmth that never quite faded, no matter how many battles he fought or how many years passed.
And the walls he’d built around his heart crumbled all at once, and the flood was everything. Every moment and glance and time Obi-Wan had stayed up late to patch his wounds or listened to him rant about the Council or held his hand in the dark of a ventilation shaft when they were twelve years old and Anakin was too proud to admit he was scared.
And suddenly, Anakin couldn’t keep it inside anymore.
“I love you,” he heard himself say.
The words hung in the air.
Obi-Wan’s hand stilled on his cheek. His eyes went wide.
“I’ve loved you since we were ten years old,” Anakin continued, and now the words were pouring out of him, unstoppable, like a dam that had finally broken. “I didn’t know what it was at first. I just knew that I wanted to be near you all the time. That you made everything better just by being there. That I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”
“Anakin—”
“Remember that time we got stuck in the ventilation shafts on Coruscant? We were twelve. We were in there for six hours, and you held my hand the whole time because you knew I was scared of the dark. You didn’t make fun of me. You didn’t tell anyone. You just held my hand. And I knew. I knew right then.”
Obi-Wan’s lips parted.
“I thought about telling you a hundred times,” Anakin said. “A thousand. But I was scared. Scared you wouldn’t feel the same way. Scared it would ruin everything. Scared I’d lose you.” He laughed, a broken, desperate sound. “And then today, when I saw you in that cell—when I thought I’d lost you—I realized I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t love you, Obi-Wan. I can’t pretend you’re just my partner. It’s agony. You’re everything. You’ve always been everything.”
Obi-Wan stared at him.
There was a long, terrible silence.
And then—
“You idiot.”
Obi-Wan grabbed him by the front of his tunic and pulled.
Their lips crashed together.
It wasn’t gentle or soft, but desperate and hungry, years of longing finally unleashed. Obi-Wan’s fingers tangled in Anakin’s hair, gripping hard. Anakin’s hands found Obi-Wan’s waist, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left between them,
Anakin kissed him like he was drowning. Like Obi-Wan was the only air in the room. Like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.
And maybe he had.
Obi-Wan broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against Anakin’s.
“Nine,” he gasped. “I’ve loved you since we were nine.”
Anakin laughed. “Nine?”
Obi-Wan kissed him again quickly. “You’d just arrived at the Temple. You were so small and so angry and so beautiful, and I couldn’t look away. I’ve never been able to look away.”
Anakin’s hands tightened on his hips. “You beat me. I thought I had you beat.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Obi-Wan made a sound that was something between a laugh and a moan as Anakin pulled him into another kiss. This was slower, deeper, more deliberate. Anakin’s tongue traced Obi-Wan’s lower lip, and Obi-Wan parted his lips willingly, his fingers sliding into Anakin’s hair and tugging.
Anakin groaned.
“You—” he murmured against Obi-Wan’s mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“I think I have some idea,” Obi-Wan replied breathlessly. “I’ve been wanting it since I was nine. That’s thirteen years, Anakin.”
“Yes, I can do math.”
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and kissed him again. And again. And again.
Anakin's hands roamed Obi-Wan's back, his shoulders, his chest. Obi-Wan's hands were in his hair, on his jaw, gripping his tunic.
They broke apart for air, both of them breathing hard.
Obi-Wan's lips were red and swollen. His eyes were dark, pupils wide. His hair was a mess from Anakin's fingers.
He'd never looked more beautiful.
“I love you,” Anakin said again, because he couldn't stop saying it. “I love you. I love you. I love—”
"I know." Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I know. I love you too. I've always loved you. I will always love you.”
Anakin pulled him into another soft kiss.
When they finally broke apart, they were both smiling.
"So," Anakin said, his voice a little ragged. "We're doing this. We're actually doing this.”
"Yes." Obi-Wan's fingers traced the line of his jaw. "We're doing this. Are you—are you sure? About the Council, about the Order, about—"
"I don't care about any of that." Anakin caught his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm. "I care about you. I've always cared about you. And if the Council has a problem with it, we'll leave. Together. Together, Obi-Wan. That's the only way I want it."
Obi-Wan's eyes went soft.
"Together," he repeated. "I like the sound of that."
"Good." Anakin kissed the inside of his wrist. "Because you're stuck with me now. Forever. No take-backs."
