Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Go ahead now,
I'll tell you all that you wanna hear.
Who I am, who I once was,
and what brought me here.
-Little Cup, Arrested Youth

I'm a person, and MY NAME IS ANAKIN.

These VISIONS you have.

They are of pain. SUFFERING. Death.

He groaned, his body twitching. The movements felt wrong, demanding his attention, but his mind was tangled in a web of memories. He was trapped in a mirror house. Each turn confronted him with another horrifyingly distorted reflection. Unimaginable pain waited upon escaping, his mind knew, hesitating to resurface when there was nothing to return to.

I'm not the Jedi I SHOULD BE.

Goodbye, MY friend.

Because of OBI-WAN.

Because of what YOU have done. What you PLAN TO DO.

From a great distance, he heard his breathing, rapid and shallow, each inhale dragging through his throat, which closed up when he remembered her.

STOP now. Come back. I LOVE YOU.

LIAR!

Let her go.

He couldn't move, trapped in nightmares that he would never wake up from. His throat hurt from the stale, hot air and the tears he couldn't shed. A whine fell from his lips, its pitch inhuman. He didn't feel human either. He had lost everything in a downward spiral that he couldn't stop. But the words and memories... Oh, those remained.

You UNDERESTIMATE MY POWER.

Don't TRY it.

I HATE YOU!

I LOVEd YOU!

The images flashed like lightning, burning his retinas like the acid smoke covering Mustafar's lava banks. There was fire -- so much fire -- and it swallowed him. He was consumed by the flames that devoured him so greedily, taking even his bones.

There was nothing left.

On the lava banks of Mustafar, he died alone.

There was so much pain, and he needed to cry, but the smoke swallowed the anguished noises. His tears evaporated as his blood boiled. No, he pleaded and begged. Please, don't leave me behind. Yet, those pleas were drowned by roaring screams and the blood thundering in his ear. They were too soft to be heard over the delusions and paranoia. So, he could only scream until his throat bled like his heart.

I'm not your failure.

He only produced a soft, raspy sound when he groaned in agony, undeniably alive. His voice was pitched higher than it used to be, closer to a yowl than anything.

Sand shifted under his belly when he curled into a tiny ball, weighed down by four limbs.

He remembered losing them to... his blue blade. They were back? Confused, he focused on his twitching legs and arms. Belatedly, he realized the pain was gone, but he didn't dare open his eyes. He squeezed them shut, trembling as he weathered the storm of memories. They screamed at him, and he could only scream back.

I have FAILED you, ANAKIN.

He whined, shaking his head. Those were lies. Moreover, he wasn't Anakin. Not anymore. The Sith had called him Vader, but he wasn't Vader either. He was no one, but refusing either name meant dodging responsibility for the blood on his hands.

Hands he had cut off.

Wallowing in a misery so potent it grew tangible and choked him, he opened his eyes. Muted darkness greeted him -- Vader? Anakin? Skywalker? -- but he could see the sand surrounding him. A closer inspection led to the discovery he was in a shallow hole, dug into loose sand that shifted with each minute movement.

How had he ended up buried alive in sand? He remembered Mustafar, remembered screaming before he lost consciousness, the pain too large to carry. Agony had crushed him, fraying his mind and stealing his identity. However, there was nothing beyond Mustafar. The planet's name tasted like ashes in his mind, spurring on memories. Uneasily, he tucked his nose in his side, realizing his nose was wet and his flank covered in fur. This discovery stopped his rumination as he focused on his body.

Vader -- Anakin? -- remembered how he had cut off Vader's three remaining organic limbs. Yet, he had regained all four, though they were short, stocky, and covered in pale fur. His little hidey-hole was too dark to tell the color of his fur, but he assumed it would be a variation on beige, tan, or yellow to help him hide among the sand.

Anakin -- Vader? -- was an animal.

I KILLED them.

They're like ANIMALS.

And I SLAUGHTERED them like ANIMALS.

He moaned in agony, unable to stop the memories crashing into him. "No," he moaned, his vocal cords producing a raspy sound instead.

"No, please."

The sand shifted above him as he trashed in his hole, destroying it as Anakin did with everything. Nothing was safe from him. His pale paws burst through the ceiling of his perch, exposing him to fresh air and an overabundance of sand.

Disoriented and disconcerted by the sand, he struggled free. There was only sand around him, covering him as he writhed and squirmed to control his new body fruitlessly. He was buried alive, and Anakin feared he had dug this grave with his furry paws. This wasn't Mustafar, which meant Anakin was transported to a desert on a different planet without his knowledge. Almost like magic, but the Force remained silent, dancing outside his reach. He didn't dare reach, expecting black tar and madness. His paws trembled as he heaved to his four paws, the sand shifting under him despite his minute weight. Balancing took all his focus, but he managed. Then, he noticed the two suns scorching the desert above him.

He froze, staring at the two suns until his eyes stung. Although he diverted his gaze, letting his head drop, the binary suns were burned on his retinas, two flickering, dark spots in colors that didn't exist. Blinking made these two spots migrate across his field of vision.

How many planets orbited binary suns? Although Anakin knew many planets were caught in the unpredictable tides of multiple nearby stars, one possible candidate came to mind immediately. Tatooine, his mind whispered. Dread sat heavy in Anakin's stomach. Unfortunately, his dread couldn't fill his stomach, which grumbled loudly.

His body registered the heat. He was covered in thick fur, the base layer a pale shade of yellow, almost blonde, covered in dark blond stripes. The fur protected him against the suns -- and if this were truly a desert planet, it would help him stay warm at night too. Still, the suns burned, their intensity baking the sand in hard sandstone and Anakin into a furry mammal steak.

Quickly, he scrambled back into the relative cover of his destroyed burrow, but his nose couldn't hide in the shadows anymore. Light shone through the crumbling ceiling of his hidey-hole. He was exposed to the elements, which was a death sentence in a desert.

He needed cover from the sun, a source of water, and food. His shelter was destroyed, but he could dig a bigger one if his body cooperated. Should he stay here and wait until nightfall? Should he leave?

But where would he go? What was he supposed to do?

You're fulfilling your DESTINY.

I will do whatever YOU ask.

GOOD.

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to stop the memories. However, the lisped voice of... the Sith Lord echoed. In his new shape, he didn't possess hands to ball into fists or cover his ears with. Thus, the memories whispered, screamed, and accused loudly. Anakin supposed he was lucky he had limbs at all. After all, he had left Anakin to burn after cutting them all off.

He couldn't think of that either. Those memories made his empty stomach churn and bile rise in his parched throat. He had died on the lava banks of Mustafar, and what remained wasn't human. 

To CHEAT death is a power only ONE has achieved.

I pledge MYSELF to your teachings.

GOOD.

Anakin almost choked on his panicked, shallow pants. He couldn't stay here any longer; his sanity would snap. No matter what dangers awaited him outside his burrow, they would be better than facing his nightmares in this little hidey-hole. The darkness yawned, threatening to consume him while hiding ugly truths in its wide maw. He couldn't overcome this trial. A monster waited for him here, and Anakin knew he was the monster waiting in the dark.

Awkwardly, he climbed to his feet, testing different gaits but finding nothing that suited him. With his belly scraping over the sand, he escaped his collapsed burrow, tottering without a clear goal. The bright sunlight blinded him momentarily when he emerged from his hiding spot. Anakin blinked frantically, squinting to assess his surroundings again. Most animals would hide during the hottest hours of the day, Anakin remembered. While he didn't know what planet he was stranded on, most desert planets functioned on a similar inverse circadian rhythm.

The desert was empty when he trudged through sand and over sandstone, slowly getting used to his new limbs. Each step took conscious effort as Anakin sorted out his limbs, checking their position before gingerly lifting one and taking a step. Several times, he miscalculated, ending up with his nose buried in the sand. His whiskers stung with each dive. Although his fur was dense, grains of sand invaded the thick coat, coarse against his sensitive skin. Sand also filled his mouth and nose, reminding Anakin of every reason he hated sand.

Sneezing repeatedly only made his skull rattle.

The sand coating his tongue and the back of his throat worsened his thirst. Anakin knew having no access to water was a death sentence in a desert. A lesson imprinted on all children, invigorated by the sights of those who did not heed these wise lessons.

The thirst itched in his parched throat, his body ached, and his whiskers hurt, but Anakin's mind refused to focus on these sources of discomfort. Even the prospect of his dehydration killing him couldn't distract him. Scaling dunes was a mindless, repetitive process, which allowed his mind to wander to places it shouldn't go.

The FORCE is strong with you.

A POWERFUL SITH you will become.

Anakin couldn't stand the memories, guilt eating away at him until nothing remained.

What have I done?

It was too late to go back. Anakin had committed too many atrocities to return from. He didn't deserve forgiveness or atonement. He didn't deserve to exist when so many others were killed. Slain by his hand. They haunted him, the memories of their last moments forever ingrained in Anakin's soul. Their lifeless eyes bore witness to his knighting, his crowning, his enslavement.

Henceforth, you shall be known as DARTH VADER.

The soft sound that escaped Anakin was a high-pitched wail, which reminded him vaguely of a loth cat's cry. However, loth cats didn't live in deserts. If this was Tatooine, Anakin could only come up with one feline species that lived in the deserts: sand cats. His tail swished in agitation. Both the tail flicking in his periphery and his stocky build were distinctly catlike.

Therefore, he was likely a sand cat. Or rather, he was a monster in the body of a cat. There were no traces of his humanity left, erased by Anakin's actions before he had wielded his blade, cutting Anakin into pieces. Then, nothing was left.

Anakin hadn't expected it. He hadn't imagined that he would strike. Wailing on the lava banks, he had been so close to surrendering. But even with his body burned to a crisp, abandoned by... him, Anakin had been desperate to survive. Although it was easier to give up, he had swallowed each inhale of toxic fumes in a desperate bid to stay alive, no matter what. Somehow, he had survived.

For as long as it would last, a dry, mental voice reminded him. He was a small, thirsty animal in a vast desert. Vast deserts implied large, hungry predators. The only reason he could roam freely was the twin suns burning so brightly the sand was baked into sandstone under his paws. Once the suns began to set, all crepuscular and nocturnal animals would rouse, and Anakin suspected there would be a sand cat on the menu tonight.

Dehydrated, dry sand cat.

Part of him wondered idly whether this would be his second death. How many times could a person die?

After Anakin had fought with... him on Mustafar, the smoke, lava, and shock from his severe injuries had likely killed him. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. A cat had nine lives. Had Anakin used one of them when he had laid waste to Anakin's body, silencing the cracked heart in his chest? Two lightsaber strikes had clipped his wings, a life cut short in retaliation for everything Anakin had done. The only way to prevent all the crimes he would continue to commit.

It's OVER, Anakin.

A low keen escaped Anakin's parched throat. No. No, he couldn't think of him.

I have the high ground.

You underestimate MY POWER.

Don't TRY it.

Anakin's legs gave out under him, and he collapsed on the packed sand. The second death would happen soon. Did he have nine lives? When he closed his eyes, would he open them again in another world and body? He knew he wouldn't be remembered, which was a different type of death. His name wouldn't be uttered again, lost like the Order he had killed. He had turned away, abandoning Anakin forever.

I HATE YOU!

The memories wouldn't stop. They washed over Anakin in crashing waves, crushing him under their weight. His limbs twitched helplessly, claws flexing and retracting reflexively.

YOU were the CHOSEN ONE!

The agonized yowls that escaped Anakin as his limbs twitched in phantom pain were reminiscent of the inhuman cries of pain he had produced on the lava banks. He hadn't believed he would strike him down. That wasn't supposed to happen, yet it had.

It was said that you would DESTROY the SITH. Not JOIN them.

You would bring BALANCE to the FORCE. Not leave it in darkness.

He had picked up Anakin's lightsaber, the only thing worth salvaging from the scene, leaving Anakin to burn like waste.

I HATE YOU!

Anakin didn't hate him. How could he? But he abandoned Anakin, leaving him to die while stealing his lightsaber. Because he believed Anakin wasn't worthy of the weapon.

This weapon is your LIFE.

Anakin's life was worthless to him, for Anakin was a Sith now. Jedi destroyed Sith, but he should never destroy Anakin. Never. They were more than that until they weren't.

YOU were my brother, ANAKIN. I LOVED YOU.

Anakin closed his eyes, weary and exhausted. Misery had sapped him from all the energy his tiny body had possessed, leaving not even crumbs or fumes behind. Finally, the memories quieted. His raspy breathing was loud to his ears, dragging on. The monumental effort each inhale took was a warning. Unfortunately, the dune Anakin had chosen as his final resting place had neither shade nor water.

I LOVED YOU.

A lie, for he wouldn't have walked away if he did love Anakin. Though Anakin supposed the point was moot. He had left his shelter to escape the memories hiding there, only to discover the twin suns couldn't scare them off. Without shelter, he would die soon. Oh, he was still so scared of death. Even mutilated, missing all four limbs and burning, he had wished to live so strongly. His tail twitched as he tried to move. He couldn't die here.

Yet, it appeared he would.

An indeterminable amount of time had passed when he heard a clopping sound on the sandstone, alerting him of an animal's presence. Likely an eopie, Anakin judged, his ear turning to follow the sound. Typically, they were herbivores, though they could eat meat. Desert animals weren't picky eaters; they couldn't afford to have preferences. Nonetheless, the odds that an eopie would eat him were acceptably low, he decided. Besides, it wasn't like he could move.

The clip-clopping of hooves grew louder until Anakin could also feel faint tremors travel through the ground. Next to him, the sound stopped.

Great. An eopie would devour Anakin Skywalker. Fortunately, he wouldn't get a tomb because he didn't think he could feasibly survive the humiliation of having that inscription on his gravestone. He wished he could still laugh or feel amusement.

He couldn't.

Not anymore. Not for a long time. Then, Anakin's ever-helpful memories reminded him of exchanging verbal jabs with... him. Even when exhaustion, loss, worry, hunger, and thirst had left him nearly delirious, he had been there. Anakin missed him despite knowing he shouldn't, despite knowing such an emotion was pointless. Anakin was no longer the person he used to be, so he wouldn't miss Anakin. Furthermore, it wasn't the Jedi way.

I LOVED YOU.

"Hello," a man said, his voice gravelly and rough. "Are you lost, little one?" He smelled the human first. Sweat, his sensitive nose identified. Hard work, he knew. His new nose didn't mind the smell, finding some comfort in it. It smelled like home, animal musk, and the comfort of curling up against a warm body. "One doesn't typically meet sand cats."

A shadow fell over him, someone protecting him from the suns. Shuffling suggested the man had crouched.

Anakin opened his eyes, meeting startlingly blue eyes. The man had blue eyes, he realized with a pang. His blue eyes were surrounded by wrinkles and underlined with dark bruises, indicating insomnia. His hair and beard were unkempt, hesitating between dark blond and auburn, streaked with gray. Although his lips were set in a thin, serious line, they seemed kind -- like this stranger's eyes. The man had crouched by Anakin's side, his hands hovering over Anakin's shallowly rising and dipping flank without touching him.

"So am I," the man confessed, and Anakin blinked at the unexpected admission.

He tried to meow a response but produced a hoarse, soft bark instead.

"Yes, I know," the man reassured him as if he had understood Anakin. Anakin doubted he had since Anakin didn't know what he had tried to say himself.

"I can patch you up," the man proposed. "Give you some water before setting you free again."

Anakin wanted to live. So, he mustered all his energy to twist and press his nose against the stranger's hand. Before this ill-advised journey, his nose had been damp. Dehydration had turned it dry, and the skin cracked. After achieving his goal, he slumped on the hot sand again.

"Well then, little friend," the man said as he scooped Anakin in broad hands. Anakin let the man lift him in the air, not particularly concerned about his fate. An eopie's head appeared over the man's shoulder, and Anakin swiped at the animal weakly when the eopie got too close for comfort.

"Let's give our little friend some space, Akkani," the man gently admonished the eopie, who obeyed immediately. Apparently, his rescuer was an animal friend. The hands holding Anakin were kind, and Anakin knew he was safe for at least a little while.

The stranger tucked Anakin in the folds of his cloak, which seemed eerily familiar for a second. Dismissing the niggling thought as another paranoid figment of his imagination, he let his eyes slip closed, burrowing in the hand supporting his rump and hiding his nose in the collar of the kind stranger's tunic. The stranger did smell, but it was a good one. Anakin loathed the pungent stench of smoke, lava, scorched flesh, lightsabers, and blood. This smell was pleasant, carrying comfort and reassurance.

His breathing slowed, still rasping through his parched throat uncomfortably but no longer a harbinger of imminent death.

Chapter Text

The kind stranger carried him to a cave remodeled as a home. Carefully, he was lowered on a bed. Or rather, a flat surface covered in threadbare blankets. Anakin sagged into a pile of fur and uncoordinated limbs, too tired to control these new limbs. However, when a cracked saucer with water was placed on the floor in his reach, Anakin clambered to his feeble paws to drag himself closer to the saucer.

Sharing water in a desert was the greatest act of hospitality-- a sacrifice a human shouldn't make for an animal that was typically considered vermin. His kind stranger was compassionate, displaying a profound respect for life that made shame lick Anakin's belly like fire.

Only water could douse this fire.

There had been no water on Mustafar, nothing to soothe the burns.

I loved you.

BUT I could not save you.

He drank the water with quick flicks of his raspy tongue, almost dunking his head into the saucer in his enthusiasm. 

Too soon, his tongue scraped over the bottom of the saucer, water sloshing in his stomach as he curled into a tiny ball of misery on this kind stranger's bed. His tail wrapped around his body, covering his nose but allowing Anakin to peek above the fur almost undetected. Thus, he could study the stranger as he puttered about his cave, tinkering on an evaporator by the entrance and preparing a late meal. His movements were practiced, well-worn, and turned efficient with repetition. Though what he did was mundane, the stranger possessed a certain grace, his movements commanding attention, projecting authority, and revealing an innate confidence. Each movement was controlled to be efficient without losing a graceful rhythm that reminded Anakin of katas so well-practiced that they became part of your body.

Desert hermits didn't move like graceful dancers.

Somehow, Anakin's stranger did. Curiously, Anakin shifted to get a better view. Immediately, the man turned in his direction with a warm and welcoming smile.

The desert hermit was perceptive. In fact, he was too uncannily aware of his surroundings. Anakin couldn't help but test a hypothesis. Cautiously, he dipped his toes into the Force to test its depths. The Force was neutral, though his perspective had shrunken, his Force signature reduced to fit his tiny body.

"It seems you are interested in food, little friend," the stranger said, his voice pitched low to avoid startling Anakin. "Let me check what I have for you."

The man turned to a crate in a corner of his cramped living quarters. Meanwhile, Anakin unfurled his consciousness, stretching like a cat, before reaching for the hermit, brushing his tiny Force signature past the man's mind like a cat would twirl around someone's legs. Although the stranger shielded well -- because he had erected shields that would put a Jedi Master to shame -- Anakin knew he was Force-sensitive.

Yet, these shields were rusted, kept raised for so long that Anakin doubted the stranger had much left to give in the Force. Someone's Force sensitivity was a muscle; unless one practiced regularly, the muscle -- the skill -- would atrophy. This was why training from a young age was so crucial in any Jedi's development.

Well, the man wasn't a Jedi, then. Anakin didn't know what emotion tore him apart; disappointment, relief, grief, or sorrow. Possibly a combination of all four. He would be haunted for the rest of his life.

"You're in luck. I think I have-- oh."

The man watched him with wide eyes, his startled reaction revealing that he had sensed Anakin's intrusion.

"I must admit, I didn't expect such a greeting from you, little friend," the stranger said, sounding like he would chuckle. Yet, his lips didn't smile, and the sadness in his eyes grew heavier.

Had Anakin made a mistake? Had he upset this kind, graceful, Force-sensitive hermit? He yipped unhappily.

"Don't fret, little friend," the stranger reassured him. Nevertheless, Anakin shuffled back inelegantly when the stranger approached him. Rather than reaching for Anakin, the man placed a bent metal saucer on the floor by the blanket's edge.

Anakin's nose wrinkled as he sniffed, his nostrils flaring. Food, his body recognized. Hungrily, he deserted his spot, flopping to the saucer gracelessly. Strips of dried bantha jerky were piled on the saucer in a most generous offering. Licking his lips, Anakin shuffled closer, attacking the food as soon as he was within reach.

"No need to hurry, little friend. You will give yourself a stomach ache," the stranger cautioned. "I won't take your food away."

Of course, the stranger wouldn't. He was kind, the sort of kindness that felt like a warm blanket wrapped around Anakin's shoulders. It cloaked the deep, burning shame in Anakin's guts. A piece of Mustafar that Anakin would carry with him. Although Anakin ignored the advice, the stranger didn't interfere, watching from a distance.

Once Anakin finished eating, the stranger approached again. Struggling with his limbs, Anakin sat upright, his tail curling around his front paws. Humans liked soft, furry animals. However, if this stranger reached for him, believing food could buy him Anakin's affection, he would be sorry. It definitely wasn't a trap when he strained his head in the stranger's direction when the stranger crouched in front of him.

Instead of petting him, the stranger picked up the saucer and headed to the little alcove functioning as a kitchen. The hermit hadn't touched him. Confused, Anakin watched him go.

Did the kind man ignore him?

Anakin scrambled to his feet, skidding after the man, his paws padding on the smooth rock.

"Are you ignoring me?" he asked. When the man didn't respond, confirming the answer was a resounding yes, Anakin twirled around his legs, rubbing against the stranger's shins. The proximity meant he could smell the man again clearly. Driven by foreign, confusing instincts, he rubbed his head against the man's shins, trying to achieve something.

The kind stranger let him as he prepared his own food in a metal bowl that had seen better days.

It seemed too little to sustain a person. Anakin plopped on his ass, tilting his head. The stranger didn't prepare more food, carrying it to a nook of his house where he sat and ate silently.

"It's too little," Anakin whispered. "Did you give me your food?"

Shame burned in his stomach as he watched the man eat quickly, defying the advice he had given Anakin earlier. The hermit was hungry, but he had given Anakin selflessly.

"I'm sorry," Anakin muttered, feeling bad for taking this kind man's food. Gingerly, he reached out with his tiny Force signature, but the man's shields were too high, so impenetrable that Anakin's feeble mind bounced back.

Uneasily, he made himself comfortable on the floor, observing the man as he finished eating. The saucer and bowl were cleaned in the kitchen before they were stacked in a corner.

After his meager dinner, the stranger went outside. Quickly, Anakin lifted to his stocky legs, but the stranger stopped him with a remorseful smile.

"I will be back soon, little friend. I will only perform a perimeter check," he told Anakin. "Save your paws for your trip home."

Anakin complied, shying away from the melancholy in the stranger's voice. Thus, he waited at the cave's entrance, studying the eopie sitting by the entrance under a tattered cloth awning. The eopie looked at him, making Anakin uncomfortable. Slowly, he sidled back into the cave, hiding by an extended rock functioning as a table. From his new perch, he waited until the twin suns had set and the stranger returned. There were no more activities to observe as the kind stranger retired to his bed. After checking on the eopie called Akkani, he settled on the stone floor, pulling the threadbare blankets around him.

"Good night, my little friend," the hermit said. "Feel free to return to your brethren in the desert. Your family will miss you if you stick by an old man's side."

Feeling lost, Anakin watched the hermit. Time passed, the tangle of inexplicable emotions growing heavier until they were a stone lodged in the base of Anakin's throat. Each inhale sounded like a sob, but there were no tears. His throat tightened, his heart pounded, his cheeks heated, and his eyes stung. His heart wept while his eyes remained dry. Possibly, sand cats could cry, but Anakin had lost the ability to.

Maybe all his tears had evaporated on Mustafar. 

Goodbye, old FRIEND.

This is THE END for you, Master.

I WISH it were otherwise.

Yes, ANAKIN, so do I.

He curled into a tiny ball, mourning. In his uncomfortable bed, the stranger didn't sleep either. Rather than tossing and turning, the kind stranger remained still, not flinching or budging. However, his breathing grew erratic occasionally.

Did the nightmares visit him while he was awake, too?

Anakin felt deep empathy for the kind stranger. Perhaps the comfort of a pet would help? But Anakin wasn't a pet. Besides, he wouldn't sidle up to a smelling stranger to help them sleep. Anakin had some standards. Guilt lanced through him, but he refused to budge. Thus, he kept watching from a safe distance, wondering where he could go. The kind hermit seemed convinced that Anakin had a family -- brethren -- to return to. But he had killed Anakin on Mustafar. After Anakin had destroyed their home.

Anakin had set their house on fire to warm the cold in his soul, so selfish compared to this stranger, who shared his meals with an animal. Why did Anakin believe he was above this man who smelled of hard work, kindness, and a tough life? Why did Anakin, who had murdered and deceived, think he was better? Because he didn't stink?

Shakily, he breathed, phantom smoke curling in his lungs, burning through sensitive tissue until he couldn't draw oxygen anymore. Misery filled his damaged lungs, drowning him in the fluid of tears he couldn't shed.

Their combined misery and agony radiated in the Force, blanketing the surrounding terrain in a bleak aura. This shadow would last beyond them, an imprint left for generations to come.

The hermit groaned, seemingly assaulted by nightmares, and Anakin decided on the spot to stay. If Anakin Skywalker were to leave one last mark on this galaxy, it would be misery soaked in the sand of these dunes and the sandstone of this cave. This was his final resting place, not the lava banks of Mustafar where Darth Vader had burned away.

MY new EMPIRE.

YOUR new EMPIRE?

Don't make me KILL you.

I have FAILED you, ANAKIN.

If you're not WITH me, you are my enemy.

Only SITH deal in absolutes.

Anakin didn't sleep that night, too restless and wired. He would never know peace, not when he remembered closing his hand, intending to snap her neck. Not when he remembered the biting jealousy of seeing him, knowing they had traveled together, or the panic upon realizing he knew. Oh, he knew everything Anakin had done. Finally, all Anakin's dirty, bloody, deplorable secrets had come to light. Even the cover of darkness couldn't hide these crimes forever. Blood didn't drip from his fingers, but he still heard it hit the ground when he leveled Anakin with a look Anakin had never seen on his face before.

I have brought PEACE, freedom, justice, and security to MY new EMPIRE.

Anakin would never know peace. Nevermore.

The stranger roused early. Anakin's body was stiff as he clambered to his feet to join the hermit. Awkwardly, he hobbled after the stranger, observing the man's morning routine performed with an apathy that gave Anakin pause.

Caught up, watching closely, he almost stepped into the saucer with water the stranger placed on the ground. With one paw hovering over the surface, he balanced to look up at the stranger crouched in front of him. The stranger jerked with his chin, a gesture Anakin interpreted as permission. Suddenly, the realization he was thirsty burned in his mind and throat, urgent and unignorable. Cautiously, he butted his stranger's hand with his head. After his nightmares, the man smelled sour, and Anakin was reminded of his swift, merciless judgment the previous day. Somehow, Anakin knew the man would help him still if he knew Anakin had believed himself superior.

The stranger pulled away, lifting to his feet without attempting to pet Anakin.

"Thank you," Anakin murmured, remembering that the kind stranger had given part of his dinner to Anakin. Therefore, he didn't drink immediately, watching until the stranger had prepared a glass for himself. Then, he attacked, slurping and lapping quickly, relishing the soothing sensation of water running down his throat. Although the water tasted like mud, it was the best thing in the galaxy.

"Did you wait for me?" the stranger asked, his voice husky with sleep. "If you're waiting for breakfast, I'm sorry to disappoint, little friend. I'm afraid there's nothing left. A sorry excuse for hospitality, right?"

The stranger was more talkative. Had the approaching night turned him contemplative and silent before?

"It's okay," Anakin said. "I understand."

Besides, he had gone hungry before the Jedi had picked him up. He knew how to deal with malnourishment. Then, on the battlefield, he had honed this ability, using it to last a little longer on a little less. Anything could be wielded as a weapon when one bared their teeth and faced down a galaxy that conspired against him.

He did worry for the kind stranger who hadn't eaten a proper meal last night, though.

"You should eat," he said, hating how guilty he felt. "It's your fault if you're hungry," he added because he hated the heat of shame and cloying guilt about the food and the assessment Anakin was somehow better -- too good for this stranger to touch. Never mind that the desert hermit had never reached or asked.

Arrogance was an old, familiar character flaw. Others were the paranoia and a sense of superiority deeply rooted in the insecurity that haunted Anakin.

The stranger's lips quirked. Awed, Anakin's hind paws gave out, and he plopped on the ground. The stranger's brief smile was charming, his lips barely parting to reveal nice white teeth and the corners of his eyes wrinkling slightly. His smile was kind too. It was a comfy, welcoming smile, inviting Anakin to share his joy. A transient moment, so fleeting and superficial but no less sincere. A private moment just for Anakin, who didn't know how to respond without embarrassing himself. Fortunately, he was a sand cat, his starstruck silence not unusual.

"You may stay here if you wish," the stranger said. "I would encourage you to return to your family, though. I cannot recommend a life roaming in solitude, never finding home nor peace, little friend."

I will bring PEACE.

Anakin ducked his head, unable to meet the stranger's gaze.

"I have to go to my job, little friend. So, I suppose this is farewell," the stranger said.

It doesn't have to END like this, Anakin.

This is the END of you, MY Master.

Goodbye, old friend. May the FORCE be with you.

Anakin's neck prickled as he shrunk. Shame swirled in his guts, mixing with remorse and fear. The stranger inclined his head before turning away. As he passed through the doorway, he blocked the gentle sunlight of dawn. Then, he was gone, leaving Anakin behind.

"Farewell?" he echoed helplessly, producing only a sad bark. His voice broke, and so did the animal sound. The stranger couldn't abandon him like he had done. Panic seized Anakin, and he scrambled to his paws, rushing after the hermit. His paws skidded, a disorganized mess, but he ran. He didn't know how to stop, but this was hardly relevant when he was more concerned with accelerating further.

The stranger had already tied a leather backpack to the eopie's saddle when Anakin realized that not knowing how to stop had consequences. He slammed into the hermit's legs, and conservation of momentum made him bounce back into the sand. A startled yowl was ripped from his throat.

"Did something startle you, little friend?" the hermit asked.

In response, Anakin wiggled on his belly to cling to the stranger's pants, his nails catching in the fabric so he couldn't be dislodged. The stranger wouldn't understand him, Anakin knew. His request was too unusual for a feral sand cat. So, he applied minimal pressure in the Force, not expecting any results.

Yet, the stranger's mental shields allowed Anakin to curl himself around the stranger in the Force. Carefully, he pressed the image of traveling in the folds of the stranger's robes to the forefront of his mind, praying that he wouldn't slip.

You WERE the Chosen One.

Anakin slammed his mental shields in place, hoping the memory hadn't trickled through.

"You want to hitch a ride, little friend?" the hermit asked warmly. Relieved that he hadn't revealed too much, Anakin hung on tighter, not trusting himself to communicate through the Force further. "You are most peculiar," the hermit mused, his kind eyes lighter when he considered Anakin. Within seconds, the light doused, the stranger's eyes dull and lifeless. "There's only desert wherever we go," he said. "This is Tatooine."

Anakin had suspected this, but he hadn't realized a part of him hoped to be wrong until this confirmation. Ultimately, he had returned to Tatooine, where it had begun for him. His ears drooped, foreign muscles tensing to show emotions Anakin couldn't comprehend.

Warm, calloused hands cupped him, strong and broad. The hands of an honest worker. However, some callouses seemed a closer match to the ones a Jedi Master would have. These strong hands held him gently, supporting and distributing his weight to tuck him into the folds of the man's tunic. The smell was strongest here. Exposure must have numbed Anakin's nose because he found a measure of familiarity in the stale sweat.

Deeming that his comfort was more important than the exact reason, Anakin made himself at home anyway. The man waited until he had settled to swing in the saddle. At a leisurely pace, the eopie started walking, heading in a direction indistinguishable from all others. Sandy dunes stretched to the horizons -- further still, for this was Tatooine.

Despite spending part of his youth on Tatooine, he had never ridden an eopie. Curiously, he peeked his nose from the folds of the hermit's robe to watch the dunes pass by. He preferred a speeder over this slow swaying, but the journey was comfortable, safely tucked away where the sand barely reached.

