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Chapter Text

Change, to Anakin, was usually a subtle, gradual thing. Something that happened alongside him, moving and shifting as he moved and shifted, growing as he grew. It was something that he didn’t notice, most of the time, and would only take note of large differences much later after he’d looked back at the course of his life. Some changes were good- his relationship with Ahsoka, for one, (she was still a very young, reckless little teenager, but he was finally beginning to understand her) and some were bad, like how the war was dragging on and on, and how he was losing touch with his identity as a Jedi, and how he couldn’t see Padme anywhere near as often-

Some change was immediate. Like the loss of his arm or the loss of his mother. That day Qui-Gon had come to take him away from Tatooine. Between one day and the next his world was different, and it always happened out of the blue, and it was always devastating.

But what happened to Obi-Wan was somewhere in the middle. At least, that was how Anakin perceived it. He didn’t notice the moment it happened. Looking back, he definitely registered something going on within the first few days, but it had been more of a peripheral awareness of something being different rather than an outright shock. A slow realization of a sudden change, perhaps. It was as if Anakin had gone to bed one day and had woken up in a universe slightly to the left of the one he knew, and it took him a little while to catch on.

Obi-Wan changed. It was hard to describe. If Anakin had to name one key difference, it was like he...softened, somehow. In every way, from his clothes to his voice- the hard edges were smoothed out. Suddenly, he no longer wore his hair so perfectly styled, or so short. He forwent his armor and resumed wearing his traditional robes, only remarking that I simply want to remind myself of who I am, Anakin, and I am a Jedi- the ones with the big swirling cloaks and the soft, worn fabric that swished around like a sandstorm in the desert.

And his Force-signature...Anakin knew his own Force-signature was overwhelming to some. He ran hot and he ran loud and especially when he was angry, other Jedi could find it jarring and uncomfortable. Secretly, he'd always been a little proud of that fact. It made him feel...powerful.  

Obi-Wan's new Force-signature looked, at first glance, to not even be there. Anakin knew his Master didn't have the highest midichlorion count, but he'd never felt so...subdued. Usually, Obi-Wan appeared to be like a controlled fire, burning with the light side of the Force, visible from far away. Now, he was more like a solitary candle, burning low but constant, all his power tucked away like an unseemly blemish beneath shields so smooth, they appeared to blend into the Force itself. Warm, constant, steady, but low. Anakin really didn't know what to make of it.

*

At first, the changes were subtle enough that no one looked any closer. Not even the soldiers who’d been nearest at the time.

They were on a large moon in the outer rim- on one of a hundred campaigns that had all begun to blur together for Anakin. The 501st and the 212th, together as they often were. Ahsoka and Rex sat nearby, giggling at something, and Obi-Wan sat a little ways away, speaking in a low voice to Cody as they went over some mission plans Anakin probably should be a part of. But Anakin was currently sitting against a rock, and it was a comfortable rock, and he was drifting in and out of wakefulness. He'd just overdone it a bit in that last battle, that was all. He'd be fine after a small nap. And anyway, if Obi-Wan needed him for anything, he'd surely call him over. Yes, all was well, Anakin could sleep-

Rex made Ahsoka laugh, and the sound cut through their sleepy camp like a bell, and Anakin startled awake to watch his Padawan make a sweeping gesture that knocked over their jug of water. The thing seemed to fall in slow motion as his eyes widened, and he threw a hand out to stop it-

"No!"

But he wasn't the only one. The jug froze in midair, every drop of water frozen alongside it, reflecting the firelight of their camp like a perfect glass sculpture. And it wasn't Anakin who'd stopped it. Lowering his hand, heart thudding in his chest, he looked over to see Obi-Wan, hand outstretched, a look of panic on his face before it was smoothed away so quickly that Anakin wondered if he'd seen it at all.

Noticing the eyes suddenly upon him, Obi-Wan gazed back at them all steadily, as if challenging any of the troopers to object.

"We can't waste water, gentlemen." He paused and raised his eyebrows at Anakin. "If you would be so kind...?"

"Oh. Yes, right," he stuttered, pushing himself away from the rock and going over to the jug, grabbing it with his hands and scooping up the frozen water, every last drop. He placed the jug back on the table, in front of Ahsoka's surprised face.

"Sorry, Master," she said, sounding sheepish. "I didn't mean to do that."

"That's alright, Snips," he replied. "It happens." And he turned back to go sit down again, and barely caught her next words as she whispered them to Rex.

"I didn't know this was a water-scarce planet," she said close to his ear, sneaking a glance at Obi-Wan who'd turned back to his conversation with Cody as though nothing had happened.

"It's not," said Rex. "At all. But maybe the General just didn't want to deal with a spilled jug."

Perhaps he hadn't. But even after more than ten years away from Tatooine, something in Anakin still shrieked in horror whenever a drop of water was spilled, an instinct drilled so deeply into his bones that he never thought he'd be over it. Objectively he knew nothing would have happened if the jug had been allowed to spill (it was a military-issue, metal jug. It wouldn't even have broken) but the idea of it galled him all the same. It was no surprise that Anakin had reacted the way he had- but Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, who used to pour tea down the drain if it wasn't made right, much to the horror of his once-Padawan?

*

The strangeness continued. It wasn’t something overt- not something that would ever cause anyone to doubt his competence, or wonder about his ability to make decisions. Obi-Wan’s decisions were as sane as they had ever been. To anyone who didn’t know Obi-Wan, nothing looked out of place.

And yet… and yet. Things were just…off. In little ways. Anakin was so confused.

*

A scorpion crawled across his path, and, striking deadly and true, Obi-Wan skewered it on the end of his metal chopstick.

"I didn't think I'd see this species out here," he remarked blandly as he twisted the stinger off, and held the rest into the fire, where the legs curled up and the exoskeleton charred and smoked. After a moment, he stuck it into his bowl with the rice they'd been eating instead of their usual ration bars- when the locals offered them food, they weren't going to refuse, not when their only other option was that tasteless stuff.  

He then proceeded to grip it with his chopsticks, along with some rice, and pop it into his mouth. Anakin could hear the crunching from across the fire.

"What?" said Obi-Wan, finally noticing the staring.

"It's just," said Ahsoka, "a week ago you were yelling at Anakin for doing something similar and eating a bug off the ground..."

Rex was nodding thoughtfully at her statement. "You, uh, also might've said they were disgusting. Sir," he added.

"Did I? Ah, well, I've had a change of heart. Besides, at least I cook mine. Truly, Anakin, has no one told you about parasites?"

Anakin's mind was filled with white noise. "Eat another one," he said, shaking his head like a wet dog. "I won't believe it until I see another one."

"I did notice a small nest further down that way- would you like one too?"

They all had scorpion that day, even if only out of sheer incredulity. Anakin thought they weren’t half bad, as far as bugs went. He’d certainly eaten worse in his life.

He sort of recognized that type of scorpion- didn’t they have those on Tatooine? But the memories were too hazy.

*

It went on for weeks. From one planet to another, from one campaign to another. Sometimes it was subtle enough that Anakin doubted himself- sure, Obi-Wan refused to wear armor now, but that didn’t have to mean anything. Sure he’d changed his hair and his voice was rougher and less accented (to Anakin’s ears anyway) and sure he used rim slang sometimes without even realizing but- that didn’t mean- it didn’t mean anything.

In hindsight, it was really kind of obvious.

*

“Thank you. Have a good day,” said Obi-Wan to the vendor, and Anakin paused.

“You speak Huttese? Since when?”

“Just a little,” said Obi-Wan. Maybe that was true, but his accent had been nearly perfect. He held out the fruit he'd bought- something red and bright. "Want some?"

"When did you learn? Why didn't you tell me?" said Anakin, taking the fruit and biting into it aggressively. Obi-Wan shrugged and began to walk back with him.

"You know I have a penchant for languages, Anakin. Perhaps I’ve only been refreshing my knowledge."

"Your accent was good. Say something else, let me hear it."

Huttese was his first language. The language of the masters, the language of people who bought and sold other people. An ugly, dirty language, for an ugly, dirty empire. Anakin was, unfortunately, fluent.

"Well- alright," said Obi-Wan, and cleared his throat. “Oh Jabba, great and powerful, intelligent as a snail, beautiful as a barnacle, may your warts be forever pustulant and your mouth full of sores.”

Anakin was startled into laughing, and then quickly looked behind himself. They weren't near Tatooine, but they were in Hutt space- the Hutts had control of huge swathes of the outer rim-

"Obi-Wan!" He said breathlessly, seized by that old fear- where he came from, people died for speeches like that, and here Obi-Wan was just-

…somehow, it was funny.

"You can't say things like that around here!" he said, giggling despite himself as he took another bite of his fruit.

Obi-Wan had the audacity to shrug, smirking. "But my dear, I am merely expounding upon the virtues of the glorious Hutt empire and its dear, beloved leader."

"You better stop expounding," said Anakin, trying to be serious and failing. In the beginning of the war, Obi-Wan had been forced to deal with Jabba as part of a mission. Anakin tried to put it out of his mind, but he remembered how Obi-Wan had been, so- so polite, so respectful when talking to that slaver. It had been necessary for the mission, but still. It left a bad taste in Anakin's mouth.

"If only you could actually say that to him," he said, that thought bringing him down again. Would the Hutts reign in the outer rim forever? Why was Anakin fighting in a stupid galactic civil war when he should be out there, trying to free his people? His mother would be ashamed of him.

There were other reasons, reasons he tried not to think about, for his mother to be ashamed of him.

Obi-Wan appeared to be visibly swallowing his words. "Yes," he said, finally. "If only."

The pure anger with which this was said startled Anakin. Why should Obi-Wan care about the politics of the outer rim? Why, for that matter, had he bothered to learn Huttese in the first place? Anakin certainly never spoke it around him- or anyone, really. He viewed it as useful skill he had, something to be pulled out as one does a pocket knife. But it was certainly nothing to be proud of, only a reminder that he'd once known that language and had spoken words like yes, master, how may I serve you, master, and forgive me, master. A language of servitude, a language of pain.

Hearing Obi-Wan make jokes in a language like this was as disorienting as it was…strangely hilarious.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been a diplomatic person. With his posh Coruscanti accent and his high class manners, his poise and his dignity… he was put-together and perfect, not a hair out of place. While most Jedi followed the Code as best they could, Obi-Wan had made it an art form. Unlike Anakin, he was truly unattached, and he seemed to approach everything with a gleam in his eye and a snarky comment, unruffled by the mundanities of day to day life. As if the ugliness of emotions and feelings were beneath him, somehow. Anakin always felt a bit dirty when he showed emotion around his Master. In ten years of living with the man, he'd never once seen Obi-Wan lose his cool.  Not ever.

Sometimes it was enough to make him wonder if his Master was some kind of machine. Anakin liked droids, but even droids didn’t answer statements like you’re the closest thing I have to a father with then why don’t you listen to me?

Obi-Wan’s love, or even his friendship, was something Anakin had long given up on. The best thing he could be, at this point, was a reliable former Padawan, or a dutiful member of his Master’s lineage, and he wasn’t good at that either, so he settled at the very least for being a somewhat competent partner on missions and on the battlefield. Even if he was reckless beyond belief.

Despite professing that he’d given up, Anakin went through life these days with a lump in his throat, or a spike in his heart- like a bit of stray shrapnel that had gotten lodged in a wound and only burrowed deeper and deeper within him every time he drew breath. Every time he spoke to Obi-Wan, he was reminded of its existence. It had hurt for so long, and for so deeply- he thought it should have scarred over by now. It would be a mercy if it stopped hurting, if it hardened into something manageable, like a chip on his shoulder or a complex array of daddy issues or a preference for dark humor. But it didn’t. Instead, the fact that Obi-Wan did not love him continued to torture him on a daily basis, hurting fresh with each snarking jab, and he would respond in kind and try to pretend like it wasn’t ripping him apart from the inside out.

Soft heart, he would scold himself, and then get angry enough that it would stop hurting. Then he’d come out of that anger a day later only to find that he had hurt everyone and everything around him, retreat to lick his wounds, vent about it to Palpatine, the only person these days who ever listened to him, return to Obi-Wan, and get hurt all over again and curse his soft heart once again.

It was a cycle, and a childish one at that, one that had been going on for upwards of ten years. It was a downward spiral, a controlled, slow fall, and yet. It was a cycle he didn’t know how to get out of.

Anakin cursed his own childish nature.

*

Being from a desert planet had its drawbacks, one of which was that Anakin was always cold. He was used to it by now, and usually wore layers upon layers for that very reason, as many clothes as he could reasonably get away with. And cold-weather planets were awful. But when it came to the heat- when it came to desert planets (ew, sand) or volcanic planets or, honestly, anything a bit closer to the sun than people were typically used to- Anakin excelled. High temperatures had never really been a problem for him, because out of everywhere he’d been in the galaxy, nothing had yet to match the pure heat of a Tatooine double noon.

But, he had to admit, Geonosis came pretty close.

It seemed they were always coming back here. Today Anakin trekked just behind Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, leading their men over the rise of a massive dune. The men were baking in their armor, and many had removed as much of it as they could reasonably get away with, wearing only their blacks and helmet lining. Anakin had done so as well, wearing robes that were light and airy, and he wore a scarf about his head to protect it from the sun and any stray sand particles kicked up by the wind. Ahsoka walked ahead of him, dressed very similarly, covered head to toe in sunscreen and another scarf- those montrals could burn if left exposed to the Geonosian sun for even a few minutes.

Force knew he’d seen it happen to other togruta before. Slave togruta who’d worked alongside him and his mother, out in the heat. At least he’d had his hair to protect him somewhat, but they- they had nothing.

Hats and scarves (or helmet lining) were better than hair, and he was glad for it. Glad -and grateful- that they all had access to some kind of protection.

But Obi-Wan was doing even better than he was. At the front of the group, clad only in his Jedi robes and cloak (as always) he led them, marching with a chipper attitude, fueled by seemingly inexhaustible stamina. Hell, Anakin didn’t see a single bead of sweat on him. Did he even feel the heat?

Anakin felt it. Every step upon that shifting sand took more and more effort, like his body was becoming heavier and heavier. His mouth was continually dry, parched for water, and he scolded it internally. He’d had an entire cup to drink before they left the ship, he should be fine.

Tell that to his Coruscant-spoiled body, though. It had gotten used to certain luxuries.

He made his way to the front of their struggling group, brushing sweat away that had beaded on his brow (wasting water-) and came up alongside Obi-Wan. For a moment he studied his Master as they walked, in total bafflement. Nope, no sweat broken.

“You’re gonna get a sunburn,” Anakin informed him, searching for some kind of reaction- at least an acknowledgment of their current situation.

“I’ve got some sunscreen on,” said Obi-Wan with a smile. Hell, he almost looked happy to be slowly melting under the heat of the Geonosian desert.

“Sunscreen won’t save your pale ass from this kind of heat,” Anakin muttered.  “At least put something on your head.”

Obi-Wan shrugged and tugged his hood up to cover his head, expression bemused. “Well- alright, if you want me to, of course I’ll do so. Really, Anakin, I- I’m quite touched by your concern, but it’s not that bad. I’d even go so far as to say it’s rather cool out today, by Geonosian standards.”

“I don’t even know why I bother,” said Anakin. There was that snark again. Obi-Wan could always be relied upon to be sassy even in the best of situations.

Annoyed, he fell back to walk alongside Ahsoka, who was trudging well near the back of the column of marching soldiers. Rex was marching beside her, casting her worried glances every now and then.

Her face, normally a healthy orange, was flushed a deep, dark maroon. Togruta weren’t meant for desert climates.

“You okay, Snips?” Anakin asked her.

“Now I know…why we went to Tatooine…at night, that one time,” she gasped out. “I feel like I’m in an oven. My organs are cooking alive. I’m not okay. I’m going to die, Master. I’m actually going to die.”

“Really?”

“No.” Her mouth twisted in a heat-stricken glower. “But it sure as hell feels that way.”

At least Anakin wasn’t alone in his suffering- everyone seemed to agree with her. More than once they had to stop the party in order to rest and drink water and avoid those pesky things like heatstroke and dehydration. The journey took a toll on them all, especially the soldiers, who, though they had been born and bred for this kind of thing, really had very little experience in desert environments.

It was a mission that truly tested their limits, Anakin’s included, as far as the heat was concerned. He was just unused to this kind of desert living. After so long, it no longer came naturally to him, and he didn’t particularly want to get good at it again.

When they managed to leave Geonosis a few days later, after the mission was over, he was happy to see the back of it. So was everyone.

Everyone but Obi-Wan, that is, who sighed wistfully as their transport ship lifted them away from the heat and the desert and the sand. As though he actually missed it. As though he was right at home in that kind of environment.

*

Over time, the differences began to add up.  Like a domino effect, it started small, but over the weeks…suddenly, it was a lot more than a bit of anxiety over a spilled jug, or a newfound willingness to eat strange foods, or an interest in outer rim politics…suddenly, it was so much more.

*

The 212th and the 501st had been deployed alongside each other on a mission again.  That had been happening more and more these days as well- they were together on missions often, of course, but now it seemed like joint missions were all they did.  In fact, Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a solo mission.  At the very least, it had been before Obi-Wan had…changed.

Today, they had some downtime between patrols.  As he wandered aimlessly through their camp, he heard the telltale hum of a lightsaber and a swishing noise. Hum, hum, swish. The Force felt peaceful. It was Obi-Wan, practicing his katas- a moving meditation that Anakin never did these days, because he was either using his lightsaber to decapitate battle droids or he was using it to teach Ahsoka, and there was no need to keep up his form when he practiced it in the field every day.

He stopped to watch. Obi-Wan had been recognized by the council as a Master of Soresu (supposedly a great honor, though Anakin put little stock in such things) and it was always a thing to behold. Anakin had no patience for the form himself, which required too much precision, but he did admire it in his Master.  

He knew what he would see, and was already contemplating calling Ahsoka over so he could point out things for her to notice. Obi-Wan would do his katas, his body precise and poised, curved into perfect lines that channeled his energy in the most optimal way, his elegant footwork carrying him smoothly from position to position, and Anakin would watch and wonder how much practice that had taken, how much dedication...

But that wasn't what happened, because Obi-Wan wasn't practicing Soresu. It was...what was it? Anakin tilted his head. Obi-Wan was moving graceful, fluid, weighted and weightless, leaping into the air and seeming to hang there for a moment, unsupported, before flipping over and driving his saber back down. Anakin couldn't make out the form, really, aside from some simple Shii-Cho strikes that had been in his very first lightsaber lesson. It was more like...a dance, all things considered. A dance with the Force and with the saber. It reminded him of water, maybe, with how fluid it was.

No, actually- not water. Sand. Once again, the sandstorm. Rising into the air and floating there when the wind came and stirred it up. With Obi-Wan wearing his long brown robe, which flared out whenever he moved, Anakin could see it clearly. Like an overlay on his vision, he saw the desert rising and falling and churning with a primal energy.

He was reminded of his mother's old stories, and the old gods of Tatooine, the ones that came through towns and cities in the form of raging storms and took their revenge on slavers, leaving freedom in their wake.

The blue of Obi-Wan's saber kissed the ground, leaving the slightest of scorch marks, and Anakin realized he'd been staring slack-jawed. He pulled himself back, blinking the sand and the desert from his eyelids and reminding himself that those things were in the past, and his Master was just a man.

"Did you need something, Anakin?" Obi-Wan landed light on the tips of his feet- what was gravity to him, after that display?

"I..." Anakin faltered. His eyes couldn't stray away from the lit saber. A frission of tension went through his body, his legs, his flesh arm- something deep down, something that sounded like a nine year old boy, wanted to run and hide.

"Anakin?" The saber retracted, but it didn't matter- the color was burned into his retinas.

"I..." he took a step back. What was- his breathing picked up, his hands had gone sweaty and cold, and he couldn't stop the full-body shudder that went through him.

Suddenly, he recognized it. It was fear. A fear that, once noticed, curdled swiftly into anger.

"Spar with me," he found himself saying, forcing his breath to calm and to take another step forward, getting right up into Obi-Wan's space. "Spar with me, show me that- that thing you just did. What was that?"

"Ah, that? It is merely a dance. An exercise, if you will. Are you quite alright?"

No. He wasn't. And he didn't even know why.

"Spar with me, Obi-Wan. It's been forever since we did. Let's fight." What better way to dissipate this...whatever it was? Why should Anakin ever fear his Master? Why had he looked at that blue saber and, for a moment, seen his own death written there?

Obi-Wan glanced, strangely, at Anakin's legs. "I'm sorry," he said, stowing the hilt of his blade at his belt. "I cannot spar with you. Please don't ask me why."

"That's it? No explanation?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Why?"

"Anakin..." he looked pained. But Anakin's frustration only grew.

"Why not? You haven't joined us for training in weeks- are you mad at us or something?"

"No, of course not. And I'm happy to show Ahsoka-"

"Oh, so you'll show her, but you won't show me?"

"Did I say that?" Obi-Wan kept his tone level, but the eyebrow had raised and suddenly, Anakin felt like a child. "I'm happy to join you and Ahsoka for training- the lapse wasn't consciously done, Anakin. And I'm happy to show you my dance, as it were- it is merely an experiment."

"But you won't spar with me."

"No," said Obi-Wan simply. "Will you believe me if I said it had nothing to do with you? It doesn't, Padawan."

It was difficult to keep his temper in check. His emotions had nowhere to go. If he fought Obi-Wan, would that fear dissipate? He’d never know, apparently. Because his Master had woken up one day and had decided that apparently Anakin wasn't good enough to practice with- had woken up one day and had changed his entire personality-

He needed to hit something. With a stiff nod, he turned his back on Obi-Wan and walked away before he could start yelling.