"I wouldn't dream of taking it back." Obi-Wan leaned in, his lips brushing Anakin's ear. "You're mine, Anakin Skywalker. You always have been.”
A shiver ran down Anakin's spine.
"Yeah?” His voice was low. “And you're mine?"
"I've been yours since the moment I met you." Obi-Wan pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "I just didn't have the courage to say it.”
"Thank you," he murmured against Obi-Wan's lips. "For loving me. For saving me. For—"
"For everything?" Obi-Wan smiled. "You're welcome."
"Can we go back to kissing now?"
"Always."
Anakin kissed him again. And this time, when they came up for air, he didn't stop smiling.
Neither did Obi-Wan.
***
The Council chamber was silent.
That was unusual. Normally, there was at least some background noise, usually the awkward, subtle shifting of robes as the Masters adjusted their positions. But today, there was nothing. Just eleven pairs of eyes fixed on the two young Knights standing before them.
Anakin and Obi-Wan stood side by side. Their shoulders were nearly touching. Their hands, hidden by the folds of their robes, were brushing.
They'd been doing that a lot lately. Touching. Brushing. Needing. It was like they couldn't get enough of each other, like every moment apart was a moment wasted.
Three days ago, Obi-Wan had been in a cell, crying, thinking Anakin was dead.
Three days ago, Anakin had carved through an entire Separatist base with his bare hands.
Three days ago, they'd kissed for the first time and everything had changed.
Anakin could still feel it—the ghost of Obi-Wan's lips on his, the warmth of his body pressed close, the way he'd confessed to falling in love with him at nine years old like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He'd been replaying that moment nonstop. Every detail. Every breath. Every sound.
Obi-Wan's hand twitched against his. A subtle warning.
Focus, he seemed to be saying. We can be lovesick later.
Anakin bit back a smile and straightened his shoulders.
"We've reviewed your mission report," Master Windu said, his voice flat. "The destruction of the outpost. The prisoner manifest. The evidence you recovered from the base's data cores." He paused. "It's quite... extensive.”
"We had a lot of time to gather evidence," Anakin said. "After we escaped."
"After you escaped." Windu's eyebrow arched. "After you broke out of your restraints, slaughtered half the base's personnel, and then blew up the rest."
Anakin shrugged. "They started it.”
Obi-Wan elbowed him. "What my partner means to say is that we were acting in self-defense. The Separatists had captured us with the explicit intention of using us as bait. We simply... took advantage of the chaos."
"By taking advantage of the chaos, you mean—"
"I mean we made sure they couldn't do it again."
Master Koth leaned forward, his expression curious. "And the data you recovered? The transmissions from the base's communication array?”
Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance.
"We found something," Anakin said slowly. "Something... unexpected."
"Unexpected how?" Yoda asked, his ancient eyes sharp.
Anakin took a breath. He'd practiced this. He and Obi-Wan had gone over it a dozen times in their quarters, debating how much to reveal, how much to hide. But in the end, they'd agreed: the truth. All of it. The Council needed to know.
"The Separatists weren't working alone," Anakin said. "Someone inside the Republic was feeding them intelligence. Someone with access to Jedi mission assignments. Someone who knew exactly when and where we'd be."
The chamber went still.
"Go on," Windu said, his voice tinged with danger.
Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan gave him the barest nod.
"I meditated," Anakin said. "After we got back. For..." He paused, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. "For a long time. Hours. I wanted to... I don't know. Clear my head. Process everything that happened.”
A.K.A. I realized that maybe skipping meditation for thirteen years wasn't the best idea, he thought, and he could feel Obi-Wan's amusement flutter through their bond.
"And in this meditation," Anakin continued, "I was able to... look back. At the mission. At the lead-up to the mission. At the patterns." His jaw tightened. "I followed them. And I found something I didn't expect.”
"Found what, Knight Skywalker?" Master Plo Koon asked, his voice kind but probing.
Anakin looked up. Met Windu's eyes. Held them.
"Palpatine," he said.
The name landed like a bomb.
"Explain," Windu said, and his voice was ice.
Anakin took a breath. "The Chancellor's office was the one who flagged the intelligence about the outpost. His office was the one who insisted I lead the mission. His office was the one who—" He stopped. Swallowed. "His office was the one who redirected the original team. Knights Tano and Offee. Their training accident wasn't an accident. It was arranged.”