"Are you here to sightsee, little friend?" the stranger asked, his voice vibrating through Anakin's body. Anakin tipped his head back to gauge the hermit's mood. The stranger smiled again, a mild smile that didn't reach his eyes. Anakin's tail flicked in the confines of the stranger's cloak. His meow was a nonsensical reply, merely a sound to indicate he listened.

"I see. A seasoned traveler, I take it?" the hermit asked.

Anakin wrinkled his nose before hiding in the hermit's cloak again. His ears moved out of his control, focusing on the noises of the desert echoing between the dunes muffled by the stranger's cloak. He only emerged from the folds when they arrived in a city where the hermit parked the eopie.

After petting the eopie, the stranger returned to the edge of the settlement on foot. Several speeders waited, packed with other people. The hermit boarded one of the speeders, sitting on one of the benches. Anakin identified the other people sitting on two long benches pressed against either side of the speeder as workers. They all stared at their knees, avoiding eye contact with their dull, lifeless eyes. Warily, Anakin watched them from the shadows of the stranger's cloak. Everyone sat squeezed on the two benches, the proximity teaching Anakin two things.

Firstly, he wasn't keen on humans despite his ambivalence -- gratitude -- for the stranger who had saved his life. They set him on edge, making him feel uneasy.

Secondly, his kind stranger didn't stink. Not really. Not compared to some of the other sentients on the speeder. The stench of booze hung sour in the air, prickling Anakin's nose. He buried his sensitive nose in the hermit's tunic to protect himself from the stinging smells.

Anakin hadn't wondered what type of job his kind stranger had. However, the callouses should have been a dead give-away. The stranger's broad frame and corded muscles were another clue this job would involve physical labor under the blistering binary suns. Nonetheless, Anakin wasn't prepared for the speeder to pull up by a temporary encampment erected by the flank of a dead animal the size of a large freighter. Curiously, Anakin tried to wiggle free from the hermit's robes, but a broad palm applied gentle pressure on his head, warning him to stay hidden.

Sullenly, Anakin complied, watching the large chunks of meat being processed with wide, greedy eyes from his hiding spot. He knew he shouldn't make a sound. How else could he draw the stranger's attention?

He dared a soft brush of his Force signature past the stranger's, a silent call for attention. The hermit's deep sigh pressed against his body, and Anakin grinned triumphantly, relishing his victory. Although the man didn't speak, Anakin knew his desire for a nice bit of the large animal was heard loud and clear.

His stranger was kind; he wouldn't let Anakin go hungry. He was too selfless, after all. The hermit donned a leather apron, which blocked Anakin's view altogether. As compensation for the loss of vision, Anakin's furry ears perked up, identifying each sound to understand what was happening outside.

There were shuffling footsteps, the wet slap of meat hitting the table, dull knives slicing through meat with audible effort, and the grunts of these workers, who had the most physically demanding jobs. Somehow, Anakin knew his stranger would be among them.

He wouldn't pack the meat or escort the droids carrying the processed meat. No, he would be dicing the meat. Worried, Anakin listened, straining his ears when the hermit stopped moving. Had they stopped by the table?

The singing sound of a blade running through a sheath followed. Of course, he was right. Of course, the hermit had joined the other butchers by the table, taking on the most demanding job at this site. A harsh exhale was followed by the first thump, the dull knife chopping up meat. Pressed against the hermit's chest, Anakin could feel each muscle tense and flex as the stranger worked.

It didn't take long for the stranger to pause briefly. A thin strip of meat was fed through the top of the leather apron. Anakin's eyes widened, his nose sniffing. Realizing this was a little morsel just for him, he scrambled, devouring the meat. He was smacking his lips, the morsel gone, and his rumbling stomach nicely assuaged when he realized his hermit still hadn't eaten.

Oh.

Anakin had never enjoyed such care before. People had sacrificed for him before. He had. But it had never shown so clearly, in such undeniable, direct terms. The hermit prioritized a sand cat over and over.

This was the purest interpretation of the Jedi Code, performed by someone who had never heard these lessons.

Compassion, kindness, and a burning need to help.

Anakin brushed his head against the stranger's tunic in gratitude. A hand cupped his bum through the apron, telling Anakin the hermit had understood him.

Satisfied, Anakin curled up in the folds of the stranger's cloak, dozing off while the man worked.

Chapter Text

A packaged slice of meat was shoved in the stranger's tunic, accompanied by a superfluous nudge in the Force. Anakin had already understood the meat wasn't for him. Yet, he latched onto the nudge eagerly, holding on with mental claws that scrabbled fruitlessly when the stranger hid behind ironclad shields again. Sullenly, Anakin curled into a tighter ball. The stranger hadn't reached out before; Anakin hadn't known whether he knew how to.

Did the hermit copy what Anakin had done? Or could he manipulate the Force, far more skilled than Anakin had anticipated?

Ultimately, the answer didn't matter. After a beep and the clicking of dispensed credits, the stranger removed his apron. Anakin resisted the urge to stick his head from the folds of his stranger's robes. Patiently, he waited, his body still loose-limbed and relaxed after napping. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so much.

Before Mustafar.

Before the war, he assumed. When he was still young, in a time he still shared quarters with... A soft whimper escaped him. He didn't like recalling the past, so prone to rumination and ruination. Yet, he couldn't ignore her either.

Did his kind stranger have a past he would rather forget?

One of Anakin's ears pressed over the stranger's heart, hearing its steady thump, lulling him into a sense of calm. He had almost fallen asleep when the speeder stopped with a lurch. A hand cupped him to support him as the hermit lifted to his feet. Curiously, Anakin nosed the folds of his stranger's cloak to peer at the outside world. They had returned to the town where his stranger had left the eopie.

"You're a curious little thing, aren't you?" the man asked him, not unkindly.

Anakin supposed that he used to say the same in a similar tone. Another wave of sorrow -- of disappointment, grief, guilt, and shame -- washed over him. Unhappily, he hid in his stranger's cloak.

ANAKIN.

"It's okay," the man reassured him in a low, soothing voice. It wasn't. Nothing was. But his hermit couldn't know that Anakin had destroyed everything.

Chancellor Palpatine is EVIL.

From MY point of view, the JEDI are evil.

Then YOU are lost.

His kind, selfless stranger didn't know he provided shelter to a monster, a faithless, murdering, traitorous monster. Nothing could undo his crimes. There was no redemption for Anakin Skywalker, no road back, regardless of where he traveled. He was lost.

I have failed you, Anakin.

I have FAILED you.

Anakin was a failure. He didn't deserve this kindness, but he needed it so desperately. He burrowed his wet nose in his stranger's tunic, brushing against warm skin to find comfort. His stranger allowed it, supporting Anakin's weight and pressing him closer. After spending a day tucked away in his stranger's cloak, he knew his fur smelt of the stranger. The smell didn't bother Anakin anymore. Instead, it grounded him as he whined.

"It's okay," the man repeated soothingly. "You will be fine, my little friend."

Anakin squeaked sadly, his misery dripping from the soft sound.

"I'm here," his hermit promised, and Anakin believed him because the alternative would unravel him.

"Let's go home. Akkani is waiting for us in the stables." The hermit continued to talk, his voice growing rough and husky, revealing he wasn't used to even a little small talk. Yet, he didn't stop despite each word rasping through his dry throat.

In the shadows of the stable, his stranger took the stolen meat and presented chunks to the eopi, which slobbered his dinner quickly. Anakin knew eopies were carnivores. He couldn't trust this eopie. What if he wanted a taste of sand cat? Although Anakin had sharp nails and sharper fangs, he was tiny compared to the eopie -- he would barely count as a midday snack.

Warily, he eyed the eopie, almost missing the bite of meat presented to him.

Again, his stranger left nothing for himself. Narrowing his eyes, Anakin patted on his stranger's chest with a paw.

"You should eat," he ordered. "It would be inconvenient if you starved."

"You aren't hungry?" his stranger asked. "Would you like some more, Akkani?"

Alarmed by the prospect of the kriffing eopie eating something his hermit had intended for Anakin, Anakin bristled.

"I'll take it," he decided hurriedly, slipping from the folds of his stranger's cloak to balance on his extended forearm. Although this placed him in the eopie's range, Anakin trusted his stranger would stop the eopie from eating Anakin.

Quickly, he snatched the morsel from his stranger's hand, giving the eopie a challenging stare as he ate it slowly, enjoying the taste.

"Thank you," he thanked the stranger, butting his head against the stranger's arm to communicate his gratitude. "Thank you," he repeated, and the stranger smiled.

A wide, genuine one that made Anakin's stomach jolt and his heart flutter uncontrollably. His victory made him grin widely, though he wasn't sure how his new features contorted. The stranger's smile was too infectious, brimming with sincerity, which invited Anakin to join. Anakin wanted to.

This was a moment just for them.

Oddly pleased by the smile he had wrangled from the stranger, he slunk back into his stranger's cloak.

"Let's go home," his stranger suggested. Anakin meowed cheerfully, agreeing with this idea with a meaningless sound. His stranger didn't understand him, and Anakin heard himself produce little noises that his stranger could interpret increasingly often.

Perhaps this should be alarming, but Anakin... He had nothing to return to. Losing his vocabulary or the ability to speak was a relief more than anything. He didn't have anything left to say.

I HATE YOU!

Nothing could fix or salvage what he had done. He didn't deserve redemption. But if he was only a sand cat, he didn't have to worry about these concepts. Nevertheless, the burning shame and guilt haunted him like his memories.

Anakin followed his nose, sniffing as he explored the cave. His quest didn't yield much; his stranger possessed few items, each functional and somewhat damaged. There were no trinkets or personal touches. Concerned for his stranger, Anakin joined him outside by the eopie, wondering what his stranger did in his free time.

Anakin had enjoyed tinkering on droids, flying fast spaceships, and spending time with his... with her. Wondering how his stranger would spend his evening, Anakin slipped around his ankles as his hermit headed into the cave.

"Careful, little friend," his stranger admonished him. "I may trip over you."

Considering how gracefully his stranger walked, each movement efficient and controlled, Anakin doubted this. His stranger seemed aware of his surroundings -- like a trained Force-sensitive individual despite the rusty walls erected around his mind.

His stranger was full of contradictions.

Ignoring the chiding, Anakin twisted through the hermit's legs as his stranger entered the narrow nook in which the kitchen sat. 'Kitchen' was a generous term for a container with a single burner and a stack of old, bent metal saucers and bowls. But Anakin felt rather generous.

Then, the stranger nudged him aside with his boot, causing Anakin to flop on his flank, refusing to be moved. Nevertheless, he was pushed away over the floor effortlessly until he sat outside the kitchen. His indignant protests yielding nothing.

"There you go, little friend. It's dangerous to do that."

Morosely, Anakin sat outside the narrow nook, glaring daggers at his stranger's back.

"I'm not stupid," he complained. "I know what I'm doing."

"Yes, it is very unfair," the man said absentmindedly, barely addressing Anakin.

If Anakin wasn't so curious to discover what his stranger did in his free time, he would have slunk away to lick his wounded pride in privacy. Sullenly, he watched his stranger prepare a light dinner. Too light for the heavy labor he had done that day.

Anakin didn't know why this stressed him out, but it did. He shouldn't panic, but it seized him by the throat. Don't leave me, a young voice wailed in his mind. Another memory. His mother resting in his arms, too light and bony.

"No," he yowled, distress creeping into his voice. "No. You should eat."

His hermit didn't understand him, though. After eating his paltry dinner, his stranger disappointed Anakin anew. The suns had already set, and his stranger retreated to the thin blankets to sleep.

"You're not doing anything fun?" Anakin asked hesitantly, watching his stranger settle under a threadbare blanket from across the room. "Isn't that... sad?"

It felt sad, like the misery permeated in the sand of this cave, a permanent mark in the Force. Nothing could erase the evidence of their sorrow, which had soaked into the sand, sandstone, and bedrock. Mourning quietly for reasons he couldn't discern, Anakin curled up on the floor, burying his nose under his tail. As he had suspected, his hermit's scent had soaked in his fur, surrounding him still. He didn't mind anymore. Perhaps he never had, his animal nose so different from his human one. It smelled familiar -- like the home Anakin had never had. An abstract concept that itched in his mind, but the corresponding memory eluded him in a twist of undeniable irony. He blamed his new senses. The alternative, that his human nose wouldn't have minded this particular human's stale sweat either, was a thought Anakin resolutely refused to entertain.

A gasped breath drew his attention from his musings. He stirred, glancing over his tail to watch his stranger. Although his stranger didn't move, he made grunting, pained noises. A nightmare, Anakin realized. Another gasp, a torturous sound falling from his stranger's lips, prompted Anakin to stand.

Hesitantly, he eyed his hermit, each sound reminding him of Mustafar.

Panicked, he shook his head, but the tidal waves of the past couldn't be stopped or tempered. Shadows danced across the walls, flickering as Anakin's sanity had. The acrid smell of smoke filled his nose and throat.

Obi-Wan was right.

YOU have changed.

Don't you turn against ME.

He squeezed his eyes shut, only seeing the fires of Mustafar and her lifeless silhouette on the floor. The memories wouldn't stop; they wouldn't listen to his pleas for mercy because he had shown no mercy either, ruthless in his pursuit of what he believed he deserved. What he believed he had earned. But he deserved nothing -- suffering -- and so it would be.

You turned her against me.

You have done that yourself.

Memories whispered in his mind, using his voice. Anakin's body moved by instinct, trying to find shelter from the predators circling the periphery of his consciousness, preying on him. They knew all his weaknesses. Notwithstanding their intimate knowledge of how to take Anakin down, they didn't strike. Instead, these memories would circle him endlessly. Like poison, they would feed him distressing memories. Patiently, oh so patiently, they would wait until Anakin would be too exhausted to put up a fight.

Then, they would corner him, demanding retribution. Because Anakin had to pay. And it couldn't be with his life. His life was a worthless, wretched thing that could never settle the debt of death and betrayal he had racked up. It couldn't even satisfy the interest.

He stopped by his stranger's side, wiggling under the blankets to drape himself over his stranger. Desert nights were cold, but the stranger was warm, his heart beating steadily underneath Anakin, whose heart fluttered in his chest.

He burrowed his wet nose in the crook of his hermit's neck, curling around the stranger until he was comfortable. Subconsciously aware of Anakin's presence, the hermit calmed down, perhaps sensing the sense of security Anakin had found. The agonized grunts stopped. Simultaneously, his stranger's breathing slowed to a deeper pattern that ruffled the fur on Anakin's ears. Contented by his calming effect on his stranger, Anakin's body went lax and limp, every muscle relaxing at once. Despite being a monster, he could offer comfort to somebody.

It wouldn't settle the score, his mind whispered.

Nuzzling his stranger's throat, he snoozed, slowly sinking deeper into unconsciousness. Sleep tugged on him, his hermit's body heat and heartbeat lulling him into a false sense of security.

There was only pain in his dream. The world was cast in blue shadows, an eternal twilight. But Anakin knew it wasn't the lack of sunlight that turned his vision blurry. Blinking didn't help because his eyes were damaged. Anakin remembered lying on the lava banks of Mustafar, his eyes unseeing, stinging with the fumes, and scorched by the brightness of the lava. Unable to do anything as he left with Anakin's lightsaber. Anakin would die alone.

He sobbed.

Anakin.

Anakin is gone.

I AM what remains.

I'm sorry.

Anakin panted, unable to tell where he was. He was trapped in a prison of pain and black plastoid, cut off from the outer world entirely. He burned, and he only recognized the blurry silhouette opposite him by his voice. Anakin hurt, but he couldn't remember how he had sustained the injuries slowing him down. This had never happened, but it felt like a memory, progressing undeterred by Anakin's growing panic. Time stopped for no one.

Goodbye, Darth.

He cried, producing a reedy sound.

"Shush, little friend," his hermit soothed him, letting a hand rest between Anakin's pointy ears. Anakin was back in the body of a sand cat. His eyes focused, assisted by his night vision. He had almost seen him. If only his eyes had still worked.

And now he yearned despite knowing it was useless.

Goodbye, Darth.

Anakin deserved no mercy, but the ruthless judgment broke him nonetheless. He cried pitifully, and his hermit brushed the fur between his ears. There were no tears. Could sand cats cry? Probably. But Anakin knew he didn't deserve to.

"I'm here," his stranger said hoarsely. "You're safe."

Anakin calmed slightly to blink at his hermit, his eyes closing slowly in gratitude. His stranger chuckled, the sound rocking through Anakin, who still rested splayed over his chest. The petting grew more insistent. Anakin couldn't stop sighing in pleasure when the pressure on his head increased, combined with scratches behind his ears. Slowly, Anakin relaxed, exhaling deeply to expel the traces of blue twilight that clung to him.

It was only a nightmare.

But Anakin's nightmares had never been mere dreams. They invariably promised a bleak future that grew grimmer each time Anakin closed his eyes. However, he was no longer human. This dream could never come true, no matter how closely it resembled his memories of Mustafar.

Defeated, he sighed, taking comfort in the repetitive petting. His hermit's hand was broad and warm, cupping his head perfectly without putting pressure on his ears. His strong fingers targeted the perfect spot behind Anakin's ears with a precision that would be uncanny if Anakin didn't enjoy the scratches so much. He let his head tip back, leaning into the touch, a rumble echoing in his chest.

Purring, he recognized dimly.

"Do you feel better, little friend?" his hermit asked.

"Yes," Anakin responded, but his vocal cords produced a high-pitched, soft meow.

"That's okay," his hermit said. "You'll be fine."

Anakin butted his hermit's palm with his damp nose.

"You should at least try to listen," he chided. Then, he dared open his mind in the Force to push his contentedness to his stranger. Their Force signatures tangled briefly, a tremor traveling through them. Anakin shoved his sand cat-sized contentedness through the connection, where it was received with a warmth that was addictive. Because his sad hermit's Force signature was so pleasingly warm and good behind those rusty walls. His stranger smiled, and Anakin lingered despite knowing he shouldn't. He basked in the warmth he found in the tentative contact. His mind unfurled, relaxing in the muted sunshine and welcoming home the stranger unwittingly provided him.

His grip on his Force signature and the memories loosened.

Goodbye, Darth.

Immediately, Anakin reigned his tiny Force signature in, cursing his lack of control over such a fickle, small signature. His stranger went still, staring at Anakin. The whites of his eyes glinted in the darkness, and Anakin knew his stranger couldn't see him.

"It follows me everywhere," his stranger said hoarsely. "I know no peace."

Concerned, Anakin rubbed his forehead over his hermit's collarbone. He didn't know what his stranger had seen or heard, but it had upset him.

"Sorry," Anakin apologized. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

His stranger shushed him gently, cradling Anakin to his chest and pressing kisses to his forehead. His hermit's prickly beard brushed over his head funnily, but his lips were soft. Was this a closeness Anakin had ever experienced with someone? Had he ever enjoyed such uncomplicated and freely shared contact and affection? His hermit didn't expect him to return this favor. There were no expectations, only kindness and acceptance.

Helplessly, he purred, his eyes falling shut in a slow blink that his stranger couldn't see. After covering Anakin's tiny head with soft pecks, his hermit let his head fall back on the stone. Disappointed, Anakin reached for his jaw with a short paw. The hermit didn't smile, but his eyes were warm when he stroked Anakin's chin as Anakin strained for more kisses. 

"We have to wake up early next morning to catch the shuttle," his hermit murmured, each word rustling through the fur on Anakin's ears. "Let's at least try to sleep."

Then, he tucked them both under the blankets, ensuring Anakin was comfortable.

"Okay," Anakin chirped.

But he couldn't fall asleep again.

Even with his eyes wide open, he saw a blurry silhouette in every shadow. Anakin couldn't escape his nightmares; he was trapped in his past and tangled in his crimes. Alert for each noise, he stood guard for his hermit.

Early in the morning, his stranger woke up. Immediately, he ran a hand over Anakin's head. Anakin blinked slowly.

"Good morning," he said, producing a series of yips.

"Hello," his stranger greeted him, smiling at him.

Anakin's tail flicked under the blankets beyond his control, communicating smugness. His body couldn't contain his pride, knowing what he had achieved. Making his stranger smile was a victory.

"I'm afraid I have no breakfast. All I can offer is some water."

Anakin meowed his assent, slipping from the blankets as his stranger sat up. His stranger folded the threadbare blankets before moving to the vaporator. Anakin bounded after him, sticking close to his stranger's side. As his stranger crouched by the vaporator, Anakin sat by his side, watching the device.

"Vaporators aren't supposed to sound like that," he supplied. But the ominous noises weren't altogether surprising; his hermit's vaporator looked old and dingy. Anakin suspected its guts were built from parts that didn't originally belong in a vaporator. "Sound isn't everything," he reassured his hermit. Although his stranger couldn't understand him, his brows were furrowed in concern. Anakin wished to soothe his stranger's worries. Unfortunately, Anakin also knew the frown wasn't unwarranted.

On Tatooine, water was everything. Religions were created around this commodity, for it meant the difference between life and death. If his stranger's vaporator broke, he was quite literally cooked. Yet, the collector was filled enough for a cup for his stranger, a saucer for Anakin, and a bucket for the eopie.

His stranger was generous, sharing his minimal wealth with two animals. And one of those animals was useless, too. His stranger was kind, the kindest man Anakin had ever met.

Anakin couldn't help stealing glances at his hermit as the man tossed back his glass and started saddling the eopie in the meager shadows of the awning. He hadn't enjoyed his drink, swallowing the water mechanically to focus on the next task. His stranger never relaxed, never let his guard down, and each smile felt like a victory because they were so rare and hard-won. Raised on Tatooine, Anakin knew life here was tough, but his kind stranger worked too hard.

Anakin didn't like it.

No, not at all. His stranger would work himself to death. Perhaps that was what his stranger hoped would happen if the misery cloaking this cave in the Force was any indication.

Although he buried his nose in his saucer to lick up the dusty water, he kept glancing over the rim. After lapping the last droplets from the dented metal, he sat down to watch his hermit prepare for another day.

Would all days be like this?

Anakin discovered he didn't mind the time stretching in front of him. Repetition used to bother him. Days blending into each other in a blur had felt like stagnation. Stagnation had frightened him. Star systems yet unexplored had beckoned him when time ground to a halt. Progression was all that could keep him moving forward. He had to outrun everything. Everyone. The expectations. The misery. The guilt. Death prowled ever closer, breathing down his neck. And Anakin had feared the inevitability and finality of the life he was given.

 
Anakin couldn't afford to sit still.

Things had changed. Calmly, he settled on the floor to watch his stranger go through practiced motions. Movement in his periphery captured his interest, his new eyes uniquely attuned to movement. Something beige slithered through the sand, barely perceptible as it blended in with the background. Still, Anakin's body lowered, his butt wiggling and tail swishing as his focus zeroed in on this something.

A snake, a primal part crowed, excited by this prey. Anakin's stomach grumbled, reminding him that breakfast would be appreciated. So, Anakin lowered his shoulders further, waiting.

The snake continued, unaware of Anakin's presence. Anakin's attention was divided between the snake and his own tail, which moved in a rhythm that Anakin couldn't suppress.

As the snake lifted its head from the sand to taste the air, Anakin froze.

Oh, hell no. Anakin recognized the species. They were highly venomous. Although his instincts screamed to hunt, he sat upright again. If a human didn't stand a chance against the venom, he didn't want to know how a small sand cat would fare. He doubted his dense fur would protect him against the fangs.

He tilted his head, ignoring the urge to lick the fur on his body. An urge that withered when his attention was captured by the snake again. Tensing, he watched the snake slither closer to his hermit and the eopie.

Mom?

He skittered back, his eyes burning. A panicked sound was trapped in his throat.

Ani?

It was only a memory, he reminded himself when his mother's voice whispered in his mind. Only a memory, he repeated desperately. His eyes stung, but he couldn't cry. He wasn't allowed to. His panic had no outlet, and the memories pounced like the dust viper would strike.

Is it you?

His kind stranger needed him. He had to protect his hermit despite realizing the snake would dwarf him. Instinct told Anakin to crouch and observe his prey, patiently waiting for the right moment to launch himself at the unsuspecting snake. Yet, the distance between the snake and his stranger decreased steadily, an hourglass running out of sand.

He didn't run to settle an old debt. He only ran to protect his stranger.

He rushed to the scene, leaving the cave with a yowl trapped in his throat. His heart had never beat faster, pounding a frantic rhythm that echoed the patting of Anakin's paws on the sandstone.

Finally, his stranger noticed something amiss, straightening to turn around. He called after Anakin, but Anakin sped past him, almost tripping and tangling in his paws. From up close, the snake was even more intimidating, raised high above Anakin. Its hiss vibrated in Anakin's bones, warning that Anakin would be snake breakfast soon. Anakin skidded to a stop, eyeing the snake warily.

In the heat of the moment, Anakin always found the strength to push through. It wasn't a matter of courage; it was knowing he had already jumped. The only way was forward -- or down, depending on one's perspective. And how deep Anakin had fallen. He growled, hoping to chase the snake away. Cats were supposed to have faster reaction times than a snake's reflexes.

Anakin supposed he would test that theory today.

"Little one!" his stranger called out. "Get out of the way." Although his voice remained calm, there was an undeniable tension in his voice. The undisguised fear fueled Anakin's resolve to face this threat for his kind stranger.

Thus, Anakin ignored him, waiting anxiously for the snake's reaction. Rather than retreating, the snake lunged. Instincts made Anakin jump high. A panicked hiss was ripped from his throat as his back arched. He landed lightly on his paws again, but the snake's tail already whipped in his direction, hitting him across the flank like a whip. The impact tossed Anakin aside like a rag doll. All air was slammed from his body as he landed on his side, sand entering his mouth when he gasped and panted. Disoriented by the hit, he lay on the ground for careless seconds. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, urging him to stand and fight.

Anakin scrambled to his feet. For a moment, meeting a snake's gaze, Anakin wondered what his life had turned into. This thought was fleeting, a moment of hysteria that lasted only as long as his disorientation. Anakin had a task, and he wouldn't fail. He was powerless, but was that fundamentally different from any other moment? Baring his teeth, he lunged, knowing the snake mirrored him. His fangs sank deep into the snake's body. Realizing he didn't know what to do next, he shook his head wildly. The snake was bigger and heavier than expected. Although blood welled from the wounds, dripping down Anakin's teeth, the snake still moved. Panicked, Anakin tried to free his teeth from the snake.

He couldn't seem to get rid of the snake. A searing pain shot through his thigh, the hind paw spasming in the snake's grip. His pitiful bark was muffled by the snake in his mouth.

He had to get free.

A shot rang through the desert, echoing between the dunes. The smell of burnt flesh rose. In Anakin's grip, the snake went lax. Anakin slumped to the ground with the snake, unable to support both body weights on his stocky paws. Weakly, he batted at the snake to disentangle his fangs. Two human hands curled around the snake next to his head, helping him. Spitting blood on the sand, Anakin smacked his lips. The combination of sand, blood, and bile was terrible, but he didn't have the strength to complain.

"Why would you do that, dear?" his stranger asked. He had no business sounding so frustrated when Anakin had saved his life. Sourly, Anakin glowered at him, the effect weakened by his labored panting.

His stranger dislodged the snake from his thigh, blood drizzling sluggishly from the punctures without the fangs to stem the bleeding. His blond fur was matted with blood, a thin dusting of sand already covering the wet spots.

"You're so brave, dear. And so very stupidly reckless. What am I supposed to do with you?"

Anakin would have barked laughter if his lungs didn't feel too small, seizing around nothing. Although he appeared moderately alive, the venom already pumped through his veins unhindered.

Anakin had died on the lava banks of Mustafar first. He had betrayed everything he had sworn to protect, sullied everything precious, and ruined the relationships he still had. His second chance hadn't lasted long, but he had only experienced kindness and uncomplicated company. His hermit couldn't know he had offered Anakin something invaluable. Ruefully, he wished he had had a little longer.

Whether he was ready to let go was irrelevant. Life wouldn't wait, and neither would death. As always, Anakin was powerless. Why was it so difficult to make peace with his own helplessness?

"I..." His stranger shook his head. Then, he sighed, casting furtive glances at the desert. Wondering what had prompted the paranoia, Anakin tried to lift his head from the sand, but his body was too heavy.

"I shouldn't," his hermit whispered, sounding tortured. Then, the thick, rusty shields lowered. His stranger's Force signature uncoiled, so much bigger and brighter than Anakin had suspected. Awed, he sensed his stranger stretch in the Force, wondering how the man had learned to control his Force signature.

His stranger exhaled slowly. One hand cupped around Anakin's head, careful of his ears and whiskers. The other came to rest on his thigh, applying gentle pressure on the wound. Anakin made a quizzical sound, hoping for an explanation.

But his stranger's expression was creased in focus. On his next exhale, Anakin felt his stranger's Force signature curl around him.

A soothing, cooling sensation ran through his thigh. His hind paw twitched under the stranger's hand. The searing pain was muted in a second, but his hermit remained focused, apparently looking for the poison. This was a ridiculous ordeal. Even the Master Healers in the Temple couldn't have successfully pulled this off, yet his stranger tried.

Silently, Anakin watched -- equal parts impressed and melancholy. He wished someone had taught him how to heal instead of destroy. Despite knowing it wouldn't have changed the inevitable and couldn't erase the blood coating his hands, he wished he had lived a different life.

The life of this kind hermit.

But Anakin knew nothing of the hardships, the challenges, and the grief his kind stranger had faced. Neither did he know whether the Dark had called for him, luring him with promises of peace, freedom, justice, and security. He only saw the kindness that still remained.

While this hermit hadn't lost his kindness, Anakin had become a monster fueled by delusional ambitions to conquer or cheat death. He was the cautionary tale, but no one was left to hear these warnings. After all, Anakin had killed them all in a fit of desperate rage.

His sadness and remorse were muted by sympathy for a young child whisked from home to become a savior. Instead, Anakin had brought ruin.

Perhaps if his kind stranger had been by his side, Anakin wouldn't have Fallen. But he wouldn't have known him, who had believed in Anakin. He had trusted Anakin would never fail him. But Anakin had disappointed the one person who was proud of him.

Alerted by his hermit's Force signature retreating, Anakin focused on his body. His heart beat too fast, telling Anakin that he was still alive. However, he doubted the treatment had purged the poison from his system.

"We have to get you actual treatment," the stranger decided, scooping Anakin in broad palms.

"What about your job?" Anakin asked, but his stranger couldn't understand his barks and yips, so his question was ignored. Anakin wasn't tucked in the folds of his hermit's robes. Instead, he was carried in a palm and pressed against the hermit's chest.

Chapter Text

The eopie swayed, walking faster than the animal ever had, urged on by his hermit. Despite his wariness of the eopie on a good day, the quickened pace didn't alarm Anakin. How could it while he was tucked away against the hermit's chest, cradled in an arm that supported the full line of Anakin's spine? There was comfort and security in this hold that allowed Anakin to see the sloping dunes of Tatooine while keeping him protected from the sand carried on a hot breeze. A feeling he had only ever found with him.

Anakin hadn't... he hadn't realized he had lost that feeling until he found it here, trusting that his hermit would guide him to the right place. Frankly, Anakin had never considered how his presence affected Anakin until this moment. Anakin had never realized how heavily he relied on him until he turned away. There was only grief and the knowledge Anakin would never forget him.

I loved YOU.

Anakin wrinkled his nose, swallowing with difficulty. His mouth was dry despite drinking earlier.

I LOVED you.

And Anakin was forced to admit he hadn't known he could love. A silly notion, in hindsight. Unsettled by the memories of him and the name burning in his mind like the fires on Mustafar and the betrayal Anakin had committed, he sniffled. He wouldn't cry. Sand cats didn't cry. Anakin wasn't allowed to. Yet, a plaintive noise escaped him anyway.

"I know, little friend. Try to hold out a bit longer. I will get you help."

There was a fervent quality to that last sentence, a desperation that spoke of loss and fear. Fear of loss.

"It's okay," Anakin said, but his tongue was heavy and immobile in his mouth. He supposed it was a good thing his stranger couldn't hear him. Maudlin rumination had distracted him from his body, which felt heavier than his tongue, each limb disconnected from his mind. "It's okay," he repeated, slurring his meows.