Obi-Wan let him go. Obi-Wan always let him go. Obi-Wan pretended that Anakin's anger was nonexistent, like something unbecoming, to be ignored, to be hidden away out of sight and out of mind. Obi-Wan was-

-following him.

"Leave me alone."

"I think we should talk. I think you're misunderstanding-"

"I'm understanding just fine. You don't want to spar with me. Ahsoka, sure, but not me. I get it. It's fine."

"It's not fine if that's the impression I have left you with. I said I was happy to train with you, Anakin, and I meant it."

"Then spar with me!" His frustration wasn't truly over this, but his anger burned hot nonetheless. "Fight me! Fight me and beat me like you always do so I can stop-" he cut off with a hiss, sucking his tongue behind his teeth.

"So you can stop...what?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

Obi-Wan caught up to him, stepping in front to stop Anakin in his tracks- Anakin who just growled and shoved past him, bumping his shoulder. And Obi-Wan- Obi-Wan reached out.

He put his hand on Anakin's shoulder, and Anakin was so surprised by the- the care, the love, suddenly projected through the Force, that he stopped. It almost knocked him off his feet.

He froze and breathed it in.  

"You’re...different," said Anakin after a long silence. He closed his eyes and just basked in the Force, in that feeling. Was he imagining it? Obi-Wan wasn't...like this.

Obi-Wan didn't love him. Or if he did, by some miracle if he did- he wouldn't show it, acknowledge it, or project it into the Force for all to see. He wasn’t...like this.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed.

"Is that what has...upset you so? That I’m...different?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."  

"You can be upset. You can be angry with me. I know I've...changed. I'm not the man you knew."

But that was the problem. Anakin didn't want the man he knew. The Obi-Wan of his childhood dreams and the true reality of the person who had raised him sometimes clashed horribly.  Obi-Wan was kind, yes, and he always had been, but he was also a strict Master, rigid in his ways, unbending in his beliefs.  He was a Jedi first and a man second, unattached, unruffled by the vices and follies of the galaxy.  It felt like nothing could touch him.  That Anakin with his anger and his pain and his tears and his- his humanness, his brokenness, was screaming at a wax statue.  The Obi-Wan he knew never broke composure, not for anything, bad…or good.

Anakin abruptly realized that he didn’t want the Obi-Wan he knew.  He wanted- he wanted-

“Is this some kind of trick?” he managed, his words and breath coming out harsh.  His Force-signature curled and spiked around him, twisting over and over in a reflection of his own emotions.  The Obi-Wan he knew would have immediately told him to get himself together.  It was inappropriate for a Jedi to display such a lack of Force-control.  “Is this some test to see if I’ll crack?  See if I’m level-headed enough to stay a Jedi?”

“Of course not.  What purpose would a test of that nature even serve?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Anakin darkly.  Obi-Wan, in reply, merely hummed and moved closer.  His Force presence pressed up against him, warm, like a- like-

-an embrace, maybe, or something. But that was ridiculous.

“The gulf between us is so vast,” his Master murmured.  “Sometimes, it’s like we’re not even speaking the same language.  How did I never notice this?  No- if there is any test here, Padawan, it is only directed at me.”

“I, I’m- I’m loyal to the Jedi,” Anakin assured him, ripping the words from his chest.  They seemed to cut into him as he spoke, like little daggers, wrenching against his own soul.  “I’m not going to crack.  I promise.  You can tell the council they don’t have to worry about me- so- so you can just- drop it.  Just drop it, Obi-Wan.  Please.”

He wasn’t really above begging, at this point.

But his Master only sighed.  “I will get through to you somehow, my dear.  I am being genuine- all that’s left is to convince you of it.”

When Anakin walked away a second time, Obi-Wan let him go.

Chapter Text

It was hard to meet up with Palpatine these days- surprisingly so.  A myriad of scheduling conflicts and coincidental errors, along with an absurdly long posting with Obi-Wan in the outer rim, kept him away from Coruscant for a lengthy amount of time: almost four months.  But people had to come home eventually.  As soon as he did, almost the very moment he did (before seeing his darling wife, even, who was currently spending a full day at work in the senate) Anakin had come to the Chancellor, as he always did when he had a chance.  It was expected of him to never miss a meeting if he had the opportunity to slip away.

“Acting different?” said Palpatine, befuddled frown firmly in place as he tilted his head at Anakin.  “How so?”

“It’s hard to describe,” said Anakin from his place on the windowsill.  He was lying on his back on the window seat in the Chancellor’s office, fiddling with his lightsaber as the man worked on various documents, writing quietly.  “He’s just…nicer?  Or something.”

“Nicer?”

“Yeah.”  Anakin looked away.  “I don’t know if he wants something- I know you said people are only nice if they want something, and that makes total sense…but I asked him what he wanted and all he said was that he was being genuine.  I really don’t know what to think.”

“Hmm.”  Palpatine got up from his chair, crossing the room and walking over to where Anakin was laying and setting a hand into his hair.  He ruffled the brown locks, and Anakin smiled at him.

“Well, what has he been doing?  Do you have any examples?”

“Just…tiny stuff.  He cares about water now, for some reason.  He likes the spices I like, the ones from…”

“From?”

He looked away.  “Nowhere.”  Palpatine didn’t like it when Anakin mentioned Tatooine.  You’re too good for that backwards place.

“He- he’s just- odd,” he went on quickly, eager to move past his near-slip in mentioning his home planet.  “He wouldn’t spar with me, but then he spent hours teaching me and Ahsoka how to do some cool moves.  And he can be…kinda jumpy sometimes, and I know he has nightmares where he never had any before.  But…I’m an insomniac too.  And sometimes when I’m up at those hours I’ll pass him when I’m walking around.  He smiles at me.  He never really did that before.”

Palpatine, in response to Anakin’s musings, merely frowned.  “Well, my dear boy, you said it, not me.”

“Said what?”

“People are only nice when they want something from you.  It’s the way of the galaxy, boy.”

“I- I know.”

The fingers in his hair tightened slowly, twisting like a wrench, harsh.  Pulling.

“A few smiles, a few words,” said Palpatine, looming over him, “mean absolutely nothing.  He would never love you if he knew the truth, as I do.  If he knew about your wonderful wife…if he knew how strong you were, how you defied his orders to save your mother, taking out a whole tribe in the process…my boy, I admire these qualities in you, but I’m afraid if Obi-Wan Kenobi were to find out…”

“I’d be- cast out,” said Anakin, gasping as Palpatine pulled even harder.  It hurt, it- ouch.  But he didn’t say a word.  Long experience had taught him that saying anything was useless, and may even make it worse.  “I’d be…they’d take away my saber.”

“Oh, more than that,” said Palpatine with a chuckle.  With his other hand, he patted Anakin’s cheek.  “No- if the Jedi found out, my dear boy, you can be sure that you’ll never make it out of there alive.  And I cannot even begin to describe what they might do to Padme- a senator, marrying one of their own?  No- no.  It wouldn’t be good at all.”

Anakin screwed up his face against the stinging; his face was turning red.  “…y-yeah.  I know they’d never understand.  I’ll make sure they never find out.”  He took a deep breath.  “I’ll make sure he never finds out.”

“There’s a good lad.”  Palpatine released him, and walked back to his desk, and Anakin watched him go with his hair in disarray and a lingering burn in his scalp.  He could feel the phantom fingers on his head, still.  Feeling them moving about and wrenching and twisting, even when they’d been taken away.

Palpatine’s friendship made Anakin feel like he was locked in a room with a hungry tiger.  To make sure it didn’t eat him, he had to feed it.

If all the tiger wanted was his hair, so be it.  And his silence.  And his trust, and his loyalty, and his time, and his everything.

Palpatine was the only one who understood him.  Palpatine was the only person who loved him, aside from Padme.  But even Padme didn’t get him the way the Chancellor did.  Padme was naive.  The Chancellor knew how harsh the galaxy could be: he always gave it to Anakin straight, and Anakin admired that about him.

He turned back to the window and continued to fiddle with his lightsaber.  His hands shook a little.

“Oh, and Anakin?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t cut it so short next time.  You know how I hate your short hair.”

“Right, I- sorry.  I’ll.  I’ll grow it out.”

“See that you do.”

*

In contrast to Palpatine, Anakin’s Master had never been a tactile person. Obi-Wan wasn't prone to hugs, or even hand-holding, and as a child this had been a heartbreak and a shock for Anakin to find out. His mother had always held him, her fingers in his hair, her arms wrapped securely around him as the sandstorms raged outside their little hut, a shield between him and the world. Obi-Wan was not a replacement for his mother, but, especially in his earlier years, he'd...looked for that type of comfort. Something grounding and real to latch onto. But Obi-Wan had never offered, and Anakin had never known how to ask.

So it came as a shock when Obi-Wan began to just- touch him. Randomly. Unexpectedly. A hand on the shoulder. A grasp of the elbow. Even- to Anakin's immediate mortification- taking him by the hand and leading him around like a lost child. It was always so sudden, when it happened- he never had time to anticipate it, never even had a chance to reciprocate. But he never pulled away. Even the hand holding, though it made him feel like a baby. Even that, Anakin began to treasure, because Obi-Wan's hand was warm in his and- and if it did remind him of his mother, no one needed to know.

The day after Anakin’s meeting with Palpatine, he was enjoying a quiet cup of tea with his Master while they filed some joint reports.  Though he had the Chancellor’s words echoing in his mind, and he knew not to read into such things, the fact that Obi-Wan had approached him, had asked him if he wanted to work together…it meant…something.

And this tea was delicious.  Obi-Wan always made good tea, but lately….mmm, this was on another level.  Perhaps his old Master had decided to branch out.  This new tea tasted like…something familiar.  Something…nice.

Home, he thought.  Unbidden, he thought of a peaceful desert.  Those nice days when the air was still cool from nighttime and the sand was still, and the little craggy bushes and flowers were peeking out to greet the twin suns as they crept above the horizon.  The gentle breeze, circulating the air.  The hush upon the ground, almost like a prayer.

Anakin scoffed to himself, rolled his eyes, and drank some more tea.  He hated that planet, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.  Even if it did have a few good things going for it.  Even if not everything on that planet was perfectly horrible, 90% of it still was.

Obi-Wan was sitting very close to him.  Closer than he would have ever sat in the past.  They were almost touching, but not quite, working side by side and sipping their tea.  As he refocused on the report in front of him, he heard his Master shift, heard the rustling of thick robes.

Obi-Wan’s hand landed in his hair, fingers tangling-

Anakin flinched.  He couldn’t help it.  He jerked backwards before catching himself and going completely still, eyes locked onto his Master, who seemed to have done it while distracted, while scrolling through a document…

“I’m sorry,” said Obi-Wan, eyes wide and pulling away.  “I don’t know what came over me.  I wasn’t thinking…”

But Anakin seized his wrist before he could retract it, holding on tight.  “Wait,” he choked out.

“Anakin?”

He couldn’t articulate it.  There were no words for what he was feeling.  Memories danced behind his eyelids as he screwed up his face, squeezing his eyes shut.

Feeling like he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, he took Obi-Wan’s hand and set it back in his hair.  He wanted Obi-Wan to touch him.  Even if that touch would be- painful.  At least it was something.

The fingers in his hair settled back down, light as a feather.  They didn’t tangle, didn’t pull.  All they did was card lightly through.  The feeling was enough to make him take a shuddering, deep breath, and then another, and another.

“Anakin?” said Obi-Wan again, a note of concern in his tone.  “Are you alright?”

No.  “Yeah, yeah, I’m- yeah.”  He forced his eyes back open, willing himself not to cry, not even a little bit.  Why would he cry, anyway?  There was nothing to cry about.

Kind gray eyes met his own.  “I’m here for you, Padawan.  That’s all I wanted to say.”

“I’m not your Padawan anymore,” said Anakin, breaking the eye contact.  He looked at his own hands, resting in his lap.  “I’m not your responsibility.”

Obi-Wan laughed, a little, but it was soft and low and broken.  “Oh, Anakin,” he replied.  “At the risk of upsetting you I will tell you that you’ll always be that to me.  It’s not about your skills as a Jedi, or your prowess as a general.  I am not trying to insult you, I am merely trying to say that…”

Maybe a few years ago, a speech like that would have insulted Anakin.  Maybe it would still, depending on the day.  But now he was remembering things he’d rather bury, and he was fresh from his meeting with the Chancellor, with Palpatine’s words burning through his head…and instead of being insulted, all he was thinking was if you only knew what I did, you’d hate me forever.

“I’m only trying to say that I care for you, and I’ll always be here for you.  I’m never going to abandon you.  Do you understand?  These bonds between us…they are stronger than blood.  At least that’s how I see it.”

The fingers stroked through his hair once again, before Obi-Wan removed his hand and went back to his report, as though nothing had happened. 

When Anakin was sure his Master wasn’t looking, he let the anguish ripple across his face for a moment, before turning back to his own work.  That kindness wasn’t real.  That warm, (loving?) touch…it wasn’t real.  If Obi-Wan saw him for who he truly was…saw him for what he’d done…he’d go back on those pretty words.

Palpatine was all he had.

People are only nice when they want something, the Chancellor had said.  But what could Obi-Wan possibly want from him?

Chapter Text

“My dear, this is not the medbay.” That was Obi-Wan again, days later, once they were off Coruscant and back in the field, leaning over the top of the crate behind which Anakin had shoved himself. Anakin blinked up at him, trying to recall what he'd been doing- ah, yes, breaking down. It had been a tough battle. He'd made a few stupid calls. Gotten hit a bit too hard on the head. And now it was over, and they were back on the Negotiator, and he was fine, he just-

"I just needed a minute, sorry," he said and wiped his eyes. "I'll- I'm fine. I'll go now."

He stood up on shaky legs and nodded to his Master. He really was alright now, but he should probably go to the medbay for the nasty cut he had above his eye. No big deal, really, but Obi-Wan liked to fuss. (This fussing was newfound, and mostly welcome, but he just had no idea what to do about it sometimes.) Anakin made to brush past the other man-

Obi-Wan touched his shoulder. Anakin paused and looked back.

"Its...actually this way," said his Master, gesturing in the other direction and looking Anakin up and down in concern. "Shall I walk you there?"

Anakin flushed. "Sorry, I know you must be busy...I can get there, I just..."

"Anakin," said Obi-Wan with a strange intensity. "I will always have time for you. No matter what I am doing, if you need me, I will do my best to be there for you. You must understand this."

Stunned, Anakin could only blink. "Y-yeah," he said, looking down. "Right, I know that."

He didn’t know that at all, actually. And, anyway- it couldn’t be true.

"Come," said Obi-Wan, and took Anakins hand as though he were a tiny Padawan again, gently leading him down the hall. "It's not far."

When they got there, Obi-Wan patted Anakin's arm before dropping his hand, and made to turn around, presumably to leave Anakin at the mercy of the healers. His whole presence had warmed Anakin up from the inside out, while they'd been walking. It was as if he held a candle in his hands.

Did Obi-Wan know he felt that way, in the Force? So comforting, so calm? It was the peace of a true Jedi Master. Perhaps others had this type of Force-signature, before the war. But now, when they were forced to be soldiers, generals? When their average day was filled with blood and death? It was exceedingly rare.

"Master?"

Obi-Wan turned. "Yes? Something more?"

Anakin hugged him. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time in a long time. He just...had been realizing, over the past few weeks, and over this walk to the medbay, how much his Master meant to him. Even if he was acting differently. Perhaps (to Anakin's shame and confusion) because he was acting differently. His arms wrapped around Obi-Wan and he squeezed, quickly, just for a moment, because Obi-Wan wasn't a tactile person and he knew that-

But as he made to draw away, Obi-Wan hugged him back. It was surprisingly tight, his arms encircling Anakin, squeezing back just as hard, and, caught off guard, he froze for an instant before relaxing into the embrace, melting, letting himself absorb as much of his Master's warmth as the man was willing to give him.

There was a sharp inhale.

"Hmm?," said Anakin, drawing back just a little. He didn't really want to let go.

"Dear one," said Obi-Wan, a note of urgency in his voice. "Padawan. What is this?"

One of Obi-Wan's hands was pressed to the small of Anakin's back, a little to the left of his spine. His index finger dug into the tunics there, pressing against a specific spot-

A horrible chill overtook him, and he found himself reeling backwards, moving to grip his Master by the upper arms and bracing himself there. There was no way Obi-Wan could know. Jedi didn't have that ability- he'd never known of anyone who could sense them. Only a scan specifically looking for implants would pick it up. There was no way.

And yet, by the stricken look on Obi-Wan's face, it was obvious he had.

"Master," said Anakin, and then felt the word turn to ash on his tongue in a way it hadn't in years- he'd managed to not think of this in ages, had managed to put it out of his mind. He swallowed. "Obi-Wan. That's my- my implant. My chip. You know. From the...from before."

Obi-Wan said nothing for a long moment, only reached a hand up to cup Anakin's cheek, who took a few deep breaths and leaned into it, and tried to explain a bit more, because Obi-Wan's expression had turned from stricken to heartbroken and suddenly Anakin wanted to reassure him-

"Its okay though, it's deactivated, M- Qui-Gon deactivated it when he won me, so there was no reason to take it out, and I only found out where it was because I got curious a few years ago and did a scan. There's no reason to take it out, it'd be a waste of resources, I know that."

"A...a waste?" Obi-Wan repeated, very slowly and softly, so soft Anakin had to strain to hear him.

"Qui-Gon left this in you?” Obi-Wan’s mouth barely moved. His brow furrowed horribly. He looked…upset. Really upset. “Qui-Gon left this?"

"He didn't have time to get it removed," Anakin said quickly. There was a hollow feeling rising in him. "Everything happened so fast. And I know- I know it's not important. It's deactivated, so there's no point, and I know the Jedi frown on cosmetic stuff..."

It was important. So important, Anakin had tried to block it from his mind. He'd been mostly successful, after he'd finally found out where it was, and if he did sometimes imagine taking a vibroknife and trying to carve it out of his body himself, no one else had to know. He might have even tried it, or gone to someone in the lower levels of the city, but the thing was situated so close to his spine, it wasn't worth the risk. He'd need a professional healer, a precise surgery, or nothing.

"Who told you that it wasn't important?" Obi-Wan's voice was still so soft. So gentle. "Who told you this was cosmetic? Furthermore...who told you we don't treat cosmetic things? I assure you, we do."

Anakin flushed again. "Palpatine- I mean, the subject came up, I don't know how, and I just- I know he has people who can do things, so I asked him if he knew someone who could do the scan, and he was…so nice about it, and I didn't want to bother anybody," he finished, lamely. He could no longer meet Obi-Wan's eyes.

"Padawan."

Anakin didn't move. Just pressed his face more firmly against Obi-Wan's palm.

"...Anakin." Obi-Wan was insistent. "Look at me, please."

Very slowly, he forced himself to raise his eyes to meet his- to meet Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan who was Master, but not like that, who never had been, and never would be. He was safe here.

Upon seeing his eyes, Obi-Wan smiled, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind Anakin's ear.

"Palpatine," he appeared to choose his words very carefully, "is not a Jedi. He does not speak for us. The only reason, Padawan, that this was never removed, was because we simply did not know it existed." Steadily, Obi-Wan held his gaze. "We didn't know. We never did. This is the first I've ever heard of it."

Something- like a knot, tied tight enough to hurt, that had settled in Anakin's chest like a vice, something that had been there for years, maybe- abruptly eased. Like some part of him had been underwater, and at Obi-Wan's words, had breached the surface and come up for air.

"Never?" He asked, breathless.

One of Obi-Wan's hands came up, seemingly unconsciously, to touch his own neck. "In the greater galaxy, that...practice...is not often used due to how expensive it can be. It was not something we considered would be in the body of a nine year old. Although," and here his face darkened, "we should have. We should have run a full scan, the moment we knew where Qui-Gon found you."

Obi-Wan shook his head in seeming self-disgust. “It’s common on Tatooine- I should’ve- I should have realized. But it never even occurred to me. Not once did I ever think it would still be in your body…”

"I thought," said Anakin, trying to absorb all this, "I don't know what I thought. But how did you find out? How did you...sense it? If you didn't know where it was."

"It is a skill I have...recently acquired."

"Does it have to do with your Force-signature? The way it's different now? Can other Jedi do that?"

"Yes…it does. And yes, other Jedi can learn. I have been teaching the council. But I didn't think...that is to say, I didn't realize I should be teaching you as well. I can, if you want."

"You'll teach me?" A sudden flash of fantasy- Anakin, returning to Tatooine, to his town, visiting the slave quarters and showing everyone where their chips were. Even Qui-Gon hadn't been able to do that-

He cleared his throat. "I'd like that. I'd really like that. Will you? Could you?"

"Yes," said Obi-Wan, hands moving down from Anakin's face to clasp his shoulders. "I will. But, before that, would you like to have this removed?"

"Now?"

"Right now. It is your choice. But, if you want it gone, I'd prefer we don't leave it a single moment longer than necessary."

Palpatine's man had said it would be complex to remove. Risky. But the Jedi and the GAR had access to the best medical care the Republic could provide. If anyone could do it, they could.

Anakin swallowed. "Yes. Yes, I want it out. Please. Take it out."

Obi-Wan nodded and squeezed his shoulder.

*

The surgery was quick. A few minutes long, a half hour spent asleep. He'd had so many worse procedures done, over the course of the war- it felt simple. It felt silly. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling his back sting under the bandage and the bacta patch that had already been applied. So simple. So mundane.