“Arranged how?" Master Koth demanded.
"Someone in Palpatine's inner circle," Obi-Wan interjected, his voice calm and steady. "Someone with access to security codes and training schedules. Someone who could orchestrate a malfunction in the practice droids without leaving a trace."
Mace Windu's expression was unreadable. "You have proof of this?"
"We have the transmissions from the outpost," Obi-Wan said. "The Separatists were communicating with a Republic-based contact. We recovered the encryption keys. We matched the signatures to—"
"To Palpatine's office," Anakin finished. "The transmissions came from his personal comm unit. Not a subordinate. Not a proxy. His.”
The Council exchanged glances. Anakin could feel the shift in the room—the shock, the disbelief, the dawning horror.
"That's a serious accusation, Knight Skywalker," Master Koth said slowly. "The Chancellor is a respected leader of the Republic. To suggest—"
"I'm not suggesting," Anakin cut him off. "I'm telling you. Palpatine is a Sith Lord.” He paused. “Or if he’s not—if he’s somehow managed to hide that from us—then he’s at the very least a Separatist sympathizer who’s been feeding them intelligence for years.”
The words hung in the air.
And yet—
“I sensed it," Obi-Wan said quietly. "In the cell. When I was cut off from the Force, I couldn't feel anything. But when Anakin came for me—when I was with him again—I could feel it. A presence. Watching. Controlling. It was the same presence I'd felt before, on missions where Palpatine had taken an interest. The same darkness.”
Yoda's ears drooped. His eyes, ancient and sorrowful, fixed on Anakin.
"Certain of this, are you?" he asked.
Anakin met his gaze. "Yes, Master. I'm certain."
"Spent thirteen years grooming you, he has," Yoda said, and there was no question in his voice. "Your power he wanted. Your potential. Your fall."
Anakin's fists clenched at his sides. "Yes."
"And our mission?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice sharp. "The capture? The bait?"
Yoda closed his eyes. "A test, it was. Your dark side, he wanted to see. How far you would go for the ones you love.”
I would burn the galaxy for him, Anakin thought, and he felt Obi-Wan's hand brush against his. A reminder. A grounding.
I know, Obi-Wan seemed to say. I would do the same for you.
“His plan went awry,” Obi-Wan said. “He underestimated Anakin. He thought the restraints would hold him for longer. He thought he could control the situation.” A smile flickered across his face. “He was wrong.”
Windu's eyes narrowed. "You broke out of standard Separatist restraints. Without your lightsaber. Without the Force.”
“I didn't need the Force." Anakin's voice was flat. "I needed him."
He didn't have to elaborate. The Council could feel it, probably, the depth of his connection to Obi-Wan, the power of it. It was written all over his face.
"Well," Master Koth said after a long silence. "This is... unprecedented."
"Unprecedented," Windu repeated dryly. "The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic is a Sith Lord who has been manipulating the Jedi Order for over a decade, and you call it unprecedented?”
"I was trying to be diplomatic."
"Diplomacy is for situations that aren't already on fire.”
Before Anakin could open his mouth to respond, the chamber doors slid open.
Everyone turned.
And there, standing in the doorway, was Chancellor Palpatine.
His face was calm. Pleasant. Friendly. Like he had no idea he'd just been outed as a Sith Lord in front of the entire Jedi Council.
“Chancellor," Windu said, his voice carefully neutral. "This is an unexpected visit."
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Palpatine said, his voice warm and apologetic. "I heard that Knights Skywalker and Kenobi had returned from their mission, and I wanted to personally congratulate them on their success." He smiled at Anakin, a paternal smile, full of warmth. "Anakin, my boy, I heard you were quite heroic.”
Anakin's blood ran cold. He threw his shields up instantly.
He could feel it now. The darkness beneath the mask. The oily, cloying presence that had been there all along, hiding in plain sight, grooming him.
He wanted to scream.
Instead, he smiled back. "Just doing my duty, Chancellor.”
"I heard about the base." Palpatine's eyes gleamed. "Complete destruction. Very... thorough."
"The droids were very flammable," Obi-Wan said pleasantly. "It was quite surprising. You'd think they'd use more fire-resistant materials."