"I will get you help," his hermit repeated. "I will not lose you too."

Anakin had nothing to say, which was fortunate since he had lost the ability to speak clearly. In the face of overwhelming grief and fear, Anakin had crumbled. He feared his hermit would do the same. Slowly, he butted his head against his hermit's chest, rubbing over the blue tunic until he couldn't move his head anymore.

His head had slumped over, one ear crushed against his hermit's chest. The city was already visible, a haze against the horizon. Seeing the silhouette made his hermit urge the eopie to go faster. Anakin wasn't sure whether someone had ever worried so much for him or risked his vehicle for him. Losing the eopie would cut his hermit off from the outside world, but his hermit didn't seem to care about the sacrifices he may make for a single sand cat.

Had someone ever gone so far for him?

Anakin's heart ached. He had, he knew, and the knowledge was more poisonous than the traces of venom in his body. 

His hermit abandoned his eopie by the entrance to a low sandstone adobe, practically begging for someone to steal the animal.

"Hey," Anakin tried to say, but he barely produced a sound. He wasn't in pain. Compared to Mustafar... He closed his eyes, wishing he could forget. He wasn't in pain, but his body was shutting down. Perhaps that was the reason he didn't experience the agony of the venom spreading through his body. 

His hermit stepped into the shop, pushing aside the rag functioning as a barricade to the outside. Sand blew into the shop on a hot breeze. A human woman sat on a chair by a sandstone counter, reading. Her gaze lifted from the datapad to settle on his stranger, her eyebrows raising.

Anakin hated her smirk as she assessed Anakin's hermit. He wasn't hers, but she leered openly. Even when his hermit reached the counter to gently deposit Anakin on the flat surface, treating a sand cat like a delicate, precious treasure, her expression didn't change.

Apparently, the body odor wasn't as repelling as Anakin had assumed. He couldn't lift his head or move, subjected to watching her lift from her seat to join Anakin's hermit.

Jealousy curdled his gratitude.

"Hello," she greeted. "How can I help you?"

Anakin didn't appreciate the emphasis on the last word. The tip of his tail twitched in a facsimile of irritated flicking.

"I seek help for my companion," his hermit explained. "Anything you have. A dust viper bit him."

"A dust viper?" the woman echoed incredulously. She turned to Anakin, reaching for him with a hand. Anakin couldn't rear back, so he snarled, pulling his upper lip back in a threat. He wasn't a pet, and she would not touch him. "He's rather lively after a viper bite," she commented. "Are you sure you want to waste credits on a sand cat?"

Anakin's breath stuttered in his throat. Apprehension filled him because the lady wasn't wrong. His hermit went hungry to feed Anakin, and the antidote wouldn't be cheap.

She moved further into his hermit's personal space.

"You know--"

"I am sure," his hermit said as he stepped back to maintain space between them.

Humming, she turned away. She headed to a filing cabinet in a corner of the adobe. Disbelief warred with many other unnamable emotions in Anakin's tiny chest. His hermit had chosen him; he would sacrifice his meager income for Anakin.

Anakin had never known such deep kindness or all-encompassing generosity.

"Your loss," she commented as she ruffled through the contents. "But you will pay upfront, handsome."

Handsome?

Anakin was sure his new features communicated his disbelief clearly because his hermit shared a private smile with him, quirking an eyebrow in an inside joke. Eager to participate in this simple exchange, Anakin tried to grin. The muscles in his face were too stiff to move, so he could only blink slowly.

The hermit reached for him, and Anakin waited impatiently. The hand on his head was heaven, stroking him like he was delicate.

"How many credits?" he asked.

She rattled a number that seemed too high, but his hermit didn't barter. He counted the credits from a small pouch, placing them on the counter.

"Please hurry," he urged her. "It has already been too long. I worry..."

He didn't finish his sentence, his worries seemingly too big to be voiced. Perhaps he feared speaking the words would make them real. Anakin had hesitated to share his nightmares for that exact reason. In the end, it hadn't mattered.

The future was already set in stone. Nothing Anakin did ever changed a damned thing. Unfortunate but true.

The woman approached him with a vaccine. Suppressing the urge to lash out, Anakin let her administer the vaccine with little fanfare. Anything to reassure his hermit. Silently, he mourned the ridiculous amount of credits wasted on him.

"You want to bathe him," she commented. "You too," she added. "The blood is caustic and contains toxins. If the neurotoxins in the venom still have him paralyzed after an hour or so, return here."

Her flirtatious tone had evaporated, the advice delivered in a businesslike manner. Belatedly, Anakin realized he wasn't the only one coated in snake blood. His stranger's hands and wrists were red, the sleeve of his tunic an off-brown where snake blood had saturated the fabric.

"Thank you for your help."

Her gaze sharpened. "If you say so," she said. Her tone was laced with a hint of suggestion, possibly interpreting what she had done differently. Yet, she didn't elaborate. "By the way, handsome," she said, honey dripping from her voice. "You know where to find me when you change your mind."

Anakin's hackles rose instantly, but he couldn't growl or hiss. The venom had laid waste to his vocal cords, so he could only watch this scene play out.

His stranger only inclined his head before scooping Anakin from the counter. Limp in his hermit's grip, Anakin couldn't glower at this interloper.

"It's okay, little friend," his stranger shushed him as they stepped outside. The scorching binary suns greeted them, blinding Anakin. Stewing in this inexplicable jealousy, Anakin wished he could protest and meow.

His stranger changed his grip on Anakin, carrying him in the crook of his arms. Curiously, Anakin studied his hermit's face.

But you will pay upfront, handsome.

The lady at the shop -- perhaps an apothecary or doctor -- had called his hermit handsome. The color of his hermit's eyes was mesmerizing, shifting between blue and gray. He had broad shoulders, muscular arms, and calloused hands shaped by hard and honest work. His teeth were in excellent condition, too -- a sure sign of good health on Outer Rim planets and far more desirable than Inner Rim folks ever understood. His smile was gorgeous, but the lady in the shop couldn't have known that. After all, she hadn't put in the time and effort to make Anakin's hermit smile. But she may have suspected it in the fine lines on his face, indicating a life well-lived. Possibly, she had spotted it in the kindness of his actions. Or perhaps her gaze had locked on the gray streaks in the auburn and dark blond, realizing they looked so roguish on his hermit. Or the graceful way he moved, confident and commanding the room while simultaneously barely present, had appealed to her. The control his hermit had over his body appealed to Anakin.

Anakin had to admit she was right; his hermit was handsome. He flinched mentally, loathing that he agreed with someone who dared intrude on the fragile balance Anakin and his stranger had struck.

Yet, she had asked an important question. His stranger shouldn't keep sacrificing for Anakin. He couldn't help blinking agonizingly slowly.

"A bath it is for both of us," his stranger said. "Which is no reason for alarm, little friend."

As if his hermit would find a bath on Tatooine. Anakin had suspected his stranger wasn't originally from this planet. His accent, posh and Inner Rim, gave him away. However, this was the confirmation that sealed the deal. Anakin's hermit was a poor foreigner who needed Anakin's protection against Tatooine's dangers. No wonder he had wasted so many credits on vermin and couldn't fix his vaporator.

"I'm not sure how we will find one, though," his stranger mused. Anakin rolled his eyes.

His stranger quirked an eyebrow, which disappeared under the curtain of thick, unkempt hair.

"A little more enthusiasm, please," he deadpanned, and Anakin was reminded of him with a painful intensity. "And some faith wouldn't hurt either," his hermit added.

Anakin wasn't sure whether he would have cried or laughed. As it stood, he could only watch his stranger, wondering why his aching heart remained unaffected by the venom, clenching and accelerating.

"Okay," he whispered, wishing he had given him a similar response before everything fell to ruin. Before Anakin destroyed everything. His voice failed him, trapping the word in his throat. His hermit didn't appear to mind the silence, though.

While his hermit walked through the city, Anakin's paws started tingling. Grimacing at the sensation, Anakin tried to move his paws to shake them. His hind paws twitched minutely.

"We're almost there," his hermit promised him.

"Where?" Anakin asked, and his throat complied. His meow was raspy, stuttering as his vocal cords spasmed, but he talked again. A clear improvement indicating that the antidote would save him. Anakin would live to see another day.

His relief was tempered, momentarily cast aside when he realized they had stopped in front of Be'net's Boudoir.

"Really?" he asked dryly, guessing this establishment was a Hutt-controlled whorehouse before his hermit could step a foot inside. Anakin had seen plenty of brothels in Mos Espa, after all. Yet, Anakin couldn't deny the ingenuity of this plan. An hour in Be'net's Boudoir would be cheaper than two tickets to a bathhouse. Both would have water available. And Anakin knew his hermit didn't have deep pockets. Nevertheless, this wasn't worth the credits unless...

Unless his hermit would use the services he purchased explicitly. Anakin's tail swished like a pendulum, communicating his unease. His ears pinned back against his head as he grumbled. He didn't like the idea of his hermit having sex with anyone.

Although Anakin could admit that it was ridiculous to expect his hermit to abstain because of a sand cat, he couldn't deny the jealousy tearing through him like acid. Probably because he had never liked sharing what he considered his with others. Yet, he knew this wasn't the complete story. Because his hermit wasn't his in that aspect. Anakin knew he would still receive his hermit's compassion and kindness after he had sex with one of Be'net's employees.

Why was he so jealous?

Who was he jealous of?

Irked by his spiraling thoughts, he flicked an ear.

"As long as you don't get any ideas," he muttered. "Besides, you should stop spending credits on me."

His hermit ignored his complaints.

"Silent now. You wouldn't want to get kicked out of this establishment," Anakin's hermit admonished him. "Though I suppose I'll attract attention anyway."

Anakin seethed with jealousy, wondering whether his hermit knew how right he was. Oh, his hermit's self-deprecating comment referred to his unkempt, greasy hair and blood and sweat-stained clothing. However, people would only stare because Anakin's hermit was painfully handsome.

Who was he jealous of?

His toes flexed, the nails digging in the fabric of his hermit's cloak.

"We'll be fine," his hermit promised, and Anakin couldn't help believing him. He blinked slowly at his hermit.

Be'net's Boudoir smelled terrible. Anakin's face scrunched in disgust as his hermit stepped over the threshold. Although water was available to patrons, not many were here to bathe. A brave attempt to cover the stench with cloying perfume couldn't fool Anakin's sensitive nose. His stranger shuddered, sharing Anakin's distaste. Vindicated and emboldened by their shared sentiment, Anakin studied the brothel from his hermit's arms. His tail swished as he scanned the employees. Most were Twi'Leks, their lekku hanging free.

Uneasily, Anakin dropped his gaze, his vindication melting until empathy remained. His hermit ran a hand over Anakin's head, but Anakin couldn't tell who he tried to calm.

Neither liked it here, he knew.

Yet, the hermit's steps remained confident, his shoulders relaxed as he sauntered to the counter. Anakin was hidden in the folds of his cloak as his hermit leaned on the counter with one elbow.

Safely tucked away in his hermit's cloak, Anakin studied the man behind the counter, who gave his hermit a scrutinizing gaze.

"Twenty credits for fifteen minutes," the man barked.

Anakin could feel the chuckle his hermit masked with a cleared throat. Apparently, there was something very amusing about the man's assessment, but Anakin couldn't figure out--

Oh.

Feeling shy for no good reason, Anakin buried his nose in his hermit's tunic. Each time he was caught off guard, he had to resist the urge to groom himself. Part of him wanted to know and experience why fifteen minutes would be an inside joke, wishing to be picked apart for an eternity, balancing on an edge... Or to see his hermit...

His right ear flicked to communicate his unease, a solid, hot weight settling in his guts.

The hermit placed twenty credits on the counter, which the man counted studiously, casting surreptitious glances at Anakin's hermit as if he suspected foul play. Anakin was offended on his hermit's behalf. His hermit didn't look half as grimy as most other patrons, though he had to admit begrudgingly that his hermit's hands were coated in dried, flaky blood.

"Here are the options," the man said, shoving a greasy piece of laminated flimsi in the hermit's direction.

Anakin froze briefly. Then, he scrambled to get a good look at the flimsi, needing to know who his hermit would pick. What were his tastes?

"You will give me the key to my room," his hermit said in an even voice. Yet, the syllables tangled in the Force. His voice was soft but wrapped around steel, an inflexible will that the man bent to.

"I will give you the key to your room," he echoed weakly.

"You will not send anyone to my room," the hermit continued in the same voice. A shudder ran down Anakin's spine. His hermit had experience with Force suggestions, which were notoriously difficult to master. Too much or too little power would make the illusion fall apart. It could irrevocably damage the mind, but his hermit wielded the suggestions with awe-inspiring control.

"I will not send anyone to your room," the man behind the counter said.

"Thank you," Anakin's hermit said, offering a hand with the palm upturned. A key was deposited on his palm.

Anakin's gaze lingered on the flimsi, oddly disappointed that the hermit hadn't chosen anyone despite not wanting him to pick one of the varied options.

Did he hope the hermit would have picked someone who looked similar to him?

A cruel mental voice laughed, reminding Anakin of Mustafar. He had no limbs left, and what remained was burnt. His appearance wouldn't be pleasant; Anakin wouldn't appeal to anyone. Finally, he looked like the monster he had always been, the human guise gone.

Furthermore, he was a sand cat. The knowledge sat heavy in his stomach, lingering when Anakin forced his mind to focus. These musings were stupid. They were humiliating. Anakin had never been in a position where his appearance would turn people away. He was used to admiration not the... horror he would be faced with should someone see what remained of his human body. People had liked him for his looks, and Anakin had found validation in their gazes. His appearance should be the least of his concerns, but Anakin realized keenly that he would never be admired for his appearance anymore. People would look away, aghast by the damage and disgusted by him. He would still draw gazes -- but they would be very different.

It couldn't matter. It had to be inconsequential because Anakin didn't deserve anything. Besides, he hadn't... He didn't want his hermit, right?

Was this purely about Anakin's ego? Did he yearn to feel superior to someone he was indebted to?

Swallowing his discomfort, Anakin turned to snark to evade the mess of roiling, unhappy feelings that threatened to pull him under.

"If you were going to mind trick him anyway, you shouldn't have bothered with the credits," Anakin commented from his perch. He suspected his hermit would have argued with him if he had understood Anakin's advice.

His hermit was honest to a fault.

Their assigned room had a tiny shower unit.

"You paid twenty credits for this," Anakin reminded his hermit. "How many days did you work for fifteen minutes?"

"Let's hurry. We only have fifteen minutes, little one," his hermit said, ignoring Anakin's mewls and yowls. "You can go first."

The hermit's lips quirked as if he struggled to swallow a smile. Breathlessly, Anakin watched, hoping he would lose this battle. His heart thundered in his chest, a breath trapped in his throat. His hermit smiled brilliantly, revealing teeth and the corners of his eyes crinkling. Even his pale blue eyes lit up with his amusement. Nothing else existed, the galaxy falling away as Anakin could only stare at his hermit in wonder.

Then, Anakin was lowered inside a sonic cubicle, his hermit's hands gentle as he placed Anakin on the floor. Warily, Anakin glanced at the shower head hanging far above him, its looming presence daunting. He knew how showers worked. Perhaps he was a sand cat in appearance, but his mind remained human. He wouldn't be spooked by a bit of water. His hermit reached for the tap.

Anakin yowled loudly, launching himself from the cubicle, the fur on his body puffed and his tail triple its original size. Hissing, he glared at the cubicle, wondering what had happened. His confusion disappeared when he watched the water rain down.

Rather than showing impatience, his hermit remained perfectly placid.

"Oh, dear," he said. "I suppose a shower would be a bit much for you."

A bit much? Anakin wasn't a child or a sand cat. He was a Jedi Knight who had served in a war.

No longer, his memories reminded him. You threw that away. It was his voice in his mind. But the past couldn't be erased. What he used to be was still part of what he was now. So, Anakin wandered to his hermit's side, determined to show his hermit that he wasn't a coward. 

Pinning his hermit with a petulant gaze, he walked into the shower.

"You are rather reckless, my little friend," his hermit said. Apparently, Anakin's courage didn't earn him compliments. All he received was a lecture.

"I know," he grumbled, sitting in the middle of the shower, his ears weighed down by the water. His shower felt like a waterfall.

His stranger shook his head. "Dauntless perhaps," he amended.

Once, the Holo Net had called Anakin the Hero With No Fear. That felt like a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime ago since Anakin had passed away on the lava banks of Mustafar.

His hermit reached for a bar of soap before dropping his hand again. "I probably shouldn't," he murmured. "I don't want to irritate your skin."

Before Anakin could formulate a response, his hermit ran his fingers through Anakin's thick fur. The dense fur parted under his hermit's touch. His fingers applied pressure against Anakin, confirming the boundaries of his body. They roamed to locate the clotted blood, but Anakin's mind missed a step, interpreting the exploratory touches as tenderness. And it was, though it wasn't romantic or sensual. Eyes wide, Anakin tried to remember when he was last touched gently.

Inexplicably, it felt like decades.

Anakin knew it was only days, but his body starved. Each run of his hermit's fingers through his fur made him more aware of his body. The touch burned, almost hurting with how hot and heavy these gentle fingers were. But it felt so good, somehow incomparably better than being hugged to his hermit's chest.

Anakin's paws trembled under his body as the water rushed down his ears and weighed down his fur. Pale red water swirled around the drain, but Anakin couldn't look away from his hermit's kind eyes, admiring the focus in his expression.

Anakin was the center of his attention. He was treated like he was precious, each touch almost reverent and so heartrendingly careful. No one had handled Anakin so gently in his life. It made him feel cared for -- like there was still good in him that made him worth cherishing.

It was untrue, of course.

His hermit focused on his ears, treating them delicately. Each touch was filled with intent, undeniable, and everything Anakin had needed. He had always liked dainty fingers, but that was before he had known how good strong, broad, calloused hands felt. Despite Anakin's best attempts to stifle the sound, a deep purr vibrated in Anakin's chest. Upon noticing the low rumble, his hermit smiled.

"I used to know someone with--"

He closed his eyes, naked hurt passing over his face as he cut himself off. Worried, Anakin bumped his hermit's hand with his nose. When he produced an inquiring sound, his hermit opened his eyes again.

The agony in his gaze stole Anakin's breath away. His eyes stung and prickled, but Anakin shouldn't cry. Sand cats didn't cry, he reminded himself despite not knowing whether this was correct.

"There you go," the man said, his hands falling away. "All clean again."

Mourning the loss of contact, Anakin approached his hermit to twirl around his legs and rub his head against his stomach. His wet fur dragged over dry fabric, and his hermit stumbled to his feet immediately.

"I help you, and this my thanks?" he asked, clearly trying to joke but choking on the words. "Or did you want to comfort me, little one?"

"I did," Anakin promised, though his ulterior motives were far more selfish. He had already started to forget the sensation of another's hands running over his body with intent. Yet, he longed for it worse, needing another reminder. "I did," he repeated, producing chirps instead.

"Let's get you dry again," the hermit said, reaching to switch off the tap and grabbing a towel from a hazardous stack. The towels smelled musty, but Anakin waited patiently, hoping for more contact. Missing the steady, purposeful strokes through his fur and with water weighing down his dense coat, Anakin felt too pathetic. He was cold, and he knew what would make him feel better. He missed the fingers splayed over his belly, fingertips digging behind his ears, and the thumb stroking over his snout to remove the blood from his lips.

After getting a taste of an insistent, searching touch after going too long without, Anakin realized he needed more. His hunger wasn't satiated. Now, he craved for something he hadn't known existed.

A towel covered him, the thick, scratchy fabric separating them. Yet, his hermit's hands applied gentle yet undeniable pressure. Satisfied by the proximity, Anakin leaned into the touch, purring loudly. His hermit chuckled lowly, but Anakin knew it was only superficial amusement. Peeking from under the corner of the towel hanging over his head, he saw a deep grief in his stranger's eyes.

I used to know someone.

Oh, don't we all? Meeting and parting in an endless cycle, an intricate dance of ever-changing partners, and the awareness that the one you desired most danced with another, that your paths would never cross, for these dances led through a hall in loose circles. Anakin ducked his head, wondering who he longed for.

Thickly, he swallowed. If he allowed his mind to linger, his past would catch up with unwelcome memories.

The towel fell away as his hermit removed his hands. Without someone to keep him balanced, Anakin flopped on the floor in a puddle of relaxed muscles and loud purring. His purring tapered off as he watched his hermit walk to the bed.

His fur was dry again, but it was too soon. Anakin had hoped to spend hours under his hermit's hands, baring his sensitive belly so his hermit would target Anakin's belly. Imagining how good a touch to the vulnerable, sensitive fur would feel sent shivers down his flexible spine. Oh, how he regretted he had only though to roll on his back when his hermit had already finished drying him.

His hermit tossed the cloak over the bed. Curiously, Anakin tilted his head. With one smooth motion, his hermit pulled his blue tunic over his head, revealing the muscles in his back, which bulged and moved under the motion.

Burns, Anakin realized. His broad back was littered with faint burn scars. They had obviously received bacta treatment. A few more weeks, and even these faint traces would be gone. If Anakin had arrived any later on his hermit's doorstep, he would never have known his hermit had sustained such injuries.

What happened to you?

The blue tunic joined the cloak on the bed. His hermit focused on the fastening of his pants next. Muscles shifted under his skin, catching Anakin's fascinated attention. Finally, Anakin realized his hermit was undressing to enjoy the shower. Squeaking, he turned away, suppressing the urge to steal glances.

He was only a sand cat, his curiosity whispered. It wouldn't be right, though. Nevertheless, he glanced over his shoulder when he heard the footsteps. He had planned to steal the briefest peak. His hermit had thick thighs, Anakin noticed, mesmerized. He dared let his gaze climb higher over the hermit's ass to his back, the strong arms, and... Oh! His shoulders were covered in freckles. Anakin adored freckles. Wide-eyed, he stared at his hermit's shoulders.

He was covered in scars, Anakin noted, his heart sinking. Then, he met his hermit's gaze. One eyebrow was raised in amusement. Realizing he was caught staring, Anakin darted away, skidding under the bed to hide.

If he were human, his cheeks would have burnt with humiliation. But his hermit couldn't know Anakin was a human in the body of a sand cat... Did that matter when he was a voyeur anyway?

Anakin didn't know. Shame and a fizzling feeling akin to anticipation sent him into a tizzy.

"It's safe again," the hermit said after a long pause, the same amusement coloring his voice. Cautiously, Anakin appeared from under the bed. His stranger was dressed again, his clothes hiding his freckles. Disappointed, Anakin walked to his hermit's feet, where he plopped on the floor. His hermit crouched to cup Anakin in his hands. The blood had disappeared from the sleeves of his tunic. Additionally, his hermit smelt of soap.

His hair was also clean. Grease had made it appear several shades darker, Anakin realized. The beautiful copper undertones in his hermit's hair were undeniable. And the freckles! Anakin hadn't noticed the freckles on his hermit's face. As he was lifted in the air, Anakin extended a paw to gently boop a cheek, delighted by the freckles.

His hermit changed his grip on Anakin, cupping his bum with one hand and catching Anakin's paws with the other. Anakin's paws were tucked close to his body so that Anakin couldn't prod his hermit.

"Behave," his hermit told him sternly.

Anakin huffed and puffed, looking away from his hermit pointedly.

"You sure can pout," his hermit added, sounding delighted. "You're smart for a sand cat, little friend."

"I know," Anakin chirped, glowing after being called smart.

His hermit's lips twitched as he suppressed a smile poorly, and Anakin realized he had turned back to his hermit.

"And very weak to praise, apparently," his hermit added, losing his ongoing battle to the laughter.

Anakin blinked slowly, his eyes falling shut without his consent. He was safe, though.

"Let's go. I believe we've overstayed our welcome."

Curiously, Anakin tipped his head. Had they? He received his answer when his hermit opened the door. Outside the door, a Twi'Lek waited, leaning back against the wall opposite the door, her lips smacking as she chewed on something. When Anakin's hermit left the room, she entered, brushing so close by that the loose folds of her sheer tunic caught in Anakin's whiskers.

His hermit helped him free his whiskers with minimal discomfort on Anakin's side.

"Come, little one," his hermit murmured in Anakin's fur, his words ruffling the fur on Anakin's ears. Tucked in his hermit's arms, he didn't have much of a choice. Rather than pointing this out, Anakin burrowed closer, watching the world from his perch.

Chapter Text

The suns had reached their zenith when his hermit stepped outside. There were no shadows, no shelter against the scorching light and heat. Anakin's first inhale almost blistered his throat and lungs. No other planet had ever compared to Tatooine. On rare occasions, the required resilience to survive in this inhospitable world had made him proud. Typically, he felt such deep loathing for Tatooine, though. Now, it felt somewhat like home in a way not even Coruscant had.

His hermit gave him a hard-won shelter, letting Anakin's rotten roots twist in this planet's core. Tatooine was so familiar, the inevitable destination where it all started. And Anakin, against all odds, was content.

"Ben!" a young voice yelled. "Old man Ben!"

Anakin's hermit stopped two steps past the threshold. Then, he turned to look down the streets. A human child raced toward them, his lank, blond hair flopping as he ran.

"Ben!" he yelled again.

Ben.

Anakin's hermit had a name, and it was Ben. His hermit remained silent until the boy skidded to a stop right in front of them.

"Hello, Luke," he greeted the boy.

The boy nodded eagerly.

"Is that a sand cat?" he asked. He already reached for Anakin with a small hand.

Anakin's hermit -- Ben -- gently grabbed the boy's wrist before he could touch Anakin.

"Careful," he chided warmly.

"But I have never seen a living sand cat," the boy protested. "It's cute."

"You may ask him. My little friend is quite intelligent, and I doubt he would let you touch him without his consent."

Two large blue eyes pinned Anakin in place.

"Hello," the boy said. Then, his gaze flicked up to Ben. "What's his name?"

"His name?" Anakin's hermit echoed, sounding somewhat forlorn. "Well, I suppose my little friend needs a name, indeed. We all do. Names are important."

You are a SLAVE?

I'm a PERSON, and my name is ANAKIN.

Ben rocked him in his arms as he considered. Anakin waited patiently, trusting his hermit to find a good name for him. He couldn't remember the last time he had trusted someone so fully and blindly. He couldn't recall when he had last put so much faith in someone's words either.

Don't say that, Master.

"Dauntless," Ben decided. "He's called Dauntless. He might look small but has enough spirit to compensate for his stature."

"Hello, Dauntless," Luke greeted. "It's nice to meet you."

Anakin Skywalker, meet OBI-WAN Kenobi.

Hi! You are a Jedi, too? Pleased to meet you.

And he had nodded and smiled so warmly. And Anakin, still inexperienced in the Force, had experienced that warmth in the Force, learning how gentle a sun could be -- how different from the harsh, ruthless binary suns around which Tatooine orbited.

"Can I pet you?" Luke asked.

Anakin wished to be as welcoming as he had been. So, he ducked his head closer to the boy. Squealing in delight, making Anakin flinch, the boy reached for him.

"Careful and gentle," Ben reminded Luke.

"I know," Luke said, clearly not listening. He focused on his gentle albeit clumsy patting of Anakin's head. Anakin bore the accidental assault with grace, preening when Ben scratched his chin and reached out in the Force to keep him calm. Anakin latched onto his hermit's Force signature. Ben was remarkably indulgent, letting Anakin cling for long seconds before shielding again. Sullenly, Anakin glared, his tail swishing.

"Wow," Luke gushed. "I have never petted a sand cat."

"Yes, he's a terribly brave fellow."

"Dauntless," Luke crowed, grinning widely.

"Indeed," Ben agreed. "Where are your uncle and aunt, Luke? Do they know you're wandering the streets of Anchorhead unattended?"

Luke's hand fell away.

"Aunt Beru does," the boy claimed.

"Does she now?" Ben pressed.

The boy shuffled with his feet, a caught expression flitting over his face.

"Well," he needled.

"That's exceedingly dangerous," Anakin's hermit scolded. However, his voice remained mild, softening the blow of his stern words.

"It's dauntless," the boy said.

"No, it's reckless," Ben corrected. "My little friend is dauntless."

Luke crossed his arms. "Okay," he said. "But I want to pet the sand cat one more time."

Ben sighed so deeply that Anakin could feel it in his body. Anakin's amusement was fragile but genuine. The memories floated too close to the surface, but they were undeniably happy despite the thick melancholy and undercurrent of regret.

Memories of better, exciting times. He had longed for adventure, planning to visit every star in the galaxy. Now, he hoped he would never leave his spot in Ben's arms, staying by his side for the rest of their lives.

Luke ruffled his head, his touch more confident and, unfortunately, less careful. Anakin weathered the enthusiastic petting admirably, calmed by Ben's soft strokes over his back.

"Ben?" Luke asked then.

"Yes?"

"Uncle Owen says only sleazy people visit Be'net's Boudoir. What's a boudoir?"

Anakin could feel his hermit freeze, his muscles locking up around Anakin. Ben's unease was palpable, and Anakin couldn't help it. He laughed so hard he barked, his stomach and lungs seizing and his Force signature quavering with joy.

His mind met his hermit's, whose begrudging amusement only fueled Anakin's joy. His hermit's shields had lowered fractionally, allowing an exchange that felt like communication in its most primal form.

There were no words or thoughts. No purpose or intent. An effortless sharing of emotions so simple that they were undeniable, fundamental truths.

"Your uncle is right, Luke," Ben said eventually.

Luke nodded. Then, he glanced over his shoulder. His expression creased. Anakin glanced in the same direction, wondering who had drawn the boy's attention.

"I have to go," he said. "Before I'm killed."

"Your aunt wouldn't kill you, Luke," Ben said. "But off you go."

Luke dashed away, joining a human lady. 

"Do you think he noticed you deflected the question?" Anakin asked Ben.

Ben only sighed.

"Let's go home. Owen may not kill Luke, but he is looking for a good excuse to take me out. In fact, I daresay a passable excuse would already do."

Anakin's hermit had enemies? Concerned, Anakin studied his hermit's face. This shouldn't surprise him after spotting the healing burns on his back. Still, it befuddled Anakin that anyone could dislike Ben.

No one had stolen the eopie.

"Thank you for waiting on us, Akkani, good girl," Ben praised the eopie as he petted her long head.

Morosely, Anakin glared at the eopie. So, she was a good girl? What about Anakin?

Dauntless.

Ben had called him dauntless, which was undeniably better. Nevertheless, he deserved the same amount of praise as an eopie. Anakin was smart, pet-able, and the perfect size to be carried around.

Ben swung in the saddle, and the eopie started trudging back to their cave unprompted. Anakin picked his spot on the saddle before the hermit, his claws digging into the leather to secure himself.

He couldn't look over the eopie's ears, so he studied the land passing by instead. The dunes all looked the same. Anakin didn't know enough topology to tell where Anchorhead would be on a map. It didn't matter, though. In his mind, he had already created a new map. One that didn't contain hyperspace routes and star systems. This one was dotted with names like 'the home cave,' 'the carcass,' and 'the eopie stables.'

A new landmark was added; his mental map also featured 'Be'net's Boudoir,' though Anakin suspected they wouldn't return soon.

The dead snake still lay near the entrance when they returned.

"I suppose we may as well have dust viper for dinner," Ben said.

Anakin eyed the snake warily but kept trotting by Ben's ankles when Ben scooped the snake from the sand to bring it to his kitchen.

"I suppose you are hungry, little one," Ben said.

"I'm Dauntless," Anakin corrected him primly, his tail standing tall, the tip swishing. "You said so yourself."

"Still, you can't be in the kitchen while I cook."

Remembering how Ben had pushed him out of the kitchen earlier, Anakin moved back several centimeters before sitting down. When he looked up, Ben's deadpan gaze rested on him.

"That was five centimeters at most," he pointed out. "Can you give me a little more space?"

"No," Anakin said, but he moved anyway.

"Thank you, dear," Ben said, and Anakin smiled brightly. He wished these cozy days would last forever.

That night, Anakin curled up by Ben's side immediately. Tucked against Ben's side, his head resting on his hermit's shoulder, he dozed off immediately.