Not risky, the clone surgeon had said- Keys, from the Negotiator. He was a neurosurgeon; every flagship had one. Not more risky than any other procedure. It’s just precise. Needs a steady hand and a good microscope, but it’s nothing that can't be done.

Anakin had been wrong. Palpatine had been wrong. This whole time, all he'd had to do was- was tell somebody, tell Obi-Wan, and they'd have taken it out- Obi-Wan, who was sitting next to him, one of Anakin's hands between his own.

"-bi-Wuh," he slurred, trying to convey something, this swelling emotion, nameless and strange. Anakin was used to waking up from these things alone. He'd had so many surgeries, so many stints in the bacta tank- everyone was too busy to wait, even Ahsoka. He understood, really.

Obi-Wan had waited.

"There's no rush," he said, soft, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Anakin's knuckles. It was the left arm, the flesh arm. "You can sleep more, if you need."

"Stay," Anakin whispered, eyes closing.

"I will," came the answer, solemn as a vow.

*

The next time he woke up was for real, and Obi-Wan was still there, curled in the chair and meditating. When Anakin stirred, his eyes snapped open, looking him over.

"Is it out?" asked Anakin immediately. "Is it gone?"

"Yes," said Obi-Wan, and reached over to the side table, where a plastic circular tray rested innocently on the surface. There was something small and black sitting there, smaller than a fingernail, and Obi-Wan picked up the tray and slowly lowered it into Anakins hands.

"Anakin Skywalker," he said, formally, "I give you to yourself."

Those words…Anakin knew those words. It was what one said to a slave made free, on Tatooine. As far as he knew, no one else ever said anything like that- it was…something almost cultural. But that was ridiculous. Obi-Wan had never even set foot upon the planet’s surface.

…Had he?

It had to be a coincidence. Anakin swallowed, trying not to show how much that had rattled him, how much that had meant to him. Trembling fingers ghosted over the edges of the implant. So small. Packed with deactivated explosives. If a stray blaster bolt had hit him just so, would he have blown up?

"I'm free," he said, just to say it. "I've...been free, haven't I?"

"Yes," came the answer, steady and sure.

A flick of his hand, and a flick of the Force, brought his ID cards floating out of his tunics from where they'd been stacked by Obi-Wan's chair. He always kept his IDs on him, of course- there were two, the military one marking him as a general in the GAR, and his normal one he'd been given when he came of age. Catching them in his left hand, he turned the normal one over, looking at his own face, smiling back at him.

Republic Identification Card, it read, and then, underneath, Jedi Knight. The symbol of the Order in the top right corner. His face, his birthday, and his status as a citizen of the Republic were emblazoned down the left side.

"I'm a person," he said, tilting the card this way and that to see the holographic symbols embedded in the blank spaces of the card. He watched them appear and disappear. "I'm a person, and I'm free. I could just- leave, if I wanted."

What a novel idea. It sounded like some kind of absurd fantasy. He could just- walk away from it all, from Obi-Wan, from the Order, from Padme, from the senate…from Palpatine. If he really wanted.

"Yes," said Obi-Wan again. "You can. Do you want to?"

I want a family, Padme had said, once. Eventually, I want kids.

"No," said Anakin. "I'd never do that to you, or to Ahsoka. And I...I do want to be here. But maybe...maybe once the war is over, I might...take a break. A long one. There are...things I want to do."

It was the closest he'd ever come to telling Obi-Wan about his secret marriage. It was the most he'd ever risked saying.

"If you leave, stay, or "take a break" as you call it, you will have my full support, Padawan. No matter what you choose."

"Y-yeah," he stuttered. "Thanks." It was hard to get used to these moments, when Obi-Wan went strange and intense and like he was trying to convey more than one thing by his words. It was jarring. It was...nice. Reassuring.

"I took a break, once," said Obi-Wan unexpectedly.

"Huh? You what? From the Order?"

"I take it I have never told you about Melida/Daan?"

Chapter Text

Time passed. Since Anakin had gotten his chip removed, it felt like a weight had been taken from his shoulders. He moved through life with a new outlook- for a while there, everything seemed shiny, new, and he looked at mundane things as if with the eyes of a child. When he looked up at the stars, he thought I could explore those, and it no longer felt like a sudden onset of madness. When he called Padme and spoke of the future, spoke of seeing her again and holding her in his arms, for once it didn’t feel like he was stealing those moments from someone else. As if his time hadn’t been his to do with as he pleased.

But now, it was. At night, in his cabin on the Resolute, he would look through his possessions, few as they were (a few changes of Jedi robes, some civilian clothes, his lightsaber, some books, machines, tools, and a few handmade candles, a gift from Padme which had gone unlit)… for once he looked at these things and thought: these are mine.

According to Obi-Wan, these things had always belonged to him. He had owned himself (and by extension, his possessions) since the very moment Qui-Gon brought him into the Republic. But the mind was an irrational thing, and though he knew the law, though he knew he belonged to no one, and hadn’t for over a decade…perhaps this was the first time he truly felt it.

It made him…stronger. Braver. He looked in the mirror and felt a little bit taller. He went to dress himself in that plain red and black set of robes that he always wore, and thought, nah…and pulled out a set of blue ones that Padme had given to him once and that he’d never worn.

Palpatine didn’t like it when Anakin wore anything other than red and black, but they were far away in space, and Palpatine wasn’t here, and Anakin was free.

The look on Obi-Wan and Ahsoka’s faces when he emerged that day, wearing blue…it made him laugh. Definitely worth it.

He just felt…better. Even if he knew it was all in his head. Even if his life was exactly the same as it always was, and he still lived in a cycle of endless war, and he was still growing his hair out, and wearing red and black most of the time…the difference between most of the time and all of the time was a staggering one.

When he saw Keys in the hallway, a week after the surgery, Anakin stopped him, solemnly shook his hand, whispered the most broken and heartfelt thank you he may have ever given anyone in his entire life, and continued on his way.

*

But not everything in Anakin’s life was looking up. His recent conversation with Obi-Wan about Melida/Daan had given him a lot to think about- children, in a war? Something about the way Obi-Wan had recounted that story…it turned his stomach. It sent shivers down his spine. For Qui-Gon to just leave his young Padawan all alone on a war-torn planet…

…it bothered Anakin until he remembered that Ahsoka was barely fifteen, and she was more than capable of holding her own in battles, so maybe Qui-Gon was in the right after all. Plenty of Jedi children fought in the current war, after all. It was just what was done.

He tried not to think about how impossibly sad Obi-Wan had looked when Anakin had mentioned that to him. He tried not to remember the disappointment on his Master’s face, as though he’d missed a very important lesson.

Anakin put it out of his mind. He didn’t like thinking about children as a general rule.

*

Another few weeks or so after the chip came out, Anakin’s dreams turned…strange. He usually dreamed about those closest to him dying- Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Padme- over and over and over in differing ways. It was the same every night, increasing in intensity, enough to wake him up multiple times as the hours dragged on, enough to destabilize him and make him question his own sanity, make him wander through every day with bags under his eyes-

-but lately, those had changed. Instead of being clear-cut, almost comically overblown warnings of death, now…

Anakin dreamed, these days, of fire. Fire in all its forms: raging, burning wildfires that ate up everything around, or the rushing flow of a lava river, or the dying embers once it had all run its course. He dreamed of smoke and of ash, so thick it could choke him. He dreamed of blackened, charred remains.

Sometimes, he dreamed of a lightsaber’s plasma, burning so hot that it was white on the inside, with a halo of blue around it. It was just a normal lightsaber, though in the throes of the nightmare it always stuck out to him, like it was familiar somehow. It was only the blade he ever noticed, spinning through the air. Slashing and weaving and dancing.

For some reason, these dreams of fire and a blue lightsaber were the worst he’d ever had. Nothing happened in them. No one was dying. No one was in danger. But he woke from these nightmares with cold dread creeping down his back, feeling death’s bony fingers wrap themselves around his chest and hold him in place while he panted, biting his own tongue to keep from screaming.

In the day time, he thought himself rational once again. He looked at the explosions of their battles or the gentle flame of their army’s cookfires, or he would take his lightsaber off his belt and stare at it… he felt nothing. But those dreams remained, whispering a gentle warning to his soul, pulling at some primal part of him he didn’t even know existed. A part that seemed to reach across space and time.

*

It was raining out tonight.

They had landed their ships on some remote moon, just to lay claim to it so the Separatists couldn’t move supplies into the vicinity without a large battle, something they didn’t seem willing to risk at this point in time. Anakin personally thought this mission (literally, just wait and do nothing for a while) was beneath them, but he couldn’t deny the effect it had on the men, who, along with Ahsoka, took advantage of the downtime to just be themselves, enjoying the day off, playing cards, painting their armor, or just sleeping. It was nice to see everyone relaxing for once. He made a mental note to ask for some leave on behalf of his men. They deserved a few more days off every now and then.

But now it was nighttime, and it was absolutely pouring, and Anakin had been woken from his nightmare about bubbling, cooking flesh by a loud clap of thunder. He sat up in his cot, coated in sweat, decided enough was enough and he’d get no more sleep that night, and got to his feet. He tugged on his nearest set of robes (happened to be the blue ones) and left his room without even grabbing his lightsaber.

He did grab the tiny lighter he kept in his room, picking it quickly off his desk. It was just for the candles that he never even burned…it had never been used…but he grabbed it, just because.

He walked down the hallway flicking the flame in and out of existence, watching the way it floated above his hand, the single point of light illuminating his walk.

That single, solitary flame…it reminded him of Obi-Wan.

“You’re being stupid,” he whispered to himself as he looked at that little, tiny lighter. The images from his dreams- ash, smoke, death, fire- played behind his eyes on repeat. When he looked at it, he felt nothing. There was nothing to feel. It was just some dreams.

Even being in the hallway wasn’t enough. Anakin wanted out. He turned a corner, opened the airlock, and stepped outside into the pouring rain, purely on impulse. Anything to get away from himself and his own thoughts.

He didn’t go all the way out, only stood under the overhang of the door. He leaned against the side and stared off into the night. The rain splashed in large puddles all around him, and collected all over the ship, sending large drops splattering over the ground, soaking into the grass.

He breathed in, deeply, just to smell it. Rain always smelled so good. And it got the burning meat-stench, a phantom of his nightmare, out of his nose.

Anakin stood there for a long time.

Eventually, he pulled his lighter back out. He flicked it on and off and switched it from hand to hand, holding the little flame up to the backdrop of the torrential downpour. There was nothing wrong with fire. Nothing at all. And Anakin wasn’t afraid of it. Fire was a tool, fire was a friend, and, weird nightmares or not, that’s all it was.

He passed his flesh hand through the flame, too fast to feel anything at all. See? Nothing to fear.

Then he did it again, and again, feeling more confident each time. It couldn’t hurt him unless he let it, and he certainly wasn’t going to do so.

“What are you doing?”

Anakin whipped around to see Obi-Wan, of all people, standing in the doorway. Before he could even blink, the lighter had been snatched from his hand, and his Master was holding Anakin’s palm up to his eyes, inspecting every inch of it.

“Obi-Wan?”  Instinctively, he glanced at his Master’s waist- no lightsaber.  He felt relief to see that, but he wasn’t able to articulate why.  It was utterly irrational.

“Did you burn yourself? Are you alright?”

“No- I didn’t. I’m fine. But what- why are you here?”

To interrupt young, stupid Padawans when they try to burn their own fingers, the voice of Anakin’s remembered version of Obi-Wan rang clear in his head. He could hear it now- that’s what the Obi-Wan he knew would have said. Maybe that’s what he should have said.

“I was just-” said Obi-Wan instead. “I only wanted to see the rain. I didn’t think you’d be out here too.”

He released Anakin’s hand, but kept hold of the lighter, frowning down at it. “Anakin, what-”

“Why do you care about rain?” Anakin cut in. He didn’t want to talk about it, or answer Obi-Wan’s questions, or mention his dreams. If he could help it, he’d never mention his dreams to Obi-Wan ever again. Not after what had happened to his mother, and everything that came after- “It’s just rain. People hate it. It’s cold and wet and inconvenient. Padme hates it.”

Obi-Wan looked at him, then looked down at the lighter, and back up. Slowly, he pocketed it, but said nothing else, seeming to accept Anakin’s forced change of subject.

“Do you hate it?”

“Of course not,” Anakin snapped. “Answer the question.”

His Master lifted a hand and stretched it out, past the overhang of the door, letting the water land on his palm and travel down his wrist, soaking the edge of his sleeve.

“I think…the only people who dislike the rain are those who have never known what it means to thirst,” he said. He cupped his palm and let the water gather there, and then let it go and fall into the ground below.

Anakin crossed his arms, suddenly defensive. “Oh, and you’d know that feeling, would you?”

Obi-Wan chewed over his reply for a long time. “…yes,” he answered eventually. “I did, at one point.”

“Just like you know how to find slave chips. And you never get hot anymore, and you love the desert, you eat scorpions, you drink our tea …and,” Anakin laughed to himself, because this final clue was truly the most damning- “you speak Huttese. Not just a little bit. You’re fluent.”

Obi-Wan didn’t deny anything. He just hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and spent more time looking out at the rain.

“Are you from Tatooine?” Anakin asked him flat out. “And I somehow just missed it for ten years?”

“I’m not.” Obi-Wan chuckled softly. He shook his head. “I’m from Stewjon- although I think many Jedi foundlings would say they are from Coruscant more than anything.”

“Stewjon is temperate,” Anakin shot back. “It’s- fields. Farmers. Rice. Tall grass as far as the eye can see, and the monsoon season lasts months and months, so you’re doubly weird for liking the rain. People die in floods over there all the time.”

“I see you’ve done your homework,” said Obi-Wan, raising his eyebrows. “But I have not returned to that planet since I was three years old. I don’t really consider myself influenced by their culture.”

“I’m going insane,” Anakin whispered to himself. That was it. That was truly the only explanation. Obi-Wan wasn’t from Tatooine, and even entertaining the idea was ridiculous. He wasn’t from the desert. Anakin had looked into his Master’s past- he hadn’t spent any significant amount of time on any desert planet. He’d even looked at the climate of Melida/Daan, just to see…but no, that planet had been covered in forest.

It truly made no sense.

“You’re not crazy.” Obi-Wan reached out so slowly. He touched Anakin’s elbow, and when that only prompted a deep breath, he came even closer, moving to wrap his arm around Anakin’s waist, pulling him in. Anakin went- of course he did, and he leaned against his Master’s side and pressed himself as close as he dared.

Don’t let go, he thought, beginning to spiral. Don’t let go. I’m insane. Don’t let go.

“You’re not crazy,” Obi-Wan repeated softly, his words almost swallowed up by the rain. “And there is an explanation. But everyone in this galaxy has their secrets, and some secrets are more dangerous than others. In the end, it…it depends on how much we love each other, and how much we trust one another, to allow the truth to be seen.”

“And do you?” said Anakin, almost choking on his own words. “Do you trust me? Could you ever? Do you…” love me?

“I love you very much,” Obi-Wan replied, as easily as if Anakin had asked him for the weather. “I love you as if you were my own son.” He chuckled again, but it seemed to be the kind of laughter that came from a dark, empty pain. A wound so deep that it never truly healed. “If there is anything I can be sure of in this life, it’s that I’ll always love you. No matter what…no matter what. And that is why…I intend to tell you everything, when the time is right. Eventually, you will learn all my secrets, and then some. You will know all that I know. But…can I say the same for your secrets, Anakin Skywalker? Will there come a time when you’ll trust me with even one?”

Anakin didn’t reply, but Obi-Wan didn’t seem bothered by the lack of response. All he did was look out at the deluge, with the occasional clap of far-away thunder, and press Anakin in close.

“It’s beautiful,” Obi-Wan went on, an arm still wrapped around his Padawan. “This rain…it’s absolutely…there are no words for it. No words at all.”

“Yes,” Anakin agreed, with tears dripping, unbidden, down his face. Crying wastes water, his mother used to say. But there was water all around them, running in rivers. Water coming in torrents from the sky every moment. There was nothing here to waste.

My own son.

Was it some kind of trick? Was it real? But how could it be real?

“Yes, it is,” he whispered, as his legs failed him and he sank down to kneel on the wet ground. Obi-Wan went with him, sitting down, and one hand went to settle in Anakin’s hair, stroking back and forth, and the other drew him into another firm embrace.  As if to say you belong right here, and nowhere else, and, for a moment, even through everything- even through the secrets- Anakin almost believed it.

They stayed there nearly till dawn.

Chapter Text

The dreams continued. A few more weeks passed, and they were as strange- and as disturbing- as ever. Anakin slept every night and he burned, and he woke with the smoke in his nose and a choking sensation, as if someone was sitting on his chest as he slept. As he slipped between one dream and the next, sometimes it was like he couldn’t breathe at all, and the feeling would startle him awake, and for a moment all his vision would be filled with red as he sat in bed and recovered, his chest heaving, panting alone in the darkness until it all faded back behind his eyelids.

Sleep apnea, Padme had suggested. Stress. Anakin’s private theory was that someone was lacing his caf. Nothing else really made any sense.

He drank more caf to compensate, sucked it up, and moved on. What else could he do?

Their next mission- because missions waited for no one, and sometimes this war was an endless cycle of moments in time that almost felt episodic- was to a lava planet Anakin had never been to before. It seemed unremarkable, aside from the extreme heat. It was a planet with no particular connection to the Force, and Anakin couldn't remember anything of note happening here, in the distant past or over the course of the war. Mustafar was the home of a Separatist outpost that mined the minerals beneath the surface. It was a strategic location, and a useful asset for the Separatists- which is why they'd been sent to take it over- but it wasn't important.

But the moment they touched down upon the surface, after a quick and decisive victory against the outpost’s defense, he knew something was wrong. More specifically…something was wrong with Obi-Wan. He had a glassy look in his eyes. He walked on stiff legs, jumpy, eyes darting around, directing his men with a robotic monotone. Oh, he did his job, but he was...off. Even more off than normal. His Force-presence, that warm candle, seemed to flicker and stutter.

Anakin resolved to get them off the planet as soon as they could- anything that upset Obi-Wan to this degree was bad news in his book. What was it? Anakin wanted to ask him, but every time he looked over at his Master, the words died in his throat. Not here.

"Rex," he said in a low voice, coming up close to him so Obi-Wan wouldn't hear. "Let's hurry it up. A lot of this can be done without us needing to be here physically."

"I see it too, sir," said Rex in return, quietly. "We're almost done. I’ll tell Cody."

Anakin nodded and left it at that, watching the activity of the soldiers. He was standing on the shores of a lava river, looking out at the outpost, and the heat was blasting in his face. It was nearly unbearable.

What an awful planet. But perhaps that was why the Separatists had set up their outpost here- so near the lava river, the heat might confuse the Republic's sensors. Plus, who in their right mind would build a structure right next to it? It was smart of them, Anakin acknowledged, but he still wished to be off this planet as soon as possible. Something about it made him uneasy as well.

His eyes caught on the river. Molten rock moving sluggishly past the shore, oozing, rolling. It was mesmerizing, in a morbid kind of way.

Sweat collected in his palms.

He felt a little bit dizzy, looking at it. The smoke filled his nostrils and he stopped breathing, for a moment, and then he remembered that he had to breathe and inhaled the hot air, and there was a weight on his chest, and-

He stepped a bit closer to the edge. Even later, he wasn't sure why he'd done it- it was a lava river, for Force's sake. But it was pulling him in. It was all around him. It was just like the lighter- it couldn’t hurt him unless he let it. Dimly, he registered Obi-Wan freezing behind him, going very still, like an animal in front of a speeder.

Anakin took another step.

It's just a river, he thought rebelliously. A stupid river, and it had no business scaring his Master (or him.) He stepped again, right up to the edge, looking into the flames- it was just a bit of nature, and it wasn't as if he was about to fall in-

A body slammed into him, dangerously, rocking him back up the shore, and he fell in the ashy sand, sliding down, and now he felt the fear rush in, and the Force was infused with his own desperate panic- they'd fall in-!

"Master!" He shouted, trying to regain his feet. "Stop! We'll fall in!"

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin like he was a sack of meat, one hand on his arm, one arm around his torso, and hauled him bodily up the shore with the kind of strength borne only from adrenaline. He picked Anakin up without care for the fact that Anakin was taller than him, larger than him- it did not matter.

"Master-"

As though it was life or death, as though to remain by the shore for another moment spelled ruin and destruction, Obi-Wan hefted Anakin and threw him past the shore as though he weighed nothing, a throw that carried him far up the riverbank, away from the lava, and which was definitely aided by the Force. Anakin skidded and rolled in the black sand and spat to get it out of his mouth. When he looked up, he saw Obi-Wan struggling back up the riverbank, and the light of the river behind him cast his face into dark shadows. He looked like a man possessed, eyes wild, shaking uncontrollably as though shivering in a cold wind.

"Master," said Anakin again, deeply concerned. He wasn't angry to be manhandled (touch, any touch at all from Obi-Wan was treasured- what did that say about him and his messed up psyche?) but he was worried Obi-Wan had had some sort of mental break. This was so out of character for the calm, patient man he had been these past few months. Out of character, even, for the dedicated, serious man he had been before that.

Anakin got to his hands and knees, covered in sand, before rising to his feet. "Obi-Wan, what- what happened?"

But Obi-Wan wasn't finished. Once again he collided with Anakin, backing him up, pushing him even further away from the river. Anakin went, backpedaling under his Master's hands, offering no resistance, allowing the man to push him further and further away from the flaming lava. Dimly, he registered Rex, Cody, and the rest of the battalion stopping what they were doing, watching. Rex took a step forward as though to intervene.

Anakin shook his head frantically. Clone interference wouldn't bode well here, he knew for certain. Not with the dangerous, hunted gleam in Obi-Wan's eyes.