Palpatine's smile didn't waver. "Indeed. One must always be prepared for the unexpected.”
The unexpected, Anakin thought. Like your apprentice breaking out of a prison cell and escaping with the man he loves before you could complete your little experiment.
He could feel Obi-Wan’s hand on his wrist. A warning. Don’t.
He didn’t. He just smiled and waited for the Chancellor to leave.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime,” Palpatine said, already turning to go. “I do so enjoy hearing about your adventures, Anakin.”
“Of course, Chancellor.”
The doors slid shut.
The room was silent for a long moment.
Then Windu let out a breath that was almost a growl. “We need to move. Now.”
“Move where?” Master Koth asked. “We can’t just accuse the Chancellor of being a Sith Lord. We need evidence. Irrefutable evidence.”
“We have evidence,” Anakin said. “The transmissions. The encryption keys. The—”
“Those can be faked,” Windu replied, not unkindly. “A Sith Lord of his caliber would have covered his tracks. We need something he can’t explain away.”
“Then we find it,” Obi-Wan said. “We find it, and we end this.”
Windu looked between them.
“Very well,” he said. “You’ll be assigned to investigate. Quietly. Off the books. No one outside this room can know.”
Anakin nodded. “We understand.”
“And, Skywalker?” Windu called. “If he reaches out to you—if he tries to contact you, to manipulate you, to use you—you tell us. Immediately. Do you understand?”
Anakin’s jaw tightened. “Yes, Master.”
“Good.” Windu turned away. “Dismissed.”
***
The moment they exited the Council Chamber, Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s arm and pulled him into an alcove.
“Anakin.” His voice was sharp. “You need to tell me what happened. In there. When you saw him. You felt something.”
Anakin closed his eyes. “I felt everything. All at once. Thirteen years of—of him. Watching me. Waiting.” He opened his eyes, and there was something broken in them. “He’s been planning this my whole life, Obi-Wan. My whole life. And I didn’t see it. I trusted him. I—”
“Stop.” Obi-Wan cupped his face. “Stop. You didn’t know. None of us knew. He’s a Sith Lord. Hiding is what they do.”
“I should have—”
“You should have nothing.” Obi-Wan’s voice became fierce. “You were a child, Anakin. A child who had no one. And he took advantage of that. That’s not your fault. That’s his.”
Anakin stared at him. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan’s.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “I love you. And I’m not going to let him take that away from me. From us.”
“He won’t.” Obi-Wan’s hands slid into his hair. “I won’t let him. We won’t let him. Together.”
“Together,” Anakin repeated. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good.” Obi-Wan kissed him. Gentle and promising. “Now stop brooding. We have a Sith Lord to catch.”
Anakin laughed. “How could I forget?”
***
The next couple of days were a whirlwind.
Anakin could barely keep track of everything—the briefings, the strategy sessions, the endless hours of planning and counter-planning. The Council had moved with a speed that surprised even him, their usual deliberation replaced by a desperate urgency.
They knew. They knew who Palpatine was. And they knew they had to act before he did.
But they couldn’t treat this like a military operation. Not entirely. They couldn’t burst in, lightsabers blazing, and hope the Force would grant them luck. Palpatine had spent decades weaving his web. One wrong move, one prematurely drawn blade, and he’d slip through their fingers like smoke in the wind. They had to be meticulous. They had to be patient.
And for Anakin, who had never been either of those things, it was agony.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Mace Windu had said, his voice as clinical as ever. “We’re going to offer you a seat on the Council. We’re going to make it public. And then we’re going to make Palpatine think he’s won.”
Anakin had blinked. “Wait. What?”
“It’s bait,” Obi-Wan explained to him, his hand warm on Anakin’s shoulder. “They promote you to the Council, without granting you the rank of Master. Palpatine will hear of it and see it as an opportunity to drive a wedge between you and the Order. He’ll use it to try to turn you.”
“And when he does,” Windu had continued, “you’ll be ready. You’ll let him reveal himself. And then—”
“Then we end it,” Anakin had finished.
The plan was simple. Elegant. Dangerous.
Anakin had loved it immediately.
***
Like a bantha took to fodder, Palpatine latched on.