Have you come to destroy me, Obi-Wan?

Anakin was back on a planet cloaked in shadows, striding to a blurry humanoid silhouette between towering rock formations. Anakin's lightsaber was red, bleeding out.

Meanwhile, his lightsaber was blue.

I will do what I MUST.

He had said that before. Anakin remembered Mustafar. It was all he remembered.

ANAKIN.

Anakin is GONE.

I'm SORRY.

You didn't KILL Anakin Skywalker.

I DID.

Anakin swallowed thickly, trapped in memories he didn't recognize. His soul groaned under the weight of his misery, threatening to collapse. Anakin couldn't bend; he would break, his soul -- his bleeding, crumbling heart --shattering into a million pieces.

Obi-Wan!

But he didn't stop walking, leaving Anakin behind. He would never return. Anakin didn't deserve to cry. He was a monster, but his eyes stung unbearably. His nose itched, and his breathing hitched, each breath struggling to pass by the weight lodged in his throat. Already, his head ached as if he had wailed for hours.

But he couldn't.

Because Anakin was a monster.

OBI-WAN!

Why did he abandon Anakin without fail? Wasn't Anakin worth saving? No, he knew. Anakin Skywalker was a monster, too far gone to deserve mercy or compassion. He was maimed and left to burn to ashes on the lava banks of Mustafar because that was the only correct response to his crimes.

Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

Another monster was slain.

A warm hand brushed over his head, rousing Anakin from nightmares that inexplicably felt more real than his memories of Mustafar. And those were burnt in his mind. He hiccupped, he realized, producing miserable noises that communicated his agony better than words could.

"It's okay, dear," Ben whispered, his voice calming. "You're dauntless. Tomorrow, the suns will shine again, and we'll realize we still live."

A life lived with such bitter regret and consuming anguish that Anakin couldn't find peace anymore.

"It'll be another day," Ben whispered, sounding as desperate as Anakin felt. Yet, his tone remained mild and reassuring. "And we'll live. It's all we can do."

"I can't," Anakin sobbed, swallowing tears he shouldn't cry. "I can't."

"We must," his hermit continued. "In honor of those who cannot."

The younglings. His wife, Padmé. His ex-Padawan Ahsoka. The Jedi. Him and Anakin.

They were all gone because Anakin had killed them. Using his bare hands, the lightsaber he had built so carefully, he had carelessly destroyed everything that had flourished for millennia.

"I don't deserve to," he whispered, assured in the knowledge his hermit couldn't hear him. This confession was safe here. "I'm a monster."

"I'm here," Ben shushed. "And you are dauntless. It has to be enough."

It wasn't. Nevertheless, Anakin's pounding heart, racing a click a minute, calmed as if to match the steady beating of his hermit's heart. His shallow, erratic breathing slowed gradually. Tension crept from his body, but the misery remained.

It had soaked in the marrow of Anakin's bones and the desert sand. Their cave was marked in the Force, their combined agony and loss forming a gravestone that would last centuries. This mellow nostalgia and fathomless sorrow would haunt this cave long after they were gone. Despite the bleakness of these emotions, Light lingered here.

Because the Light could mourn too -- selflessly and quietly.

Eventually, Anakin drifted off.

No one at the encampment had missed Ben the previous day. There were no consequences for a missed day of labor. Likely, the meager wages kept most workers going with religious fervor. No one had cared about Ben's absence, though. Anakin was hidden in the folds of his hermit's cloak, watching the other workers in the speeder.

There was a truth here, ugly and cutting. A lesson about life on Tatooine that Anakin had learned as a young boy. He couldn't recall. Too much time had passed in the company of him, Padmé, and Ben.

The carcass was significantly more disassembled when they arrived. Then, Anakin's vision was cut off by the apron. In the muted darkness, he wondered what would happen after they took every last bit of meat and then the bones -- nothing was wasted on Tatooine, after all.

Would there be another carcass or a new job?

Would his hermit move to a new cave?

No matter what happened, Anakin would follow Ben. He had made a person his home. He always did because he was born without anything.

A piece of meat was lowered behind the apron. Greedily, Anakin grabbed the morsel of food, enjoying his breakfast. He would never be able to repay Ben for his generosity. Companionship was all he could offer, but Ben didn't seem to mind.

Anakin curled up, dozing off in the darkness as his hermit worked. He wished he could do more to alleviate the burden his hermit carried. Stupidly, he longed to be a human again despite knowing his ghastly appearance and terrible crimes would turn his hermit away. But then, he could help earn credits, fix the vaporator, and...

Well... That was all Anakin was good for, but he needed to help his stranger.

This was what a Jedi was.

Compassion. Altruism. Mercy. An unignorable itch to help others.

But Anakin was a monster. Still -- even so-- he wanted to help.

To his horror, Anakin realized he counted on his stranger's kindness to allow him to stay despite his appearance. Severed limbs, molten, disfigured skin, and his skin burnt away. Barely recognizable as human.

Dead.

There was no going back.

That night, the nightmares returned. Yet, they seemed mellower. The false memories had replayed so often that Anakin could weather them with a muted sadness. Anakin wondered where he was. Was he doing fine? Could he sleep at night?

When Anakin woke with a start, his hermit slept fitfully, groaning lightly and shaking his head.

"It's okay. You're my hero," Anakin whispered. "Tomorrow, the suns will shine again, and we'll realize we still live."

His hermit's breathing evened out, and Anakin sighed softly, the exhale laced with quiet heartbreak. "I'm here for you," he whispered. His hermit slept, not seeing Anakin's slowest blink. It was okay, though. An indecipherable emotion clawed at his throat, turning his mewls hoarse. Anakin couldn't name this emotion. He had never experienced something that was simultaneously consuming and tranquil before. It was as gentle as his hermit yet blinding like Tatooine's binary suns. It was a deep lake of fathomless patience and contentedness.

A routine was established through repetition. And there was a place for Anakin in this routine. Gratitude was a constant in his life, mixing with a fond warmth that should terrify him. Each morning started with water. Ben would divvy up the water in the vaporator, frowning at the device. They both knew the vaporator was in the throes of death, taking its last, struggling breaths. Soon, it would be a hunk of rusting metal. The water grew muddier with the day.

But Anakin was grateful for the saucer, infinitely thankful for his hermit's selflessness. It was a sign that Ben wanted him around, which made Anakin foolishly happy.

His hermit crouched by his side, stroking his head tenderly.

"We're going somewhere else today," he revealed.

Anakin cocked his head, mewling to ask where.

"It's the fourteenth day of the third sun cycle," his hermit said. "So, there's no work today. Instead, we'll go somewhere else."

Curiosity piqued, Anakin stuck to his hermit's side as Ben saddled the eopie. Again, he traveled in Ben's cloak. They didn't go to Anchorhead today. With each passing mile, Ben grew tenser, something brewing in the Force behind impenetrable shields. Concerned, Anakin rubbed a cheek over his stranger's tunic.

Since his bath, Ben smelled so familiar, but Anakin couldn't place the scent beyond knowing it was comforting, nostalgic, and oh-so-pleasant. His mind itched, but he couldn't tell who Ben reminded him of.

"We've arrived," Ben announced. Anakin ceased showing Ben affection to study the desert from the folds of Ben's cloak. They stood atop a sandstone cliff overlooking a farm. Vaporators dotted the sand dunes around the moisture farm, spreading clicks in all directions.

"But where are we?" Anakin asked, jumping from Ben's cloak to land on the sandstone. Ben led them into a cave overlooking the moisture farm. Near the entrance, cloaked in shadows, he sat down. Confused, Anakin sat by his side, wondering what they would do here.

What was so special about this farm?

Fingers brushed his ears. Anakin pressed his head into Ben's palm before sinking to the floor. Ben scratched his ears and chin before petting him in long, slow strokes. Although Ben was distracted by the farm, only petting Anakin absentmindedly, Anakin felt doted on. Stretching languidly, he sighed and relaxed under the repetitive touch. His muscles went lax immediately, uncaring of the awkward position that Anakin had contorted his body into. Ben's petting told him he wasn't alone, that his presence was noticed and welcome. A purr rumbled in his chest, needing no energy or attention to sustain itself.

With each stroke over his head and flank, Anakin's eyelids grew heavier. His head kept tipping to the floor until Anakin gave up. His body was so flexible that his neck didn't protest under the awkward angle. Eventually, Ben's hand stilled, turning into a warm weight on his flank, reminding Anakin of a weighted blanket.

Lazily, he yawned, tucking his paws under his body and his chin on his paws. Although the desert was quiet, Ben's attention remained fixed on the farm. Yet, the hand on Anakin's flank promised Anakin that his hermit hadn't forgotten him. They were here together, watching the suns rise in the sky. This moment felt magical, making him fear this would be over too soon.

Oh, Anakin wished they could spend every afternoon like this. He ached with longing for a transient moment. However, it couldn't last. Once Ben's mysterious objective was accomplished, they would return to their cave, and Anakin worried they could never replicate this setting. What if he never found such peace again?

He wanted to stay awake but couldn't help dozing off, too secure by his hermit's side to remain watchful. When he curled up, his hermit transferred Anakin to his lap. Delighted by the walls of Ben's thighs, Anakin relaxed further. He melted into a puddle of contented sand cat, his claws flexing idly in the air. His purring filled the silence, echoing faintly in the cave.

Ben's hand returned to his head, resting on fur, cupping a cheek so unbelievably gently, fingers splayed around an ear. Anakin stared at Ben openly, letting his gaze wander. Ben looked weary but peaceful.

His blue eyes...

Anakin swallowed thickly. Ben's blue eyes were beautiful and oh-so-familiar. They rend his heart into bloody strips. His hermit sat like a guardian, protecting the moisture farm from an invisible threat, and Anakin silently promised to help him.

The eopie joined them, curling behind Ben's back. After a warning glance at the eopie, Anakin relaxed in Ben's lap, knowing he had the superior spot.

He didn't like the eopie, though the animal had done nothing to earn Anakin's ire. Jealousy, his mind whispered. Anakin narrowed his eyes.

Jealous?

Why would he be jealous of an animal? Because he wanted to monopolize Ben's attention and care, obviously. The eopie was... useful in ways Anakin was not. Anakin was a companion, but he couldn't contribute anything. While the eopie carried Ben through the desert, Anakin was only a burden.

Uneasily, he wiggled closer to butt Ben's stomach with his forehead. His hind paws slipped to the ground, so he had to place his front paws on Ben's abdomen and stand to rub his forehead over Ben's tunic.

He could provide cuddles and affection. He loved his hermit, and he would be the most loyal pet. Ben didn't need to know that Anakin was a monster. Anakin didn't deserve Ben's compassion. Still, he took it greedily, drinking it like water. So, Anakin would protect his hermit from dust vipers and sand rats. He would take on a Krayt dragon for his hermit.

"What's wrong, dear?" Ben asked, his gaze lowering from the moisture farm to Anakin in his lap.

"I'll do anything for you," Anakin told him solemnly. "But please like me."

Ben smiled, though he couldn't understand Anakin. His hand landed heavily on Anakin's head, petting him. Anakin strained his head, leaning more heavily on his front paws to enjoy the attention.

"I love you," Anakin muttered sullenly. 

"Perhaps it's time to go," Ben said with a long look at the moisture farm. "We shouldn't overstay our welcome."

Anakin tilted his head. He hadn't seen anyone all day, so he doubted anyone had noticed them hanging around.

"Though I suppose we weren't welcome to begin with."

Anakin didn't like Ben's self-deprecating smile. Ben stared at the farm with melancholy, which made Anakin's heart hurt in sympathy. Clearly, Ben wasn't happy to leave. Anakin didn't know who he was waiting for. However, he wouldn't let Ben leave when he looked so sad.

He jumped from Ben's lap and trotted to the cave's exit.

"Little one? Dauntless?" Ben called after him.

In the entrance, Anakin glanced over his shoulder to meow.

Ben frowned, slowly rising to his feet.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Anakin left the cave, harsh sunlight beating down on him. Needing a moment to adjust to the blinding light, he floundered. Ben joined him at the cave's mouth.

"Did you see something?" Ben asked him. "Or did you sense something?" His voice was speculative as his gaze roamed over the farm.

Anakin snorted. "I only see you," he said before taking off. He had underestimated the cliff's steep slope. With a few steps, he had gathered so much momentum that he couldn't stop or temper his descent anymore. Instead, he tripped over his paws and tumbled down the cliff. He rolled down the dune, landing in a tangle of paws at the bottom. Coughing to get rid of the sand in his mouth, Anakin struggled to his feet. Somehow, the sand had invaded his dense fur, an irritating presence against sensitive skin. Irked, he shook his head, discovering sand had snuck in his ears.

He glanced at the top of the cliff, satisfied to see Ben descend after him.

"That was exceedingly reckless, little one," Ben chided him when he joined Anakin.

Rather than listening to a lecture, Anakin continued onward. Undeterred, he marched toward the farm. Perhaps he also hoped to discover what had drawn Ben here. But he mostly wanted to give his hermit an excuse when he needed one so desperately.

"You shouldn't, little friend," Ben said, but he didn't physically stop Anakin. Instead, he strode by Anakin's side. "We aren't welcome here."

His hermit sounded hesitant, but his discouragement was weak at best. Interpreting this as tacit permission to give Ben an excuse to get even closer, he continued. His tiny heart pounded loudly, echoing the tension on Ben's face.

Potential hung heavy in the air. Anakin's Force signature was tiny, so he could barely sense it, but an invisible storm gathered. Something fundamental would happen if they allowed it to. Anakin wasn't fearless; he wasn't the Hero With No Fear. That moniker had always been a mockery, a bad joke that Anakin had clung to.

But he was Dauntless.

They approached the moisture farm from the back. No one would notice them unless they circled the farm. As they grew closer, Anakin recognized equipment and an old, rusted speeder. His gaze wandered over the collection of equipment until it landed on an oddly shaped stone sticking from the sand.

Recognition swept over him, his body remembering before his mind could.

Oh.

Anakin froze, staring at the gravestone.

Oh, no.

What were the odds?

Fear turned his muscles stiff, but he couldn't stop walking. His body moved automatically, driven forward by the need to punish himself -- if only a little. Maybe he believed he had to suffer to settle a debt he could never begin to repay. The interest alone was more than anything Anakin could ever offer, his worthless life included.

A soft, hopeless wailing picked up in his mind, but his tongue sat heavy in his mouth, covered in sand. The inscription on the gravestone was simple.

Here lies Shmi Skywalker.

Desperately, Anakin wished he was wrong despite knowing better. The Force rang with the truth, loud to his sensitive ears despite his muted signature.

I wasn't STRONG enough to protect you.

I miss you... so much.

Memories whispered in his ear, his monologue echoed back at him, spurring him on. Anakin's awkward gait turned into running. He skidded to a stop by the marker, eyes resting on the familiar line, worn away with time. A soft yowl escaped him.

He had killed her too. First, his mother, then his wife, his Padawan, his fellow Jedi, and him.

Slowly, he curled up in front of the gravestone, resting above his mother. Ben stopped at a larger distance, kneeling in the sand. Anakin watched Ben ruefully, his eyes peeking barely over the thick tail wrapped around his curled body. The sign of respect was soothing. A silent reassurance that Ben understood someone important rested here.

"I never met her," the hermit said, which made sense.

Because Anakin would have known his hermit otherwise. They wouldn't be strangers if Ben had known Shmi and Ani Skywalker.

"But she raised a wonderful son," Ben continued, remorse heavy in her voice.

"She didn't," Anakin whispered. "But that wasn't her fault. Nor was it his."

Anakin closed his eyes. "Anakin Skywalker was born wrong, but that wasn't mother's fault. Or his. Or yours. It was my fault," Anakin confessed to the muted darkness.

Ben's exhale shuddered with a barely stifled sob.

"I miss him so," his hermit whispered.

"Who are you talking about?" Anakin whispered, wondering whether he had ever known someone as kind as his hermit, but he couldn't remember Ben.

"I failed him," Ben confessed on another shuddering exhale on which the admission broke. It shattered like his hermit. Terrified, Anakin stared at him, his confusion and powerlessness almost morphing into anger. Yet, he was too scared to do anything. "I failed everyone. But him more than anyone else."

I failed YOU, Anakin.

I'm not YOUR failure, Obi-Wan.

I FAILED you.

Anakin sniffled. "I wouldn't blame you," he promised. "I would forgive you." He knew Ben didn't talk to him and couldn't understand his squeaky yips, barks, and mewls. But he couldn't remain silent when Ben's hoarse voice revealed so much misery.

He blinked slowly, unsure what he wanted to convey but willing to try what his instincts told him. Anything to make his hermit smile. Ben should be happy, sharing his joy with Anakin like he shared his water.

Ben sighed deeply, his head dropping further in a gesture of surrender that unnerved Anakin. Anakin nosed the warm sand to share his remorse with his mother, Padmé, Ahsoka, his men, and him. An endless string of 'I'm sorry's and 'please don't forgive me's. Then, he rushed to Ben's side, twirling around his legs to catch a glimpse of Ben's face buried in his hands. Ben lowered his hands to smile at him, looking so sad that Anakin's heart broke.

"No," Anakin whined forlornly, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Don't be sad." He pleaded and begged, wishing the universe would be kinder to the kindest man Anakin had ever met.

Then, he noticed the sunburn on Ben's cheeks. He had followed Anakin through the desert to the farm with no concern for his own health. Guilt choked Anakin.

"You should take care of yourself."

Then, he shook his head.

"I should take better care of you."

He gripped the hem of Ben's cloak between his teeth, tugging gently to guide him back to the eopie.

"We aren't in a hurry, impatient, little thing," Ben chided, but his voice lacked a genuine admonishment. Anakin growled, the fabric in his mouth muffling the threatening sound.

"Yes -- yes -- I'm listening," Ben said placatingly, unimpressed by Anakin's posturing to get him to obey. "Come here, little friend."

Ben opened his arms, and Anakin released the cloak to move between broad hands, lifting his front paws to let them rest on Ben's shoulders. His hermit heaved him in the air effortlessly. Briefly, Anakin wondered whether Ben would lift his human body -- or what remained of it -- with similar ease. He was always tall and lanky. No one had ever tried to carry him; he was too big, too unwieldy. Never mind that Anakin would never let anyone humiliate him like that. So, he hadn't known how nice this could be. Draped over Ben's shoulder, they began the trek back to the cave where the eopie waited for them.

The eopie didn't wander or stray in their absence. Not in Anchorhead and not here, content to wait with infinite patience. Yet, he moved to the entrance upon noticing their approach, just as keen to be in Ben's presence as Anakin was.

Rather than jealousy, Anakin only felt gratitude as the eopie bumped Ben's shoulder, almost dislodging Anakin. His hermit's breathing had gone raspier, the long walk through the desert taking its toll despite how fit his hermit was physically.

No one was a match for Tatooine's harsh climate.

"We should get him home," Anakin told the eopie. But the eopie only listened to Ben, as oblivious and uncaring of Anakin's presence as the animal was of everything else.

And the hermit didn't plan to go home.

Anakin was beginning to relearn a skill he hadn't needed in many years. The dunes, so repetitive and unremarkable, were starting to form landmarks. Slowly, the towering cliffs and shadows of carcasses turned into a map.

As a nine-year-old, he had excelled in reading the desert, unwittingly aided by the Force. Now, it was an effort to relearn something that had come naturally. But Anakin still recognized that they didn't move in the right direction.

Draped over his hermit's shoulders, Anakin only needed to turn his head to see Ben's pensive expression. What other place would they visit? Why didn't they go home?

Ben took them to another cliff.

"That's it, Akkani," he said in a soothing voice as they neared the bottom of the cliff, shielded by shadows that would soon fall away as the suns raced to the horizon.

The eopie stopped immediately, the world still swaying for a few nauseating seconds. Anakin clung tight to the hermit's cloak, pressing his chin into a shoulder as he breathed through the nausea.

A drive in a speeder would never leave him seasick.

His hermit placed him on the sand before striding closer to the cliffside. Curiously, Anakin followed. At a spot indiscernible from the empty landscape stretching out for endless click, the hermit knelt in the sand.

Apprehension coiled in Anakin's belly. His fur stood on end, puffing as he watched his hermit with growing trepidation.

"What are we doing?" he asked, his voice a drawn-out yowl.

Anakin's curiosity doubled when his hermit dug in the sand, ignoring Anakin's yowl. Had Ben even heard him? Anakin glanced at the eopie, but the animal looked unbothered by this uncharacteristic behavior. Had this happened before, or did the eopie not care?

Quickly, he dashed to his hermit's side again, just in time to spot the edge of a box. Something was hidden here unmarked, but the hermit had found it anyway. His hermit lifted the box from the sand reverently, treating it like ancient, precious relics were held within the weathered metal.

Cautiously, Anakin shuffled back. Something prickled in his mind, reminding him of bloodshed, sounding like panicked cries.

The box was lowered to the ground, and the hermit brushed the sand from the top. Whatever was hidden in this box was priceless to the hermit. Anakin waited with bated breath as the hermit opened the box, revealing coarse fabric. Only a layer separated him from...

Two lightsabers resting in coarse fabric. Two lightsabers lay buried in a shallow, unmarked grave. And one of these blades belonged to Anakin Skywalker. After he had taken the blade, it had ended up in his hermit's hands. Yet, Anakin couldn't wonder about the statistical improbability of this happening when his heart hammered in his throat.

Because his lightsaber shared this grave.

This weapon is your life.

Anakin had passed away on Mustafar. What if someone had killed him afterward? Anakin's paws trembled, unable to support his weight. He collapsed into the sand gracelessly, inhaling the grains rising under the impact. Yet, he couldn't cough, his lungs seizing around his grief.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. Guilt tore him apart. Dimly, Anakin knew he was hyperventilating, that it wasn't the crushing guilt that stole his breath away. Yet, he couldn't do anything. His galaxy had narrowed to two lightsabers lying alongside each other. Inseparable, even in death, but Anakin had betrayed him. Ben ran reverent fingers over the hilts.

Whatever remained of Anakin broke. He could never undo the damage he had done. He understood that in a moment of clarity, watching his hermit curl over Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber, pressing the hilt to his forehead.

Anakin had never tasted true powerlessness until this moment as he watched, rooted to his spot while his hermit suffered. It was Anakin's fault; everything was.

"I'm sorry," he whined softly. "I'm sorry." Once Anakin started, he couldn't stop muttering fervently, desperately searching for a way to compensate for what he had done -- he had to make it right.

Yet, there was nothing.

He didn't deserve to sidle up to his hermit, searching for comfort. But Ben radiated anguish in the Force. Slowly, Anakin approached him, sitting by his side to lean into his hermit.

Together, they sat in the sun, Anakin's presence ignored, but this was better.

Numbly, Anakin stared at the horizon. He had hurt so many people. Anakin wore the guise of a sand cat, but he was a monster. He wasn't a person, and his mother, who had given his name, would revoke his name if she were still alive.

The Sith Lord had awarded him a title, an honor that sat snugly around Anakin's throat like a collar. The title was a chain, a disgrace, a punishment.

Vader sighed quietly. Part of him, keen on making him suffer, wondered whether he cast aside his name to dodge responsibility for his crimes. However, the truth was that a sand cat would never be held accountable for the massacre a Jedi Knight had committed.

Slowly, Ben moved, visibly stiff, as he lowered Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber in the box. The coarse fabric was folded over the two hilts, hiding them from view. Ben treated the box like a relic as he buried it again. Vader rubbed his head against Ben's thigh, wishing he could do more. Ben placed a warm hand over his head, petting him gently. No words were exchanged, but Vader knew they would go home when the hand disappeared, and Ben lifted to his feet with a grunt. So, he followed closely.

The eopie had barely moved during the hours they spent worshiping a lightsaber used in a massacre, mourning everything lost. The eopie didn't care, oblivious to the hurt that had saturated the Force at the foot of the cliff. It was a landmark, a gravestone, that would attract any Force-sensitive individual in the area. Or perhaps it would keep them away, the intensity of their combined grief too heavy to bear.

A heavy silence remained with them, suffocating Vader and turning the world dull. The hermit moved sluggishly, his eyes vacant as he moved on automatic pilot through the cave to prepare dinner.

If only Vader could turn back time to redo everything. Even if it meant never meeting his hermit, losing this fragile warmth in his heart, Vader would go. He would never fall in love with Padmé or follow Qui-Gon. Perhaps the galaxy wouldn't hurt so badly if he had clipped his wings instead of flying too high -- too close to the sun. The galaxy would be better if it hadn't fallen when Vader dropped, his wings no longer supporting him.

Inherently, this was another selfish choice, but it seemed Vader had only selfish options left. Because he had already taken too much, more than he could ever repay. And it left him feeling so cold. 

He didn't deserve kindness and comfort, but Vader had always been a greedy creature. So, he joined his hermit under the blankets. His hermit didn't move, but his eyes moved behind closed eyelids, agonized noises escaping from his lips. He suffered from nightmares that visited him every night. Vader was no stranger to nightmares; they waited for him to close his eyes every night. He knew he would find himself on an unnamed planet cloaked in eternal twilight, striding through the fog to kill him. And with every step, his heart would crumble, though he never understood why.

Vader regretted so much of his life. But he could never regret meeting him. While he could slowly come to terms with losing his mother, Padmé, Ahsoka, and a million others, he couldn't seem to adjust to the absence of him. Even his name was too much. Oh, Vader wished... He breathed a shuddering exhale. Repeated swallowing didn't stop the tears. Sand cats could cry, and even the guilt digging its talons into Vader's heart couldn't stop the tears.

He sniffled pathetically, burying his face in the crook of his hermit's neck.

Ben groaned, muscles flexing under Vader's minimal weight.

"Anakin," he breathed. "Anakin."

Only one person had ever uttered Anakin's name like that. His breathing hitched, his stomach dropping from his body to the burning inferno of Tatooine's molten core. Torn between warring impulses, Anakin reared back, staring at his hermit's face.

Even with minimal light from the moon shining outside the cave, Anakin could see every detail. It made no sense. Mere weeks had passed since Mustafar. His gaze traced over the unkempt beard and longer hair, dark blonde with auburn undertones. Briefly, his attention snagged on the gray streaks; there were too many, but they looked so good on his hermit, making heat churn and coil in Anakin's guts.

Although his beard and mustache were unkempt, they framed thin lips perfectly, almost hiding the lines creasing the corners of his lips. Lines echoed in the corners of his eyes, which were signs of a life well-lived that Anakin ached to be a part of. He wished to nose over these lines, to taste his hermit's skin and lick at the freckles dotting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He wanted to curl into a tiny ball underneath his hermit's chin, hearing each breath and feeling his beard scrape against his fur with each inhale. Anakin's breathing was ragged with panic, but now it grew shallow with anticipation.

Why did his heart beat so frantically?

Why kept his gaze returning to those thin lips, hoping to see them smile or feel them trace over Anakin's throat? He wanted those lips to whisper against his skin, to place kisses, suckle, bite, and grin.

His body had turned into a sand cat, but his mind remained human, dictating who he would be attracted to. And it was so easy to grow attached to his kind hermit, to interpret Ben's compassion as more until his tiny body thrummed with arousal. He desired his hermit; he wanted everything he could offer. However, he also wanted to be Ben's. Anakin desired to be owned and possessed until his memory was wiped clean...

"Ah-nakin."

Yet, Anakin's close scrutiny wasn't fueled by his appreciation for his roguishly handsome hermit. Instead, the name falling from Ben's lips, uttered like a prayer, made him search for familiarity in his hermit's features. It couldn't be; it was impossible, yet somehow, still irrefutably true.

Obi-Wan.

O
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Chapter Text

But I, I want you when times get tough.
I wanna come back home to you when I get roughed up.
What I really wanna do is pour a cup of you,
and just start drinking it.
-Little Cup, Arrested Youth

Bubbles danced around him, rising to a surface he couldn't see. Where were the cave and Ben?

No, it wasn't Ben who had taken Anakin in.

Obi-Wan.

But everything was wrong. How had Obi-Wan aged so much in days? Because more time had passed, Anakin realized. But where had the time gone? Where was Obi-Wan?

His groan was stifled by a mouthpiece, but his lungs were empty. They seized around nothing. Desperately, he clawed at the mouthpiece. Confusion, disorientation, and panic rose inside him when his body didn't respond as anticipated. He couldn't breathe. Bands scraped under his armpits as he flailed, but his hands couldn't reach his mouth.

The panic burnt through the oxygen left in his mouth. His mind lashed out, tearing into the Force, but his Force signature was tiny, sized like a sand cat as if he hadn't left Tatooine.

Obi-Wan!

An alarm went off. Anakin's gaze flitted to the outside world, but the green bacta and bubbles filled his blurry vision. He was isolated from the galaxy, and it frightened him. Part of him was still on Tatooine, Obi-Wan's chest rising under his paws, the blanket resting over them. 

Yet he was also here, submerged in bacta and clueless of his location. He yearned to return, desperately needing Obi-Wan.

The alarm tapered off with a high note, followed by a low whirring. Rapidly, the bacta level dropped, leaving Anakin hanging from a harness. Although the bubbles and bacta were gone, his vision remained hazy and blurry, giving the impression he watched the world through frosted glass.

Uselessly, his unfocused gaze flicked through the room beyond the tank, only seeing gray and black splotches. He needed help. Someone had to remove the mouthpiece before he asphyxiated.

Beeping made him jerk in his harness, the muscles in his neck protesting as his useless eyes settled on a shadow looming over him. He had neither hands nor legs to defend himself, his mouth muzzled by the mouthpiece.

He didn't see the droid's arm until the mouthpiece was unhooked by a metal arm. Anakin's lungs seized around his first exhale, dragging wetly past his throat and sitting heavy in his chest. His laborious exhale was a wheeze. Although breathing was a struggle, oxygen flooded his lungs again. Relieved, he let his head drop to his chest, blinking. His vision remained hazy, a collection of shapes and shadows. Nonetheless, he could see the paler silhouette of the stumps.

He didn't have any limbs.

Mustafar.

He remembered Mustafar.

An unassuming planet, meeting Obi-Wan a decade later. He remembered that, too. He recalled watching Obi-Wan leave, too injured, too lost, to follow Obi-Wan. Rejection had always stung, but at that moment, it had killed.

Tatooine.

After collapsing, he had woken up as a sand cat.

Vague memories filled the gap between Mustafar and the unassuming planet, covered by a thick fog that refused to lift. Anakin couldn't access them, as if he had hibernated for years. Then, he realized he had survived Mustafar. His useless eyes widened. He had survived. He could return to Obi-Wan.

The droid lifted him from the harness, maneuvering him onto a cold, durasteel table. Where was he? While his Force signature remained sand cat-sized, he couldn't unfurl his senses far enough. Enforcing his vision to turn frosted glass into a clear image took a monumental effort. 

This wasn't his private chambers aboard his ship, nor was this Tatooine. Where was Obi-Wan? Anxiety settled in his stomach. He focused on the droid, which had retreated to a side table.

"Meow."

Confused, he blinked.

"Mrow?" he said when he meant to demand to know where he was. His shocked denial was turned into yowl and yips.

The droids didn't recognize the animal sounds as speech, continuing to operate on a pre-programmed protocol. Anakin strained his head, unable to shift on the durasteel operating table without his limbs.

Powerlessness tasted like bile and bacta, cold against his bare skin. His breathing rasped through his lungs, which refused to fill. Anakin couldn't regulate his breathing and sight simultaneously. His pitiful, tiny Force signature, reminding him of a sand cat, couldn't sustain everything. In fact, it strained in ways Anakin was unfamiliar with, threatening to give out altogether.

Shadows danced before his vision, his heartbeat tangible in his chest, laboring. His spotty vision narrowed and dimmed, the lack of oxygen stealing all of Anakin's fight. He was a fire snuffed out. With his defenses down, the memories could pounce unhindered. They were cruel but nostalgic. Each memory possessed a soft, sorrowful edge that was so different from the all-consuming flames Anakin was used to.

I loved you.

He exhaled softly, his sigh a pained wheeze nonetheless. Slowly, he let his eyes fall shut, watching Obi-Wan turn away.

Goodbye, old friend. May the FORCE be with you.