Finally, a long distance away from the fire, back towards their ship and with the heat diminished somewhat, Obi-Wan stopped. He let the fight go out of him all at once, exhaling low and long, his hands resting flat against Anakin's chest and his head bowed against Anakin's sternum. For a while, he only breathed, and Anakin just stood there and waited him out.

My own son, he was thinking, remembering the words. Was it real? What did it even mean? Did it mean…this?

Obi-Wan's inhale was a wet rattle. "Are you hurt?" he asked, in a voice that shook and broke.

"I’m not," said Anakin, not really expecting Obi-Wan to take him at his word. And that seemed to be the case- his Master reached down and grabbed his arms, first the right and then the left, inspecting the mechanical and flesh hand alike for damage. Unsatisfied, he reached up and touched Anakin on the top of the head, feeling his hair, before leaning down and patting at his legs below the knees. He seemed surprised when his hands met muscle and bone, as though he expected only empty air.

Finally he sat down in the sand and buried his face in his hands, just breathing. Trembling.

"Forgive me," he said eventually, muffled. "I did not mean to- I'm sorry.”

"It's okay," said Anakin, sinking down beside him. He wanted to- to somehow return the love and care Obi-Wan had been showing him lately. At least a little.

My own son.

He had a chance here, to reciprocate, to show Obi-Wan that this could go both ways, maybe. Maybe, his Master didn't have to pull the emotional weight every time. Right? Padme was always talking about give and take, and relationships, and…communication.

"Do you…wanna…uh, talk about it?" said Anakin, fumbling his words, tentatively reaching out. His fingers brushed against Obi-Wan's hands, slowly drawing them away from his face. He was surprised to find no tears there, only a shattered expression, like a lost child in the darkness. Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising. People from Tatooine rarely cried, because to do so was to waste precious water (as his mother had been fond of telling him, all those years ago.)

"You don't like fire?" He guessed, looking around. "No- thats not it. You don't like Mustafar?"

A choked off, bitter laugh. Mustafar it was, then.

"We'll leave. We're pretty much done- we'll leave and never come back, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Anakin."

"I'm not. I mean it. Someone else can go instead."

Obi-Wan just shook his head and looked out at the river.

"Talk to me," said Anakin again. "This isn't- what happened, Obi-Wan? I know you said…secrets. But. Give me something."

He got no response, just an abject grief bleeding into the Force. A bitter, bitter pain that was so obvious now- had Obi-Wan always carried this? Anakin had never noticed.

"Alright," he said, soft. Gently, so gently, he reached out again, taking his Master by the hand and guiding him upwards. Obi-Wan went, still trembling, hands clenching around Anakin's palm like he couldn't believe it was real. "Alright. You don't have to tell me."

As they walked back towards the men, he watched Obi-Wan take a deep breath and pack everything away. The pain that had leaked into the Force- the kind of pain that would change someone on a fundamental level, as though his chest had been hollowed out with a plastic spoon and thrown away- that pain wasn't something someone just...repressed. Anakin only registered a whiff of it, like an aftertaste as his Master pushed it down, hiding it behind a peaceful exterior. But it was enough to nearly choke him on it. He never wanted to feel that kind of grief at any point in his life, and he was horrified it existed in his Master to this extent.

It was becoming obvious something had happened a few months ago, something life-changing enough that it had altered Obi-Wan's personality, had changed everything about him, had hurt him to the extent that he would shut down when confronted with it. Had it happened here, on Mustafar? If it had, it had been in secret. Anakin resolved to check the records again, but he was almost sure that Obi-Wan had never been here.

"Men," said Obi-Wan to the clones, who were watching him carefully, as though he was a frightened animal. "I’m sorry you all had to witness that. I will be taking myself off active duty until we return to hyperspace due to emotional compromise."

"Sir, yes sir," said Rex, who saluted, then softened. "...good call."

"Yes, well..." Obi-Wan looked around at the lava river and shuddered. "The sooner we can get off this Force-forsaken rock, the better."

"We're almost done," said Anakin. He opened his mouth, to ask what had happened there, to ask if his theory was correct and it had happened a few months ago. But he stopped himself. If Obi-Wan wanted to tell him, he would.

He could hardly demand the truth when his own secrets were so large and so deadly.

“You too, Skywalker,” said Cody, walking up as Obi-Wan shuffled away. Anakin whipped around- Cody never used his name. It was always “sir.”

But the clone stood tall, helmet tucked under one arm, expression serious but empathetic. There was a new scar on his temple, next to the huge one that spanned across his face- when did that happen? “Don’t think I didn’t see what you did there by the river. Do us a favor and take yourself off active duty before I have to mandate a psych eval.”

“Excuse me?” Anakin countered. “Mandate a psych eval? I’m not under your jurisdiction-”

“Actually,” Cody cut in. “You are. The entire third systems army is under my command. In this army, I’m second only to General Kenobi…and it’s about time I started acting like it. Get out of here, General Skywalker.”

Anakin stared at him in incredulity, but Cody didn’t budge. Not even when the other clones began whispering amongst themselves. As far as Anakin knew, no clone ever gave orders to a Jedi. He’d never seen it happen…well, ever.

Clones were…lesser. Palpatine always said so. So did the news. So did everyone. So did many of the clones themselves.

Abruptly, he made a decision.

“Alright then…Marshal Commander,” he said instead of his knee-jerk reaction to continue arguing. He looked Cody in the eyes. “Sir.”

The whispers cut off immediately, and the others stared in numb shock as he walked away.

Funny, even though he thought it would kill him to take orders from another, as it always had before…now that the chip was out, it didn’t bother him at all. He was free, and that right there had been a choice. Maybe even the right choice, for once in his life.

Behind him, the clones got back to work securing the base- they were more than capable of handling things on their own.

*

Their main ships were in orbit, so Obi-Wan was seated on a drop seat in their landing ship, bent forward so that his head was aligned with his knees, his hands over his head and twisting in his own hair.

Anakin had never really seen his Master so uncomposed before. He’d never seen Obi-Wan display such emotion. It really made him seem so human. It made him seem like an ordinary man.

Anakin sat next to him. He saw the glint of metal on Obi-Wan’s hip and repressed the urge to cringe away.

“I am so,” said Obi-Wan through his fingers. He took a few hard breaths. “I am so…so deeply sorry, Anakin.”

Why? Anakin wanted to ask. Why are you sorry? What happened here?

But he couldn’t.  Not when the secrets lay between them like a wall.  Not when he was thinking of things like give and take, and my own son, and I love you very much.

“I love you too,” he said instead.  It wasn’t really a reply.  But it was the only thing he could manage, right now.  “I just...I want you to know that.”

He took Obi-Wan’s hand, and squeezed it, and Obi-Wan, though he had no more words, squeezed back.

Chapter Text

A month later, Anakin was dreaming of fire once again.

He dreamed that he stood atop a thin metal wire, suspended over the river of lava on Mustafar, slow and sluggish. The wire was so low that he could feel the smoke and the heat burning through his shoes. He dreamed that the smoke was choking him, and he was having trouble breathing, and it was all he could do to inhale and exhale and keep his balance on that thin, thin wire. Like a circus acrobat, his arms were out to the sides, as he breathed shallow and slow and tried to keep from wavering back and forth.

A little ways ahead of him there was a platform leading to the shore, where the wire ended at the riverbank. If he could only get to it, he could get to safety. But, perched on the edge of that platform, facing Anakin, was a single lone Jedi.

Obi-Wan’s robes were torn and singed, and he looked like he’d aged a decade. Two decades. His hair was all white. His skin was spotted and aged, and his back was bent, bowed over. Like he’d been doing hard labor in the desert for many, many years, and it had taken a great toll on his body.

He would look like an old Tatooine slave, if not for the lightsaber on his hip, which, even now, gleamed in the light like it was brand new.

“Obi-Wan,” said Anakin in his dream. “Help me.”

The wire was so thin and so low. Anakin took a step forward, but suddenly his left leg no longer worked. It slipped out from underneath him and he fell, grasping onto that metal wire with everything he had left. He clung to it for dear life, gasping in fear as it dipped lower, bobbing up and down.

“What have you done, Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s expression was the same expression he made when Anakin had been a boy and he’d done something wrong, like forgetting his homework or staying out too late. His face shone with gentle disappointment. “What have you become?”

When Anakin tried to get up and regain his position on top of the wire, he found that his right leg, too, no longer worked. With hands alone he tried to pull himself along, reaching for that figure on the platform, reaching…reaching.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again. “Master. Help me. Please, h-help me. I’m going to fall.”

“The boy I raised would never be a murderer,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring him. He spoke almost to himself. “The boy I raised wouldn’t do anything like what you’ve done. No, you’re- you’re not mine. I don’t know you at all.”

Anakin’s left arm, the flesh arm, abruptly lost its grip on the wire and he tumbled to the side, only barely managing to catch himself with his right, prosthetic arm. It was all he could do to hold on, dangling above the lava. His legs and left arm hung uselessly at his side. They wouldn’t respond to his commands.

“It wasn’t murder!” he cried, scrabbling with his prosthetic as it, too, began to lose its grip. “They were animals! They were savages!”

“Animals?” said Obi-Wan, slowly, oh so slowly reaching down to his hip. He unclipped his lightsaber and held it in front of him, looking at Anakin with his disappointment that was rapidly bleeding into disdain. “If they were animals, then you are an animal. If they were savages, you are a savage. If they deserved to die like rabid dogs, then you…”

The blue saber ignited.

“No-!”

“…you also…”

“Wait- Obi-Wan! Please- please help-”

But the lightsaber came down in one smooth motion. The wire was cut- he fell into the lava-

*

Anakin jolted awake, his heart racing a parsec a minute. He stared at the wall. He put his head down against his knees and only breathed for a long time. In, and out. In, out. In, out.

*

“Put your hands over mine. That’s it,” said Obi-Wan the next morning as Anakin dutifully followed along, placing his palms, both flesh and metal, over top of his Master’s on the leg of the patient they were working on.

They were helping out on the ground in the wake of a siege, assisting the medics treating the wounded civilians and troopers mixed together. To locate shrapnel, expensive, bulky, and large equipment was needed. But a Jedi? That was free.

“It’s not about whether or not you can find shrapnel, or anything specific,” Obi-Wan continued. This was their third lesson, and Anakin was feeling that he was beginning to get the hang of things. He was definitely not thinking about any dreams he may or may not have had last night. Compartmentalizing was a skill he was definitely good at. He had to be.

“You shouldn’t think of it that way,” his Master continued. “It’s about seeing the Force, flowing inside and around the body. It’s about finding where something is wrong, where something has been embedded, where something isn’t where it should be.”

“I think…” said Anakin as he felt around in his mind’s eye, hunting with the Force through the soldier’s leg. Before they’d even started, Obi-Wan had made him study more human anatomy in order to be able to properly articulate to the medics what he was seeing. “Yeah, I…I see it. Um. Around the tibular nerve?”

“The tibial nerve. Which part of it?”

It was a trick question. “There’s three,” said Anakin slowly. “Three pieces of shrapnel…two are right next to each other near the back of the knee, and then one is at the very bottom of the ankle.”

It had been…downright easy for them to settle back into familiar roles- that of Master and Padawan. Anakin could almost feel the weight of his braid on his shoulder. For the first time, he actually missed it. To be a Padawan was to have no responsibilities, no worries…he knew that, if he made a mistake right now, Obi-Wan would catch it. His mistakes wouldn’t hurt anyone, as they always did these days.

“Good job,” said Obi-Wan, smiling. “Especially on that last one. It’s about one tenth the size of the others- I think even a scanner would have a hard time picking that one up.”

Anakin blushed a little, and smiled too. For a moment, he could almost forget about his dream, and take his Master’s words at their face value, take his happiness and his pride as if they were genuine, as if he was Padawan Anakin, innocent Anakin who’d never killed anybody and who’s worst offense had been to sneak out at night to the pod races. The thought tortured him a little; his smile faded and he looked back down at his own feet.

Obi-Wan removed his hands, breaking their contact and reaching for a marker to draw three circles on the trooper’s leg, marking where the shrapnel was now in relation to the entry wounds which could be a few inches away. “Alright, you do the next leg on your own.”

Anakin nodded and switched sides, placing his hands on the soldier’s other leg. “How-” his voice cracked and he blinked, and paused. Get it together. Compartmentalizing. He was good at that.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Uh, how’re you holding up there, Spoon?”

“Never better, sir” the clone replied, staring up at the ceiling and smiling through bloody teeth. “Glad it’s in my legs, and not my heart.”

“Good man,” said Obi-Wan. “You did a very brave thing, saving that little girl.”

“Just doing my duty, sir.”

Anakin ghosted his fingers over Spoon’s other leg, trying to feel for any more shrapnel. Since he was still learning, it was difficult to separate the wrongness away from the rest of the leg, isolate it and be able to pinpoint exactly where it was. But, given that he hadn’t been able to sense things like this at all a few months ago, he’d take what he could get.

“Two here, I’m pretty sure,” he said to his Master, and waited for Obi-Wan to nod approvingly before drawing circles with the marker. “And- one here. I think that’s it…”

No…wait.

Anakin closed his eyes, frozen in place with his fingers over Spoon’s leg.

“Anakin?”

“There’s something…something,” he breathed, concentrating. The feeling was so nebulous. The Force pulled and pushed at him, and it was like trying to see something from very far away- no matter how hard he squinted, he just couldn’t quite make it out in enough detail. But…there was a definite sense of what Obi-Wan had described as wrongness, coming from…somewhere.

His hands drifted higher, from Spoon’s leg to his torso, to his neck, up, up-

“What do you see?” said Obi-Wan after a few seconds. He sounded so calm.

“Sir?” said Spoon, as Anakin rested a hand on his forehead.

“I…I don’t…” It was so hard to make out. So hard to articulate. “It could be nothing.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” said Obi-Wan, sounding wry, for some reason. “Tell me?”

But he just wasn’t good enough. Though Anakin strained and strained with his mind’s eye, trying to see, he just couldn’t. Not right now, not while he was still so new at this. And as the seconds ticked past and he couldn’t identify what he was sensing, his confidence left him. Maybe he was just noticing a stray particle, or some weird tissue, or…brain stuff. He wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry,” he said to no one in particular. Maybe both of them. He drew his hand away. “I can’t…I can’t tell. I don’t think it’s anything, Spoon.” He looked uncertainly at Obi-Wan.

“Is it, or isn’t it?” Obi-Wan challenged him, with raised eyebrows.

“…No,” Anakin eventually decided on. “I don’t think it’s anything.” But he wasn’t very sure.

Obi-Wan clapped him on the shoulder. “In any case- great job, Padawan. I’m very impressed, actually- most people don’t even begin to notice things under a certain size until they’ve been doing this for a few months. I have no doubt you’ll master this skill very soon.”

“Really?” Anakin replied, despite himself. But his dream was in his mind and the visions of fire and he couldn’t help but eye Obi-Wan’s lightsaber where it glinted at his Master’s hip. If only it was real- if only it was real- but it- it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. Obi-Wan was a kind, gentle man, but there were things even the nicest of people could not forgive.

“Really.” said his Master in that soft, loving tone. “I truly mean every word, Anakin.”

It was- too much. “I’ll- send Ahsoka in,” he said, abruptly, pulling away, his voice rough. “You should- teach her some of this too. Useful battle skill.”

“I’d rather thought you might want to teach her this yourself. As her Master-”

“No,” Anakin was practically fleeing at this point, backing away and out of the medic tent. “No- she should learn it from someone who knows what they’re doing. Not me.”

“But if you just-”

But he was already gone, running like the coward he was. If he’d had a tail, it would have been tucked between his legs.

*

Anakin avoided the medic tent while Ahsoka was inside with Obi-Wan. Instead, he helped out with other things, things he was actually good at- repairing damaged infrastructure, cleaning up the streets of the besieged city, working on broken fighter ships that could use the aid of another mechanic. For the type of mission they were on (a relief mission) he found that his skills as a general weren’t much needed. Obi-Wan and Cody had things handled, and on the logistical side there wasn’t much for him to do.

So he worked with his hands instead, doing jobs that made him happy. Things he’d always been good at and always would be good at. Making some kind of difference, no matter how small it was.

It was a stupid sentiment. Wanting to do something good. Wanting to help, for once, instead of making things worse. Wanting to be praised for a job well done, and to actually deserve it. Palpatine would call those kinds of feelings the very height of foolishness. He would say there was no point in altruism because no one respected that kind of thing. And Anakin knew that. But he repaired those ships all the same, working hour after hour alongside other mechanics, even when it had begun to get dark.

He was only pulled out of his work by a beeping on his wrist, when the sun had fully set and the sky was just barely clinging to a darker and darker shade of pink, and the other mechanics had long since left. The noise jostled him out of his head, out of the peaceful, meditative state he’d fallen into, and pushed him back into reality.

I’m cold, he realized as he looked at the beeping on his comm. And hungry. Huh. He wondered what time it was.

Maybe it was Obi-Wan calling to ask him where he was, he thought as he answered the comm. After all, that would make sense.

Chancellor Palpatine appeared in front of him.

“My dear boy,” he began without preamble, his hologram wavering back and forth. “You must return to Coruscant at once.”

His heart jumped into his throat. “What?” he asked, alarmed. “Did something happen? Is- is Padme-”

Palpatine flicked his head as though warding off an irritating fly. “No, of course not. I need you here at my side. I have an important mission for you.”

“What?” Anakin almost laughed out of nervousness, but manged to keep it off his face. “But I’m- I’m on the other side of the galaxy. Can’t it wait?”

Even through the hologram, Palpatine looked agitated. He looked angry. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he looked to have aged somewhat, all the lines of his face deepening.

He looked sick.

“Are you asking me to wait, boy?”

“No!” said Anakin quickly. “I- I just meant- I’m very far away. If it’s not an emergency-”

“This is an emergency. I need you here beside me now. Even if it wasn’t, I expect you to come when I call. Return to me at once, and I will forgive your disrespect, but keep me waiting and you will not be so lucky.”

“Wait-! I’m sorry, I- apologize, sir. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll come right away. Of course I will.” Palpatine never acted like this- he never spoke this way to Anakin unless Anakin truly deserved it. What had he done this time? He wracked his brains, but couldn’t think of anything. “I can take a fighter…uh, I’ll be there in six hours.”

“Four hours. Tell no one of your departure.” The hologram winked out.

Anakin blinked a few times, rattled. What had just happened?

*

“Anakin?”

No- no- not now. Anakin didn’t look up from the small, single-seat fighter ship he was preparing as fast as he could. With a four-hour time frame, he couldn’t waste a second.

So, he ignored Obi-Wan as he approached, and just continued doing what he was doing.

“Anakin. Anakin!”

Finally he looked up.

“Are you…going somewhere?” Obi-Wan’s brow was furrowed. “I wanted to call you to dinner. You’ve been out here for hours. Ahsoka’s cooking tonight and-”

“I can’t.” He cut in, clipped. There was no time. “I have to go. It’s urgent. I can’t tell you why, so don’t even ask.”

“Right now? We’re in the aftermath of a siege. The airspace isn’t safe, not to mention the barricade at the edge of the system.”

“I’ll get through it.” He swiped a hand over his face. “Please, just- just leave me alone.”

Obi-Wan seized his arm. “Wait- let’s talk about this. Can you tell me where you’re going? Why are you leaving? Is something wrong? Can I…help you, somehow?”

“You can’t help. I’ll be fine-”

“But where are you going?”

“Coruscant, okay?” He shouldn’t have even said that much. “I’ll be fine. It’s an emergency, and I’ll probably be back tomorrow, and I need to leave now.”

Obi-Wan didn’t let him go. Didn’t he understand how urgent this was?

Frustrated, Anakin pulled away, but his Master held on tight.

“Just wait. Slow down, Padawan! I’m not following. Why are you returning to Coruscant?”

“Just let me-”

“Is this…is this about Padme, Anakin?”

That brought him up short.

He paused, all thoughts of fleeing momentarily forgotten, as that one word froze him on the inside, shook him, threatened to unwind the shaky grip he had on his own sanity.

“Padme?” he repeated, a pit sinking into his stomach.

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan, still without releasing him. “Is she…is she hurt, or something?”

“Why would I c-care if she was?” he tried, failing to even hold a steady tone of voice, let alone convince his Master. “She’s not…we’re not…”

He trailed off when Obi-Wan just raised an eyebrow. Anakin wasn’t thinking about the clock anymore. Only the bubbling anxiety that exploded within him, threatening to spill over.

“…How long have you known?” he asked, slowly.

Obi-Wan’s grip on him sagged, a little, but he didn’t let go. “…I’ve known for quite some time. You, ah…you were never very subtle. And I also know…I know you are married.”

Anakin sucked in a harsh breath. “But you- you never said! You never…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bring it up with you like this. I was hoping…well, I was hoping you’d work up the courage to tell me yourself.”

Anakin looked at the ground. Heat rushed to his face. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Obi-Wan knew about Padme? Obi-Wan knew? And he hadn’t told the council?

“What are you going to do?” he asked, his voice wobbling.

“Nothing. I still hope you will one day feel comfortable enough to tell those around you of this. But it’s not my secret to tell. If she’s hurt, if she needs you…I mean it when I say that I only want to help.”

But Anakin still didn’t look up from the ground. He could practically hear the gears turning in Obi-Wan’s head with every second that he failed to reply. He should say something to prevent his Master from figuring out the truth, but- his mind was frightfully, and completely, blank.

A long moment of silence. The seconds ticked past. Anakin looked down and his face contorted and he tried to think of something- anything- to say.

“It’s not Padme at all, is it?”