It had been two days since the snubbed promotion. Two days of waiting. Two days of watching. Anakin had been careful—so careful—to project exactly the right emotions. Frustration. Resentment. Anger. He let them simmer just beneath the surface, a perfect reflection of the wounded pride Palpatine had been counting on.
And then, on the third night, Master Windu sent Anakin to deliver the news that Obi-Wan had engaged General Grievous.
***
The Chancellor’s office had a new quality to it since Anakin’s awakening. Anakin couldn’t see its grandness or elegance as anything more than downright suffocating anymore.
Palpatine had been waiting for him, his face wreathed in his usual wan smile. He’d asked Anakin about his day. He’d inquired, with just the right note of sympathy, about the Council’s “unfortunate” decision.
And then, when the moment was right, he’d made his move.
He spoke in platitudes, offering Anakin knowledge of the dark side of the Force.
“You’re the Sith Lord!” Anakin had exclaimed indignantly, as if he hadn’t already known.
And then he’d turned and walked out, careful to project in the Force the right amount of conflict. Confusion. Intrigue.
***
He’d gone straight to Master Windu.
“You will wait here,” Windu had said, and there was no room for argument. “You will remain in this chamber until I return. That is an order.”
Anakin had looked at him. At the worry in his eyes. At the exhaustion etched into his face.
He’d swallowed his pride and nodded.
***
That had been fifteen minutes ago.
Now Anakin was pacing in the Council chamber, his footsteps echoing in the empty room.
And he was alone.
And he couldn’t stop pacing.
The minutes stretched into an eternity. He could feel something in the Force—a disturbance, a ripple, like a stone thrown into still water. It was growing. Building. Pressure.
And then he felt it.
Pain. Shock. Mace.
Anakin stopped pacing. His eyes went wide.
He’s in trouble.
***
The Senate chamber was in chaos.
Palpatine was on the ground, his lightsaber skittering out the shattered window, his body wracked with the force of his own deflected lightning.
Mace stood over him, his face twisted with rage, fending off his attacks.
Anakin’s lightsaber snapped to his hand, blue blade blazing. He intercepted the lightning mid-strike, deflecting it with a savage twist of his wrist. Palpatine’s eyes went wide.
“You—”
“Me.” Anakin’s voice was cold. “You should have known I wouldn’t let you hurt him.”
“Anakin, my boy, I am… so… weak… help me—”
“I’m not your boy.” Anakin stepped forward, his blade held steady. “I’m not your apprentice. I’m not your anything.”
Palpatine’s scarred, deformed face contorted. The mask was gone now—fully, completely gone. Beneath it was something ancient and terrible. Something that had been hiding for far too long.
“Then you will die like the rest,” he snarled.
The lightning came again, stronger and darker and hungrier. Anakin met it with his blade, his feet planted, his jaw set. The Force surged around him, through him, in him. He felt Obi-Wan’s presence in the back of his mind in a warm, constant pulse.
I’m here, he thought. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.
He pushed.
The lightning dissipated. Palpatine stumbled back.
“Impossible,” he breathed. “You cannot—the power—”
“Your power is nothing.” Anakin advanced, his blade humming. “You’re not in control. You never were.”
Palpatine’s eyes were wild now. “You cannot defeat me, boy. I am the Sith. I am the darkness. I am—”
“You’re tired.”
Anakin struck.
The fight was brutal and quick, Windu covering his blind spots.
And then, in a moment of distraction, he saw the opening and took it, his blade piercing Palpatine’s chest.
The Dark Lord of the Sith’s eyes went wide with disbelief.
“You—” he gasped. “You were supposed to be—”
“Not your apprentice,” Anakin repeated. “Never yours.” He pulled his blade free, and Palpatine crumpled to the ground.
The lightning died. The darkness receded. The room fell into a strange, echoing silence.
Anakin stood over the body, breathing hard. His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding. Sweat poured down his temples.
But he was free.
***
“I should have known you wouldn’t stay put,” Mace said dryly, letting Anakin help him to his feet.
“It was the will of the Force, Master,” Anakin replied smoothly.
Mace hummed. “Yes, I suppose it was.” He met Anakin’s eyes. “Master.”
Anakin’s head snapped up. Mace simply smiled—a rare, fleeting thing—and walked past him toward the door.