Obi-Wan turned away again and again.

I loved you.

Unerringly, he left Anakin behind.

Then, my friend is truly gone.

Why couldn't Obi-Wan stay for Anakin?

Goodbye, Darth.

His breathing evened out, the pressure lifting from his chest as he experienced an old memory for the first time. He knew these nightmares were real now. Once more, he had confronted Obi-Wan. Another fight he had lost, after which he woke up as a sand cat.

Pain sparked through the connection points on his thighs. Gritting his teeth, Anakin opened his eyes. They wandered uselessly through the room. Anakin abandoned his lungs to use the Force to sharpen his vision. The droid attached his legs with mechanical precision and efficiency, uncaring of the blind pain slithering up Anakin's spine. His legs were on fire, the damaged nerve ends burning.

His breathing turned erratic again, all muscles in his body locking up, despite knowing this would make the pain worse.

Next were his arms, attached with no regard for Anakin's wellbeing.

In the aftermath, he panted raggedly. His arms and legs trembled, the shaking tempered by the durasteel weighing him down. Cautiously, he swallowed bile, hoping he wouldn't puke over the durasteel table.

The droid approached with a black armor plate.

Darth Vader's suit.

A coffin that still moved. A shell, prison, torture chamber, and collar combined.

No, he cried out. A teary yowl echoed in the chamber. Somehow, the sound was close enough that the droid paused. Anakin's stomach roiled as he pushed to the table's edge until his heavy durasteel legs dropped over the edge. They pulled on the connections on his thighs. A high-pitched wail fell from Anakin's lips.

Panicked, he glanced at the droid, fortifying his vision with his tiny Force signature to confirm the droid didn't move. Sparks danced across his vision, his lungs seizing without the required assistance. He couldn't divide his attention between his eyes and lungs anymore. He used to control all his senses and damaged organs effortlessly. Now, his Force signature couldn't stretch, so small and weak. It was the only proof that Anakin had been a sand cat on Tatooine. That and the memories, which Anakin would cherish for the rest of his life.

The droid jolted, rousing from its brief pause. Anakin's ragged, harsh breathing hitched.

He had to leave.

He only wore briefs, though. Nevertheless, he wouldn't go back in the suit. What if he stopped existing again?

ANAKIN.

MY allegiance is to the Republic.

To Democracy.

He had nowhere to go or turn, but his mind kept cannibalizing itself, motivated by stupid concerns. His heart beat in tune with one name repeated perpetually. Perhaps this voice had chanted for a decade but had only started screaming when Anakin returned.

Obi-Wan.

He couldn't rest unless he knew what had happened to the sand cat. What if Obi-Wan woke up and the cat was gone or dead? His hermit -- Obi-Wan -- hung on by a thread. Anakin had to ensure he was okay, regardless of his state of undress.

The Force faltered in his grip, his concern making his tenacious control slip. Immediately, his vision dimmed, turning hazy. The frosted glass quality returned, which turned the droid into a gray blob that Anakin recognized by its whirring.

He pushed into a sitting position, putting uncomfortable strain on the connectors in his arms. A drawn-out grunt gave him the strength to finish the motion. Swaying, he sat at the table's edge, staring blindly at an invisible floor. The prostheses were so incredibly heavy, pulling on joints, bones, scars, and atrophied muscles. A cracking sound drew his attention to the edge, but he couldn't see anything. Belatedly, he realized that his fingers had clamped around the edge, effortlessly denting durasteel. His crude fingers had no feedback loop or sensors to prevent him from destroying everything he touched.

Thickly, he swallowed, scar tissue pulling as his throat bobbed.

The droid approached again, the whirring of its servos betraying it moved through the chamber.

Anakin lifted his gaze from the table, glaring blindly ahead of him. Slowly, he exhaled, knowing that he would forever feel on the verge of fainting. Grit was all he had left to give.

He opened his mouth. "Mrew," he said, lacing the meow with an undeniable order. The whirring stopped. However, this was only temporary. Staying here wasn't an option. But where could Anakin go when he had nowhere, no one, to turn to?

Tatooine, his heart screamed. He had to get back to Tatooine. Using the Force to let oxygen soak into the damaged tissue in his lungs, he stood. For a moment, he swayed, adjusting to his prostheses. They were heavier than expected without the suit to help support them.

Blindly, he stumbled to the door, hoping it was an exit. As the wall loomed before him, he used his hands to navigate, leaning heavily against the durasteel to take weight from the painful stumps of his legs. His fingers brushed past fabric hanging from the wall.

A cloak?

Briefly, Anakin redirected the Force to his eyes to confirm a tattered cloak hung from a hook. Hung there until it could be destroyed, too damaged from his fight with Obi-Wan to be worn again. Grateful for this stroke of luck, Anakin used clumsy, metal fingers to tug it from its hook. The fabric tore further under his fingers, which weren't designed to perform tasks that required fine motor skills.

It didn't matter.

He only needed to find Obi-Wan, and he knew where to look.

Stiff muscles protested as he tried to drape the cloak over his shoulders, needing several tries before he could fasten the cloak. Behind him, the droid whirred, scanning the room. The droid was looking for him. Panic sent Anakin's heart into a tizzy. A shrill yip slipped from his lips as he continued to the door with empty lungs.

His vision swam despite his efforts to focus, the lack of oxygen in his brain getting to him.

He collapsed against the door, which opened miraculously. Anakin stumbled into the hallway. The opposite wall stopped his progress abruptly, appearing before him without warning. His metal palms slapped against the wall, the impact sending piercing pain through the connection points. Panting desperately, he looked in both directions with his useless eyes.

His tiny Force signature would not warn him when other people were close. However, his ears still worked fine. An eerie silence hung in the air, only disturbed by the low humming of the engines.

Where was this ship headed?

A foreboding sensation crept up on him. If this ship reached its destination, all would be lost. This was a window of opportunity that would never present itself again. Anakin's metal fingers couldn't tremble. Yet, he shook so hard that it translated to the crude limbs.

He pushed away from the wall, swaying wildly. Using the momentum, he waddled onward, his gait awkward as he headed down the hallway. He didn't encounter anyone, leading him to suspect this part of the ship was cordoned off for Darth Vader.

Whatever the reason, it worked in his favor.

He located an escape pod using what he deemed a logical layout for a ship this size. Relieved tears burnt in his eyes as he entered the escape pod. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing hermetically. Anakin sagged into the pilot's seat, eyes wandering over the buttons, screens, and levers.

Even while directing the Force to his eyes, he didn't have enough power to make the tiny Basic legible. Thus, he would have to operate on memory alone in an escape pod he had never operated. Or perhaps he had... His memories remained foggy, and Anakin didn't wish to revisit them.

Forgetting them was a small mercy that Anakin didn't deserve.

His clumsy fingers bumped into levers as he went through the launching sequence, which was blissfully short due to the ship's function.

The lights in the cockpit dimmed as the escape pod launched from the ship's side. Relaxing into the pilot's seat, Anakin diverted his attention to his lungs. Already, his mind strained under his continued use of the Force. Yet, he couldn't stop for too long. His body was falling apart, only kept together by ample use of the Force. He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes to let the Force flow through him. His lungs spasmed as recycled air entered them, the midicholorians and constant nudges of the Force aiding the transfer of oxygen.

The escape pod crashed on a sandy beach several hours later. Immediately, the sensors on the escape pod read and compiled the outside conditions into a report. Unfortunately, Anakin couldn't read the monitors. However, the city rising against the horizon indicated the atmosphere was breathable.

His landing spot was fortuitous. Was the Force assisting his escape, letting every event align to help him regain his freedom? Although Anakin didn't know whether he could walk the many clicks separating him from the city, he was luckier than he deserved.

On weak knees, he stood, reaching overhead for the communication array and trackers installed on the escape pod. His heavy metal limbs were too heavy to lift, while his Force signature was tiny. He strained under their weight, the connection points throbbing. With gritted teeth, he tore the parts from the pod's ceiling. Then, he smashed the communication array and trackers, determined to make his track go cold. Right here. Right now. If the Emperor traced his steps, everything would be over.

Anakin wouldn't go back. Not ever. Nothing could make him return, and Anakin would accept whatever price he would be forced to pay to guarantee his freedom. Anakin didn't deserve to be free, but Sidious would never again hold his chains.

So, he better act fast yet cautiously. There was no room for errors.

Next, he investigated the escape pod on wobbly legs and with damaged eyes. His vision remained hazy, the world too dim and distorted to ever get into focus. Despite this, he found a medkit and too-short cargo pants. In the many pockets on the cargo pants, he hid a small vibro-blade, the contents of the medkit, and a handful of liquid satchels he found in the emergency rations container. 

His stomach grumbled lightly, but Anakin couldn't find any ration bars aboard.

His last find was a fluorescent safety vest of a scratchy fabric that caught on his scarred chest and back. Hissing in pain, he tried to pull off the vest, his clumsy hands tearing through the fabric instead. Desperation sat lodged in his throat. Pressing his lip into a tight line, he stared at the scraps of neon-colored fabric. Tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision further. He sniffled pathetically. 

Anakin didn't deserve to cry, but he was so uncomfortable in his body. It needed constant nudges from the Force. He hurt and all the sensory input overwhelmed him. Oh, he was lucky to escape, but he couldn't ignore his panic, the pain, and the paranoia that someone would find him. He had to leave, but he just wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and forget he existed. Unable to stop sniffling, he activated the switch to lower the ramp, preparing to leave the pod.

He hadn't found shoes, so Anakin walked on his prostheses, wondering whether people would know. Whether they would judge when they saw him. He knew he looked silly, his bare, scarred, disfigured chest peeking through the cloak with every step he took. In his past life, he had always had tunics and armor. Awfully self-aware of his appearance despite the lack of audience, he pulled the hood far over his head as the ramp lowered into fine, white sand.

Fresh air filled the escape pod, carrying a brine scent. Anakin inhaled deeply, tasting the air. His lungs couldn't convert the sea breeze into oxygen efficiently. Nevertheless, it felt incomparably better compared to the stale, recycled air on a spaceship.

Cautiously, he walked down the ramp onto the beach, testing how the sand shifted under his feet.

Ahead of him, the city loomed, smaller than he had initially assumed. Overhead, spaceships arrived and left, entering the atmosphere in plumes of condensation. There was a way off the planet. Nevertheless, Anakin doubted anyone would allow a hideous, penniless monster on their ship.

Focusing his tiny Force signature on his lungs to help himself breathe, he started walking, his unseeing eyes fixed on the city.

Soon, the connection points to his legs started throbbing, fierce pain lancing through the stumps each time he put weight on them. Yet, Anakin refused to stop, weathering the pain through gritted teeth.

Breathless, animal yowls escaped him every few steps, hoarse as his throat had rubbed raw from producing these noises for hours. The continuous barrage of pain had rendered him lightheaded, though that was partly his slipping grip on the Force. Anakin was exhausted, unable to wrangle the Force into cooperating. Yet, he had reached the spaceport at the city's edge. Tears brimmed in his useless eyes, stinging unbearably.

He couldn't cry. He shouldn't. He didn't deserve to. There was no time to cry.

He was still far from home, on a planet he didn't recognize, with no easy way off. Without any credits to his name, he couldn't buy tickets for a commercial flight or charter a shuttle. Instead, he would be a stowaway. This would help erase any tracks he had left, he knew. Yet, he felt powerless as he watched the throngs of sentients passing through the terminals, awfully aware of his inability to speak Basic, appearance, and lack of credits.

Although he huddled in the cloak, keeping his gaze down to avoid eye contact, he knew people recognized how damaged his body was. When people got close enough to see what rested in the shadows, they stepped away, immediately establishing distance as if Anakin carried a contagious disease. While Anakin had anticipated he would repulse others, their judgment humiliated him nonetheless. Hot shame settled in his stomach. The disgust leveled at him made him feel dirty, so inferior to everyone else. He was the sick monster they saw him as, but it hurt, no matter how justified the instinctive reaction his appearance invoked.

Feeling as small as his Force signature, he wandered through the hall, eavesdropping on conversations to find a ship that would head in the right direction. The prostheses were heavy, ill-fitting, and stiff in the wrong places. At each bench he encountered, he slumped down to collect his breath. He needed to rest. Otherwise, he would collapse. His legs hurt so bad with each step. Dreading the following step, he would sway in place, gathering fear since he had lost his courage. 

He had already reached his breaking point. Oh, he couldn't go on.

Fueled by the urgency, he selected a ship headed from Hosnian Prime.

He hid among the cargo -- large containers filled with exotic spices and teas -- while the captain and crew headed into the city to celebrate. No one saw him snuck on board, sitting behind a container. Finally, the pressure lifted from the connection points on his thighs, granting him some reprieve.

His stomach grumbled, the sound echoing in the cargo hold. Anakin pressed a metal hand to his stomach, worried that his stomach would reveal his presence. When the crew returned, they were too drunk to notice Anakin, who shuffled further into the shadows, not daring to breathe.

No one noticed him, and so Anakin remained hidden. As soon as they arrived on Hosnian Prime, he snuck from the ship undetected. He had drunk most of the liquid satchels now, dehydration a constant companion.

He just needed to get to Tatooine.

A sentiment he hadn't expected to feel ever. Anakin's unseeing eyes darted through the spaceport. Unlike the previous spaceport, the one on Hosnian Prime had many terminals. The number of options was overwhelming, befitting a large planet that was a cornerstone of intergalactic trade.

This also meant it was under close Imperial scrutiny. Anakin shied away from the stormtroopers, worried that someone would stop him. Yet, he blended in with the masses well enough to avoid detection.

The connection points to his legs ached faster now, still sore from his walk the previous day. Pain was a constant companion, but Anakin had a goal. He would make it to Tatooine, no matter what. His self-pity slanted into a determination that could easily snap.

Slinking by the walls and sticking to the shadows, Anakin boarded another ship undetected.

His stomach was cannibalizing itself when he landed on Mos Espa as a stowaway. No one would ever find him here; Anakin's track had gone colder than death.

Anakin was cold, too, with only a ratty cloak and cargo pants to keep himself warm in space. But as soon as he shuffled into the light of the binary suns, the heat welcomed him. Cautiously, he tugged the cloak closer around his body and the hood further over his disfigured face.

After sitting squished between a container and the ship's hulls for hours, his legs were only vaguely sore. However, a few steps were enough to make them hurt fiercely, the relief from sitting for hours forgotten. The scarred skin was rubbed raw and bruised. Chewing his bottom lips desperately, Anakin stumbled on. Waddling on stiff legs, he joined the crowd. Every few people he passed, his shoulders were jostled or knocked aside, and Anakin had to focus on the sand shifting under his feet, scared that he would lose his precarious balance. Briefly, he released his control over his lungs to keep from falling. Anakin worried that he wouldn't be able to stand up again. 

His vision was blurry, so Anakin couldn't tell where he was headed, but he trusted most people headed to the spaceport's exit. Thus, he let the masses carry him, staring at the familiar colors swimming in his blurry, unfocused vision. The brilliant blue of the sky and the beige of sand.

The colors were muted compared to what he had seen as a sand cat. Still, he reveled in seeing these sights with his own eyes. He was so close to reaching his destination. His Force signature strained to keep his lungs functioning, depleting his low energy reserves. In top condition, spending too much time in a bacta tank to recover and traveling without food would be tough on his body. Now, it destroyed him until his eyes burned constantly with self-pitying, miserable tears. His stomach grumbled in sympathy, cramping occasionally to communicate its dissent.

He was so close now, which reminded him of something he hadn't considered yet. Nervously, he wrung his metal hands, concerned about Obi-Wan's reaction. He tried to avoid thinking about his destination.

What if Obi-Wan didn't welcome him?

This was the likely scenario after everything Anakin had done. However, part of him didn't believe Obi-Wan would turn him away. It was inconceivable on a fundamental level.

It's OVER, Anakin.

Yet, Anakin hadn't believed Obi-Wan would cut off his limbs either.

I have the high ground.

Worrying was useless when he didn't have a means of transportation. Could he steal a speeder?

What if people went looking for a speeder and found Obi-Wan's cave? Anakin didn't want to bring trouble to Obi-Wan's doorstep.

On stiff, malfunctioning legs, he stumbled into Mos Espa, unsure how he would get to Anchorhead. He didn't carry any credits of valuables. With nothing to barter with, he wouldn't get far.

He didn't have the power to sustain a Force suggestion nor the looks to charm a stranger into letting him hitch a ride. Moreover, Obi-Wan had paid for services he hadn't even used, honest to a fault. Anakin wanted to honor the man who had taught him everything he knew. He wanted to be better, but he didn't know how to.

Thus, he wandered aimlessly, his throat parched and stomach grumbling. Although he kept his head down, people glanced at him. They didn't turn to look, but their lingering glances communicated repulsion nonetheless.

Anakin swallowed thickly, his breathing hitching. His control over his lungs slipped, which seized around a heavy weight. He couldn't wrap his mind around the reactions to his undisguised face peeking from the shadows of his hood, his heavy, graceless, stumbling gait, and the metal reflecting the sunlight despite the cloak he tugged tightly around his body.

All sentients recognized him as an abomination. A monster.

Anakin had done unforgivable things. Now, everyone could see it in his ruined body.

His bottom lip wobbled. Oh, he shouldn't care about others' opinions. Anakin had never been vain, but this hurt nonetheless. Yet, he had always been prideful -- arrogant, almost -- of his appearance, hadn't he? But it was easier to pretend not to care when you were assured others fawned over you.

Awkwardly, he pulled the hood further over his head, tipping his chin to hide his disfigured face.

Keen to escape the stares and stop the relentless pain tearing him apart, he entered the first junkyard he saw. Anakin recognized these yards from Mos Eisley. He had worked at one. Here, old junk was taken apart to be sold into parts.

Anakin hoped to buy a speeder. He still had his skills as a mechanic to barter with, and those were as valuable as credits on Tatooine. He only needed the shopkeeper to listen to him. He didn't think he would have much luck. His proficiency in Basic and Huttese wouldn't help him when his appearance turned people away.

A human man stood behind the counter, sorting through rusty bolts. He lifted his gaze, raising an eyebrow at Anakin.

Anakin hunched his shoulder to hide his body.

"I'm looking for a speeder," he said. Although he had aimed for a cold demand, his voice broke on his uncertainty, his trepidation bleeding into his voice. He had commanded armies, As Vader and General Skywalker. That was before he felt inferior and too small, even his voice tainted by the niggling insecurities.

Ultimately, it didn't matter because he only produced a series of barks and mewls.

He had forgotten that he had lost his voice.

"Basic and Huttese only," the shopkeeper said, dismissing him. "Scram."

Without his voice, Anakin couldn't use a Force command. Moreover, his Force signature was too small to successfully steal a bike. Too late, he realized he had planned to use the Force to get his way anyway.

Despite knowing better, he would have made the same mistakes again.

Anakin lifted his hands placatingly, the sleeves falling back to reveal metal arms. Talking was useless… his gaze swept through the shop. A rickety, rotten bike parked in a corner, hidden under several broken household appliances, caught his attention.

He walked through the store, struggling to navigate the narrow paths with their sharp turns. His cloak snagged on parts multiple times, almost tripping him up. A fresh wave of panic crashed into Anakin each time his center of mass tipped forward. Hurriedly, he pulled the fabric free, wincing each time his clumsy fingers tore the fabric.

Dividing his attention between his lungs, swimming vision, and the shop overwhelmed him more than he could bear. His tiny Force signature strained, warning him it would soon give out.

Finally, he reached his destination. After a purposeful pat on the bike's frame, Anakin turned to the man behind the counter. The human watched him, his lips curled into… repulsion?

Anakin's courage wilted. Apparently, Anakin hadn't hidden the state of his body well. The disgust made him feel off-balance. The man's reaction was visceral and not intended to be cruel. Yet, the frown and subsequent shudder cut through Anakin. Oddly hurt by the ultimately irrelevant stranger's disgust, he reached for his hood, horrified to discover the fabric had slid back slightly. The sleeve of his cloak pooled around the crook of his elbow, revealing his arm was a prosthesis. Quickly, he dropped the hand again.

The man cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable in Anakin's presence.

"Do you have credits?"

Anakin froze.

The man sighed, shaking his head. There was pity in his expression now. Anakin's gratitude at the pity left him off-balance. He had always loathed pity, nothing triggering his fury faster. Currently, relying on a stranger's repulsed pity to get to Obi-Wan was all he had. It was a source of relief rather than condescension. Nothing else mattered anymore.

"Figures," the man scoffed. "An arm. You can have the bike if you give me an arm. Although they are outdated, those prostheses look well-maintained."

Anakin didn't know whether this was a fair deal. However, he did understand he didn't have a choice. Moreover, he deserved this. Hadn't he planned to rob this man with the Force, only to discover he had lost the means to?

He deserved this.

Perhaps it was self-sabotage, but it was honest. It was a deal, no matter how skewed. So, Anakin nodded, his hood bobbing. Obi-Wan would have done the same.

He stumbled back to the counter where the man waited.

"I need tools," Anakin said, producing a string of mewls that the man couldn't understand.

"Still only Basic and Huttese," the man said with a shrug.

Anakin pulled up his left sleeve to reveal the connection point. Then, he tapped on the connectors to indicate he needed tools.

The man's gaze grew shrewd. He lifted one hand to stop Anakin. Anakin froze, too scared to move, worried that the deal would be off. He needed that bike.

"I want the other arm," the shopkeeper decided with a smug smirk. "The right one."

Anakin blinked. Slowly, he let the sleeve drop back.

Was there a difference? More importantly, was he in a position to argue?

No.

Both hands were metal. Both were used to shed blood and sow misery. Losing one wouldn't remove the crimes that hand had committed, so what did it matter?

Oh, he doubted he could steer a bike one-armed. He couldn't rely on the Force to compensate when his signature labored to draw air into his damaged lungs. Still, he would make it work.

So, he pulled up his right sleeve. The human man handed him an assortment of pins without further prompting.

Although Anakin couldn't remember if he had ever removed the prosthesis, he worked efficiently. Vader's memories were foggy and distant, so they wouldn't help him regardless. The man was right that the prosthesis was exceedingly crude, but someone had maintained it to remain in perfect condition. Nevertheless, it couldn't compare to the prosthesis the Order had outfitted him with after Dooku took his right arm.

The prosthesis clattered on the counter, scattering the bolts. Anakin watched the man lift the arm to inspect it closely.

"Yeah, this will work," the man mused. "Well, the bike is yours. Pleasure doing business with you."

Although Anakin looked monstrous, the man had gotten past his disgust in the face of a good deal. Anakin inclined his head, knowing that a verbal response was futile. His balance was off as he headed back to the bike. Each step took effort with the redistributed weight on his body. It confused his mind, which couldn't wrap around the abrupt loss of his arm. His legs screamed in agony as he put an odd strain on the connection points.

Dimly, he was aware that he walked under an odd angle to compensate, which would wreak havoc on his body. After all this abuse, his muscles were stiff, though his right upper arm felt light without the metal weighing it down. The crude model hadn't taken Anakin's comfort into account.

Yet, without his right arm, he felt too vulnerable, exceedingly aware that he was weaker than a newborn loth kitten. Should the seller renege on their deal, he was powerless. He could no longer protect himself or his bike. But the man had given no sign that he would double-cross Anakin, Anakin reassured himself.

When had he grown so used to suspecting the worst?

How was it possible that Obi-Wan still trusted after everything Anakin had done?

Shame poisoned him, making his stomach burn unbearably.

The man didn't stop him as he maneuvered the bike from the pile of household appliances and left the shop. His left arm ached under the strain, the connection point throbbing.

Anakin was slow as he moved, pausing every few steps to collect his bearings. He was constantly out of breath, his attention too divided to focus on making his lungs work. His throat hurt, joining his stomach.

Many hours had passed since he had drunk the last liquid pack with desperate swallows to soothe his throat.

To his surprise, the bike started, the power cell humming before glowing a light blue. The bike vibrated, almost wrenching free from Anakin's left hand. He didn't dare close his hand tighter, fearing that he would destroy the bike accidentally.

Awkwardly, he tried to swing a leg over the saddle, discovering the leg was too heavy to lift. Making wheezing, pained sounds, he used the Force to lift his leg over the bike. As he straddled the bike, he returned the control to his aching lungs.

He was in so much pain, but he would soon sleep.

He remembered how well he had slept with his hermit -- his head resting on Obi-Wan's shoulder, soaking in the warmth and skin contact under a threadbare but soft blanket.

Yearning for that comfort, he left Mos Espa behind, not planning to ever return here. He was headed home; he could almost taste it on the desert air. Once he arrived, he wouldn't leave again.

Chapter Text

He passed by Anchorhead in the dead of night. The bright moon cast sharp shadows over the dunes, almost changing their appearance. Anakin, raised in these deserts, recognized their shapes nonetheless. His mental map served him well when his vision failed him. He navigated by feel, using cherished memories. Slowly, he approached the cave, taking care not to overheat the bike and strand himself in the desert. His left arm trembled, the strain of steering for hours getting to him.

Thirst, hunger, and exhaustion had left him lightheaded. Although he starved, the pain made him too nauseous to suffer more than a cramping stomach.

Almost, Anakin chanted. Soon, he promised his body, which was shutting down quickly, no longer able to bear the pain and discomfort. His elbow buckled every few minutes, keeping him sharp despite the pervasive exhaustion.

It was dark, but the first sun rose at the horizon, bathing the desert in pinkish light. The sun cast long shadows over familiar landmarks, guiding Anakin to the cave.

Almost, he knew. He was counting down the minutes. He would be home soon.

Obi-Wan stood in the mouth of his cave, likely alerted by the proximity alarms. Anakin could only see his silhouette. He forgot about his lungs, focusing his tiny Force signature on his eyes solely, which made the world snap into focus. A brilliant focus that he couldn't sustain for long. He stopped the speeder bike a handful of steps away from Obi-Wan, not daring to dismount when he knew he couldn't swing his leg over the bike.

All the pain, discomfort, and anxiety fell away, replaced by wonder. Oh, this was love.

I LOVED you.

And once, Obi-Wan had loved Anakin, too. Those times were gone. They had passed each other like ships in the night, oblivious to the other's love.

I love you, Anakin thought, pronouncing every syllable with care in his mind.

I loved YOU.

He couldn't remember anything else as he blinked against the tears, surprised to find Obi-Wan despite knowing the location of his cave.

Perhaps Anakin hadn't expected to find Obi-Wan where he had left him. But Obi-Wan was here, and Akkani rested under the awning. Only the sand cat was absent, which shouldn't be a relief to Anakin. Nevertheless, he was intensely relieved that his role in their tiny household hadn't been usurped. In quiet awe, he studied Obi-Wan, lifting his left hand from the bike's handlebar to lower the hood of his cloak. Immediately, the bike threatened to tip over. Anakin's hand shot back to the handle to keep the bike upright, groaning in pain as this pulled on the connection point. The sunlight blinded him, but Anakin refused to close his eyes.

Recognition swept over Obi-Wan's face, quickly replaced by a stiff expression.

"Anakin," he choked out.

"Master," Anakin sighed, producing a mewl instead.

He had forgotten he had lost his voice in his isolation. He suppressed the instinctive urge to reach for his throat, barely managing to keep his bike upright with one arm.

"You can't be here," Obi-Wan said. Finally, Anakin identified the stiffness as horror.

Anakin fell quiet, all his useless words carried away by the hot desert breeze. They turned into little grains of sand, slipping through Anakin's fingers. His hands were empty, and his head was too.

Oh.

Of course, Obi-Wan wouldn't welcome Darth Vader with open arms. He recalled their fight on the unassuming, nameless planet. And before that, he had flung Obi-Wan into the fire with the grim satisfaction of watching Obi-Wan burn. He regretted those actions as he watched Obi-Wan step back, shaking his head in denial.

"I'm sorry," Anakin pleaded. A string of yips and yowls fell from his lips. "I'm so sorry, Master."

Obi-Wan couldn't understand him, but Anakin had hoped that his miserable, plaintive tone would convey meaning nonetheless. However, this implied that Obi-Wan would listen. And Obi-Wan didn't. He still shook his head.

"You can't be here," Obi-Wan repeated. He sounded desperate as if Anakin showing up here was his worst nightmare. Possibly it was. Anakin's heart bled tears. "You should not be here, Darth."

"I'm not--" Anakin's argument withered on his tongue. The aborted meow hung between them.

Obi-Wan's gaze flicked to the sky, his eyes narrowing.

"I have to go," he said.

To his job, Anakin knew because he had lived with Obi-Wan. Thus, he knew Obi-Wan's routine by heart. In fact, Anakin had turned into an integral part of these eventless days. Anakin yearned to slot into place again in Obi-Wan's life. He belonged here; he had carved a spot for himself as a dauntless sand cat.

Yet, nothing was made to last, every bit of happiness Anakin obtained eroding too quickly. Even stars died -- so silently that millennia passed before their deaths were finally noticed. No one would mourn for Darth Vader. He was already dead, but Obi-Wan couldn't know that. To Obi-Wan, Anakin wasn't Dauntless anymore. Instead, he was Darth Vader. And Darth Vader only deserved cold disdain and deep, weary apprehension.

"I have to go, and you will not be here when I return. There's nothing to gain here, Darth."

Obi-Wan sent him away?

Shocked by the ice freezing Obi-Wan's husky voice, Anakin shook his head in denial. This wasn't... Thickly, he swallowed, his ragged breathing hitching on his rising panic. Obi-Wan shouldn't call him Darth. Even on the stupid planet cast in eternal twilight, Obi-Wan had called him Anakin. Why? Why would Obi-Wan stop now? Was it too late?

"You must leave," Obi-Wan ordered, leaving no room for argument. Anakin's bottom lip quivered pathetically, his eyes misty with both the damage to his cornea and tears. His gaze lowered to the desert sand. He could no longer meet Obi-Wan's horrified gaze. It would tear him asunder. The Force left his eyes to return to his lungs, helping him breathe easier.

I love you, he thought desperately. I'm sorry.

Clumsily, he clambered from the bike, ignoring the piercing, agonizing pain, finding the strength to swing a metal leg over the saddle in his desperation. He waddled a few steps in Obi-Wan's direction, watching Obi-Wan tense. Obi-Wan's hand slipped to this blaster.

Anakin was unarmed.

Gracelessly, he sagged to his knees, begging for forgiveness silently. He placed his left hand in the sand to prostrate, his body straining to keep from tipping over.

"Get up," Obi-Wan snarled, sounding angry now.

Confused, Anakin tipped his head back, staring imploringly at the paler silhouette of Obi-Wan in the mouth of his cave.

"You will not bow or kneel for me. I never wanted that from you, and I certainly don't want you to now. Maybe you pledged your allegiance to a slaver, but I will not be made into one."

Anakin blinked, his mouth shaping around silent words he couldn't utter anyway.

"Stand," Obi-Wan ground out, but Anakin couldn't move.

The fingers of his left hand balled into a fist, the sand slipping through the metal fingers.

"I don't have time for this," Obi-Wan muttered. Anakin was powerless to watch Obi-Wan leave. Obi-Wan swung in the eopie's saddle and left him behind. Silence settled in the desert, and a numbness crept into Anakin's body. Although he knelt in the blistering binary suns, he was very cold.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Obi-Wan was supposed to recognize he was the sand cat. Then, Obi-Wan would take him in again. They would spend their days and nights together, living peaceful lives. While Anakin knew he deserved this rejection, it blindsided him regardless. Ostensibly, he wouldn't get what he wished for. Yet, he was reluctant to leave. Frenetic energy had fueled him, the prospect of going home motivating him to keep moving while his body shut down. That energy source had frozen.

Anakin was an endothermic reaction. Without something -- someone -- to keep him moving, he would fizzle out, dousing like a candle snuffed out.

His left arm was too heavy to carry his weight. Alarms should go off in his mind. Once he gave in, letting his elbow buckle, he wouldn't be able to get up anymore. But he was so tired, too exhausted to fully grasp the consequences of giving up. Slowly, he slumped over on his side in the hot sand. A shaky sigh slipped past his lip, rustling the loose sand. His hood fell over his face as hie head fell into the sand, obscuring his blurry vision. Resting on his side, he stared blindly at the inside of the hood.