“No,” he answered in a whisper.

Obi-Wan stepped closer, and his grip was tight but not hurting. Not the way Palpatine always gripped him- painfully, possessively.

“Is it truly so urgent?”

“Yes,” Anakin gasped. “I have to go now, or else he’ll- he’ll-”

“He’ll…what?”

He couldn’t look at Obi-Wan. His hair, now a few inches longer, fell into his eyes. Hopefully it was long enough for Palpatine.

“What does he have on you?” said Obi-Wan, gently taking hold of Anakin’s other arm. “If not Padme, then what? I can see that you don’t want to go to him- if you don’t want to, then don’t. We’ll come up with some excuse. Please, let me help you.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“Of course there is. I’ll always be there for you, dear one, and I love you very much. There is nothing- and I do mean nothing- that will stop me from loving you, or trying to help you. So- you can tell me. Whatever it is, you can say it. It’s alright, Anakin.”

For a moment, he almost considered it. Could he really?

Could he call Obi-Wan’s bluff? Let out his deepest, darkest secret, and watch his Master’s expression drop, watch this man who claimed to love him see him for who he truly was?

He remembered his dream. He remembered the fire and the blue lightsaber, cleaving down.

My own son, Obi-Wan had said. But even fathers did not keep sons who did what he had done.

With a wordless cry, he shoved backwards out of Obi-Wan’s arms, pushing him away. In an instant he was climbing over the side of the fighter- flicking the ignition, closing the cockpit-

“Anakin- no- wait!”

With a roar of engines, he was off, blasting away from the planet’s surface. Obi-Wan was left looking up after him, a solitary figure shrinking quickly into nothing more than a dot on the landscape, before vanishing completely as Anakin broke through the clouds.

He slammed his fist into the dashboard. He set a course for Coruscant.

Chapter Text

Anakin was ten minutes late.  He’d come straight to the senate building first thing after arriving to Coruscant, having traveled in hyperspace as long as he possibly could, pushing his little fighter to its absolute limits in order to arrive within Palpatine’s narrow timeframe.  Obi-Wan had tried to comm him three times while he’d been traveling, and then Ahsoka, and then Cody of all people, but he’d ignored every call.

He was covered in sweat, because the elevator was taking too long, so he’d leaped up the steps of the senate building, flight after flight, run-walking as fast as he possibly could without alarming the building’s security.  They did know him, even allowing him to land on one of the building’s private docks…so they probably wouldn’t arrest him for running like a bat out of hell, but better safe than sorry.

More damningly, Anakin wasn’t wearing his red and black robes.  Instead, he was wearing an ordinary set of brown robes, the kind given to every Jedi…the standard uniform.  They were beige and scratchy, made of cheap, hand-woven material, and currently covered in engine grease from his hours spent working on the ships.  He hadn’t had time to change, gambling that since it was an emergency, time was more important than his appearance.  But to arrive at Palpatine’s office wearing this,  in the state he was in- it filled him with anxiety.

He agonized over it as he walked down the hallway, his flesh palm gone clammy.  He rubbed it against his leg, and spared a moment to be thankful that his prosthetic didn’t sweat.  Small mercies.

Why had he picked today to wear these clothes?  Before the chip had been taken out, he would never have been caught dead in these robes.  He (and Palpatine) had despised the Jedi standard uniform, for its scratchiness, for its color, for how humble it was. Servant clothes, Palpatine had said.  You’re too good for that.

His red and black sets had been made of finer materials.  But he’d been wearing them less and less, and had desired more variety, and had wanted to feel- just- different.  He hadn’t wanted to wear Palpatine’s colors this morning.  Now he was regretting that decision, for there was no time for him to change and make himself presentable.

When he finally got to the office, he knocked and waited.  The doors opened immediately.

The office felt so cold.  As if the air conditioning had been left to run unimpeded all day long.  The lights were dimmer than usual, and as his eyes adjusted it was a bit difficult to make out the figure near the shaded windows.

Palpatine was standing near his desk, sorting through what looked like a stack of papers.  He looked up as Anakin approached.  His face was unreadable, but the anxiety in Anakin’s chest multiplied tenfold.

Palpatine didn’t greet him.  He just looked, straightening up slowly.  When he saw Anakin’s clothing, he crumpled the paper in his hands.

Anakin bent over, catching his breath- his tension made it difficult to inhale deeply.  “I’m here, sir.  I’m sorry for my appearance- there wasn’t time to change.  What- what did you need, with the emergency,” he took another gasping breath.  “-sir?”

It was the wrong thing to say.  Palpatine crossed the room in two violent, purposeful strides.  Anakin only had time for a cut off gasp before he was being seized by the hair, dragged backwards until he hit the wall.  He yelped in pain and forced himself not to fight back despite his instincts screaming at him to do so.  No- no- fighting didn’t help anything.

The force Palpatine used to grip him knocked him completely off his feet.  Anakin was tall and muscular- but the weight didn’t seem to matter at all to the Chancellor.  It was like being dragged backwards by some kind of machine.  The old man was strong.

“You dare appear before me wearing that?” Palpatine snarled into his face.  His breath was rancid.  “Are you mocking me?”

“No, sir!”  Anakin flailed uselessly- he must not fight back- he closed his eyes and turned his face away.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No, sir!”

Palpatine slapped him.  “Look at me,” he commanded.

Anakin snapped his eyes forward, looking the Chancellor in the eye.  He was hyperventilating.  What had he done?  How had he managed to make his friend so angry?

The Chancellor’s eyes looked almost yellow in the light.  They practically glowed.

Palpatine released him and stalked away, pacing around the floor of his office, once again reminding Anakin of a tiger.  Caged and hungry and cornered.  Anakin, for his part, couldn’t quite get his legs to cooperate, and so he knelt on the floor, watching the Chancellor with wary eyes, bracing for whatever came next.

There were two red guards standing at the door, watching him through blank red masks.  Anakin glanced at them- they hadn’t reacted to Palpatine’s actions in the slightest.  And why would they?  The Chancellor could do whatever he wanted.

“You and that- that Jedi,” Palpatine spit the word as if it was the lowest form of insult.  “I’ve allowed you to remain together for too long.  I should have seen it.  The remote missions, the excuses, the delays, the refusals- all to keep you away from me.  And now you appear before me, wearing that.”

Palpatine’s shoulders heaved.  His mouth was contorted into a grimace of rage.  Unhinged.  Anakin feared him more in that moment than he’d ever feared anyone in his entire life.  No- that wasn’t true.  He’d once feared Watto in the same way.

“I can change,” his voice was too soft.  He couldn’t get it any louder.  “I have- spare clothes at Padme’s.  I’ll change immediately, sir.”

“You will not leave my sight,” Palpatine hissed at him.  “Not now, not ever.  You stay right where you are.”

Anakin stayed where he was.  Palpatine turned his back on him and swept back to his desk, rifling through his drawers, gathering up a stack of papers. 

“I- I didn’t refuse anything,” Anakin dared to mention.  “I…didn’t make excuses…”

“Don’t pretend at ignorance- it’s unbecoming.  You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, sir,” he said quickly.  “I’ve just been busy.  We’re in a war, and there were…” but there had been remote missions. Delays. Excuses, given by Obi-Wan (and the council, now that he thought about it) to military high command.  Reasons for the 501st and the 212th to stay in the outer rim for months and months.

He trailed off, uncertain.

“Kenobi is a traitor,” Palpatine spat as he pocketed a series of datachips.  “He has been turning you against me.  And he has nearly cost us the war- I will see him punished for this myself after I deal with him-”

He snapped his fingers at a hovering assistant-droid that had been lurking near the desk- as soon as the droid approached, Palpatine grabbed it, twisted its head off, reached into the back of the neck and pulled out its memory components without care for the damage he did.  With that pocketed as well, he threw the empty head onto the floor, where it rolled into a corner.  Wires sparked and popped, and then went dark.

“That’s all I need.  Burn the rest,” the Chancellor spoke to the red guards at the door, who nodded, bowed to him, and then moved further into the room while Palpatine started for the exit.

“Attend me,” he threw over his shoulder as he got to the door.  Anakin startled, uncertain- did that mean him?

The cold air in the office felt so oppressive.  Like a heavy weight, bearing down on his chest.

“Now!”

Anakin scrambled to his feet.  Yes, that meant him, apparently.  He ran up to Palpatine’s side just as they passed through the door.

*

He followed Palpatine down the empty hall and into an elevator, keeping a step behind him.  Anakin’s breath came in halting, stuttering puffs- he was still hyperventilating, and that was making everything difficult.  His chest hurt, and spots danced in front of his vision.  He was dizzy.

One side of the elevator was a massive window.  For the first time, Anakin saw the large crowd gathered below them, packed to the brim with press and news crews.  Palpatine’s face was plastered across a massive billboard- CHANCELLOR PALPATINE RUNNING BOTH SIDES OF WAR.

He continued looking out the window, turning slowly around to see the other billboards.  There was that headline, and another- PALPATINE CAUGHT ON VIDEO PASSING INTEL TO THE SEPPIES.  And another, further away, flashing across the bottom of the screen as a news anchor talked-  COUNT DOOKU CONFIRMS RUMOR OF COLLUSION, OFFERS PEACE DEAL.

What?

Anakin turned back to the Chancellor, rotating on the spot.  His eyes bugged out of his head.

“Sir?”

The expression Palpatine turned on him was so deadly, so dark- it robbed the words from Anakin’s mouth.  He bowed instead, folding immediately under the weight of his own fear.  “Nevermind.  I- I’m sorry I was late, and for the- the clothes.”

Palpatine glanced behind him, taking in the billboards and what Anakin must have seen.  He reached up and laid a hand in his hair again, pulling very hard, but maybe a little less than before.  Anakin told himself it was an affectionate kind of tugging.  He forced his shoulders to relax.

“You’re a good boy, deep down, even though you try my patience like nothing else,” said the Chancellor.  “Come with me, and everything will be fine.”

“I will,” said Anakin.  “Of course.”

But as they exited the elevator into what looked like the basement of the senate building, and Palpatine turned down another hallway…Anakin looked longingly back at the elevator, empty…leading away…leading back to safety.

He swallowed hard and followed the Chancellor.

*

Palpatine led him further into the basement, down the hallway which became a series of tunnels, some of which dripped condensation and steam from pipes weaving overhead.

“We’ll take a hovercar to a remote location,” he explained, guiding Anakin through a heavily armored door that only opened with a code. “Then, we’ll take a ship into orbit and rendezvous with my destroyer.”

“Why don’t we…just launch from here, sir?” Anakin ducked to avoid hitting his head on a beam. “Don’t you have…um, ships?  Here?”

Perhaps the Chancellor did not want to be followed if he left with an official ship.  But he was the Chancellor.  He could have simply cleared the press from the street with a wave of his hand and an order to the Coruscant guard.  Ordered a comms blackout.  Ordered a flight up to his destroyer in the utmost secrecy.  Clearly, there was something Anakin had missed, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Palpatine didn’t answer him.

The tunnel they were walking through abruptly opened up into a dark, dingy little docking station where a single hovercar (it was as large as a private ship, really) sat in the air, floating several feet off the ground.  Though the room itself was little more than a cave, this far underground, the hovercar sitting within was, even at a glance, top of the line.  Sleek and covered with long metal panels, it had a black exterior that shimmered as Anakin looked at it.

A stealth car, he thought, with some despair.  No one could find something like that, he knew, having flown a ship which used the same technology in the past.  Once they were in, no one would be able to track them.  They wouldn’t appear on any radar, any sensors…nothing.

A soldier was standing at the door, with the entrance ramp already lowered, at full attention.  He wore red armor.

“Sir!”  It was a clone’s voice.  He snapped a salute at Palpatine as he approached.  “CC-1010, at your service, sir!”

Anakin tilted his head.  1010…Commander Fox?  He’d met the man once or twice, over his visits to Palpatine’s office.  Fox never said much, always watching everything, revealing nothing of his own thoughts.  He usually intimidated Anakin, to be honest.

“Have the preparations been made?” said Palpatine.

“Yes, sir!”

“1010…execute orders five, twenty-seven, forty-three and sixty-six before we lift off,” Palpatine barked.  He ducked into the cabin of the hovercar.

“Yes, sir!”  Fox immediately reached for his comm, presumably to relay those orders…those numbers meant nothing to Anakin.

He hesitated at the threshold, glancing back the way they had come.  If he just…if he ran, right now…what would happen?

But he only paused a moment before following Palpatine inside.  A second later, one of the red guards ducked into the car behind him, taking up a position at the front.  Anakin wondered what had happened to the other one.

As the door of the hovercar closed, a bubble of despair began in his throat, closing it up.  He watched the door seal shut and wanted nothing more than to wrestle it open again.  He hovered for a moment, unsure- but Palpatine pointed firmly to a chair across from him, so Anakin sat down.

When the hovercar’s engines roared to life, with Fox in the cockpit, they were all completely silent.  What was there to say?

Chapter Text

The seconds ticked past. Anakin sat in the chair and listened to the hum of the engines. He couldn’t look outside to watch the scenery, for there were no windows on a hovercar like this. He watched the red guard instead, standing at the door of the cockpit in floor-length, too long red robes, barely moving. It wasn’t the same person as the two who had been in Palpatine’s office…Anakin wasn’t sure how he knew, but he just knew. The guard held a long metal electro-staff against their shoulder- a weapon standing between Anakin and the cockpit. He narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t ever fear my guards,” said Palpatine into his thoughts. “They are below your notice.” His mouth curled up into the beginnings of a smile. “There’s no need to worry about their silence, either; they have no tongues with which to speak.”

“And did you…did you do that?” Anakin’s voice was almost a squeak. “To all of them?”

“Naturally.” Palpatine was smiling fully now. He seemed to be laughing at Anakin. “My, my, dear boy. I didn’t expect these kinds of sensibilities from you. It’s almost as if you aren’t the murderer I know you to be.”

“That’s- that’s different.” He curled his hands into fists, resting them on his thighs.

“How so? People are a means to an end. It is only fitting that you exercise your control over them.”

Anakin looked at his feet.

He wished, for the first time, that he hadn’t answered Palpatine’s call. He wished he’d run away, while he’d been on the stairs, going to the office…he wished he’d run while leaving the elevator, even. There was nowhere to run now.

He thought of Obi-Wan, his embrace, how warm he was in body and soul and Force-signature. What would his Master do, in this situation?

Obi-Wan wouldn’t have been paralyzed by his own fear the way Anakin was, that was for sure.

“Where are we going?” he asked, just to talk. “After we reach the destroyer, I mean. Back to Naboo, sir?” He knew Palpatine was from Naboo. That would be great…maybe he could see Padme.

Palpatine laughed. He leaned back, relaxed, like a king on his throne. “No…no. We’ll be going to a planet named Exegol. Have you heard of it?”

Anakin shook his head, wide eyed.

“I imagine you haven’t. It lies far, far out into wild space, past Kamino, even. I will keep you there, for a time- I will train you and shape you; mold you into the person I require you to be. Truthfully; I should have done that a long time ago. By forcing my hand, Kenobi has done me a great service- he has delivered you to me.”

“Oh,” said Anakin. “But…I…I’ve already been trained.”

“Child’s play. What I will show you will far surpass any pithy training the Jedi may have given you.”

“Oh,” he said again.

Anakin was still looking down at his shoes. His gaze drifted upward, landing on his own hands. One flesh and one metal. He intertwined his own fingers, just thinking. It was something he often forgot to do, when he was angry or afraid. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were always telling him to think.

“Um. Sir?”

“What?”

“What about Padme?” he asked. Perhaps his questions were becoming annoying to the Chancellor, but…all of a sudden, he found that he didn’t care. “How does she fit into this plan?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to see her.”

“That can certainly be arranged.” Palpatine’s head tilted to the side. “If you obey my orders, and train diligently, I see no reason why she should not be allowed to come to your side.”

Another long pause. Anakin lifted his eyes away from his hands, but he was still thinking. His brow furrowed. His jaw clenched.

“When can I see her?”

“Eventually. Be silent, now. I grow tired of your questions.”

Slowly, Anakin sat up. His whole body straightened as his head moved- he got his eyes to land on Palpatine’s knees, then his neck, and then, finally, he managed to look up and meet the Chancellor’s eyes.

Seeing Palpatine’s eyes almost made him balk again. Almost.

“What about Ahsoka? I want to see her too.”

Now Palpatine’s yellow eyes narrowed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by a few degrees.

“She is a traitor, just like Kenobi.”

“She’s practically my little sister.” He thought about it. “No…she is my little sister. Asking me not to see her is like- she’s my family, sir.”

“Mind how you speak to me,” Palpatine growled. “Anyone you see will be at my discretion. If you truly wish to reunite with her, prove to me that you deserve it.”

I’m sorry, Anakin wanted to reply instinctively to the threatening tone. The words were on the tip of his tongue. The urge to bow his head and roll his shoulders forward was suffocatingly powerful.

But he didn’t.

The courage came to him from somewhere. It came from thinking. It came from warm tea and scorpion dinners and jokes made in Huttese. It came from gentle hands in his hair and rain-soaked embraces and my own son.

“What about Obi-Wan? I w-want to see him too.”

Uttering these words was like climbing up a vertical incline. Like lifting something extremely heavy, or digging himself out of an avalanche. In his heart, he felt like he was fighting against the nine year old boy he never truly stopped being. Palpatine clearly wanted that little boy- he clearly was counting on that little boy, lurking somewhere within Anakin’s psyche, to overpower the Jedi Knight that he was.

“Don’t you dare mention-”

“What about Obi-Wan? What are you going to do to hi-”

Palpatine lifted a hand to strike him-

Anakin jumped out of his seat, moving behind it, using it as a shield between himself and the Chancellor.

“Boy.” Palpatine’s anger seemed to permeate the entire hovercar. “Come here, now. I will not ask twice.”

Anakin didn’t move. Palpatine took a step forward, arm raised-

In what felt like half desperation, half determination, Anakin took the lightsaber from his hip and held it out in front of him, battle-ready. He didn’t intend to light it, of course. But he put it in his hand and he put it between himself and the Chancellor. He moved until his back hit the wall, so no one could get behind him.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, his entire body beginning to tremble uncontrollably. “I don’t like it when you touch me. You hurt me.”

His awareness flared wide- that red guard had suddenly gotten much, much closer. “Stay back!” he made sure to keep them both in his line of sight.

“I,” said Anakin. “I don’t want to go to Exegol.”

“At this point, you have no choice in the matter,” said Palpatine.

His hands shook where they gripped his saber. They shook hard. “I want to leave. I want you to let me leave.” Then he shook his head. “No- actually- I don’t…I don’t care if you let me or not. I’m leaving.”

He was a Jedi. He could just- carve a hole in the side, and fucking jump. Hovercars weren’t designed to break atmosphere- he’d be fine.

“And where will you go?” Palpatine’s anger turned vicious. “Back to the Jedi?” His smile was threatening. Like an eerie display of teeth right before an attack. “Will they really take you back, Anakin, when they find out what you’ve done? Will anyone?”

He took another step forward. So did the red guard, edging towards the side of the cabin as if trying to stay out of either of their line of sight. Anakin hesitated. The hovercar lurched a bit as it made a sudden turn.

“I’ll tell you what will happen.” Palpatine’s voice was pitched low and soft, in a broken facsimile of Obi-Wan’s gentle tone. A merciless, unforgiving mockery. “When they learn of your glorious deeds. They will do what they always do- they will cast you out. They will strip you of rank and title, take away your saber, bind your arms and legs and throw you to rot in a cell for the rest of your days. You will lose what little freedom you have. Let’s face it…”

Palpatine reached up, past Anakin’s unlit saber, reaching to his face. When his bony fingers came into contact with Anakin’s cheek, they were a shock of cold. They trailed from his cheek down past his jaw, tracing onto his neck.

“…I own you, boy.”

Anakin swallowed. It was like Palpatine had known exactly what to say to shake him; exactly how to unnerve him, undermine him. He knew Anakin’s past. He knew what it meant to say those words.

Anakin breathed in, and out, and remembered the desert, and the unforgiving Tatooine suns, the burning, scorching sand. What it meant to be owned. The first years of his life had been spent like that- how could he ever forget it?

That little boy he used to be had suffered more than any child should ever suffer. He had seen more death and pain and sorrow by the age of nine than anyone should see in their whole lifetime. He had dreamed of freedom, day and night, without ever knowing what it meant.

What would that boy say, if he saw Anakin now? Knowing there was no chip here, no chain, no whip- knowing that Palpatine held him by words alone? That he had allowed this man to control him- that he had come when called and had followed a man who’d hurt him. Like a dog on an invisible chain. A slave, not in body, but in mind.

And wasn’t that, in the end, the same thing?

Anakin’s lightsaber ignited. It cut through the air of the cabin, through the cold, through the fear. It came to life almost in slow motion, an elegant line of blue that sprang from his hand and forced Palpatine to bend backwards at an alarming angle so as not to be hit with it. It forced the Chancellor to step away from him.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” He punctuated every word. “So you’ll tell the Jedi what I did? Fine. I’ll...I’ll tell Obi-Wan myself. I’m leaving, like I said. You can’t stop me.”

Palpatine stared at him. His face, already angry, now dipped into a certain blankness that spoke of dangerous rage. His eyes were yellow, yes- but now they became ghoulish, glowing in the shadows that seemed to augment, multiplying and spreading out.

The Force suddenly felt so dark. Like Anakin was wading through black oil. It was pulling on him, down, down- down.

“When I’m finished with him,” said Palpatine, as the hovercar took another abrupt turn. He seemed to be speaking to the red guard. “Beat him into unconsciousness. I don’t care if you break a few bones.”