“Get some rest, Anakin.”
Did he just—
Anakin stared after him, a slow grin spreading across his face.
***
Anakin and Obi-Wan walked into the Council chamber together.
The room was still buzzing with the aftermath of the Palpatine revelation, but Anakin and Obi-Wan were too focused on each other to notice. They’d been together for days now.
And they were absolutely, completely, utterly gone for each other.
The rest of the Council turned to face them, and then Windu’s gaze landed on Anakin’s neck. His neutral expression fell.
“What,” he said slowly, “are those?”
Anakin blinked. “What are what?”
“On your neck.” Windu gestured vaguely. “Those… marks.”
Anakin’s hand flew to his throat. His eyes widened.
Oh no.
“Oh,” he said, his voice a little too bright. “Bug bites. Very aggressive bugs. On the mission.”
Obi-Wan’s face went red.
Anakin, darling, you’re a terrible liar. You always have been.
“I am not a terrible liar. I’m an excellent liar,” he answered out loud, watching Yoda’s eyes narrow.
Kriff.
“You once told Mace Windu you’d been ‘gardening’ when you were clearly working on your starfighter. “
“Gardening is a noble pursuit—”
“You were covered in engine oil, Anakin.”
Anakin opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. The Council was staring at them.
Master Mundi looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. Master Plo had his hand over his eyes. Yoda was almost smiling, his eyes twinkling with ancient amusement.
“Bug bites,” Windu repeated. “You’re telling me those are bug bites.”
“Yes,” Anakin said weakly.
“They look like—”
“Bug bites. Very enthusiastic bugs.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice strained. “Please stop talking.”
“I’m not going to stop talking. I’m defending our honor.”
“What honor? You’re claiming you were bitten by bugs.” How dare you credit bugs for my hard work? Obi-Wan slid into his ear, setting Anakin’s cheeks aflame.
“Would you prefer I told them the truth? Because I can—”
“No. No. Please. Don’t.”
Windu’s eyebrow arched. “The truth?”
Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance.
Then, very slowly, Anakin reached out and took Obi-Wan’s hand.
“We love each other,” Anakin said. “We’ve been together since the mission. And we’re—” He stopped and looked at Obi-Wan. “We’re not hiding it. If the Order has a problem with that, we’ll leave.”
The room went quiet. Windu stared at them, expressing his typical level of inscrutability.
“We’ve known for years,” he said finally.
Anakin blinked. “What?”
“You’re not subtle. You’ve never been subtle. The staring. The touching. The—” He waved a hand vaguely. “The everything. We’ve known since you were teenagers.”
Anakin’s mouth dropped open. “You have?”
“A betting pool, we had,” Yoda said pleasantly. “Won three hundred credits, I did.”
“A betting pool?”
“I had Obi-Wan down for three years ago,” Master Koth said lightly. “I’m still not entirely sure what took you both so long.”
Anakin looked at Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan looked at Anakin.
Yoda chuckled, a warm sound. "Young love, hmm? Finally discovered something, have you?"
"We're not—we're just—" Anakin sputtered. "We're not—"
"Together, you are," Yoda said. "Deny it, you cannot."
Anakin closed his mouth. "Love," Yoda continued, his voice soft, "the heart knows. Deny it, the Force cannot. Fear, you feel? Of attachment?"
Anakin looked at Obi-Wan. Then at Yoda. Then back at Obi-Wan.
"No," he said, and his voice was steady. "No fear. Just us."
Yoda nodded slowly. "Good. Good."
"The Jedi Code—" Obi-Wan started.
"Outdated, the Code is," Yoda said. "Written for a different time, it was. A different war." His eyes were ancient and knowing. "The path to darkness, love is not. Fear, yes. Loss, certainly. But love?" He smiled. "The light, love is."
Anakin's breath caught. He felt Obi-Wan's hand tighten around his.
"Masters," he said, and his voice was thick. "Thank you."
“Acknowledged,” Windu said, and there was something almost like warmth in his voice. “And Anakin?”
“Yes, Master?”
“Get some bacta for your neck. Those ‘bug bites’ look painful.”
Anakin’s face went red.
Obi-Wan burst out laughing.
They walked out of the Council Chamber hand in hand, their laughter echoing down the corridor.