He had wanted to go home.

There was nowhere else to go for him. Nowhere else he wanted to be. But Obi-Wan didn't want him here. Obi-Wan couldn't forgive him, and Anakin knew he didn't deserve forgiveness, but he had hoped nonetheless.

Because Obi-Wan had always forgiven him.

And Anakin hadn't realized until Obi-Wan turned away, done with Anakin.

Because of what YOU have done. What you PLAN TO DO.

He scrunched up his face to stop the tears, the scar tissue pulling uncomfortably. He had to leave before Obi-Wan returned, though Anakin didn't think he would get far. How much time had passed since he had last drunk? How much longer since he had eaten?

The deserts of Tatooine weren't forgiven. So, Anakin wouldn't make it back. However, he refused to die on Obi-Wan's doorstep. After everything Anakin had done, Obi-Wan deserved peace. Meanwhile, Anakin deserved nothing.

The similarities to his first hours as a sand cat were striking. He had waited, curled up on his side, aware that no one would save him. Each dying breath rasped through his parched throat, reminiscent of the sand cat's shallow breathing. His stomach cramped, burning with acid, his hunger too big for his brain to comprehend.

Obi-Wan wouldn't save him now.

His stomach was a shriveled nut, his appetite gone. Even the prospect of eating was revolting.

Anakin hadn't even had a chance to explain he was the sand cat to win Obi-Wan's favor.

He had to leave before Obi-Wan returned. Sluggishly, he untangled his left arm from his cloak, barely lifting the limb a centimeter from the desert sand. The metal palm hit the ground hard, sand rising from the impact. Gritting his teeth and grunting, Anakin tried to leverage his arm to move into a seated position. His body was too heavy, uselessly flailing in the dust but remaining unresponsive otherwise. The sand invaded his cloak, scraping against the scarred skin of his chest and back.

Panting in short bursts, the Force failing to get the oxygen from each erratic inhale, Anakin tried to stand repeatedly. His heavy limbs gave out each time, the pain too potent to push through the strain on his body. Eventually, he had nothing left to give. Defeated, he slumped in the sand. He had already suspected that he wouldn't be able to stand should he trip.

He had been right.

Perhaps his body rebelled against moving, wishing to remain here, no matter the cost. And he would willingly pay the ultimate price. Even on the lava banks of Mustafar, Anakin hadn't wanted to die. He could never have suspected the monster he would turn into, more machine than man, but that didn't matter. He had believed he would reunite with Padmé, even as he burned to a crisp... Well, that was only a half-truth. As the fire devoured him, he had burned with the need to continue his fight with Obi-Wan, to stop him from leaving until they were both dead.

He had refused to die, scared of what lay beyond. Terrified he would be alone.

On some level, returning to the Force, every fragment of him dissolving into the cosmic Force, had frightened him. As a slave, his mind and soul were all he had. Now, he knew he was better off gone without a trace. Otherwise, Obi-Wan's rejection would haunt him, following him wherever he went. Nothing could erase the marks on his miserable soul.

Without Obi-Wan's love, what could he live for?

Nothing else mattered.

His consciousness faded as his frosted-glass vision dimmed, shadows creeping in the edges. His heartbeat was loud to his ears, the last piece of humanity in his body straining against the scorching desert heat. He was hot, quickly overheating in a way that reminded him of the heatstroke he had experienced as a child. His ears rang, one of the few remaining functioning senses failing him. Without his hearing, he couldn't detect other lifeforms approaching him. But he couldn't defend himself anyway. Any warning his senses gave him would only alert him of more suffering. The Force slipped from his grip, his body shutting down.

It wasn't that bad, Anakin realized. It could be worse.

Nothing else remained but peace and silence and darkness. The darkness always greeted Anakin. However, this wasn't filled with cruelty, hatred, or fear. Anakin's Force signature had stayed as neutral as a sand cat's, simultaneously betraying and erasing who he had been.

A sand cat. Darth Vader. Anakin Skywalker. No one.

"Anakin."

His name roused him. Disoriented, he strained in the Force, his tiny signature bumping against Obi-Wan's walls.

"Master," he sighed, producing a mewl instead.

The blistering heat had disappeared, the world beyond his closed eyelids no longer bright red from the sunlight. Slowly, he opened his eyes, which only saw blurry darkness. Apparently, Obi-Wan had moved him inside his cave. Obi-Wan had carried him, Anakin realized. How he wished he had been conscious while Obi-Wan helped him, experiencing one of the delights of being a sand cat as a human. Had Obi-Wan touched him? Anakin starved for affection more than Obi-Wan could ever suspect.

A hand came to rest on his waist.

Electricity crackled under Anakin's scarred skin, which tingled under the unfamiliar touch. The cloak had shifted aside to reveal scarred, mutilated flesh, but Obi-Wan didn't shy away from the direct skin contact. Oh. He had missed this. How many years had he lived without human touch? His eyes slipped shut again to fully enjoy the weight of Obi-Wan's hand, whose fingers, curled around Anakin's waist, squeezed gently.

"You're awake," Obi-Wan stated, his concern turning his voice sharp. "I thought you had--"

The sentence remained unfinished, hanging in the cool air in the cave.

"I'm sorry," Anakin muttered. His vocal cords produced a frail, reedy mrow instead.

Obi-Wan's fingers flexed. Anakin went lax, his mind slipping into a haze from the touch. He abandoned his lungs to sidle closer to Obi-Wan in the Force. Immediately, his breathing turned raspy and wet. Obi-Wan's presence in the Force shied away but didn't rebuke him entirely, letting Anakin lounge at the periphery of his consciousness.

"I will get you some water," Obi-Wan said. Anakin nodded eagerly, reminded of his thirst. His head hurt from the dehydration, a sharp pounding that centered behind his eyes.

Obi-Wan's silhouette rose, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

Slowly, Anakin used his left arm to push himself into a sitting position. Each movement hurt and took too much effort, but Anakin could control the too-heavy limbs somewhat again.

Obi-Wan brushed past him again with an empty cup. Anakin wasn't flexible enough to look over his shoulder, so he could only follow Obi-Wan with his ears. Fortunately, the vaporator sat within the edges of his narrow vision, and Obi-Wan entered his field of vision again as he crouched. The vaporator hummed ominously, creaking as Obi-Wan turned a lever. Anakin focused the Force on his eyes to check Obi-Wan's expression, unsurprised by the frown marring Obi-Wan's face.

He would fix the vaporator, he promised silently.

Water drizzled into the cup sluggishly, and even Anakin's useless eyes saw the sand in the water dripping into the metal cup. Nevertheless, Anakin's mouth would have watered if his body had any liquid left to salivate. His thirst grew in intensity, turning irrepressible. Fire licked up his scratchy throat. His throat had turned into Velcro, the back sticking to the front uncomfortably.

Impatiently, he waited.

He had expected Obi-Wan to give him a few fingers of water. Instead, Obi-Wan filled the glass to the brim, not considering whether he would have enough left for himself. Under other circumstances, Anakin would have protested.

He really would have.

But the thirst was too intense. Anakin reached for the glass with his clumsy left hand as Obi-Wan knelt before him, his metal fingers clicking against the dented metal. Instantly, Anakin realized the glass was fragile. He could easily crush it in his grip. He focused on the glass, glowering as he kept his grip as light as possible.

The lack of synth nerves and feedback loops turned his left hand into a stranger. Until he destroyed something, he wouldn't know whether he used too much pressure. Somehow, he managed. When Obi-Wan released the cup cautiously, it stayed upright and unharmed in Anakin's left hand.

Greedily, he gulped the water, aware his stomach would cramp but unable to stop drinking. The muddy water soothed his throat and cooled him. A pleased hum passed his lips as he lowered the cup a millimeter before taking another large gulp.

Obi-Wan watched him, his expression and posture neutral, so carefully detached from the situation.

After tipping the glass back to catch the last droplet, Anakin lowered his left arm to his lap, the muscles in the stump trembling with the strain. Already, the insistent pounding in his head lessened. The cool water sat heavy in his stomach, which gurgled and grumbled loudly. Embarrassed, Anakin winced, but Obi-Wan didn't react. He hadn't reacted to Anakin's appearance either. Possibly because Obi-Wan had already seen his face when he cracked the mask. Furthermore, Obi-Wan was too kind to let disgust show on his face.

"I don't have any food, I'm afraid," Obi-Wan said. The words were polite, his tone aloof. Yet, he offered and shared everything he had with a monster. Anakin was such a disappointment compared to Obi-Wan. It had always bothered him, irking him that he invariably fell short. He was grateful now, observing Obi-Wan's blurry silhouette with wonder.

How much did it cost to unceasingly give?

Anakin nodded earnestly, hoping his expression conveyed his gratitude for everything Obi-Wan did for him.

Obi-Wan remained distant, though. This hurt more than Anakin had expected despite knowing that he deserved Obi-Wan's reservation. In fact, Obi-Wan was much kinder than Anakin deserved. Anakin dared to briefly divert his attention from his lungs to his eyes. Yet, he lingered when he noticed how detached Obi-Wan looked from the situation.

He ducked his head, feeling terribly inferior, missing the curls that would have concealed his expression before. He knew his hurt was visible on his face.

Of course, Obi-Wan helped him; he was always kinder and more merciful than Anakin. Yet, this shouldn't be interpreted as permission to stay. Obi-Wan had found him unconscious on his doorstep, so he had treated Anakin -- carrying him to the shadows of his cave and sharing his dwindling water supplies.

Yet, Obi-Wan wouldn't tolerate his presence because he only saw Darth Vader in Anakin. And Anakin no longer had the words to plead his case, his voice refusing to turn human.

He was a monster, so this was only appropriate.

Anakin glanced up while keeping his chin tucked, feeling achingly vulnerable.

Obi-Wan's expression didn't change as he considered Anakin. Suddenly, Anakin was painfully aware of his appearance. Nervously, he twisted his left hand in his cloak, regretting the fidgeting when the folds of his cloak fell open an inch to reveal more scarred, disfigured skin. Over the years, the burns had healed, but the scars that remained were grisly.

Hideous.

Unsightly.

Anakin chewed his bottom lip, one of the few spots miraculously untouched by the fires of Mustafar. Yet, these few spots couldn't compensate for... the rest.

He was a monster, and Obi-Wan knew that better than anyone else.

Anakin felt so inadequate and... unworthy. He inhaled shakily, stupid tears burning in his eyes. No. He didn't deserve to cry after everything he had done. He shouldn't.

"What do you want, Darth?" Obi-Wan asked after a long pause, his voice empty. "Is it another fight?"

"No," Anakin protested. "I don't want to fight."

His yowls were whiny, so pathetic and reedy. Obi-Wan reared back like Anakin had uttered profanities instead. Then, he narrowed his eyes. The next thing Anakin knew, Obi-Wan lowered his shields. Obi-Wan's Force signature reached for his tiny one, grabbing it in invisible hands.

Anakin's breathing hitched.

He had no defenses anymore. His Force signature was tiny, fitting in Obi-Wan's presence cozily, surrounded on all sounds and invaded effortlessly. Anakin's jaw went slack around a trembling sigh as Obi-Wan filled and surrounded him.

Obi-Wan kneaded his Force signature, letting his brilliant warmth soak into Anakin's neutrality, saturating it and replenishing Anakin's depleted energy reserves. A soft, contented sigh escaped Anakin. He had missed the connection to another. Or rather, he had never experienced it to this degree, and it was intoxicating. Addictive.

It felt too good.

He could breathe so easily, his eyes working perfectly when Obi-Wan poured warmth into Anakin's tiny Force signature until it overflowed. The pain lessened, too, which was such a heady relief.

Obi-Wan's Force signature spread his, testing its limits quickly. Anakin hadn't realized how stiff and unyielding his signature was until Obi-Wan helped him stretch. It was better than releasing knots in locked muscles, a relieved pleasure bleeding in his brain, which was already high on the proximity and touch between their signatures. Putting up flimsy, useless defenses didn't even occur to him as he welcomed Obi-Wan to the core of his being, his mind melting in Obi-Wan's hold like spun sugar. Pleasure prickled on his skin and between his legs, his blood fizzling with it.

His soul was laid bare, ready for Obi-Wan to pick apart, each sensitive spot prodded in Obi-Wan's investigation.

An odd grunt rose from his lungs, a sound that contained every nuance of how good this connection was. He melted in the Force, draped in Obi-Wan's hold, his soul as pliable as his body turned pliant, sagging onto the floor in a heap of metal and scarred flesh. Short pants burst from his lips, sparks fizzling across his vision due to the lack of oxygen in his overwhelmed brain.

Anakin couldn't remember when he had last experienced pleasure. Although Obi-Wan was delightfully thorough, he was gentle too, using invisible thumbs to press and stroke gently, and Anakin felt like he would burst.

His eyes slipped shut, letting his being collapse into Obi-Wan's hold.

"Dauntless," Obi-Wan said, and Anakin nodded.

"Yes, Master," he sighed. The barks sounded filthy, his sigh turning into a moan. Even his animal vocal cords couldn't hide the pleasure in the noise, taking them both aback. He sounded and felt as if Obi-Wan's heavy petting of his soul had made him orgasm. Flustered, he opened his eyes to stare at his crotch, confirming nothing physical had happened with heady relief.

He couldn't remember the last time he took himself in his hand to chase release. Metal hands would only have reminded him of all he had lost. Moreover, he hadn't experienced the need to when everything was misery and agony. Thus, he had forgotten how floaty he felt afterward, loose-limbed and content. His being would go quiet, high on the proximity and shared pleasure.

However, this wasn't meant to be pleasurable. Obi-Wan had only investigated his Force signature to confirm he used to be a sand cat. Nevertheless, Anakin had reacted strongly, instantly overwhelmed after a decade of isolation.

It wasn't surprising that Obi-Wan reared back physically and abandoned him in the Force. Immediately, Anakin's lungs seized and vision dimmed. Anakin tried to compensate to no avail. The Force spasmed in Anakin's control, his own Force signature refusing to listen to him while still relaxed after Obi-Wan had combed through it. Thus, he couldn't check Obi-Wan's expression. Hopefully, it had softened in understanding. Obi-Wan had liked Dauntless.

Since Anakin was Dauntless, Obi-Wan would like him, too. Surely, he was welcome now.

"Meow," he said, producing a nonsensical sound to show Obi-Wan that he was a sand cat.

Yet, Obi-Wan didn't respond. Anakin grappled with the Force, pulling it to his eyes.

His heart froze in his chest when he met Obi-Wan's gaze. Obi-Wan had gone pale, looking none too pleased.

"Stay here," he ordered icily.

Anakin nodded weakly.

"Don't wait up for me," Obi-Wan added, already heading to the eopie. Confused, Anakin nodded again, willing to promise whatever it would take to win Obi-Wan's friendship back.

Obi-Wan didn't clarify where he would go. However, Anakin had lived with Obi-Wan. Therefore, he recognized the direction Obi-Wan took the eopie in. They would visit the unmarked grave where two lightsabers rested. Ostensibly to relocate them since a sand cat knew where they were buried.

Did Obi-Wan believe Anakin would steal his lightsaber?

The lack of trust hurt fiercely. His left hand balled into a fist as he sat in the cave alone. Without Obi-Wan, it was only a cave. Thickly, he swallowed, the taste of mud cloying in his mouth.

Obi-Wan's hospitality had only wounded Anakin more severely.

Determined to prove he could be trusted, Anakin didn't dare touch anything. Clumsily, he huddled the cloak closer around his body with his hand. Anxiously, he fiddled with the empty sleeve as he waited. It was already dark outside, but Obi-Wan could defend himself against the dangers plaguing the desert at night.

When Obi-Wan returned hours later, Anakin remained silent. He watched Obi-Wan stumble into the cave from his spot on the hard floor. Already, Anakin's body was sore, complaining against the rough treatment. Longingly, he watched Obi-Wan settle under the threadbare blankets, recalling how soundly he had slept curled against Obi-Wan's side or draped over his chest. Shivers ran down his spine as the cold seeped into the marrow of his bones and stiff muscles.

In the morning, they would cramp, Anakin knew. Yet, he didn't shift, watching Obi-Wan's blurry silhouette in the waxing moonlight.

He dreamed at night.

Have you come to DESTROY me, Obi-Wan?

I will do what I MUST.

Then, you will DIE.

His mind felt exhausted as he woke up. His Force signature was pulled too thin after working on helping his lungs for long hours. If this hadn't been his pattern for over a decade, his Force signature would have given out.

Yet, he still breathed.

Then, he shifted, and his wheezing exhale hitched as pain spread through his body. Every stiff muscle stung, ached, and cramped. A miserable bark fell from his lips. He couldn't bear to move.

"Darth."

Anakin's head jerked up to make his unfocused eyes settle on Obi-Wan. He hadn't heard Obi-Wan approach him. The sharp motion made him howl in agony.

"Easy now," Obi-Wan continued. While Obi-Wan's 'Darth' had been cold, he sounded compassionate now, sympathy lacing his voice. "I didn't mean to startle you. Take your time. I'll leave the water here. Don't knock it over."

Apparently, Anakin had overslept since Obi-Wan had already wrangled the vaporator under control.

"Thank you," he said, but it sounded closer to a moody mrow.

"It's early, I know," Obi-Wan said, talking to him like he was a sand cat.

Hope burned in Anakin's eyes. He knew this couldn't last because Obi-Wan would retreat once he realized his kindness and empathy were aimed at Darth Vader. Yet, Anakin basked in the gentle tone and idle chatting.

"Please stay here while I go to my job."

"I want to help," Anakin said. That was why he was here. To take some of his hermit's heavy burden. Of course, Obi-Wan didn't understand him.

"I will take food with me this evening. Can you hold out that long?"

Anakin nodded, giving up on speaking.

"Good."

Anakin wished he could afford to sharpen his sight with the Force. There was a hint of fondness in Obi-Wan's voice. He knew he was mistaken, but he longed to check anyway. However, while pain coursed through his body, laying waste to him, he couldn't afford to let his breathing slip.

"I must leave now. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

Was that a joke? Anakin wasn't sure. Before he could commit to the foolish decision to redirect the Force to his eyes, Obi-Wan walked away, leaving him behind. Defeated, Anakin watched Obi-Wan's silhouette disappear, the light outside the cave searing his sensitive eyes. Quickly, he closed them.

He wished to help Obi-Wan but knew he was only an unwelcome burden.

That would change, he decided. He would make sure to win Obi-Wan's trust and become the companion the sand cat had been. Unobtrusively, he would love Obi-Wan, spending the rest of his life by Obi-Wan's side -- unless Obi-Wan kicked him out.

Yet, he didn't think that would happen anymore.

Obi-Wan couldn't know why Anakin had shown up on his doorstep. Nonetheless, he let Anakin stay. Gratitude was a powerful emotion, Anakin discovered. It sat lodged in his dry throat and made his eyes burn with tears he didn't have and shouldn't shed.

Reminded of his thirst, Anakin shifted to look for the cup with water. Yet, the blinding pain of moving froze him in his spot, his breathing turning into ragged pants.

His eyes flitted through the cave wildly as he struggled with the pain. Everything hurt indiscriminately. Sleeping fitfully on the cold floor with only a cloak, shivering through the night, hadn't helped his damaged body. Gritting his teeth, he moved his left hand over the floor, hoping his fingers could bump into the cup.

As he searched for the cup, his body tensed up in pain, which was worsened by each strained muscle. Metal clinging echoed through the cave when he found the cup. Sighing in relief, Anakin slumped again. The next step was drinking the water Obi-Wan had given him. Anakin doubted he could sit upright, which meant he would have to drink lying down.

The struggle ahead of him exhausted him. Already worn down by the nightmares, poor sleep, and agony, he couldn't muster the resolve to continue. Numbly, he stared at nothing. 

Over agonizing hours, Anakin sipped from the cup, spilling too much of Obi-Wan's precious water down his chin. The rocky floor absorbed the lost water greedily. Each stiff, jerky motion sent pins and needles through his nerves, so Anakin tried to keep the movements limited.

Although he couldn't move, remaining unmoving on the floor made his body cramp unbearably. He had placed too much strain on his body during his travels. Payback was long overdue, and as his body realized Anakin wouldn't stretch his muscles through the pain, stiffness turned into stone. Each muscle became harder than durasteel as he twitched on the floor occasionally.

He was cold despite the hot breeze reaching deep inside the cave. But he couldn't even imagine wiggling closer to the entrance. This would involve dragging himself to the entrance over his stomach with his left arm. His arm was on fire. The heavy prosthesis chafed the connection point, frying his nerves, bruising sensitive flesh, and rubbing scarred skin raw. Already, lifting the cup to his mouth made tears burn in his eyes, sniffling as he took each sip that soothed his parched throat.

It took hours, but eventually, the water was gone. Finally, Anakin could rest if he could ignore the pain and torturous thirst that persisted. He was tired, his body adjusting to the lack of support his suit used to give him. While his Force signature failed to fill the gaps sufficiently, everything took too much effort.

Anakin hadn't appreciated the absence of agonizing pain enough as a sand cat. He hadn't known better, though. He had believed mere minutes had passed since Mustafar, after all.

He wished he was back in the sand cat's stocky, furry body. Then, Obi-Wan would still have carried him around. He wished he could hide in Obi-Wan's tunic, listening to Obi-Wan's heartbeat and snoozing in his warm, safe perch.

Instead, he waited endlessly on the cold floor, hoping for a smidgen of kindness once Obi-Wan returned. Anakin wasn't here by Obi-Wan's choice. And Obi-Wan still didn't understand that Anakin was no longer Darth Vader -- though perhaps the distinction didn't matter to Obi-Wan. Oh, Anakin knew he deserved neither empathy nor mercy. Yet, he was desperate enough to accept pity and duty. Obi-Wan wouldn't chase him away despite his visible lack of enthusiasm over Anakin's presence.

He missed being Obi-Wan's companion. Sullenly, he glared at the blurry exit of the cave.

The suns were setting already, and the sliver of sky Anakin could see from the floor turned orange. Concern gnawed on his guts. While Anakin was his sand cat companion, Obi-Wan had always returned home before dusk. Did Obi-Wan dread returning when Anakin waited for him?

Would Obi-Wan return?

As Anakin considered this question, his apprehension slanted into panic. Before he could plunge into hysteria, he heard hooves clopping on the baked sandstone. Instantly, his mind quieted. Silently, he watched the entrance. His frosted glass vision hid the details, but he knew Obi-Wan approached the cave. After long minutes, a shadow passed by the entrance.

"Mrow?" It was a nonsensical sound because Anakin didn't know how to express his relief, panic, and trepidation in words. Not that an eloquent speech would have mattered when neither his voice nor his appearance or soul were human.

"Hello there," Obi-Wan said, sounding absentminded.

Anakin itched to sharpen his vision. After checking his lungs, he dared to divert the Force temporarily. First, he noticed the packages in Obi-Wan's arms. Folded in flimsi, Anakin spotted tubers, which revealed Obi-Wan had done groceries.

He had never done groceries while Anakin was a sand cat. Why now? Obi-Wan couldn't have done this purely for Anakin. After all, he was an unwelcome guest. Possibly the source of Obi-Wan's nightmares and his greatest regret.

Yet, there was no other reason for Obi-Wan to divert from a schedule both knew so well. How many credits did Obi-Wan spend just for Anakin?

Disbelief, awe, and an indecipherable lightness filled him. His lungs stung, but Anakin refused to give up on his vision. Obi-Wan still hadn't looked at him, instead striding to the kitchen to unpack the packages. Anakin saw bantha jerky, which was put in a tall, dented container, ration packs, pure water to prepare the ration packs, the tubers, and the familiar meat from the large animal out in the desert.

This was a feast, and Anakin's heart ached with the knowledge Obi-Wan had done this for Anakin.

He loved Obi-Wan.

Anakin struggled to sit upright, flailing when blinding pain shot through his body. Immediately, he ceased his attempt. His vision flickered as the Force slipped from his grip as he struggled with the blinding agony.

Swallowing rising bile and his misery, he panted. The Force had spasmed in his grip, releasing his vision. Dark spots swam in the frosted glass as Anakin struggled to make his lungs work.

"You didn't move," Obi-Wan said. Anakin loathed that he didn't have enough strength to focus on Obi-Wan's expression. He needed to know whether Obi-Wan was reluctant to return to the cave. Now, he could only listen to Obi-Wan's voice, which was carefully measured. "No, you can't move," Obi-Wan amended.

Obi-Wan's voice grew closer.

"Meow," Anakin said, his pain bleeding into his raspy voice.

"May I?" Obi-Wan asked from his side.

"Of course," Anakin said. He produced a slurred bark. So, he nodded halfheartedly, his useless eyes focusing on the Obi-Wan-shaped blob knelt by his side. He yearned to see Obi-Wan's expressions and the freckles he had only noticed as a sand cat. Remembering the freckles made his heart clench before fluttering wildly as he inevitably recalled the brothel, too.

He couldn't see those details anymore, but he clung to the memory of every feature he had admired as a sand cat -- before he knew his hermit was Obi-Wan.

A quick push tipped Anakin from his side to his stomach. Without his right hand, Anakin couldn't catch himself, all air leaving his lungs in a loud wheeze.

"Ah, my apologies," Obi-Wan apologized. Contrition colored his voice, mixing with sympathy. He was sincerely sorry for accidentally hurting Anakin. "I only planned to help you turn. I hadn't noticed you missed--" Obi-Wan's voice trailed off as if he couldn't admit that he hadn't noticed Anakin's right arm was gone.

Anakin hadn't decided yet whether he should lean into Obi-Wan's sympathy and complain in yowls and barks when Obi-Wan's hands wrapped around his shoulders. With only the fabric of his cloak separating Obi-Wan's hands from Anakin's scarred back and shoulders, the warmth soaked into Anakin's stiff muscles. Obi-Wan's hold was sure, the touch simultaneously gentle and undeniable -- a source of support that Anakin yearned to collapse into.

Anakin's mouth went slack instead, a strangled sound trapped in his sound. It sounded like a chirp, whistled in his airway, too soft for Obi-Wan to overhear.

The contact area tingled and tickled, any touch so unfamiliar that the damaged nerves couldn't translate the sensation. Then, Obi-Wan applied pressure, his thumb digging into the muscles to release the knots.

He hadn't expected Obi-Wan to touch him. Thus, Anakin couldn't stifle a surprised sound as he melted against the cold floor, his thoughts racing. Didn't Obi-Wan mind touching a monster so thoroughly? Anakin's appearance and the atrocities he had committed were too ugly. They should turn Obi-Wan away. Yet, Obi-Wan didn't hesitate, his hands roaming over Anakin's back, shoulders, and upper arms.

Even though Vader's thick, ratty cloak would prevent skin contact, Anakin was... too horrible to touch. He was an ugly monster. While everyone in the galaxy saw the truth, Obi-Wan didn't appear disgusted by Anakin. Slowly and thoroughly, he worked at the knots in the stiff muscles. Anakin couldn't help melting against the floor, going lax as tension released from cramped muscles and taut tendons. He basked in the attention, care, and the knowledge that Obi-Wan wanted to help him feel better. Obi-Wan didn't like seeing him in pain, which made tears burn in Anakin's eyes. It was so... flattering or kind, and Anakin knew he didn't deserve kindness. Nevertheless, he starved for affection, and Obi-Wan gave it freely.

Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised by Obi-Wan's mercy. This was why he loved Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was everything right in this galaxy.

Calloused thumbs dug into a painful knot under his shoulder blades. An agonized noise escaped Anakin as his eyes rolled back. A sigh passed over his lips as he enjoyed Obi-Wan's roaming hands. They pulled a reedy whimper from Anakin's throat that filled the silence between them. Embarrassed by his body communicating how greatly he enjoyed Obi-Wan's touch, he squeezed his eyes shut. Yet, Obi-Wan didn't reject him; he didn't read back or acknowledge the whimper. Instead, he worked quietly and thoroughly.

Too soon, Obi-Wan leaned back, breaking the contact. Anakin was too relaxed and content to lift his head, basking in the absence of pain. 

"You should try to move, Anakin," Obi-Wan told him softly. When had someone addressed him with such compassion and gentleness last? Helplessly, Anakin blinked at Obi-Wan's blurry silhouette. Tears burned in his sore eyes, irritating the damaged cornea. A heavy lump was lodged in his throat, complicating his already strenuous breathing. Still, he produced a nonsensical meow.

"You react to your..." Obi-Wan's voice trailed off, his observation hanging in the air heavily. Anakin or Vader. Who did Obi-Wan see when he looked at the ruins of a human being -- a monster -- on his floor? Obi-Wan sighed heavily, the exhale strangely definitive. "Unless you move, the stiffness will worsen. Please move."

Then, Obi-Wan lifted to his feet in a smooth, graceful motion. He moved like a dancer, self-assured and oozing an innate, unshakable confidence deeply rooted in tranquility. Once, Anakin had moved with similar ease. Now, he could only watch Obi-Wan retreat into the kitchen, wishing he was still a sand cat who could follow after Obi-Wan.

His left hand twitched. Relaxed muscles tensed, and Anakin mourned the loss of touch as the prickling sensation returned to his left shoulder blade. The connection point to the prosthesis throbbed hotly, burning like his dry eyes.

Chapter Text

Despite Obi-Wan's kind advice echoing in his ears, Anakin didn't move. Instead, his useless eyes followed Obi-Wan's silhouette as he moved around the kitchen nook. He felt like a sand cat catching sight of a laser dot, endlessly chasing something intangible.

His body was lax with the ghost of Obi-Wan's touch, basking in the afterglow of almost skin contact. Although terrible burns dotted his body, he had enough unharmed skin left to enjoy the touches through damaged nerves. 

Did Obi-Wan expect Anakin to heed his advice?

Anakin strained his ears, hoping to tell Obi-Wan's mood by the clattering of pans and utensils. Time passed in silence while Obi-Wan cooked. In the meantime, the lump of sulking former Sith lord on the floor went ignored. Anakin waited patiently, content to shiver on the floor, cold but at ease. While Anakin was a sand cat, Obi-Wan had never spent so much time in the kitchen. Flattered and pleased by the knowledge Obi-Wan cooked for him, he pressed his lips into a tight line to stop smiling. It was a losing battle, and every so often, Anakin had to duck his chin to hide his face. Eventually, the smell of real food rose from the kitchen nook.

Anakin opened his mouth as if he could taste the food by inhaling deeply. Saliva pooled in his mouth while his stomach grumbled loudly. His stomach turned into a ravenous pit. Almost tasting the delicious food on a sharp, greedy inhale, the hunger turned sharper than a vibroblade. The prospect of food motivated him to test the limits of his body. 

Shakily, he lifted his left hand from the ground, the muscles trembling under the strain. He couldn't manage more than a second before the metal turned too heavy. The metal palm hit the floor loudly, a gasp escaping Anakin. Although it had taken everything, he had moved. Encouraged by the minimal progress and smell of food, he gritted his teeth before using his left hand as leverage to push his upper body from the floor. His right stump swung by his side, his mind ordering it to assist him.

The connection point in his left arm was too sore. While Obi-Wan's massage had unwound the tension from his body, the connection points were still sensitive and swollen. His thighs ached as he untangled his heavy legs. Yet, he managed. Ragged pants tore through his throat as he shifted to sit on the floor. His legs sat under awkward angles, putting additional uncomfortable strain on the sensitive joints. Tugging on his metal ankles with his left hand, he tried to arrange them in a cross-legged position.

The knee joints couldn't bend far enough, making him tip back. His back hit a wall, keeping him somewhat upright. Deeming this good enough, Anakin's gaze flicked to Obi-Wan. He hoped that Obi-Wan would acknowledge him after Anakin had listened to his advice.

He had done well, hadn't he?

Yet, Obi-Wan remained in the kitchen, and Anakin couldn't tell whether Obi-Wan spared him the occasional glance or ignored his presence entirely. He hoped for the former.

The smell of food grew heavier, and Anakin was reminded of the stews Obi-Wan had prepared for them occasionally. He used to complain they were bland. Now his mouth watered and stomach cramped. Somewhere, he found the strength to tip forward, his useless eyes fixed on the Obi-Wan-shaped blob in the kitchen.