The fear mounted, but Anakin refused to move. He clenched his hands around his lightsaber like it was life or death. Maybe- maybe it was, this time. Would Palpatine really do that? Really try to hurt him so extensively?

“Yes, sir,” said the guard, as Palpatine shrugged his shoulders and- was that a lightsaber- fell into his grip.

Anakin breathed hard and got ready to fight them both-

Wait. Huh?

Palpatine moved, his form almost blurring, the Force churning and swirling around him as he descended upon Anakin. The attack was so quick- it took advantage of Anakin’s momentary confusion- he brought his lightsaber up but knew, in his bones, that it was far too late.

A sound of ignition- a blur of red streaked towards him-

-but it was intercepted, not by Anakin’s lightsaber, but by another.

The guard had stepped between them. He’d thrown himself bodily between the two of them, and instead of the electro-staff (dropped and rolling on the floor) it was a blue lightsaber he held, clashing with the red, holding its ground.

“Drat,” said Obi-Wan after a moment, reaching up with one hand and pulling his helmet off. “I wasn’t supposed to have a tongue, was I, Chancellor? But then- it isn’t Chancellor anymore, is it?”

Smoothly, calmly, he continued to move forward, stepping fully in front of Anakin’s saber, facing Palpatine. Now Anakin could feel it, that candle of a signature, bursting to life in the Force as though it had always been there, as though it hadn’t been utterly and completely masked only a few seconds before.

It was so warm.

“I’m sorry I could not reveal myself sooner,” said Obi-Wan to Anakin, without turning his head. He didn’t let his eyes move from Palpatine, who had taken another step back in total, complete shock. “I was hoping we could get all the way to our destination before I took the risk- but Anakin, I-”

“You,” said Palpatine.

“I’m so proud of you, dear heart. That was…that was true courage.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” said Anakin. His eyes were fixed on the red saber in Palpatine’s grip. “I….I…”

“I know, but you must focus,” said Obi-Wan in a grave tone of voice. “There will be time for explanations later.”

Palpatine recovered before Anakin did, only taking a moment to work through the shock.

“…how long have you known?” he asked, while Anakin just processed and looked between Obi-Wan and Palpatine and the red, red, red lightsaber held in the Chancellor’s grip.

“Around six months,” said Obi-Wan. “The senate has been compiling evidence against you. Wait-!” he held a hand out as Palpatine seemed to begin moving once again, his form blurring, the Force bending around him. Obi-Wan hunched defensively, lightsaber at the ready.

Palpatine paused, only barely held at bay by Obi-Wan’s outburst.

“Think about your situation,” said Obi-Wan, voice pitched low and earnest. “I’ve managed to sneak aboard your private car. Ergo, I must have known about this, and your other secrets. We’ve already found your labs, your experimental centers, the Jedi you’ve kidnapped and held captive for years. We’ve found the chips you had implanted into the clone force- they have been removed and dealt with. We’ve found Exegol. We have hard evidence of your collusion- even your servant Dooku has turned against you.”

Chips? thought Anakin, his head spinning and spinning.

“And,” said Obi-Wan, laying down his final card, “in case you think that is the extent of it: we know about your plans for the death star.”

Palpatine, already pale, seemed to turn a bit ashen.

“But,” Obi-Wan continued, still standing with his saber at the ready, “but what we don’t have…what we’ve never had, is any evidence about what you, a human, non-Force-sensitive politician, would be doing with that weapon.” He tilted his head, acknowledging Palpatine’s lightsaber. “Of course…I have my suspicions, but…they are no more than that, at this point.”

“He…he’s just an old man,” said Anakin with a quaver in his voice. “Let’s just l-leave, M- Obi-Wan. We can take him.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look at him, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly. His fingers were white-knuckled around his own weapon. His stance, a Soresu high guard, was one he used in duels only against the strongest of enemies.

“If you do what you’re about to do,” Obi-Wan continued, eyeing Palpatine’s every twitch. “If you kill us…the Jedi will hunt you. They are assembled at our destination already, your secret bolthole, along with the clones you failed to enslave. If you kill us, they will have the evidence they need to send out an Order-wide missive. It is our organization’s policy to hunt darksiders unceasingly- there are thousands of us, and one of you.”

“He wouldn’t kill us,” said Anakin, disbelieving. “You wouldn’t. …Right?”

“He meant to break your legs a moment ago,” said Obi-Wan. “There is nothing he will not do for power, dear one. Nothing at all.”

The hovercar stopped, all of a sudden, causing all three of them to stumble. They had arrived at their destination. Palpatine glanced at the cockpit- but on a luxury car like this, the door was closed. Fox had driven them where directed, but Palpatine could no longer order him to leave. Not without breaking their standoff.

“Your career is ruined,” said Obi-Wan, trying to get his point across. “Your reputation is in tatters. It is still early in the war- the senate is not yet under your control, and they have begun to move against you. But not all is lost- after all, the Jedi have no reason to be involved in the prosecution of a politician. But a darksider…a Force-user…well, that lies firmly within our jurisdiction, does it not?”

Palpatine and Obi-Wan never let their eyes stray from each other. A second went by, then another…and another.

Then, as one, both of them extinguished their lightsabers. After a moment, Anakin did as well, but he kept his finger on the trigger, barely daring to breathe. He watched the red saber hilt vanish up Palpatine’s sleeve once again, as if it had never been there at all.

“If you…are lying to me,” Palpatine rumbled, dark and low, “if the facility behind this door, when I open it, is empty…I will make you into nothing more than a stain upon the carpet, Kenobi. And that boy…that boy will be mine.”

Slowly, he crossed the cabin, moving toward the door. Obi-Wan backed up as Palpatine approached, keeping Anakin behind him, giving the former Chancellor a wide berth.

Palpatine pressed a button- the door began to open- Anakin sucked in a breath-

But help was there.

By the hundreds, they were there. A line of Jedi knights and Masters- generals, with their sabers drawn and a battalion of clones spread out behind them in a sea of white armor, all lined up in neat little rows in the parking lot of a nondescript, commercial-looking spaceship hangar. In the sky, a dozen ships were floating, with two more popping in from hyperspace just at that moment. Master Windu stood in front of the entire ensemble, his purple saber drawn and held ready.

Anakin had never been happier to see Mace Windu in his entire life.

“Mr. Palpatine,” Master Windu called. “Out for an evening drive with Skywalker, there? Strange place to take a stealth car. Not to mention, that car is government property…and you are no longer a government official.”

“Just a friendly chat,” said Palpatine, all smiles. The darkness had disappeared from his Force-signature as though it had never been there at all. The former Chancellor descended the ramp, his hands raised slightly as if to say this is all a misunderstanding. “Anakin and I have been friends for many years. Isn’t that right, Anakin?”

He inhaled sharply at being addressed, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Obi-Wan had just come down the ramp, but Anakin was still at the top. Every eye turned upon him, all of a sudden. He swallowed hard. His hands, flesh and metal, clenched and unclenched.

“…No, sir,” he managed to say, meeting Palpatine’s eyes once again. They were back to their normal blue, no longer yellow, no longer glowing.

He set his jaw, and kept staring the former Chancellor in the eye. He wanted to say this. He needed to say this. “Whatever that was, it wasn't friendship. And I- I never want to see you again.”

So saying, he walked down the ramp, and Obi-Wan turned to him and held a hand out, and Anakin took it, grasping it tightly. Together, they walked past Palpatine, past Master Windu- who put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and said “I’ll deal with it, Ben, you talk to Anakin-”

-they walked past the front of the hovercar, where a clone in civilian clothing was stepping up to the cockpit (Cody!)

He was pulling the door open, pulling Fox out at gunpoint but with a gentle expression- as they passed, Cody nodded at Anakin, and then whispered, to Obi-Wan, “-taking him for immediate surgery-”

Anakin was in a daze, but it wasn’t the awful dark fog of before. This particular feeling tasted more like relief. Crystal clear, bubbling inside him like champagne, it swept him up and knocked him off his feet. He was so warm, deep inside, and almost…giddy, like a child.

At last, his soul whispered. At last. Here, in this moment, however brief, however fleeting- here was what it meant to be truly, and completely, free.

To walk away from Palpatine brought him more peace than he had ever felt. It unwound whatever knots had been left tied inside him, tight enough to burst. It gave him the grace, the courage, to finally say what needed to be said.

It was time.

“I have to tell you something,” said Anakin, still holding Obi-Wan’s hand as they walked along the parking lot. “You might hate me, after. Maybe you’ll arrest me. But you need to know.”

“There is something that I, too, need to tell you,” Obi-Wan replied, not letting go. “Something you need to know. Maybe you, too, will hate me afterwards.”

Silence, for a second. Obi-Wan looked up at the ships in the sky, and then he looked back at Anakin.

“There’s a planet I want to bring you to see. Something very important I want to do there, with you, if you’re willing. Perhaps we could talk on the way? I know you haven’t eaten…I know you haven’t slept. But…I have a feeling neither of us will sleep until these things are in the open.”

Anakin closed his eyes. Behind them, he saw the desert and the sand and the scorching, double suns. Tatooine, he thought. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he just knew.

“Okay,” he answered, squeezing the hand in his grip. “Let’s go.”

As they walked away from it all- from the stealth car, from the Jedi, from what had almost happened- Anakin didn’t think about Palpatine at all. Such a man- an abusive man, a liar, a traitor, a slaver- he was…truly just not worth thinking about.

Anakin turned his gaze forward. The sun was setting over Coruscant, turning the sky all to pink and gold. It was beautiful. The light remained imprinted on his eyes.

Chapter Text

For their journey, Obi-Wan selected a small, two-person ship that had the look of a civilian craft, one with no military markings and no Jedi symbols. Something that looked a bit run-down. For their supplies, he didn’t bring much except a few cloaks that were airy enough for the heat (having discarded his red, floor-length guard robes), but which still covered them head to toe, and a cheap carton of water bottles.

Cheap on Coruscant, but worth more than their weight in gold on Tatooine.

“Won’t the Hutts…confiscate this…as soon as we arrive?” Anakin asked as he helped Obi-Wan load the water onto their ship. He was having trouble speaking, just a little. Whenever he closed his eyes, or looked into the shadows, flashes of yellow and red danced in his mind.

Yellow eyes, flashing, glowing. Red plasma, burning. Burning.

“-learned how to dodge their surveillance nets a long time ago,” Obi-Wan was saying. “Are you quite alrigh- what am I saying? Of course you’re not alright.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, an automatic response, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Obi-Wan hummed, and took hold of Anakin’s metal hand, slipping a small ration bar into his grip. He patted the prosthetic. “Here. Eat something- it helps.”

Anakin followed him into the ship, and he ate the ration bar, though it did little to assuage his hunger. After spending so long without eating, he was ravenous.

He looked around for somewhere to sit. Obi-Wan was settling into the pilot’s seat, and normally Anakin wouldn’t have even blinked at taking the copilot’s seat if there was one available. He loved flying, after all. But today…no.

In the interior of the ship there was a little couch for passengers, along with a small kitchen set into the side. Nothing upscale, just…useful.

Anakin looked at the couch, considering it. After a moment, he sat on the floor. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He wasn’t shaking anymore, finally, but the cold pit of anxiety had yet to leave him.

Obi-Wan looked back at him, expression unreadable, before guiding their little ship off the ground and into space. With a few button-presses, he entered their destination into the computer, and then, with the stars turning to streaks in the windows, they were off.

Hyperspace was quiet. Nothing but the hum of the engines to distract him. Anakin kept his eyes on the floor.

He heard Obi-Wan stand up and walk into the main cabin of the ship, past the couch and the kitchen. After a bit of hesitation, he sat on the floor opposite Anakin, saying nothing at first, doing nothing. Waiting.

“How did you know?” Anakin asked without looking up. “How did you know where he was taking me? How did you know about…about Exegol and that…death star thing and, and all that?”

“We’ve…been investigating him for treason for around six months,” said Obi-Wan slowly. “Me and the council, that is, along with…a few key senators.”

“Padme?”

“No. Not her…you may recall that Palpatine was her mentor. We thought it might be a conflict of interest.”

Obi-Wan smiled, wry. “I will admit…there was a lot we didn’t know, either. We knew he had plans, but it was difficult to find much evidence. We had next to nothing besides word of mouth about the death star, for instance. And today was the first I’ve heard of a planet named Exegol. To think, that Palpatine might have access to an entire planet…we’ll have to begin looking for it immediately.”

“But…you seemed so confident,” said Anakin.

“Yes, well,” said Obi-Wan. His voice softened. “I’m afraid, when pitted against someone like him…all we have, really, are our words. I may not have been entirely truthful with him, but I find that I don’t much care.”

“Someone like him,” Anakin repeated. He thought, once again, of the red saber and the yellow eyes. He shook his head. “No, it- it can’t be true. He’s just an old man.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

Anakin looked back down. He shivered. He didn’t give a reply, but his silence spoke volumes.

Yellow eyes, he was thinking. Yellow eyes and red lightsabers.

“Was he really running both sides of the war?”

“Oh yes,” said Obi-Wan. “Yes, that part is very true. It took months for us to find the evidence we needed…and even then, someone leaked it to the news before we were ready. I hope…I hope you know that I would never have kept this from you, if I thought you were vulnerable…if I thought Palpatine might be in a desperate position, desperate enough to do what he did. Truly, it was the mistake of an ignorant old man. I thought we had more time before we were going to move against him. I never suspected he would try to kidnap you like this.”

“I know,” said Anakin into his knees. He didn’t ask why Obi-Wan would have kept this whole plan from him in the first place. The answer was obvious. “And it…it wasn’t a kidnapping. I went willingly.”

“You don’t have to be physically restrained for it to be unwilling,” said Obi-Wan. “That was coercion. That was blackmail.”

“You heard us talking,” said Anakin dully. “You heard what he said. He was just telling the truth.”

He shuddered, and clutched his knees tighter, and twisted his metal fingers around his lightsaber before pulling them back. Would Obi-Wan take it from him, in a minute? Would he never be allowed to wield one again?

But he couldn’t get the words past his lips. His mind was flooded with what-ifs and could-be’s…and fear. Lots of fear. Fear for himself, for his future, for Padme…fear of Obi-Wan. And Anakin knew he shouldn’t fear his Master, but deep down…he did. He feared those who had power over him. And in this case, the power Obi-Wan had…Anakin had given that to him by his own free will. Was it foolish? Foolish to care for someone, to value their opinion, to know that if Obi-Wan turned away from him now, it would destroy him?

Palpatine had seen Anakin’s desperate desire to please, to be loved. He had seen it, and had used it to his advantage. And now, Palpatine was gone, but the desire remained.

Anakin hesitated too long. The words just wouldn’t come. Maybe they would, in another minute. He just needed to work up his courage one last time.

Obi-Wan reached out slowly, telegraphing his movements. He put his hands over Anakin’s hands.

“I’ll go first, shall I? And you tell me your own secret when you’re ready. Alright?”

Anakin nodded, lifting his head.

“Although…” Obi-Wan continued, “I’ll admit that…what I have to say may…it may disturb you greatly. And there are some questions you may ask that I simply will not answer at this point in time.”

He met Obi-Wan’s eyes. The Force rippled around them, charged with what he still hadn’t said. He got the sense that something momentous was about to happen…that his Master wasn’t going to share this lightly, or without reason.

“I would like to tell you the tragedy of Darth Vader.”

Who?

The name meant nothing to Anakin, at first. He tilted his head. But with every second that passed, it settled more and more over him.

Vader, the Force murmured, with a quiet sigh. Vader.

“Okay,” he whispered. Obi-Wan nodded.

“Bear with me now. Parts of this…may not make much sense. Darth Vader was…he was a man like any other. A Jedi. Widely liked, well-regarded, he was…he was the best of us. A strong, capable general, he won battle after battle. He saved his friends countless times, stuck with us through thick and thin, helped us when we needed it and held the galaxy on his shoulders. And I loved him. I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life, Anakin. But it was a blind sort of love…a prideful sort of love. And I never told him, leading him to believe that I didn’t care at all.”

Anakin frowned, trying to remember- he would definitely have remembered a man like what Obi-Wan was describing. Someone Obi-Wan loved? But he was drawing a blank.

“We began to grow apart, over the years. It started with the small things, as it always does. A few minor disagreements that turned into major disagreements. Misunderstandings that only served to drive the wedge ever deeper. Scenarios, deceptions engineered by Palpatine, to convince us both to distrust the other. It went on and on, and in my pride, in my blindness, I did not notice. I failed to see how isolated he was becoming, how…how much he was hurting. I failed to help him when he needed me the most, and-”

“Who is this man?” Anakin asked softly. “Have I met him?”

“From a certain point of view,” said Obi-Wan, which of course answered nothing at all. “From another- no, you haven’t. Anyway- the…the important point is that…even with Vader’s many feats, even with our victories, of which there were many…the Jedi still lost the war.”

He looked Anakin in the eye. His expression was grave, his fingers tight around Anakin’s hands, and his tone was clinical. Detached.

“It happened around two years from now. We were destroyed, utterly and thoroughly, wiped from historical record and public knowledge. Of our population, there were very few survivors….Padawans…lost Knights…maybe one or two Masters who were quickly hunted and disposed of.”

Anakin’s mouth opened slightly, then he snapped it closed. What- what-

“We didn’t lose to the Separatists, though,” Obi-Wan continued. “No…they lost the war as well. We all lost, in the end…to him. To Chancellor Palpatine…Emperor Palpatine. He, ah…he spent most of the war accumulating power for himself, funneling away the agency of the senate…convincing the Jedi to act as his right arm and throw ourselves into the war, when all he was really doing was whittling away at our population. And we were foolish. Ignorant and idealistic, we thought only of ending the war. We thought, by engaging in this madness, by acting as generals, something so contrary to our ideology…we thought we were doing the right thing. We had such hubris, Anakin. Such conceit, to think that warmongering would be the answer to anything. Instead, all we did was help him achieve his goals, and in exchange for our service…he had us eliminated.”

Anakin tilted his head, hunting for the trick in his Master’s words. The lesson. Obi-Wan spoke of these things as though they had already happened…was this some parable? Some warning about the future?

But if this was supposed to be a lesson of some kind, it appeared to upset his Master greatly. Obi-Wan had closed his eyes, seeming to fight some inner demon. His hands were so cold where they curled around Anakin’s hands.

“Master?”

With a little gasp, Obi-Wan opened his eyes once again.

“How did they die?” This must be some kind of logical hyperbole. A what-if. Some kind of elaborate vision, maybe, at the most. After all, what Obi-Wan was saying wasn’t true. The Jedi were perfectly fine.

Then why did his Master appear so affected? Why did the Force swirl around him like a churning sea, a whirling tempest?

“I believe you heard me mention the chips Palpatine had placed into the clones.”

“Yes, but that’s not- it can’t be…”

“-can’t be true? And why ever not? With what they were…what they are, even now, it is very possible,” said Obi-Wan. “They were bought and paid for.”

“Don’t,” said Anakin sharply.

“They have no rights. They have no autonomy. They serve because they have been commanded to do so-”

“Stop- stop-”

Obi-Wan stopped. His eyes were dark with many emotions. Kindness and grief and that deep, soul-rending pain that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface. He was looking at Anakin not with pity, but with empathy.

He squeezed Anakin’s hands, never breaking the contact.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know you don’t want to hear it. But you must know the truth of the matter.”

Anakin shuddered. “I- I did sense it, d-didn’t I? Yesterday- or this evening. But I did, earlier with Spoon.”

“Yes. They are very hard to sense, because of how small and unobtrusive they were designed to be. We’ve been de-chipping as many as we can, beginning with the commanders and working our way down the chain. But there are millions of clones, and this chip is in every single one. It’s going to take quite a bit of time to get rid of them all, no matter what I may have said to Palpatine.”

“They’re slaves,” Anakin managed to say, his voice shaking. “They’re really…they’re just- slaves. And I- I didn’t see it. I didn’t let myself see it. Palpatine always told me…the most awful things about them and I…I just believed it…but all along they were…”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Padawan.”

Once again, he pressed his head into his knees, curling up. Force, he was such an idiot. In so many ways. For so many reasons. Now that he’d been told, it all seemed so painfully obvious.

But Obi-Wan wasn’t finished yet.

“As I’ve mentioned…because of these chips, the clone army turned on us. As one, they began to systematically slaughter the Jedi. Initiate, Padawan, Master…it did not matter. They killed indiscriminately, like attack droids, trained to kill and nothing else. Some of them wept as they did so, and at first this confused me greatly. Knowing what I know now…it makes sense. None of them had any choice.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I don’t blame them for it. Not anymore. Not after knowing how they, too, were as much victims of Palpatine as we were. I…truly I hated them for over a decade, before I knew the truth, and that hatred…that pain…was…not easy to let go of. But they had no choice in what they did to us.”

“You talk like you were there,” said Anakin. “Master, whatever lesson you’re trying to give me…I don’t understand it. Can you…maybe phrase it differently? I don’t get it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, with a smile like broken glass. When he moved, Anakin was vaguely surprised not to hear the sounds of shattered pieces clinking together. “There is no lesson here. I have no wisdom to impart. Only the battered memories of someone who lived through this horror. And I tell you now because you need to know.”

“But we’re all…we’re f-fine…I don’t…”

“You will soon enough. Let me continue?”

Anakin nodded once more.

“A fallen Jedi…one of us…one of our own turned against us at the last moment. It was he who let them into the Temple that fateful day. It was he who knew that building’s every nook and cranny…all the escape routes…all the ways survivors might try to flee. It was he who, in the end, took us apart. And of course you know by now…this was Vader.”

There it was again. That shiver in the Force. That sigh, that whisper.