As Obi-Wan's silhouette moved in his direction, he perked up further, his chin tipped back. Yet, Obi-Wan didn't say anything about what Anakin had achieved while he cooked.

What had Anakin expected?

Or perhaps this was the wrong question to ask. What had Anakin hoped for?

Praise?

Humiliated by the realization he had waited for Obi-Wan to praise him for sitting, he looked away. This was barely effective when he watched the world through thick, frosted glass, and Obi-Wan didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Here's dinner," Obi-Wan said. Anakin heard Obi-Wan place a metal plate on the floor. Although Obi-Wan didn't waste any words on Anakin, he was kind. Then, Obi-Wan walked away, likely to collect his own dinner. There would be no small talk, Anakin realized.

Obi-Wan didn't want him here, but he wouldn't shun Anakin either. His presence was tolerated gracefully, which was already more than Anakin deserved. He inclined his head, producing a yip that he hoped conveyed his gratitude.

Then, he let his gaze roam over the floor, trying to find his food.

Although it smelled deliciously, his nose couldn't help him locate the food. Unable to discern the plate, he patted the floor with his left hand. He searched the ground until he heard metal fingers knock into metal. Cautiously, he turned his hand, hoping he wouldn't accidentally knock his meal over. The lack of synth nerves meant he couldn't feel whether he had gripped the edge of the plate.

Straining his eyes, he could vaguely see the plate once he knew where it sat on the floor. Next, he hunted for utensils, wasting long seconds before he found a spoon.

A soft, victorious sound escaped him as he reached for the spoon with his left hand. Metal crunched in his left hand, and his sound tapered off in a questioning note. He lifted the utensil closer to his face, trying to determine what had happened. Cursing the lack of synth nerves in his hand, he turned his left hand, realizing how limited the range of motion in the wrist joint was anew.

"You bent the spoon," Obi-Wan said.

Oh.

So, that was what that crunching sound was.

Anakin's shoulder slumped. He had destroyed a spoon. Perhaps Obi-Wan's only one. Obi-Wan cared so well for his few possessions, and mere hours after gaining tacit permission to stay, Anakin had already ruined something. Obi-Wan wouldn't rescind his somewhat permission -- or at least begrudging tolerance of Anakin's presence -- but Anakin wanted Obi-Wan to like him. He was supposed to support Obi-Wan, not cause more issues.

"That's no reason for tears," Obi-Wan said. An odd note crept into his voice, turning his reprimand cautious and taken aback.

"I'm not crying," Anakin protested, but his barks and mewls sounded watery and sad. His shoulders rose to his ears, his chin tucked defensively, and his bottom lip wobbled. He couldn't cry; Anakin didn't deserve to, so Obi-Wan had to be wrong. He squinted to try and assess the damage, but it was useless. His eyes strained so far they stung unbearably, yet Anakin couldn't see more than muted, hazy shadows. His Force signature was too small to divert to his eyes when his lungs constricted around unshed tears.

"You can't see," Obi-Wan said. It sounded like an epiphany, which was odd. Anakin blinked, tilting his head as he considered his answer. How convenient that he couldn't speak when he drew a blank. Obi-Wan had made an undeniably true statement.

Tatooine orbited two suns.

Anakin missed his right arm.

Obi-Wan's eopie was called Akkani.

The fire and toxic fumes of Mustafar had ruined Anakin's eyes. Then, those flames had licked up his skin and burned his hair, turning his outward appearance into a mirror of the monster that hid behind a handsome veneer. 

They were all irrefutable truths.

Clumsily, he adjusted his grip on the crushed spoon, sticking it in the stew Obi-Wan had made. He swallowed thickly as he lifted the spoon to his mouth, his anticipation threatening to boil over. So close, the stew smelt even better, warm fumes wafting up to his working nose. His stomach grumbled, demanding to be fed, and Anakin complied. The first bite was heavenly. A surprised yip escaped him as the different tastes almost exploded on his tongue.

Immediately, he stuck the spoon back in the stew to stuff his mouth. When had he last eaten such a feast?

Anakin couldn't remember.

Each big bite melted on his tongue, tasting like home and comfort. His non-dominant hand was clumsy, and he struggled to get food he couldn't see on his spoon without a second hand to assist. Nevertheless, he shoveled the food into his mouth. The stew was warm, sitting pleasantly in his stomach. His empty stomach grumbled as it welcomed the food, and Anakin realized he had to slow down to avoid throwing up. Thus, he began savoring the food, his useless eyes slipping shut as he tasted the tubers and meat in the stew. Light spices prickled his tongue and nose, and Anakin had forgotten how good it felt to taste. A soft moan escaped him. His spice tolerance had vanished since he hadn't eaten real food for so long. Yet, Obi-Wan had used the perfect amount and combination. As a Padawan, he would have complained about the bland taste. Today, he worried he would cry in relief, gratitude, and love.

It was unfair that Obi-Wan cared so well for him when Anakin was already smitten. He had no resistance to Obi-Wan's kindness, and now he hungered for more while basking in everything he received like a contented sand cat receiving pets.

Delicious and warm real food was a treat, which Anakin had forgotten existed. Eating in peace and enjoying the feast Obi-Wan had made for him was a comfort that warmed his soul and belly. The tubers were perfectly soft, and Anakin had never liked them, but they would be his favorite food. Clumsily, he chased his food across his plate, his non-dominant hand and bent spoon turning this one-handed endeavor into a struggle. Yet, complaining didn't even occur to him.

Another bite melted on his tongue, warm, spicy, and delicious. A sniffle interrupted his chewing. Embarrassed, Anakin scrunched his nose. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop sniffling as he enjoyed a comfort he had never expected to receive again. Quickly, he chewed, ignoring the noises he produced and hoping Obi-Wan would do the same.

Although he couldn't see Obi-Wan, he knew that Obi-Wan's gaze rested upon him. He couldn't see Obi-Wan's expression, and Obi-Wan remained quiet as Anakin's breathing hitched on another silent sob. Thus, he couldn't use Obi-Wan's voice to determine his mood either.

He should have been embarrassed by his reaction to food, but Anakin couldn't stop it. His emotions overwhelmed him, tangling in his chest where they sat heavily. Too soon, he couldn't find any more food on his plate. Resisting the urge to place the bent spoon on the floor to pick up the plate and lick it clean, Anakin leaned back against the wall.

He felt awfully vulnerable, all his defenses wrenched wide open by a meal Obi-Wan had prepared for him. Still, Obi-Wan didn't acknowledge him, even when he picked up Anakin's plate from the floor.

"Thank you," Anakin muttered, the mewled expression of gratitude awfully inadequate in the face of Obi-Wan's hospitality.

Obi-Wan froze, still crouched before Anakin. The scrutiny made Anakin nervous, butterflies fluttering in his pleasantly warm and filled stomach. There was too little space left for his stomach to churn as their wings beat frantically.

"You're welcome," Obi-Wan said after a long pause, correctly interpreting Anakin's mewls. Then, he lifted to his feet and left Anakin by the wall.

Oh.

Obi-Wan left again. They wouldn't talk? Wouldn't Obi-Wan stay by his side a little longer?

Forlornly, Anakin watched Obi-Wan return to the kitchen nook. He licked his lips, tasting the stew on them. An odd feeling pervaded him, a resigned numbness. He had lost what he used to have, but he could only blame his own actions. Had he expected Obi-Wan to be happy to house a monster?

Obi-Wan ignored him as he cleaned their dishes before leaving the cave for his perimeter check. When he returned, the binary suns had already set, and Obi-Wan lay on the rock, which functioned as his bed. Anakin couldn't speak, but Obi-Wan wouldn't have addressed him anyway.

As Obi-Wan pretended to sleep, Anakin remained seated. He wouldn't make the same mistake. If he slept upright, he would avoid stiff muscles.

Anakin didn't sleep despite the exhaustion. Stewing in self-pity, loneliness, and memories, he had waited hours. He didn't think Obi-Wan fared any better. Neither slept, but they couldn't offer each other comfort anymore.

Anakin wished he was a sand cat again.

The fingers of his left hand curled into a fist, the sand slipping through the metal fingers. He could no longer feel the grains.

Early in the morning, Obi-Wan gave up on pretending to sleep. Anakin didn't move as Obi-Wan moved through his cave. Anakin's gaze followed Obi-Wan's hazy silhouette. Nothing had changed since Anakin was a sand cat. First, Obi-Wan's morning routine led him to the vaporator by the entrance, where he crouched. Anakin listened to Obi-Wan wrangling with the vaporator. The creaking of levers continued for long minutes before the vaporator spluttered, producing too little water in jerky spurts that pierced the haze of Anakin's self-pity.

He wasn't without weapons.

Admittedly, he was no longer Obi-Wan's cute sand cat companion. However, he could repay Obi-Wan by fixing his vaporator. After filling two cups and a bucket, Obi-Wan distributed the drinks. Unlike the previous night, he didn't leave the cup on the ground. Instead, he crouched before Anakin, who blinked owlishly at Obi-Wan. Or rather, the blurry, paler shadow that talked with Obi-Wan's voice.

"Here's your water," Obi-Wan said, his voice still rough with sleep.

Wonder filled Anakin like na overflowing cup. He barely resisted the urge to flop forward against Obi-Wan's chest to hide his face. He could hardly believe it because he should never be so lucky. Obi-Wan helped him. Anakin nodded eagerly. Then, he lifted his left hand. Agony shot through his arm, the connection point searing with pain. His muscles were stiff after all, cramping up immediately, perhaps encouraged by the misfiring nerves in his stump.

A pitiful, long-drawn yowl escaped him, pain turning his voice husky. To stop the pain, he dropped his left hand to his lap again, where the metal hit his thighs harshly. Yet, these additional bruises barely registered when he still sniffled and panted through the pain.

"You're injured." Obi-Wan's voice was urgent -- as if Anakin's pain hurt Obi-Wan too.

Anakin shook his head. "Meow," he denied.

"You're in pain," Obi-Wan amended.

"Mrow," Anakin muttered. Maybe. He had hurt others so intensely that he didn't deserve to complain about his pain. Why should he be pitied for suffering the consequences of his own actions?

"You are," Obi-Wan asserted. "It's the muscles... A cold draft? The nights are cold. I didn't think..."

Did Obi-Wan blame himself for Anakin's pain? Anakin blinked slowly at Obi-Wan's silhouette.

"Mrow, meow," he said. "Meow. Meow." His mewls wouldn't make sense to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wouldn't understand him. He wouldn't know Anakin told him that everything was Anakin's fault entirely. Needing to be heard, Anakin tried to lift his hand. He managed a centimeter before the durasteel flopped back in his lap, his stomach churning under the onslaught of pain.

"Don't hurt yourself. I'll fix this. Let me fix this. I can help you, Anakin."

"Mew." Okay. A subdued little mewl that Anakin accompanied by an exhausted nod. He had wanted to fix the vaporator while Obi-Wan was at his job, but imagining moving through the cave made him crave sleep. He was so tired after keeping vigil for haunting memories all night. He couldn't do it, which made the disappointment, despair, and self-loathing cannibalize his determination. His foundations eroded, collapsing under the weight of his continued failures.

I'm not your failure.

But he was, and he was just so intensely tired.

The first touch made him gasp, his breath hitching high in his throat. Obi-Wan's hands were warm against his left arm, the skin contact tingling. Burn scars laid in thick ropes over his arms, so much of his skin damaged beyond what modern medicine could fix. Yet, there were patches of undamaged skin, and those nerves sang. Anakin sighed, letting his head tip back against the cave wall, enjoying Obi-Wan's touch. It was so gentle, and Anakin needed tenderness. His soul was bruised too much, hurting with memories and Obi-Wan's rejection -- never mind that Anakin deserved both.

Then, Obi-Wan's mind wrapped around his. Compared to Anakin's tiny Force signature, Obi-Wan was so brilliant. Obi-Wan's Force signature could hold his entirely, shielding it from the outside world. While Anakin's body was ravaged, his sand cat Force signature remained unharmed, twisting lithely around Obi-Wan's mind, filling every crevice. The tail of his Force signature stood upright as he twirled around Obi-Wan until he found the perfect spot to settle. He curled up while purring contentedly.

On second thought... That was Anakin, who actually purred, his chest rumbling with the vibrations.

"That's better," Obi-Wan said in a low voice, quiet but smug. "That's better, isn't it? Let me help you."

Obi-Wan addressed Anakin like he was a spooked animal. Too relaxed and content to do anything but purr and sag further against the wall, Anakin cracked an eye open. Obi-Wan's Force signature sustained him, helping him breathe and see.

His vision was sharp, allowing him to study Obi-Wan's face. Why did Obi-Wan look so stricken? What was he so sad about? Anakin didn't dare move his left arm, partly to prevent more agony and partly because he feared he would dislodge Obi-Wan's hands. Obi-Wan held his arm gently, sending rippling calming waves through the muscles. The pain disappeared as Obi-Wan targeted the cramped muscles and the inflammation in his stump. Each wound was carefully investigated before Obi-Wan cradled it in his cooling Force signature.

It was Force healing wasted on a monster, but Obi-Wan had always been merciful. Anakin yipped softly. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you."

Perhaps Obi-Wan had realized that Anakin studied him because his expression turned inscrutable. Still, Anakin yearned for the unnameable, the indefinable, and the intangible. Gratitude swirled in his heart and lungs.

"Thank you," he repeated, whispering his gratitude in hoarse yips. And then, because Obi-Wan couldn't translate his yips, barks, and meows anyway, Anakin whispered. "I love you."

Anakin breathed slowly and deeply. While Obi-Wan helped him, the process was easy. The absence of pain and stress was a relief so heady it became a source of pleasure, Anakin's body unwinding in mere instants. He watched Obi-Wan through heavy-lidded eyes, wishing Obi-Wan would never pull away.

He hadn't finished the thought before Obi-Wan leaned back on his haunches. Carefully, he lowered Anakin's arm, settling the durasteel hand in Anakin's lap. Then, the Force connection broke, and Anakin couldn't stop a plaintive whine.

"Here's your water," Obi-Wan said, lifting the glass again. Sullenly, Anakin lifted his hand, now only struggling with the weight of the durasteel. His fingers clacked against the metal, brushing over Obi-Wan's. The lack of synth nerves meant he could only watch the brief contact through his dimming vision.

The frosted glass quality returned a few seconds later, stealing Anakin's vision. He had already confirmed that he still adored Obi-Wan's freckles, though.

"I have some leftovers from last night's dinner, too," Obi-Wan said. "I'll put them by your left knee. Will you find them there?"

Anakin nodded. "Mrow," he said.

"Excellent," Obi-Wan said. "I must leave, Anakin, but I will return before dusk."

"Okay," Anakin said, producing another bark.

"Good," Obi-Wan muttered, talking to himself. Anakin watched Obi-Wan's silhouette rise to his feet over the rim of his metal cup. Obi-Wan disappeared into the kitchen nook, returning with what Anakin supposed were leftovers.

Did Obi-Wan eat?

He mewled loudly, placing his cup on the floor to point to the plate and Obi-Wan, hoping Obi-Wan would pay him attention.

Obi-Wan remained silent, and Anakin's heart accelerated. The idea that Obi-Wan would ignore him stressed him out. He couldn't, or Anakin would become untethered, and he needed... Oh, he needed so, so, so much so--

"Fine," Obi-Wan relented. "I will pack some, but I must warn you: that expression won't work every time, Anakin."

Anakin tilted his head, wondering what Obi-Wan was referring to. Without offering further clarification, Obi-Wan returned to the kitchen. Then, he realized Obi-Wan had listened to him. Awed, he watched Obi-Wan shift around in the kitchen, delighted to be treated like Dauntless.

He could make Obi-Wan take care of himself. He only needed to figure out what had changed Obi-Wan's mind. Then, he could use it over and over.

Chapter Text

Sweat rolled down his scarred forehead, running into his sore eyes. Frustrated, Anakin wiped his forehead again. Despite the cloak huddled around his body and hood pulled far over his head, he melted into the noon suns.

Fixing the vaporator should be easy. However, Anakin had to divide his attention between his eyes and lungs, switching the Force constantly. His mind felt overtaxed, but he was determined to fix the vaporator. He shifted his legs with effort, the connection points throbbing. Sitting in the same, hunched position for hours was terrible for his stiff muscles. They cramped occasionally, distracting Anakin from his task for precious minutes he couldn't waste.

He was close, though. Focusing the Force on his eyes, squinting to see anything, Anakin rerouted the wires. His left hand wasn't designed for such delicate tasks. Defying his expectations, Anakin was doing reasonably well, though. Hours into remodeling the vaporator, he hadn't broken anything yet. More sweat beaded on his forehead, his focus so absolute that the remainder of the galaxy fell away. There was only Anakin and the stubborn vaporator.

Slowly, he reminded himself, repeating an endless mantra. If he was patient, he would be rewarded for it. Again, he switched the Force to his lungs, his vision blurring. One deep inhale, and he narrowed his eyes. The vaporator jumped back into focus, though the outlines remained hazy. His eyes couldn't see the small details that counted most.

Despite the odds stacked overwhelmingly against him, Anakin clicked the collection container back into its position as afternoon shifted into early evening. The vaporator hummed softly, sounding like perfection. Squinting at the water dripping into the collection container, Anakin judged he could only trust the water was cleaner than before. He had cleaned all the filters while he fixed the worn components, plundering his left leg for the parts that required replacing.

The leg was already busted anyway, and Anakin wouldn't go anywhere. He was already home. Carefully, he placed his left hand against the vaporator's housing, insanely proud of his accomplishment.

Would Obi-Wan like it?

Anakin wished he could feel the thrumming of the running power cell in the vaporator through his left hand. Instead, he felt nothing, only a strain where the stump kept a hunk of metal aloft. Sighing, he lowered his hand, watching the vaporator work.

The slow dripping of water into the transparent container was hypnotizing. Anakin's vision blurred further, reminding Anakin of his sleepless night. The last time he had slept well, he was a sand cat, treated like a precious companion by the person he loved.

He hadn't known his hermit was Obi-Wan. He couldn't have guessed that a decade had passed since Anakin Skywalker had closed his eyes on Mustafar. Time had ticked away steadily. Previously, missing hours, days, or years would have frightened Anakin. He had needed every second to count; they slipped away too fast. There was too little time. Always, unceasingly, time ran out. He was always too late despite dreaming of the future.

Time had been an enemy to be conquered. Death was an opponent to be cheated.

While Anakin had been ready to fight with the desperation of a cornered animal, it had only brought ruin.

All the stars had extinguished, leaving the galaxy doused in Darkness. There were no battles left either. Well, that wasn't entirely correct. Anakin still sat crouched in the entrance to the cave, weathering the blistering twin suns. Returning to his perch deeper into the cave would be a challenge -- and Anakin didn't think he was up for this challenge.

Anakin sighed. His breathing hitched, his Force signature too small to stop him from coughing sickly. Pressing his left hand against his sternum, Anakin shuffled back into the cave on his ass. The cloak caught between rocks, threatening to tear, and pulling it free with a hand designed to destroy was bothersome. After some shuffling and many pauses, he dared stand. His left leg clicked ominously as he limped into the cave, the replaced parts grinding against each other. Since his leg still worked and he was uncomfortable anyway, Anakin considered this another victory.

Oh, his body made him so uncomfortable. He was ill-at-ease in his burnt, scarred skin. Anakin was mutilated and overly aware of how his appearance and range of mobility had changed. Yet, he also knew he was lucky. This was already more than he deserved. In his corner, Anakin slumped to the floor, glad to be on his ass again. His thighs trembled under the strain of walking on heavy durasteel legs, which was too much to bear for long. The strong muscles cramped, and Anakin only bruised his skin when he tried to massage his thighs.

Eventually, he gave up, letting his head drop back against the wall, the hood slipping from his bald head. His bald, thoroughly scarred head was another source of insecurity. It was ugly -- he was hideous in general.

Moreover, Anakin couldn't tell the color of his eyes. Probably, it didn't matter. The color wouldn't erase what he had done.

As promised, Obi-Wan returned soon thereafter. Anakin dozed against the cave wall but perked up when he heard clopping hooves on the baked sandstone. A yip slipped from his lips, echoing in the cave. Fortunately, Obi-Wan was too far away to overhear Anakin's enthusiastic noises. As Obi-Wan approached, the clopping grew louder. Eagerly, Anakin waited for Obi-Wan to arrive.

Should he try to communicate that he had fixed the vaporator? Or would remaining silent earn him more praise and kindness? 

Before Anakin could decide, Obi-Wan entered the cave, heading straight to the kitchen nook. His footsteps were uncharacteristically heavy. Usually, Obi-Wan walked lightly with the grace of a dancer or warrior and a practiced ease that reminded Anakin of an endless string of katas performed with the effortless air of a Master in the art. And Obi-Wan had been the best in soresu there ever was. Now, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, his blurry silhouette almost slumping over the durasteel container in the kitchen nook.

"Mrow?"

"It was a long day," Obi-Wan said, correctly interpreting Anakin's inquisitive noises. Anakin heard metal clattering. Immediately, he tensed in anticipation, hoping that Obi-Wan would pick up a glass. As Obi-Wan headed to the vaporator, Anakin couldn't help grinning, waiting with bated breath.

When Obi-Wan turned the lever, water trickled into the metal cup immediately. The system ran smoothly. Anakin couldn't see whether the water was clear, his eyesight suffering from straining his eyes too often while working on the vaporator.

Yet, his ears worked perfectly, so he heard Obi-Wan gasp in surprise.

He felt so proud that tears burned in his sore eyes, prickling unbearably. His gaze lowered to his left hand in his lap, the durasteel resting heavily on his thighs.

You are STRONG and WISE, Anakin.

And I am very PROUD of you.

Anakin's elation was doused in the ice of petrifying memories. He had no reason to be proud after everything he had done.

I loveD you.

Anakin had ruined everything with his stupid hands, and it was better he had nothing left. His left hand balled into a fist, but he couldn't sense how much pressure he applied.

I have the POWER of any five Masters.

Power alone is no credit to you.

He swallowed thickly, his parched throat clicking. As he fixed the vaporator, he hadn't stolen a single sip. Obi-Wan would never know, but Anakin needed to be good. He had to be better or...

I'm not speaking of your power, ANAKIN.

But of your HEART.

Obi-Wan had called him courageous and generous -- and compassionate and committed.

You have done great things.

Anakin didn't deserve to cry. He deserved nothing. Once, he had shouted against Obi-Wan about all the things he deserved. He hadn't known they had only days left before Anakin would ruin everything. Back then, the knowledge he wasn't given the title of Master had tasted like poison. How ironic that he had swallowed a Sith's poison for so long that reason had sounded like ridicule. Shame coiled in his guts, sitting heavy in his churning stomach.

A warm hand curled around his thigh, a few centimeters above the connection point of his prosthesis so Anakin would feel it. Anakin's head whipped up from his lap. He stared at Obi-Wan's silhouette with teary eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.

"Hey," Obi-Wan cooed, his voice heartrendingly gentle. Anakin sniffled, dangerously close to crying. "Thank you, Anakin. You have done a great job."

Didn't Obi-Wan see that Anakin didn't deserve praise?

Yet, the burden of his guilt lessened when Obi-Wan's thumb stroked over his inner thigh, searing Anakin through the thin fabric of his stolen cargo pants. The atrophied muscle quivered under the touch, making Obi-Wan apply more pressure to soothe the straining muscle. Anakin swallowed a breathless sound, blinking frantically. Obi-Wan's hand sat so high, making him aware of the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, where no one had ever touched him so steadily. The skin tingled as it grew used to the repetitive motion of Obi-Wan's thumb while the gentle pressure forced the muscles to relax. As he languished in the touch, every other muscle in Anakin's body melted, too. He had missed feeling connected. Forgetting how good it was to share affection was another protection mechanism when he was alone and unlovable. Now, Anakin felt safer under Obi-Wan's hand. He was still unlovable, he tried to remember in vain.

Obi-Wan's touch was so gentle that Anakin felt fragile, on the verge of shattering. He hid this vulnerability because he didn't deserve to experience it, but Obi-Wan teased it from him effortlessly. He felt so weak and pliable when Obi-Wan's thumb stroked the inside of his thigh. As long as this lasted, Anakin could drift, existing only in the skin contact that quelled an itching need. Relief was so sweet; Obi-Wan's affection was a treat Anakin devoured hungrily.

"Your mind was clicks away," Obi-Wan said as he withdrew his hands too soon. Anakin swallowed a whine, but his vocal cords spasmed, and he produced a soft, pleading yowl instead. Obi-Wan shushed him, which was more effective than it had any right to be. "A credit for your thoughts, Anakin." Obi-Wan's voice was still pitched soothingly, and Anakin wondered how miserable he looked to receive such treatment. Didn't Obi-Wan know Anakin deserved only a 'told you so' after everything? He answered with a nonsensical bark, his voice hoarse with unshed tears and misery.

"Could you perhaps write it in the sand?" Obi-Wan asked him. "So that I can understand you?"

Now, Anakin had to formulate an answer. An apology. The sand was a dim shadow, but surely his muscles remembered how to write. Yet, Anakin's left hand was clumsy, incapable of fine motor skills. Moreover, he could neither see nor feel how much pressure he applied in the sand. The sand split around his metal fingers as the finger jerked in rough motions.

Obi-Wan remained silent.

"It's okay," Obi-Wan said after a long pause. Clearly, Anakin hadn't succeeded in writing a legible apology. Defeated, he let his shoulders slump. Anakin couldn't feel or see Obi-Wan's touch, but his left arm was lifted from the ground and placed back in his lap. Confused, he blinked. "It's okay, Anakin. Thank you for fixing the vaporator. You've done an excellent job. Would you like a glass of water?"

Anakin had forgotten his thirst, exacerbated by his unshed tears, until Obi-Wan offered water. Eagerly, he nodded.

He watched the Obi-Wan-shaped blob navigate the cave before returning with a glass. Again, Obi-Wan didn't place it on the floor, guiding Anakin's hand around the glass. Anakin wished he could feel Obi-Wan's hand wrapped around his, barely suppressing a pout when Obi-Wan withdrew his hand. His disappointment was forgotten when he tipped the glass back, and clean water filled his mouth.

He drank in greedy gulps, the water soothing his parched throat. Obi-Wan had filled his cup to the brim, so generous to Anakin despite everything. After he had tipped the glass back, letting the final droplet land on his tongue, he turned his attention to Obi-Wan again. While Anakin had downed his glass, Obi-Wan had returned to the kitchen nook where he worked on their dinner.

Judging from the smell, Obi-Wan heated up leftovers. Anakin's stomach grumbled enthusiastically, and his mouth watered as he waited for dinner, remembering how good Obi-Wan's stew had tasted the previous day. While Anakin was a sand cat, dinner was a quick affair with little thought into the dishes. Now, Obi-Wan cooked meals. Why could he take care of a sand cat or monster while refusing to do so for himself?

At least Obi-Wan would benefit from this, Anakin concluded as Obi-Wan prepared a plate for himself, too. So, didn't Anakin indirectly take care of Obi-Wan by making sure he ate?

"I doubt I want to know why you look so smug," Obi-Wan commented. "Here's dinner. I put it in front of you. Do you want me to hand you the spoon?"

"Is it the bend one?" Anakin asked in a series of barks. He was reluctant to destroy another spoon.

"I... I don't understand," Obi-Wan admitted. "Are you okay?"

Why did Obi-Wan care so deeply for a hideous monster who had killed his family? Anakin nodded because there was no other answer he could give. He loved Obi-Wan, which was why he would do anything for him. Anything. However, Obi-Wan didn't have that same excuse.

Not anymore.

Because Anakin had ruined his chance to bask in Obi-Wan's love. He had wasted something he hadn't known he possessed, only discovering it was an invaluable treasure after treating Obi-Wan's love so carelessly it broke. Anakin's heart throbbed with disappointment.

"Are you... You look sad. Is it something I said?"

Anakin shook his head, his heart aching dully. He lifted his left hand, waiting for Obi-Wan to give him the spoon. Nothing happened.

"I... I curled your fingers around the spoon a while ago," Obi-Wan said after a long pause. Anakin squinted at his left hand, but he couldn't distinguish between the gray durasteel of his arm and the metal spoon.

"Thank you," he said, producing a chirp instead.

Obi-Wan left him in his corner, but Anakin didn't feel abandoned. Although Obi-Wan didn't address him for the remainder of the evening, letting a deep silence settle in the cave, he didn't feel ignored either. Anakin stayed in his corner, his stomach pleasantly full and thirst fully quenched. His gratitude loomed too large to be verbalized, lodged in his throat. For some reason, Obi-Wan cared, and it only made Anakin love him more.

He was in love with Obi-Wan, and this knowledge pressed on him.

Anakin was too tired to stay awake, dozing off against the wall before Obi-Wan returned from his perimeter check.

He woke slowly, yawning as he wiggled in his spot. Warm and cozy, he didn't feel like waking fully, wrapping the blankets, which had gone soft with use, tighter around himself. Obi-Wan's scent was strong here. He nuzzled closer against the pillow, sighing happily. The warmth and dreamless sleep had turned his body loose-limbed and boneless. He melted into the blankets. Soft, contented animal noises escaped him, little chirps that interrupted his rumbling purring.

Yawning, he burrowed deeper, his floating mind barely anchored in his relaxed body as he felt comfortable for the first time since waking up in a bacta tank. The permanent shame and discomfort were dim compared to the peace he found here. Only Obi-Wan's scent, soaked into the threadbare blankets, kept him somewhat awake. With another yawn, he cracked an eye open.

Where was he? Where was Obi-Wan?

His eyes were useless. Still, he could see he was in Obi-Wan's bed rather than his corner. That explained everything.

Wait.

Finally, the gears in Anakin's mind started turning. This didn't explain anything at all. In fact, waking up in Obi-Wan's bed added to the mysteries. He had fallen asleep against the far wall, huddled in his cloak, bracing for more pain upon waking.

Gingerly, he moved an arm, relieved by the absence of pain. The warmth had soaked deep into the muscles, making them relax. He was so used to his muscles tensing until they cramped that the absence of pain was almost debilitating. Torn between confusion and relief, he opened his eyes fully to answer at least one question.

Where was Obi-Wan?

Since he watched the world through frosted glass, his vision didn't improve. Regardless, he let his gaze roam the cave. The Obi-Wan-shaped blob was gone, and Anakin couldn't hear Akkani either. Outside, the twin suns sat high in the sky, approaching their zenith.

He had overslept. Hardly surprising, considering how comfortable he was. Obi-Wan had let him sleep in, Anakin amended. Anakin couldn't suppress the urge to stretch like a cat, his left hand grabbing at the air as he curved his back. Then, he curled up in the blankets again, basking in the warmth, softness, and familiar scent. He could stay here for a lifetime.

He ran his left hand over the blankets clumsily yet oh-so-carefully to avoid tearing the fabric. The lack of synth nerves meant he couldn't feel anything under his fingertips. What remained of his body could feel, though, and he languished in Obi-Wan's soft bed. Obi-Wan had carried him here. While Anakin slept, Obi-Wan had lifted him from the floor to tuck him under the blankets in his bed. Anakin was wrapped in the blankets with care, the edges tucked under his body so the cold couldn't invade his little nest. This had happened the first night after Obi-Wan had learned the cold was detrimental to Anakin's ravaged body, and the connection between the two events was undeniable. Was it sobering or intoxicating to receive such care?

Slowly, he wiggled from the blankets, his fingers bumping into metal. Immediately, he froze, focusing his useless eyes on the metal cup. Obi-Wan had left water for him. And was that a plate, too? Cautiously, he pinched the food on the plate between the fingers in his left hand. He couldn't feel the texture or see more than a blurry shadow. Thus, he only identified the food as bantha jerky when he put it in his mouth, and the meat melted on his tongue. Unfamiliar flavors made him hum happily. Both the food and Obi-Wan's unerring generosity tasted so good. Every gentle touch and show of compassion made Anakin feel vulnerable -- because it was implicit permission to feel every emotion running through him.