“During the attack, I was off-planet. I had just finished dueling General Grievous- who I killed, by the way-”

“He deserved it,” Anakin muttered darkly.

“Yes, well. Once I had fought him, I was preparing to return home in victory- killing him meant ending the war, at that point, but…my own men turned on me. One moment they were laughing, joking with me, and the next- the next…I…I escaped them by throwing myself into the sewer water, staying under long enough that they thought I had drowned, and then swimming to the shore. I stole a fighter and made my way back to Coruscant, with Cody none the wiser-”

“Wait- Cody attacked you?”

“Of course. He was with me that day, after all.”

“Did Rex?” Anakin was caught up in the narrative now, forgetting for an instant that this must only be hyperbole. “What about my men? Where was I? Where was Ahsoka? How come I wasn’t by your side-”

“By that point,” said Obi-Wan gently, so gently. “By that point, I’m afraid- we weren’t on the best of terms. I hadn’t seen Ahsoka in…in weeks, truly, and then only over a holocall. I never found out if she lived, or if she died in the massacre, but…I like to think, when I am feeling more hopeful, that she might have lived. Certainly Rex- knowing him, he would have fought that chip with everything he had, and maybe…maybe it would have given her a chance.”

“She would have made it,” Anakin said, with feeling. “This- this Vader guy- he wouldn’t have stood a chance against her. Not against Ahsoka. Who was it? Was it Pong Krell? I’ve always hated that Master, he practically smells like the dark side- she would have annihilated him-”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupted. His face was so pale. His hands so cold around Anakin’s hands. That one word was all he said, but in his expression, in the glassy, broken look of a man who had been ripped apart- in the pain that leaked into the Force, like an old wound, festering, putrid- a decades-old injury that would never heal- that was where Anakin found the truth.

And what an awful truth it was.

It settled cold around him, along with the name, like a cape around his shoulders, dripping with the blood of a thousand Jedi. The weight of it almost crushed him, as if he was being dragged down, pulled down by many cold, dead fingers. People, faceless, nameless- Tusken children and Jedi and Clones, intermingled, pulling him down.

Vader, they whispered.

“No. Don’t- don’t. Stop.”

But this time, Obi-Wan didn’t stop. These words couldn’t remain half-said, no matter how much Anakin begged.

“Please, Master. It’s not true. It’s not.”

Obi-Wan didn’t let him go, even now. “It’s not a lesson. It’s not a warning. It is only the future, as it happened…as it once happened, and hopefully will never happen again.”

“Please. Please. Tell me it isn’t. It’s just a hypothetical. It’s just- it’s a- you’re making it up, you’re- just to teach me something-”

“No,” said Obi-Wan. “Not this time.”

The Force wept with the truth of it. The words Obi-Wan had been saying were only the start, but the real answer was there, tucked into his Master’s ruined Force-signature.

Obi-Wan had once been like a blazing fire, controlled, but- strong. Burning away merrily alongside the bright signatures of all the rest of the Jedi.

But a fire, without anything to feed it, eventually went low. If the world was only made of darkness, how could anyone maintain anything more than a candle?

His Master’s Force-signature was the way it was not because of some inexplicable change- it was the product of terrible suffering, of terrible pain. A lifetime of hardship, a lifetime of sorrow. It burned like a tiny flame because someone had stamped the rest of it out.

Clear-eyed, Anakin could look into it and see for himself. That candle flickering in the darkness, alone, alone, alone.

“Oh gods,” said Anakin.

“At one point…” said Obi-Wan. “Years before his fall, years before this massacre and the end of the war…yes. I’m afraid it is true. At one point, this man…this Darth Vader…was you.”

Chapter Text

Tatooine was exactly the same as Anakin remembered. They landed on the outskirts of a town made solely of ramshakle, run-down huts grouped together, each fashioned from the same sand-colored stone as the rest of the planet. There was sand in every nook and cranny, all over the road. It was an ugly, dirty place full of ugly, dirty people, who bustled about their business, their heads down, their hoods up- covered to shield from the sun.

Anakin looked out at them as he followed Obi-Wan down the ramp, watching the people as they milled about in the street. His eyes followed them as they moved, even though his head was full of a fuzzy blankness.

“This is Mos Pelgo,” said Obi-Wan as he locked the ship behind them. He was carrying the carton of water under one arm, having wrapped it with a cloth first to disguise what it was. “I doubt you’ve ever been here. Most of the townsfolk make a living mining the dilarium oil beneath the surface. There isn’t much, you see, so they must work awfully hard. No- their lives are not easy by any stretch of the imagination.”

Anakin spotted a togruta standing in the square. She had paused to rest in the shade for a moment, and there was dust on her face. His heart stilled in his chest, as he watched her- togruta didn’t live on Tatooine unless forced-

A vendor leaned over his cart to say something to her, and she laughed, heartily and deeply. She slung an arm around his shoulders, talking rapidly, and that made Anakin pull up short.

No slave acted that way in public.

“Mos Pelgo,” Obi-Wan continued, “is special for one reason. Yes, they live hard lives, but their lives are their own. Fifteen families live in this town, and every single one of them- including the vendors- every single one of them are free. I know what you’re looking for, but you won’t find it here.”

“I thought you’d bring us back to Mos Espa,” said Anakin. “Or- maybe to Anchorhead.”

“We can stop there, if you want, but…I didn’t want to dredge up any more bad memories by revisiting those places than I fear I already have by merely bringing you to this planet.”

“I’m not made of glass,” Anakin countered. “I can handle it.”

“You can, yes. But must you handle it? Must you put yourself through unnecessary pain? No, there’s no need. So…I chose this town. It’s not the best place in all of Tatooine, but I’d argue, given the residents and their histories, that it might just be one of the safest.”

Anakin said nothing else as they walked further into the town. That blankness was still there, all-consuming. He followed Obi-Wan down the street and flexed his empty hands. Obi-Wan had let him go, had moved his hands away, in order to pick up the water, and hadn’t reached out again. Anakin felt the absence of that touch keenly. There was nothing to ground him now, and, in the heat of the double suns, he felt himself beginning to float away.

Perhaps he could reach out and- and just take hold of Obi-Wan’s cloak. Just curl his fingers in the fabric and use it as a moor to keep himself stable.

But Vader had destroyed Obi-Wan. The violence of that story- that he, with his own two hands, had committed these vicious, bloody deeds-

-if he touched Obi-Wan now, would his fingers leave behind a bloodstain on that cloak? If he touched it, would it rip, and fall to pieces in his palms?

Anakin kept his hands to himself.

“Master?”

Obi-Wan turned back, briefly pressing a finger to his own lips. “Not here, my dear. Not that word. Obi-Wan, if you please- or, if you really want- you could also call me Ben.”

“Right, yeah.” Anakin frowned. “Ben?”

“Yes, it was- I used that name, in the future. I’m afraid I’ve become a bit attached to it. But Obi-Wan is also fine.”

Ben. Anakin swirled the name around in his mind, as if it was a new flavor he was tasting. Ben and Vader. These made-up names for alternate selves, who, out here, felt more real than he did at the moment.

They walked further down the street. Anakin tried to keep up, walking close behind Obi-Wan without touching him.

“Ben?” he said again, trying it out.

“Yes?”

“So you- you’re from the future?”

“Are you ready to talk about this again? There’s no rush, if you need time to…process.”

Vader. Vader. Vader.

Of course he wasn’t ready. But he never would be, and despite his cold, cold shock, he was also desperately curious.

“I really just…need some answers.”

“Okay. There is more to the story yet, and I’m afraid I haven’t even gotten to the worst of it. But- yes. Using an ancient Force-technique, I managed to supplant my consciousness from over twenty years from now into the body of my younger self-”

“More?” While the explanation of exactly how Obi-Wan might have managed to time-travel was interesting, Anakin was more alarmed by the first sentence. “How can it possibly get worse?”

“Oh,” said Obi-Wan. “It can always get worse. Even when you think you’ve lost everything.” He blinked a few times, rapidly. “Ah…apologies. Those were bitter words.”

He shook his head at himself and walked further down the street. He seemed to be looking for something- someone.

Honestly, the idea that Obi-Wan (Ben?) might be from the future was the easiest part of all this for Anakin to believe. When one grew up with the Jedi, one saw many fantastical things. And it…it made sense. It truly explained everything, didn’t it?

And the Force rang with Obi-Wan’s sincerity. That story was true. Vader…was true.

“How did you end up on Tatooine?” Anakin asked quietly.

“I came here, after…after. I was on the run. The entire galaxy had my face plastered over the holonews, a poster with my likeness in every window… so I…I chose the one planet Vader would not suspect. The one planet he tried his damnedest to forget even existed. I lived out here for the next twenty years, and, for the most part, the ruse worked- he never suspected that this was where I had fled.”

“You can just say ‘you,’” said Anakin. His fingers twitched again, reaching out- but he stopped himself at the last moment before he could touch his Master. He clasped his hands behind his back, just to put them somewhere- but then remembered what that might look like to an outsider on this particular planet, and shoved them in the pockets of his cloak instead.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t have to say…Vader this, or Vader that…you can just say…it was me.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, absolutely not. And that’s a detail I want to emphasize- though the two of you may have been the same person at one point, you’ve had different experiences. That man made choices that you never made…he had experiences I pray you will never have…and the burden of his sins rests on his shoulders alone, not yours.”

You don’t understand, he wanted to say, but didn’t. You don’t understand, I’m already-

“M-maybe he was…older, but he still…”

“Vader is no one but himself,” said Obi-Wan. “You were never given that name, right?”

“No…but-”

“Life is already difficult enough without needing to bear the weight of deeds you did not commit. I know…I’ve laid a heavy burden upon you by telling you these things, and I know there is no taking it back. But I hope…as I continue my story, you will see why I’ve chosen to do so and…likewise I hope in the future you will be able to separate yourself from him as much as you can.”

“Why tell me at all, then?” said Anakin.

Obi-Wan came up to one of the vendors who was hawking her wares in the square. He gave Anakin no response, but instead brought out the carton of water from under his arm.

“Hello there,” he said to the vendor- another togruta, an older woman who had a hard look about her, a face that was used to suffering. Her eyes glanced them over, sizing them up, taking in every detail.

She reminded Anakin of the Obi-Wan he had seen in his dream that one time- older, weary, sun-scarred and suspicious.

“I wondered if you might tell me how much this is worth?” said Obi-Wan in a chipper tone, as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

She looked him over once again, scoffing, before turning her attention to the carton. “What is it? Vinegar?”

“No, it’s clean water only. How much?”

She peered at him between narrowed eyes. “That’s real water?”

“Yes, from Coruscant. Purified by filters.”

“Real hoity-toity Coruscanti highbrow water, eh?” she grumbled, looking slightly impressed despite herself. “Knew your accent sounded funny. I’ll give ya sixteen wupiupi. If it’s real.”

Less than half of what it was actually worth. Anakin opened his mouth- only to be halted by a minute shake of Obi-Wan’s head.

“Of course.” said Obi-Wan. “Please feel free to verify for yourself.”

Grunting, she inspected it, touching one of the bottles. Quick as a flash, she snatched one out of the bundle and opened it, cracking the seal. She proceeded to sniff it, looking at it intently- then she held it out to Obi-Wan.

“Taste it,” she commanded, flashing her pointed teeth. “Prove it ain’t tainted.”

“Pardon?”

“Taste it.”

Now Obi-Wan seemed, oddly, caught off guard.

“Oh, surely you wouldn’t want to waste it…”

“Drink it or no deal, sell your shit fake water somewhere else.”

The refusal was strange. Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan’s face- was he blushing, or was it sunburn?

“Listen, I would, but-”

“I’ll do it,” said Anakin. He held out his hand for the bottle. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Why not you?” she said to Obi-Wan, handing it over.

He was still blushing. “Ah, I…that is, I…”

He trailed off into silence. Stood there with their eyes upon him, as the blush deepened, and he pressed his lips together.

“Obi-Wan?” questioned Anakin as he lifted the water to his own mouth.

Obi-Wan sighed and, clearly reluctant, answered the vendor’s question. Even though he appeared to be speaking to her, he directed his words at Anakin. “There is…the…possibility that I may undertake a- a particular ritual later today. Perhaps. For this reason, I’ve chosen not to drink anything…”

Anakin, mid-way through a gulp of water, nearly choked on it.

What?

The vendor’s demeanor changed at once. “Oh,” she gasped, startled and pleased, looking between the two of them and seeming to understand what Obi-Wan meant by ritual. “Oh- you- I see.”

She turned to Anakin. “Aren’t you a bit old for that particular rite, young man?”

A ritual?

A Tatooine-style ritual? A Tatooine-style cultural ritual that would cause Obi-Wan to forego water-?

“I-” said Anakin, as his ears began to ring and his heart swooped. “I-”

No, no, it couldn’t- how could Obi-Wan know about that? It couldn’t be what he was thinking…what had jumped immediately into his mind…no, that was…

The vendor snatched the bottle back from Anakin’s hands. “Alright, don’t drink all of it! Here’s your money.”

She was smiling now as Obi-Wan set the carton of water down by her feet, and seemed to mistake Anakin’s dumbstuck expression for annoyance. “Oh- don’t mind me; no one’s too old. Congratulations- you’d better be off now, if you want to catch the last of the daylight.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said Obi-Wan as he walked away. Anakin remained frozen on his feet, watching his Master’s retreating back, trying to recover from the shock.

Even the vendor was acting like- but it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

That was- something slaves did- masters didn’t know- outsiders didn’t know-

He stood there a moment longer.

“Best keep up with your father, boy,” she winked at him, making a gentle shooing motion. “On today of all days.”

Anakin made a very undignified sound, somewhere between a gasp and a scream, and almost fell over as the spell broke and he exploded into motion, running to catch up.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan bought a few supplies with the money they’d been given- a pot to cook with, some bread and a few vegetables- all native, easily foraged plants, as well as a bit of bantha milk.  Simple, cheap food that would be given to a slave.  Anakin watched this in total silence, still digesting his own shock, eyes wide and growing wider at everything that was bought.  He kept expecting to be proven wrong, for it to be a mistake…but every decision Obi-Wan made only seemed to confirm the impossible theory.

A ritual.  With food.  And Obi-Wan wasn’t drinking…

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin said breathlessly, impatiently, as his Master turned down the road, toward the desert, ingredients in hand.

“Yes?”

“Um…can I help you…carry anything?”  Anakin didn’t ask for confirmation outright.  If it wasn’t true, and Obi-Wan said no…that might actually break him.  Instead, he was probing.  Testing. 

Obi-Wan smiled knowingly.  “Not today.”

“What’s the pot for?”

“The better to cook with, my dear.  Out in the desert.”

With every answer, Anakin’s spirits lifted with the slightest, impossible hope.

Obi-Wan slung the bag of their supplies over his shoulder and gestured outside the market and the little town to the open road, and the desert beyond.  “Shall we walk?  There is still much to discuss between us.”

“Do you really mean…do you really mean to do a…”  Anakin looked around and lowered his voice.  “A ritmii?  A wamra-ritmii?”

It took some courage to voice it, as the seed of hope in his chest grew a tiny root.  If what Obi-Wan said was true…if he was from the future…if he’d spent twenty years on Tatooine…if he’d somehow found out about this ritual…if, if, if.

Obi-Wan’s gray eyes were fathomless.  “Maybe.  Only if you want it.”

“Of course I-”

But Obi-Wan held up a hand.  “As I said…we still have much to discuss.  And…at the end of what I still must tell you…at the end of it you might decide that you don’t want this.  And if that’s the case…then there will be no ritual.  Instead, we will share a meal between two friends, nothing more, nothing less.  Shall we?”

Fat chance of that.  Friends?  Friends, after what Obi-Wan had just said?

They began walking down the road as Anakin digested that.

“After what you just told me…after Vader…and you still want to do this…why would I ever say no?”

Obi-Wan chuckled.  “Most people think long and hard about undertaking a ritual like this, you know.  I had meant to ask you only after we talked more…but I should have realized Sheema would make me taste the water.”

“Sheema?” Anakin ignored the comment about thinking long and hard- as a young child in Obi-Wan’s care, he’d fantasized about this every night.  As a teenager, he’d dreamed of it and had woken up in tears which he’d hurriedly wiped away.  As a young adult, he’d put it out of his mind, but the shadow of it had followed him everywhere he went.  Now that Obi-Wan seemed to be offering- what was there to think about?

“The vendor.  I knew her son, in the future.  He was nearly as suspicious as she was about the water I sold, but he did tell me once how his mother died.  It was this very year, in the summer, during a water-drought.”

“Oh,” said Anakin.  “So…you sold her the water because…”

“Truthfully, it might do nothing at all, getting water into her hands, or it might only prolong the inevitable,” said Obi-Wan.  “But I do intend to do what I can for the people I knew on this planet those twenty years.  By coming back as I have, I’ve changed many futures…I need to make sure the few people I did manage to help also receive help in this timeline as well.”

Anakin read between the lines.  “You helped slaves, didn’t you?  You helped us.”

“As much as I could,” said Obi-Wan, glancing away.  “What little I could.  It wasn’t nearly enough.”

“Did you…were you ever-?”

“I- no.  Only for a few days, at most.  By that time, I’d perfected my little mind-tricks…though I was sold at market once, I managed to confuse my would-be master enough to mistake me for an eopie.  He removed my chains and put me into a stable- with some rather lovely straw, I might add- and I escaped into the night.”

Anakin laughed.  “Yeah, I guess it’s- if they didn’t know you were a Jedi, it’d be hard to hold you.  They didn’t chip you?”

“…they did, but, because I could sense them…I was able to cut it out.  I did get lucky, for mine was in my arm, not my…not my spine.”

Once again, Anakin suppressed the urge to reach out.  He rubbed at his own back instead, pressing his fingers momentarily against his cloak where, underneath, his chip had once resided.

“I guess you got into as much trouble then as you do now,” said Anakin.

“Guess so.  I promise I don’t seek it out- trouble always finds me.”

They were leaving the town behind now, walking down the road as the twin suns settled lower and lower in the sky.  The heat wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t unbearable this late into the evening.  The sand glittered like tiny red jewels, drifting up in little clouds, floating in the wake of their footsteps.  Obi-Wan looked right at home in this environment, even like he knew the way, and he hummed slightly to himself as they went.

Ben, Anakin thought again.  Ben and Vader.

“And…he never looked for you?”

“He did.  But he never looked here.  I think…well, I can’t really fathom Vader’s mind, twisted as it was.  But I think he tried to forget this place, and everything it stood for.”

“What did it stand for?”

“Personally, I think it reminded him that he was human.”

To that, Anakin had no reply.

They walked a little more, and then Obi-Wan turned off the road and began to make his way into the desert.  His feet glided over the sand without hindrance.

“I can’t imagine ever wanting to kill you,” said Anakin suddenly.  “Are you sure he was looking because he wanted your death?  I can’t- I would never- I can’t even fathom-”

Obi-Wan reached out, almost.  The fingers on his hand that wasn’t carrying supplies twitched toward Anakin, but he brought them back quickly.  As if he was the one wanting to touch and thinking better of it.

“We, ah.  We. We were very different people, in that other life.  We were warped and molded into caricatures of ourselves.  I, into the image of an absent father, and he…he, a troubled, violent child.  And then, at the climax of the war, we-”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and shook his head.  “It is- hard to speak of.  But you really must know.  Ah- here’s a good place.”

He walked over to a little rocky outcropping, where a few dead bushes lay scattered around, surrounded by sand.  Setting the pot down along with the bag of food, he sat on the ground.  After a moment, Anakin sat beside him.  He squirmed with impatience, already knowing that there was nothing in the galaxy Obi-Wan could say that would change Anakin’s mind about this ritual.

“Will you- start the ritmii now…?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “First you must…you truly must hear this.  I just…don’t know how to begin.  I imagined telling you so many times, but, now that the moment has come…I’ve- I’ve lost my words.”

Anakin looked down. 

There was something he needed to tell his Master as well.  He hadn’t forgotten, even with all the other revelations…even with the ritmii.  Maybe Obi-Wan would hear it and decide that he didn’t want to go through with the ritual.

Maybe Obi-Wan would arrest him, or kill him, or run from him, as Ben had run from Vader.

The silence stretched so long, Anakin counted to a hundred in his mind.  Twice.  He didn’t want to break the quiet…to do so would be to reveal his most deeply-held secret.  To do so would be to risk everything. 

Instead, he waited, the unsaid words curling around his tongue, souring his mood, turning him guilty and angry and fearful of what Ben would say.  He didn’t like to remember that day in the desert.  He didn’t like to remember his mother’s cries, and the men, the women- the children-

Ben had his hands over his mouth, looking out at the desert.  He tried to speak, but succeeded only in making a strangled sound.  The twin suns were low now on the horizon, and getting lower.

Anakin watched them sinking down.

“Did you kill him?”

The sharp intake of breath was enough for Anakin to take that as confirmation.

So that was the issue.

“Let me guess: you killed him,” he continued, keeping his eyes out at the desert, refusing to look over at Obi-Wan.  “And that’s what you can’t bear to tell me.  You killed your own Padawan, that Vader who murdered your family, who brought the galaxy down around you.  The man who betrayed everyone.”  Anakin swallowed.  “Betrayed Rex and all the clones.  Betrayed Ahsoka.  Betrayed you.”

The sand looked like it was lit on fire, the way it was catching the evening light.  Flickering back and forth in the heat.

Anakin’s eyes reflected that fire.  It was all he could see.  He was lost in his own mind, half-memory, half dream- fire and pain and the desert, a blue lightsaber, and cold, cold anger. 

A merciless slaughter, fueled by rage.  A bloody deed that could never be undone.

“He deserved it.  If that’s what you did.  He deserved it.”

“Did he?” said Ben quietly.  “How can you know if he did or didn’t deserve what I did to him?  All you have is my word to go on.  I have yet to tell you what happened-”

Anakin laughed, and his laughter was slightly disturbed.  It was the hysteria of someone who’d bottled something up for far too long, and now it was leaking through, and tearing up the edges of his sanity as it went.

Had he ever truly been sane, though?

“Because, Obi-Wan,” said Anakin, “you’re a good man.”

He forced himself to turn and look into those tormented gray eyes.  “I know he deserved it because you’re the one who did it.  That you, of all people, were motivated enough to kill another Jedi- let alone your own Padawan, whatever that’s worth- is damning enough for Vader.  Well?  Tell me.”  Anakin was still half-laughing.  “Tell me how you killed him, Master.  You put down a rabid dog.  What’s so bad about that?”

He was shaking.  “You’ve never done a single bad thing in your life, have you?”

“Anakin, you misunderstand-”

“Maybe you’re different now but you’re not that different!  You still have the same moral compass as ever!  You still somehow know right from wrong when no one’s around to tell you what it means.  You came all the way out here and brought me back here and worried over how to tell me that good, gentle Obi-Wan had to kill his deranged Padawan in some far-off future I never knew and never will know-”

Now that the dam had broken, the words poured forth.  In a flood, in a torrent they were coming, words he’d left unsaid for so, so long.  Years of bitter resentment and longing and anger, the anger of a violent child at an absent father-

He didn't fully believe what he was saying, but these words had been pent up for too long.  He knew Obi-Wan had suffered terribly, he knew that, but it wasn't enough to stop him from saying this.

“You lived on Tatooine and you freed slaves, you helped people- Tatooine is rotten through and through and somehow it still passed you by.  You came out of this hell pure as you ever were, when it chewed me up and spit me out- it fucked me up, Obi-Wan-”

At some point Anakin had leaned forward, choking on his own emotion, dry-heaving.  He brought his hands up and fisted them in his hair, pulling.  His metal hand was much stronger than his flesh hand, and it had no problem pulling those strands right out.  Good riddance.

“Why’d you stop here, huh?” he finally choked out.  “Why’d you go back twenty years and not all the way?  Did you think you could fix everything?  Did you think your Padawan didn’t have enough time yet to destroy his life?  That Palpatine didn’t talk to him and convince him that the shit he did was okay?  Did you really believe what you said back there about me and Vader being different people?  Because…Ben- Obi-Wan- Master- we’re not.”

Obi-Wan looked utterly lost for words.  “Anakin…I-”

“We’re the same person,” said Anakin, and now the tears came, one after the other, slow, inching down his face like creeping vines.  “You didn’t go back far enough.  It’s too late.  I have already killed.”

Anakin forced himself to peel his fingers away from his hair, one by one.  Forced his shoulders to relax and to sit up straight.  He couldn’t look at Obi-Wan, not right now, so he turned his eyes back to the twin suns.  The desert sand appeared blurry and distorted with the tears in his eyes.  Like a heat wave.

“Well- of course you have, you’re a soldier,” said Obi-Wan slowly.  “I didn’t mean to imply that the act of killing was what separated you from Vader-”

“No,” Anakin laughed again, or maybe it was a sob.  “No, you don’t understand.”

“Then…then what-”

“I’m a murderer,” the word ripped out of his throat, raking across his teeth.  “When I was still your Padawan, on that mission to protect Padme- you remember?  And I was worried about my mom because of my dreams.  You told me to stay, but I didn’t.  I disobeyed you.  Me and Padme came back here.  A tribe of Tuskens had taken Mom prisoner because they thought the Larses were encroaching on their land- and by the time I fucking found her she was already-”

He was gasping, making some kind of inhuman sound on every inhale.  Shuddering and shaking and crying in equal measure.  It was still hot out, but Anakin felt cold.  So cold on the inside, like a spike of ice had landed in his heart.

To remember this, to speak this aloud, firmly squashed any fragile hope he might have been nursing.  Obi-Wan would never want him after this.  But it had to be said.  Finally, after keeping it secret for so, so long, it had to be said.

“When she died in that camp- I- I was angry.  The men saw that I was trying to free her, and they attacked me.  I killed them for what they did to her.  Then the women saw that I was fighting their husbands and they came over.  I killed them too.  Some of them tried to run, but I- I k-killed them, too.”

He couldn’t breathe anymore, or see anymore, or think anymore.

“Then the boys came.  They were teenagers, they knew how to h-hold a stick but not how to use it.  They saw me with their p-parents and threw themselves at me, and it was easy to do like I’d been doing.  It was easy.  And then- and then-”

Anakin was crying hard now, so hard that it was difficult to speak.  In this moment, he felt a self-hatred, a revulsion at his own existence like never before.  Memories he’d long repressed floated to the surface.

He’d never been a stranger to violence.  His very first memory was of watching one of Gardulla’s slaves be fed to a rancor as a warning to the others.  Blood and pain was imprinted on his consciousness for all to see- growing up with beatings and bruises and the threat of the chip and the whip day in and day out.

It was a brutal, quick life, and the only life he had known until he was nine and Qui-Gon came to whisk him off to a softer world, a better world.  A world with a creche and kids who didn’t know what a headless body looked like.  Kids who didn’t know what their friends sounded like when they were screaming in pain.  Untainted.  Innocent and pure, they had allowed him into their midst where he stuck out like a sore thumb.  And he’d tried to be like them, had tried to forget what he’d seen and who he was and the awful memories that haunted his steps.  It had never really worked.

“The little ones,” said Anakin.

He grew up under Obi-Wan’s supervision, and he dreamed of having a father, and he wanted it in Obi-Wan but Obi-Wan didn’t want a son in him.  As a child he had wanted to touch and be touched, to hug and be wrapped securely in someone else’s arms, to know that he was loved and safe.  But that wasn’t how it was, and no amount of longing would make it so.  Obi-Wan was a teacher, maybe some kind of distant, elder brother, but nothing more.

“The children.”

Starved for affection, to Palpatine he had turned.  He’d always been a people-pleaser, wanting praise, wanting to be liked, even though he never really was, among his Jedi peers.  When Palpatine gave him attention, he felt at ease with himself.  If he did something Obi-Wan would disapprove of, but Palpatine smiled at, patted him on the back for, hugged him- well, that was alright then.  After all, if Palpatine said it was fine, then surely, it was fine.

How could he have ever believed that?

“They saw me killing their parents, their older siblings- they heard the screams and instead of running away, they came over.  And I…”

Anakin swallowed.  “I…”

Maybe it would have been different if he’d been born somewhere else.  To a decent family on Coruscant, maybe, or Naboo, where things were soft, where he could grow up and not know suffering.  Maybe he could have been a normal person, some nobody with a job and a life and who was happy.  Someone who’d never done what he had done.  Clearly something had broken inside him, something fundamental, something that had allowed him to look at a child on that fateful day and swing.  The line in the sand that he had crossed, in his grief, in his anger, in his ignorance.  An action taken that could never be taken back.

Still.  He felt grief for the nine-year-old boy he had once been.  Even if he was bad, rotten through and through, at some point he must have been pure as the rest of them.  What a waste.

At least he had finally managed to tell Obi-Wan.  Palpatine, wherever he was, could no longer use it against him.

“So you see,” said Anakin through his tears.  “I- I’m just like him.  In the end, I mean.  We’re really just…we’re the same.  It’s too late.”

He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, and crushed his hopes, and the dream of the ritmii along with it.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan was staring at him. His face was an interesting shade of gray, drained of all color, ashen. Anakin could only manage one quick glance back at his Master before he swallowed and looked away, down at his feet, down into the sand.

He wondered what Obi-Wan would say in response to all this. If it would be like Palpatine said- if he was about to be arrested, or shunned, kicked out of the Order. Obi-Wan was a council member, after all… maybe they’d lock him up, or- or something.

But he’d done it. He’d said the words, finally, spoken aloud the terrible deed he’d committed, not so long ago. It had only been about a year ago, truthfully. It felt like so much longer.

Now that the words were in the air, they seemed to solidify. The memory of that terrible day had never been more than a nightmare to him, something repressed and near-forgotten. But now it was real.

He looked down at his hands, resting in the sand. They were dusty and dirty. Never before had he felt so unclean. It was easy to imagine that the sand was dried blood, a muted red, staining his skin and his clothes. That stain would always be there, even if he washed his hands. There was no undoing what had been done.

“Anakin?”

Anakin startled badly- his head came up and he scrabbled backwards. He tried to speak, but only choked on it, and had to clear his throat.

“Y-yes?”

“Look at me.”

With difficulty, he turned and met his Master in the eyes. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see there. Revulsion? Loathing? Anger, fully justified?

Instead, he saw nothing in Obi-Wan’s eyes but a deep, endless, bottomless grief. An echo of the pain that was baked into his Force-signature, the pain of one who had lived through such a massacre. An infinite sadness that seemed to stretch through space and time.

It took his breath away. What could Anakin possibly say? Look what you did to him, he thought about Vader. Look what I did to him.

This was Ben in front of him, not Obi-Wan. The Jedi from the desert, the last of his kind. It was Ben who had heard Anakin’s confession, and it was Ben who would have to make a judgement, in the end.

Ben took a deep breath, looked Anakin in the eye, and opened his arms.

“What-” Anakin whispered. “What?”

“Come here,” said Ben, and his voice cracked on the last word.

“I just told you I-”

“I know,” said Ben. His hands were shaking as he held them out.

“Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m a killer.”

“I know,” Ben repeated. “I know.”

Anakin sat there, with tear trails on his cheeks, looking between Ben and his hands. He shook like a frightened animal, frozen in indecision, in fear, fear that it was a trick, that it wasn’t real…after all, who could ever- and especially not Ben, who had witnessed something like this-

Anakin bit his lip, and didn’t move. He sobbed, and the teardrops fell in the sand. Precious water wasted in the desert, drop by drop.

“I know what you said,” said Ben, his face still that uncanny shade of gray. His eyes were bright. “But I said no matter what. Now it’s your choice what you want to do. But- as for me- I am never going to abandon you. Not for anything. Not again, Anakin.”

“You- but I- but-”

“It’s your choice,” Ben repeated. “I’ve already made mine.”

Anakin wiped his eyes, and stared, still questioning- still doubting. This could not be real. It could not be real. Palpatine had said it would never happen, and Anakin had spent so many years believing him.

But Ben didn’t move.

Slowly, Anakin crawled across the ground, his fingers scraping in the sand. To bridge this gap between them, a gap created over the course of a decade- to finally cross this barrier, to the other side- with the secrets unraveling around him as he went- it was-

It was only the distance of a few feet, but Anakin felt as though he’d scaled a mountain by the time he finally reached Ben. With sandy, dirty fingers he clutched the edge of Ben’s cloak, gripping it as hard as he could. He almost thought it might tear, as he’d thought before- but it didn’t. It didn’t.

Latching on, Anakin curled up against him, and Ben’s arms wrapped around him, and it felt like coming home. Ben’s fingers settled in his hair, soothing as they always were, gentle as they always were. He tucked Anakin in close. Uncaring of the inhuman strength of Anakin’s grip, uncaring for the sand and the dirt and the tears. Uncaring if his cloak ripped or not.

For a while, they just held each other and breathed.

“I didn’t kill Vader,” said Ben, at length. “You said I- I’d never done anything bad in my life, but you’re wrong. I cannot even count the list of my mistakes. Leaving you with Palpatine- a child in my care, I allowed you into the hands of that- that monster. I did not see how you needed me- I failed to be there for you, not just at the critical moments, but every day of our lives. In all the little things, in all the little ways. I did not touch you. I never met you in the middle. I let you think I didn’t love you- that you were alone- you looked to me and I- I messed it right up. All of it. For so many years.”

Anakin could hear Ben’s heart beating in his chest as he pressed himself even closer, unable to speak. What Ben was saying scraped at an old wound that had never healed. But here it was, at long last, and to hear it now… he wiped at his eyes and nodded, over and over again.

“And then, with Vader- you said I killed him, but I didn’t. The two of us, we had a…a terrible fight. It lasted a long time. I had openings, but I could not bring myself to do it. I was indecisive, but then he- he gave me no choice, and I- instead of killing him, I…did something- brutal, I- I cut his- his arm and-”

“And my legs,” said Anakin suddenly, eyes going wide.

“Y-yes.”

“On Mustafar.”

“Yes. And- instead of- finishing it, I- I left him there. To burn. I walked away while he screamed for me, while he needed me, and I just- I walked away- I- he didn’t even die, but lived with critical injuries, permanent disfigurements, that I caused- for the next twenty years he lived like that-”

Ben cut himself off, too upset to speak anything else. Anakin responded by tucking his head under Ben’s chin. He could feel him swallow.

“I’ve been…having…dreams,” said Anakin thickly. “About fire…and lightsabers…and…and that fight. It’s really fuzzy, and…fragmented.”

To his surprise, Ben only nodded miserably. “Yes. It…was possible that would happen. That some memories would filter through the Force to latch onto you, powerful as you are. It was a risk I took, coming back here…and it is likely that some more memories may one day come back to you in the form of dreams. That is why I had to tell you. And because I wanted…wanted to do this ritual. But not without telling you what I’d done in the alternate future. It doesn’t matter if it’s not going to happen- it did for me. So you must know. So that you can make your own decisions.”

Ben took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I am so, so sorry. For- for all of it. Every bit of it. The pain and hurt I caused you. I’m not saying it’s alright what you did- and we surely must talk more about it later…but for my part in it, Anakin, I’m sorry. And for that night at the river. You may not remember all of it now, but you might, one day. For all of my follies, you paid the price. Even for what happened in another life.”

Anakin nodded again. It felt like all he could do. His words were frozen on his tongue- what could he even say? It was true, and he’d spent so many years stewing in it, and maybe he should be angrier, but how could he be? Now that Ben was holding him like he was the most precious thing in the entire galaxy?

“It’s never too late,” said Ben. “I firmly believe that. Even Vader was never beyond help. There was hope for him until the end. He suffered terribly, and did terrible things, but- I always felt that if I’d tried a little harder, said the right things- if I had not walked away- maybe he could have come back to us.”

He swallowed. “I- I am a broken man, Anakin. I am haunted by my memories, my regrets and mistakes. I’m not a saint- I’ve spent the majority of my life making the wrong decisions. Maybe I’m not what you need. But- if there’s any chance you- you still want to be- to be- family- any chance at all…then…I want that too.”

“I never stopped wanting it,” said Anakin. “Even when I was angry. Even when I was with Palpatine. I’ve wanted it for years.”

“Even with what I told you? About the fight?”

“Even with what I told you?” Anakin threw back.

“Point taken.” Ben gave a wet chuckle. He was still holding Anakin close.

“Yes,” Anakin answered the question anyway. “Even with that.”

My own son. Ben had really, truly meant those words.

“Alright,” said Ben. He kissed the top of Anakin’s head, squeezed once, and then let go. He was smiling, and the color had returned to his face. “You sit right there, and I’ll get it started.”

*

The meal itself was simple. Ben made a small cooking fire, placing the pot on top of the embers. He made a vegetable stew, pouring the bantha milk in the pot instead of water. Water never went into stews on Tatooine; it was far too precious for that.

Anakin watched with rapt attention, sitting next to Ben but not participating. He kept his hands folded in his lap (after having furiously cleaned them on the edge of his cloak), sniffling every now and then. He rubbed at his eyes a few times, unbelieving. This was actually happening. They were on Tatooine, and Ben knew this ritual, knew without needing to be told what this meant to him- he chose to do it-

“Ready?” said Ben.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Ben ladled some stew onto a chunk of bread. He looked at it, took a deep breath, and turned back to Anakin.

“Tama xina wamra ritmii. Wamra re’a-”

For Ben the switch seemed effortless, moving from one language to another. To Anakin, hearing these words felt nearly foreign to his ears after so long. Nearly. The memories never truly left him, and though he had to dust them off, he found that he was still as fluent as he always was. These words, the words of his mother, echoed around him and through him. They settled over him, and though Ben was the only one speaking, he could hear the voice of his mother almost superimposed over top. The voices of his parents, one living, and one dead. They were here together.

“What I can do, I will do,” said Ben in this other language. “What I can give, I will give. With this meal, the tethers of family are tied thicker than any chain.”

Anakin held his hands out, and the meal was placed into them. Ben kept his hands on Anakin’s for a moment, the two of them holding it together.

His mother would have done this for him too, when he was a toddler. He didn’t remember, but he wished that he did.

“Even if you are taken far away from me,” said Ben, “we will be forever side by side. No amount of distance can break this bond, not death, nor illness, nor sale. You are my family, and I am your family.”

“You are my family and I am your family,” said Anakin, hushed. It still didn’t feel real, but it was. Ben’s hands were warm against his as they held the bread together.

“I am your father, and you are my son.”

“You are my father, and I am your son.”

He lifted the meal from Ben’s hands, taking a bite of it. It was warm, turned sweet from the bantha milk. He began to cry again on the first bite, and almost couldn’t finish it. This kind of food reminded him of his mother. It was cheap food, yes, but it was filling. It was warm and pure. It tasted like home.

He was home. Ben was home, now, and always would be. No matter the distance between them.

His childhood had been terrible, but there had been spots of goodness in it too. Moments spent laughing happily with his friends, dancing in the desert, or wrapped in his mother’s arms. Moments when he’d looked at the sand dunes with the twin suns shining down on them, and had thought my, how beautiful.

He was thinking that now.

“I love you,” he choked out between bites.

“I love you too,” his father replied. “I always will.”

*

The very last of the light was fading from the horizon by the time they began walking back to the town. It wasn’t cold by any means, but finally it had fallen into a comfortable temperature, and a gentle breeze blew at their cloaks. Ben had wrapped an arm around him, and Anakin an arm around Ben in turn.

“Dad?” said Anakin, and then grimaced. “Ah, it feels weird. I feel like I should still be calling you Master.”

“It’ll come in time,” said Ben. “You call me whatever you want to call me, my dear.”

“Dad.” Anakin nodded decisively. “I’ll get used to it.”

What a wonderful problem to have. Here was someone who loved him. Here was his family. Right here.

He’d felt this way, a little, after marrying Padme. Forging that permanent bond. As though something had slotted into place, something right. And now he had two people like that. People who were there no matter what.

He wondered what she would say when he told her about her new father-in-law. She’d probably say about time.

“Dad?” he tried once again.

“Yes, my son?”

“Are you going to tell the council about- what I said?”

“No, at least, not right now.” said Ben, looking at him. “But I think you should.”

“Huh?”

“You should tell them.”

“Why would I ever do that?”

“Well…I told you we must speak more about this, and we will. But…I can see how it has tormented you. You are living a lie with them, going on as you have. Would it really be so bad to get it all out in the open?”

“They’ll kick me out! They’ll take my saber-”

Ben stopped on the road, a twinkle in his eye. “Ah, that’s true. They might do that.”

“Mast- uh, dad? What are you doing?”

Ben took his own lightsaber from his belt. He turned it over in his hands.

“The Jedi are a violent people by nature, you know. We teach our youngest how to wield our weapon.”

“Yes…”

“I had meant to do this here as well, but I almost forgot. No time like the present, my dear.”

With a sweep of the Force, Ben began to disassemble his saber. The middle compartment opened up to reveal the blue crystal, pulsating. He took the crystal from the shell. “Well, as for me, I’m done with all that. I am still a Jedi, and I always will be, but my days of violence are over. And to me- this saber is the one I used to hurt someone I love. I don’t like what it represents.”

And so saying, he threw the shell over his shoulder, into the desert, where it landed in the sand. Then, without missing a beat, Ben began to walk away, putting the crystal in his pocket.

Anakin was dumbfounded, staring after it. He suppressed an urge to run after it, and another, separate urge to run and kick sand against the thing. He, too, had hated that saber, an unfounded hatred that he had no idea what to deal with. In the context of his dreams, it had begun to make sense. He feared that lightsaber, and he had a feeling Ben had known it.

“You- just like that?”

“Yes,” said Ben.

Anakin looked at it once again, blinked, and turned to catch up. He thought about his own saber on his hip. Right now, the idea of giving it up galled him, so he wouldn’t be doing anything like that, but…but also…

…but also, maybe he understood, a little.

“I won’t deny it,” said Ben. “It’s going to be hard, whatever comes, if you tell them or not. It will be hard to stay or to go, or to give up your saber, or to take that break you told me about. But I promise to be there for all of it. Whatever consequences you face, I will be there with you. I intend to adopt you legally on Coruscant as well, you know. I’ll sign any paper they want.”

“Won’t the council forbid that?”

“I don’t much care what they forbid,” said Ben. “I love them dearly, but decisions on this matter are mine- and yours- alone. Not theirs.”

“Yeah,” said Anakin, blinking rapidly. “I’d…I’d really like that. If we could be family everywhere. Not just in secret.”

Everything between them was truly out in the open, now. Those secrets that had created a nearly insurmountable wall between them. The secrets that had nearly destroyed Anakin’s life- and by extension, Obi-Wan’s as well. They were all gone now, and it felt like coming back to life.

The candle of Ben’s Force-presence seemed to burn a little brighter, flickering merrily between them.

“I’d like that too,” said Ben.

Anakin took his father’s hand, as they walked out of the desert, coming up on the town. It was fully dark now as they made their way back to their ship, leaving Obi-Wan’s lightsaber where it lay in the sand.

Anakin turned his eyes forward. Whatever future there was for him to face, he would not face it alone. Instead he held onto Ben’s hand, and they walked down the path together, side by side.