Anakin loved him so much. He couldn't imagine living without Obi-Wan. He was so infinitely grateful that Obi-Wan didn't just tolerate his presence. Obi-Wan took care of him, and Anakin wished... He wished he could cuddle with Obi-Wan under the blankets, using nonsensical noises to communicate all these overwhelming feelings for Obi-Wan. Remembering the nights he had spent on Obi-Wan's chest as a sand cat -- enjoying Obi-Wan's petting, chin scritches, and ear scratches -- he yearned with an unparalleled intensity.

After finishing the water and his breakfast, Anakin straightened. He couldn't stay in bed all day, though it was very tempting. As he stood, his left leg stalled, the components taken from Obi-Wan's vaporator malfunctioning. Hissing, he limped to the kitchen, tripping and stumbling every few steps. His heavy durasteel legs didn't bend far enough in the knee joints. After placing the cup and plate on the container in the kitchen nook, he waddled to his corner, slumping against the cool wall, his forehead scraping over the rough ridges.

His sigh fanned against the wall. Hard stone crumbled effortlessly under his left hand as he pushed back from the wall. Tensing relaxed muscles, he tried to temper his graceless descent to the floor. His knees buckled, the joints giving out without warning. All the air was slammed from his lungs as his knees hit the ground with a loud thud. Dust rose from the impact. His lungs seized around the dusty inhales, his Force signature straining to help his damaged lungs.

While Obi-Wan was gone, he should work on his malfunctioning legs. Otherwise, he would never be able to tag along and help Obi-Wan. Besides, the connection points were permanently sore, slowly inching toward an infection, and Anakin couldn't afford more medical care. After all, Anakin wanted to care for Obi-Wan like Obi-Wan cared for him. He loved Obi-Wan. And since he couldn't tell Obi-Wan, he would show it any way he could. With his left hand, he disentangled his legs, struggling with their weight and inflexible lengths. Eventually, he sat cross-legged on the floor, his clumsy left hand fiddling with his leg. Although he turned the Force to his eyes, his vision flickered. Dark spots swam across the frosted glass. Even pausing his breathing didn't help sharpen his vision. Instead, it made his vision swim with oxygen deprivation.

Confused, he focused and strained his eyes to no avail.

Had his Force signature shrunken further?

But he could still breathe. Cautiously, he tested his lungs without the Force. The inhale wheezed while the exhale whistled. Although his breathing sounded sickly wet, air filled his lungs. Awed, he inhaled again. He was short of breath because the damaged lung tissue absorbed the oxygen poorly. Yet, it worked somewhat.

Lightheaded and dizzy, he reverted his Force signature to his lungs, breathing easily again. He inhaled deeply to chase away the shadows clouding the edges of his vision. Oh, he still needed the assistance, but his body started to compensate for the lack of his life-support suit.

Out of its prison, his body grew used to freedom.

However, his eyes had degraded. Was it the strain he had put on them? Either way, Anakin couldn't work on his legs without a functioning vision. It was too risky when his left hand couldn't feel anything and was so prone to destruction.

Thus, he waited against the wall with his eyes closed, hoping resting would help them recover. He sat silently until Obi-Wan returned.

"Meow," he greeted Obi-Wan.

"Hello," Obi-Wan replied as he entered the cave. His voice sounded nasally. Concerned, Anakin straightened, squinting at Obi-Wan. Nothing could stop him from using the Force on his eyes, refusing to be satisfied until the world snapped into focus. His head ached, but he focused his eyes, straining to see Obi-Wan better. First, his attention snagged on the metal arm cradled in Obi-Wan's arm. Then, his gaze snapped higher to Obi-Wan's face. Blood sat smeared on Obi-Wan's beard and his upper lip, partly crusted while simultaneously still dripping from his red nose. Bruises sat high on his right cheekbone, surrounding Obi-Wan's black eye.

"Mrow!" Master.

Anakin clambered to his clumsy feet, his cursed left leg stalling again when he needed it. The knees buckled as the joints refused to carry any weight, but Anakin used his momentum to stumble forward, waddling awkwardly. He couldn't stop the fretting yips and yowls falling from his lips. Obi-Wan had a black eye and a bloody nose. Anakin suspected the injuries were related to the prosthesis in his arms, which he carried like it was precious.

Obi-Wan let Anakin stumble into his personal space, stopping in the center of the cave where Anakin cornered him. Grabbing his ratty cloak, Anakin wiped at Obi-Wan's nose to clean the fresh blood. His panicked yips shifted into scolding barks and mewls as he reassured himself. Obi-Wan was alive and well, if a little bruised and bloodied. It was okay. He was fine. He studied Obi-Wan's face carefully to assess the damage, but his stupid eyes didn't focus.

"What would you do if you broke your nose?" he scolded. "You know you can't just Force heal broken bones, and I worry. Don't make me worry."

The last part was a teary-eyed accusation. How couldn't Obi-Wan see that Anakin worried about Obi-Wan, who staunchly refused to care for himself? Anakin loved Obi-Wan, so seeing Obi-Wan put himself in harm's way bothered him immensely. Powerlessness made him fret more.

Cautiously, he dabbed at Obi-Wan's nose, leaning closer to make sure he wouldn't hurt Obi-Wan with his metal fingers.

"You should take care of yourself," he lectured Obi-Wan. Although his mewls were stern, he doubted they had the desired effect. Then, he raised his gaze to meet Obi-Wan's, surprised by the proximity. He stood mere centimeters from Obi-Wan, so close that their noses almost brushed.

"Oh," he sighed, and his vocal cords did produce the right sound now. It sounded almost human, filled with awe and surprise.

Obi-Wan chuckled, the sound so familiar. Yet, Anakin would never tire of or grow used to the sound. He froze, his eyes impossibly wide and unseeing. Dumbstruck by the knowledge he made Obi-Wan laugh, he listened breathlessly.

Obi-Wan's chuckling was rich, oh-so-decadent, and brimmed with contagious, sincere amusement. Anakin loved Obi-Wan more than ever, and his lips twisted into a small smile. He lowered his left hand to his side, the cloak slipping from his clumsy fingers. Warmth sat in his chest, and Anakin languished in this coziness. He blinked agonizingly slowly, communicating something with Obi-Wan in a language he didn't speak. The desire to collapse against Obi-Wan's chest took him by surprise. Suddenly, he itched to settle his head under Obi-Wan's chin so he could feel the rumbling of Obi-Wan's chuckles and share the vibrations of his own purring. His heart skipped a beat as he imagined the scenario, a traitorous heat flooding his body and creeping to his cheeks. He was sorely tempted to test their boundaries to find such bliss. Of course, it would only last until Obi-Wan recovered from the shock and disentangled them gently. Instead, he blinked and stared, simultaneously happy and timid. 

Too soon, the moment passed, Obi-Wan's chuckling tapering off.

"I'm quite alright, Anakin," he said. "But thank you for your concern. Here you go."

Obi-Wan pushed the prosthesis against Anakin's chest without offering an explanation. Anakin scrambled to hold the limb with his left hand. He knew he pouted as Obi-Wan disappeared into the kitchen nook. Sullenly, he stared at the Obi-Wan-shaped blob, needing more.

Anakin lifted his left hand. His useless eyes roved over the sleek durasteel. Obi-Wan had secured a right arm for him -- and Force knew what he had done to obtain it. Yet, Obi-Wan had barely acknowledged how much he had done for Anakin, not demanding gratitude or acknowledgment. Was it Anakin's fault that Obi-Wan had a black eye and bloody nose?

Definitely.

Anakin slunk to the kitchen nook, stopping every few steps to wrangle his stalling left leg under control. He took much longer than Obi-Wan, panting like he had fought a tenuous battle or hunted a mercenary through the streets of Coruscant for hours. His durasteel legs were heavier than concrete, creating the illusion he was chained to the ground. The connection points burned but Anakin could move through the pain.

"Thank you," he said, producing a hoarse bark.

Oh.

Obi-Wan turned around, likely also triggered by the tears in Anakin's voice. Anakin hadn't realized that his gratitude -- his unending relief and love -- had made tears well in his eyes.

He shouldn't cry; he didn't deserve to cry.

Anakin ducked his head, carefully clutching the right hand to his chest. The metal of the prosthesis bit at his scarred skin through gaps in his cloak. As Obi-Wan remained quiet, Anakin ached to see his expression.

"Thank you?" he repeated, and it sounded like a question, his mewls rising in pitch until his voice broke.

Obi-Wan sighed softly. Anakin frowned, worried about Obi-Wan's reaction. Likely, his furrowed brows and pinched expression betrayed his concern. Yet, he couldn't temper his apprehension. Should he redirect the Force to his eyes? Could he when breathing was so laborious?

"You're very welcome, dear," Obi-Wan said warmly.

Anakin's shoulder sagged. He wrinkled his nose to avoid crying relieved tears.

"Thank you," he mumbled, unable to say anything else. Then, Obi-Wan's sentence registered fully. "Dear?" he squeaked. His gaze jerked up from the prosthesis cradled in his left arm to Obi-Wan's face. Although he couldn't see Obi-Wan's expression, seeking eye contact was automatic.

You're very welcome, dear.

Anakin's skin wasn't scarred enough to hide the furious blush that heated his cheeks to feverish temperatures. He gawked at Obi-Wan, torn between ducking his chin, shaking his head, or staring with his jaw on the floor.

While his mind short-circuited, his stomach performed somersaults, too giddy to listen to reason.

"It's not safe to be in the kitchen when you can't see anything, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, forging onward as if he hadn't called Anakin dear. "There's limited space, too. Can you move a few steps back?"

Still dumbstruck by Obi-Wan calling him dear -- oh, he would repeat this memory endlessly, treasuring it until the sound had faded from the memory and only the wonder remained -- Anakin acquiesced. He shuffled backward, tripping over his left leg when the joint stalled. Nothing could stop his fall, so Anakin could only squeeze his eyes shut to brace himself. While his center of gravity tipped beyond what Anakin could correct, a hand curled around the small of his back, another grabbing his right stump. With a sharp tug, his descent stopped, Anakin's weight fully supported by Obi-Wan.

"Careful," Obi-Wan scolded him. "You are already hurt. Let's not make it worse."

Although Anakin relaxed in Obi-Wan's hold, draping over the strong forearm pressing against the small of his back, he narrowed his eyes in protest.

"You're hurt, too," he complained. "Or what's that black eye and bloody nose supposed to be? You can't just pretend you're a picture of good health. It's hypocritical." He scoffed, wrinkling his nose again. "Unfair," he accused. 

Of course, Obi-Wan only heard yowls and barks, but the sentiment was communicated clearly. Obi-Wan laughed again, making all of Anakin's ire melt away.

He sagged further into Obi-Wan's arm, enjoying the warmth and tingling. While his body grew used to breathing unassisted, it didn't grow used to touch, reacting too strongly. Anakin craved more with every inch Obi-Wan gave him. The sensation traveled up his spine, making him overly aware of every muscle in his back. His head tipped back to bare his throat, his eyes going heavy-lidded as he still stared at Obi-Wan's silhouette, breathing in Obi-Wan's scent. The proximity was heady, and the touch had emptied his head. Obi-Wan didn't protest or shift his hold, allowing Anakin to make a perch in Obi-Wan's sturdy arms.

Oh, why didn't Obi-Wan shun and reject him? Why wasn't he turned away like he should be?

Anakin's sigh hitched on a low rumble. Confused, he furrowed his brow, recognizing the purring a second too late. He could imagine Obi-Wan's eyebrows raising, his expression wavering between deadpan and sardonic. Embarrassment made his cheeks heat further.

"Can you take another step back, dear?" Obi-Wan asked. Anakin nodded eagerly. He would do anything for Obi-Wan. "Thank you," Obi-Wan said. Obi-Wan's voice was so warm that it felt like sunshine, and Anakin adored Obi-Wan. He barely resisted the urge to lean in and nuzzle the crook of Obi-Wan's throat.

Dear. Obi-Wan called him dear like it meant nothing, and Anakin would combust with bashful happiness.

"Will you take another step back?" Obi-Wan asked. Confused, Anakin tilted his head. Belatedly, he realized he had been so busy suppressing odd impulses and relishing the touch that he had forgotten to move. He scrambled to move, his left leg working miraculously.

"That's plenty of space," Obi-Wan told him. "Then, I'll continue with our dinner before it burns."

Anakin nodded, satisfied to learn Obi-Wan also made dinner for himself.

Chapter Text

Anakin had retreated to his corner, the right arm resting on his legs, to eat dinner. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan had returned to the other side of the cave, mirroring the previous evenings.

Yet, Obi-Wan stopped at the cave entrance when he left for his perimeter, breaking the pattern. "I will perform a last perimeter check," he said before leaving. For a second, Anakin planned to struggle to his feet to join Obi-Wan. Yet, his left leg refused to move altogether. Anakin managed only a few centimeters before he slid to the floor again, his cloak catching on the rough wall.

"Okay," he said. His mewl sounded as petulant as he felt. He had wanted to join Obi-Wan like Dauntless would have. Unless he fixed his legs, Obi-Wan would leave him behind though. And Anakin couldn't fix his legs without two functioning arms. Even then, he took a big gamble by assuming he could do anything with his damaged eyesight and the limited tools at his disposal.

Still, this plan started with connected the prosthesis Obi-Wan had gifted him.

With his clumsy fingers, he rolled the sleeve back. Slowly, he revealed scarred, gnarly, ugly skin that ended abruptly above the elbow. Discomfort swept through him, his mind rebelling against the absence of his arm. Dooku had severed this arm multiple lifetimes ago, but Anakin was still oh-so-disgusted by the cauterized stump. Shuddering with visceral repulsion, he studied the interface, surprised to find that the inflammation from misuse and over-straining had healed. Cautiously, he prodded the burn scars running over his arm, separating patches of unharmed skin that had gone pale after years in his suit.

After his inspection, relying on a hand that couldn't feel, he aligned the new prosthesis with the stump. His first attempt to connect the interface plate missed the stump by several crucial centimeters. An edge scraped past Anakin's scarred skin, drawing a startled hiss.

He sounded like a spooked cat.

His next attempt was too cautious. The blinding pain failure incurred was a strong warning. Tremors traveled through his left hand, and Anakin couldn't keep his left hand steady. The durasteel was too heavy, and his arm trembled with the strain. Furthermore, Anakin didn't dare tighten his grip on the new arm. Despite knowing the arm wasn't as fragile as it appeared -- looking exceedingly delicate in spite of the metal plating -- he couldn't gauge how much pressure was too much. He had never missed the lack of synth nerves and feedback loops worse.

His fourth attempt scraped over the stump again. Anakin couldn't swallow an agonized noise. Finally, he sharpened his vision, aware he would never manage without relying on the Force. His gaze rested on the new arm.

It was perfect.

Anakin's greedy gaze swept over the pale tips at the end. A corrosion-resistant coating covered the fingertips, pale in the light of the setting sun. The pale sheen of palladium confirmed that the new prosthesis possessed synth nerves.

His missing right forearm throbbed with phantom sensations as if his body had already claimed those fingers as his. In his mind, those fingers clenched, but the prosthesis hanging limply in his left hand didn't move.

Determined to fix his arm, Anakin tried again.

And again. Over and over.

Yet, he couldn't connect the prosthesis with one clumsy hand while not daring to grip the prosthesis too tightly. Although Anakin knew how futile dedicating himself to an endeavor doomed to fail was, he couldn't give up.

He only needed to be lucky once, but Anakin's mind was always keen on sowing doubt.

What if the odds were a statistical improbability? What if he would never be lucky because Anakin had already taken too much?

Frustration made him grit his teeth. Helplessness was a bitter toxin, its fumes poisoning him. His damaged lungs constricted around disappointment. He loathed being so weak. Every time his body confronted him with its limits, Anakin felt ill at ease, inevitably remembering how hideous he looked. He couldn't determine what hurt worse; the limited mobility or the lost hair.

Why was he so vain when he deserved less than death?

He clutched the new arm to his chest, clinging to the thought that Obi-Wan didn't think he was worthless. Obi-Wan had given him a gift despite everything.

Oh, he was ugly, but Obi-Wan had never cared about such shallow things. Anakin had never stood a chance, Obi-Wan's love declaration notwithstanding. Yet, Obi-Wan cared.

So, Anakin would have to fix this. Battling tears and his stupid left hand, he tried again.

"Anakin?"

Anakin didn't lift his head from the prosthesis. Otherwise, Obi-Wan would see the stupid tears brimming in his eyes and the helplessness that twisted his lips into miserable scowl. Instead, he produced a little yip to tell Obi-Wan he had heard him. Absorbed in his futile attempts, he hadn't heard Obi-Wan return, but he knew their schedule well. After his perimeter check, Obi-Wan went to sleep. Usually, Anakin would lean back against the wall in an attempt to follow Obi-Wan's example. Tonight, he was determined to fix his right arm. His brows creased in frustration as he tried again, swallowing a pained grunt when the connection point ground against the gnarled scar tissue at the tip of his stump.

"Anakin."

His name was whispered right by his ear, so close that Anakin could almost feel each syllable. Surprised, Anakin lifted his gaze, realizing Obi-Wan had crouched before him. Even Anakin's frosted glass vision could see the bruises around Obi-Wan's black eye. Of course, Obi-Wan had done nothing to stop the swelling, ignoring the injury outright. Miffed, he placed the new arm in his lap to reach for Obi-Wan's face with his left one.

Anakin only realized he had moved when the gray blur of his prosthesis appeared in his vision. His heart stopped beating, time falling away. Against all expectations, Obi-Wan didn't flinch away. Compelled to bridge those final centimeters, Anakin couldn't stop anymore. Cautiously, he wrapped his hand around Obi-Wan's face. Durasteel couldn't be soft or gentle, but Anakin tried anyway when he ran metal fingers over the bruises. Obi-Wan sucked in a harsh breath.

Tenderness couldn't be foreign when Obi-Wan treated him with such care. Yet, Anakin hadn't known he was still capable of it. This was love turned into touch, feather-light and bittersweet.

"I'm okay, Anakin," Obi-Wan promised, his face moving against Anakin's palm. Anakin mourned being unable to feel the movement, the bristles of Obi-Wan's beard, and the bruised skin. However, the prosthesis in his lap could solve that. If only he could connect it to his stump.

Anakin's meow was plaintive and pleading. He didn't know what he was trying to communicate. His eyes slipped shut in a slow blink for Obi-Wan. When they opened again, Obi-Wan hadn't moved.

"I promise," Obi-Wan stressed. "Now, let me help you."

Emboldened by Obi-Wan's tone and proximity, Anakin wrinkled his nose.

"You just refused to take care of your injuries," Anakin complained. While he knew he needed Obi-Wan's help, he worried he would fall in love even more if he let Obi-Wan get closer. Furthermore, Obi-Wan didn't treat his black eye. The only concession he had made for his bloody nose was using a rag to wipe the blood away. Rather than focusing on a monster, Obi-Wan should care for himself.

"Can I?"

"And now you're steamrolling over me," Anakin grumbled despite knowing Obi-Wan couldn't understand him. And it tempted him to whisper 'I love you' over and over and over again. Instead, he blinked.

"Please, dear?"

Anakin melted instantly. Oh, he had already given in when Obi-Wan first suggested helping him. His protests were purely performative, letting him enjoy the knowledge that Obi-Wan wouldn't pull away, no matter how much Anakin groused.

Dear.

He nodded, letting Obi-Wan take the prosthesis from his lap.

"Would you be comfortable taking off the cloak?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin had bunched up the right sleeve to reveal the stump, and the fabric had caught and snagged on the prosthesis as he tried to connect it. Taking the cloak off hadn't occurred to him. Hesitantly, he tugged on the lapels of his ratty cloak closer, knowing Obi-Wan was right.

Yet, removing the cloak would reveal the full extent of his monstrous appearance to Obi-Wan. He was attracted to Obi-Wan, so he wanted Obi-Wan to like him, too. While Anakin knew he was hideous -- in appearance and actions both -- he needed...

He just loved Obi-Wan, so seeing disgust in Obi-Wan's expression would kill him. But Obi-Wan hadn't reacted to his face so far. Begrudgingly, Anakin nodded. Obi-Wan reached for the cloak's lapel, his hand sitting right above Anakin's. Slowly, Obi-Wan guided the cloak from Anakin's shoulders, and Anakin's hand moved along, letting the fabric slip away.

The cloak pooled around his waist. Anakin couldn't help hunching his shoulders and shifting back against the wall -- perhaps hoping he could melt into the rough surface so it would conceal the damage. The rough wall scraped over sensitive scar tissue and skin, ripping a pained yowl from his lips.

Immediately, Obi-Wan's hands curled around his shoulders to tip him away from the wall, his hands roving over Anakin's bare skin. Obi-Wan's hands brushed over thick scars lying in ropes over Anakin's back and burned patches that had healed wrong. Yet, Obi-Wan didn't pull away, letting Anakin lean against his warm palms instead of the wall. The thick callouses rested against his skin, making Anakin hyper-aware of Obi-Wan's touch. His back arched instinctively into the touch, his head falling back to bare the line of his throat, and his damaged chest pushed forward automatically, presenting every centimeter of damage to Obi-Wan.

Anakin couldn't stifle a soft noise that sounded like a question -- an exceedingly pitiful bark that rasped through his throat. The only comfort was that he didn't sound wrecked with the pleasure and comfort that settled in his body.

"It's okay," Obi-Wan soothed. "I have you."

Anakin needed to see Obi-Wan's expression. After all, Obi-Wan could see everything. All the damage, the scars, the crude durasteel of his left hand, the gnarly connection points, and every ugly molecule in Anakin's body. This was Anakin's punishment. Breathing didn't matter when he stood to lose everything. So, he focused the Force on his vision, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze. Obi-Wan looked sad, the emptiness in his eyes making Anakin's bottom lip quiver pathetically.

He didn't deserve to wallow in self-pity or feel so wretched and pitiful, but he couldn't help it when Obi-Wan looked at him like he was a poor, misplaced, injured sand cat. Once, he would have loathed the empathy in Obi-Wan's expression. Now, he clung to it. One person in this vast galaxy cared for him -- the only one Anakin needed desperately.

Obi-Wan pulled his own cloak off with his free hand to place it as a barrier between Anakin's back and the wall. The other hand still supported Anakin's weight, never shying away from the burned patches and thick, ropey scars. Eventually, satisfied with the results, Obi-Wan lowered him to the wall again, his palm lingering unnecessarily. Obi-Wan pulled his hand free with a motion that could almost be interpreted as petting, breaking the skin contact.

Anakin couldn't suppress a feline whine, begging for more.

Obi-Wan wasn't disgusted by the burn scars that ran gnarled and misshapen over his body, separating patches of undamaged skin. The patches of surviving skin looked fragile and pale after spending years in his suit, but the skin could still feel Obi-Wan's touch as his hands hovered over Anakin's body.

"You must be in so much pain," Obi-Wan whispered, sounding sick with his concern. "These scars need bacta cream."

It sounded like Obi-Wan debated spending more credits on Anakin, which Anakin couldn't allow.

"Don't," he warned.

"They do," Obi-Wan argued, correctly interpreting Anakin's hoarse bark. Anakin relented, glowering at Obi-Wan sullenly.

Obi-Wan's hand curled around what remained of Anakin's right arm. A gasp fell from Anakin's lips. His grip on the Force slipped, his vision blurring. He would never grow used to more touch, languishing in it every time. Obi-Wan's hand was warm, and the callouses were surprisingly soft against his skin. Obi-Wan handled him so carefully that Anakin could wallow in feeling vulnerable and fragile. Obi-Wan's fingers ran over ridged scar tissue reverently. Idle, unnecessary touches that told Anakin Obi-Wan wasn't disgusted by him, which seemed impossible. Yet, Obi-Wan didn't shy away, his fingers digging into the muscles to test whether they were relaxed. Anakin sagged against the wall, turning into a puddle of liquid, his useless eyes closing automatically. There was only Obi-Wan, only this gentleness. Obi-Wan's cloak around his shoulders was soft and smelled of Obi-Wan, the scent filling Anakin's mouth with each greedy inhale.

He would die here from the comfort, melting into a puddle of goo while he watched Obi-Wan touch him.

There was only love, so powerful.

Typically, Obi-Wan would pretend to sleep by now. Instead, he took his time to work the knots from the muscles in Anakin's right arm, preparing him thoroughly for the prosthesis. And Anakin breathed slowly, time measured by each whisper of an exhale. Eventually, he felt the cold connection point press against the stump to check the alignment and adjust the prosthesis for a perfect fit. Anakin knew Obi-Wan had never done this before.

During his time in the Order, Anakin had kept his prosthesis to himself, hiding it from everyone. How he had loathed being less human. While the durasteel limb had been convenient, it had also been a stranger, another visible sign that he was different. Thus, Obi-Wan couldn't know the procedure. Yet, Obi-Wan's motions were efficient and sure, if a little unpracticed. It gave the impression Obi-Wan had memorized instructions that he had never had to apply.

Had Obi-Wan learned how to connect a prosthesis for Anakin?

Just for him? Just in case Anakin needed the help despite despising accepting it? For Anakin?

Of course, Anakin had worn a glove to hide his prosthesis, aware it was a liability. He hated the vulnerability of maintaining and removing the arm when anyone else was near. Moreover, it was undeniable proof that Anakin Skywalker fell short when it counted most. At the time, he had believed his lack of strength and convictions had cost him his arm. With near-religious fervor, he had hidden his prosthesis from everyone, Padmé included.

It was not to be seen.

In hindsight, Anakin could see his recklessness had cost him his arm. A foolish belief that he was untouchable when he was so easily hurt. He also knew he was a fool not to ask Obi-Wan for help. Obi-Wan was gentler than Anakin had ever been, one hand supporting the prosthesis' weight while the other worked with measured motions.

Knuckles brushed over the interface between flesh and durasteel with each connection that clicked into place. Pain flared through his arm as the synth nerves communicated with his brain. A hiss escaped through his slack lips.

Instantly, Obi-Wan adjusted the link, and Anakin relaxed again. Blind trust felt so good when he knew it would never be damaged. 

"There you go," Obi-Wan said eventually. "How does that feel? Good?"

Anakin opened his eyes, blinking owlishly.

Was it over already?

Obi-Wan released his arm, and Anakin realized Obi-Wan had attached the prosthesis already. His lips twisted into a pout as he had to support his right arm alone, already missing Obi-Wan's hands immensely.

"Try it," Obi-Wan encouraged him.

Anakin couldn't refuse. Cautiously, he twisted his right arm, awed by how smoothly the limb reacted. He balled a fist, and the fingers reacted, curling.

A gasp escaped him as the synth nerves fed him the sensation of smooth durasteel palms. The prosthetic arm was incredibly light compared to the left one. The muscles in his right arm didn't protest as he lifted his hand to reach for the cave's ceiling. He couldn't do this with his left hand, his range of mobility so severely limited by its crude design.

Anakin straightened, Obi-Wan's cloak slipping from his shoulders and sliding to the wall. He didn't notice in the heat of the moment, focused on his right hand. The fingers moved incredibly smoothly, communicating foreign sensations through the synth nerves.

The arm didn't whir, silently obeying every command Anakin gave. He uncurled his fingers to place his hand on the ground, eyes widening as he felt the smooth rock under his fingertips. He curled his fingers into the rock, the feedback loop in the hand telling him exactly how much pressure he applied. The fingers automatically loosened their hold as rock crunched in his grip.

A silly noise fell from his lips. Wonder. Awe. Excitement. Even sand was a novel sensation.

A chuckle drew his attention back to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan hadn't moved, watching Anakin. Suddenly overly aware of his body's unseemly state, Anakin released the rocks and sand to reach for his cloak. Briefly, he paused when he pinched the fabric between his fingers. Enchanted by the soft fabric slipping through his fingers and marveling at the texture, he wasted precious seconds before he hid in his cloak. He tugged the hood over his face, feeling exceedingly awkward and insecure despite Obi-Wan's unceasingly kind treatment and lack of disgust.

Perhaps he was silly for hiding away, but Obi-Wan saw too much. What if Anakin stopped remembering he was a hideous monster because Obi-Wan treated him like a companion?

Obi-Wan's chuckling tapered off, but a warmth lingered in the air. Tentatively, Anakin reached for Obi-Wan with his Force signature. He bumped Obi-Wan's signature to communicate his gratitude. He had planned to brush by quickly, but Obi-Wan welcomed him beyond his shields. Surely, Anakin couldn't be blamed for lingering.

Obi-Wan's Force signature wound around his, curling around Anakin's sand-cat-sized soul like a dragon around its hoard. A dragon that reminded Anakin of sunny meadows or light spilling through stained glass, dancing lightly around him. Anakin slumped back against the wall, the hood barely hanging on as he bared his throat. The purr rumbling in his chest was distorted by the taut line of his throat. Absorbed in the attention, Anakin's focus slipped. The Force retreated from his grip, turning his vision blurry again.

Through the Force, Obi-Wan patted Anakin's Fore signature, ruffling invisible furry, pointed ears. Dazedly, Anakin sighed, his eyes falling shut as he enjoyed the petting. Perhaps Obi-Wan mistook his Force signature for Dauntless, reflexively giving the sand cat affection. It didn't matter; Anakin would soak up every bit.

"How's your hand?" Obi-Wan asked, nudging Anakin in the Force. He disentangled them, retreating behind shields that weren't as rusty as they used to be. Abandoned outside the periphery of Obi-Wan's mind, Anakin sulked.

"Good," he chirped, his petulance lacing his voice. "Could be better," he lied because Obi-Wan couldn't understand him anyway, and Anakin just wanted to whine and complain.

Nodding once, clearly not understanding Anakin's prattling, Obi-Wan shifted away, preparing to leave the corner.

"Wait," Anakin called out, his mewl resembling the word close enough that Obi-Wan froze.

Obi-Wan tilted his head.

"Yes, Anakin?"

Anakin reached for Obi-Wan's cloak with his right hand, pulling the fabric from under his ass, where it had pooled against the wall. While his hand extended to offer Obi-Wan his cloak, his new hand realized Obi-Wan's cloak was softer than Anakin's. He paused with his hand outstretched, rubbing the fabric between his metal fingers in wonder.

Perhaps because Obi-Wan had worn the cloak for years, the fabric had gone incredibly soft. Anakin could only wish his cloak was... No, he wished Obi-Wan would let Anakin snuggle close to Obi-Wan. Then, Anakin could rest wrapped in Obi-Wan's arm and the cloak. He didn't just want Obi-Wan's cloak.

Eventually, after satisfying his curiosity, he pushed the cloak against Obi-Wan's chest. Obi-Wan accepted the cloak with a nod, still not saying anything. Anakin gave his eyes a nudge in the Force, meeting Obi-Wan's wide eyes.

Their intensity squeezed Anakin's stomach. They seemed darker than ever, focused on Anakin's right hand, and... Anakin swallowed thickly. Obi-Wan looked like Anakin had touched him insistently or thoroughly instead. Embarrassed, he struggled to his feet, focusing the Force on his lungs again. He swayed on his feet, but he needed to escape before he would combust. Already, his cheeks heated with a heady combination of emotions.

The left leg joint refused to cooperate, but Anakin ignored the creaking and stalling. Inelegantly, he limped to the kitchenette, where he picked up a utensil. He couldn't see whether he had picked a spoon or fork. Yet, the metal was smooth against his fingers. Tracing the shape of the utensil with his fingers, he could confirm he held a spoon.

For the first time in over a poorly remembered decade, Anakin experienced touch in his hands. Perhaps his mind couldn't recall those long years, but his body did, and Anakin reveled in the sensations.

Overjoyed, he stumbled to the blankets, letting the fabric slip through his fingers. It was even softer against his fingertips than his sensitive skin. His exploration took him through the sparsely furnished cave, his fingers touching everything, marveling at textures, temperatures, and contact. He relearned a sense he had lost so long ago. Yet, he kept a safe distance from Obi-Wan, who sat on his bed. If he came too close, he wouldn't be able to stop reaching out, he knew.

Eventually, his trip took him from the vaporator, where he traced scratches in the metal that his eyes couldn't see, to Akkani. Cautiously, he approached, itching to touch the eopie's fur. 

He knew Akkani watched him cautiously, perhaps sensing he used to be a sand cat.

Anakin had disliked the eopie, but he suspected Akkani was utterly indifferent about his existence. Somehow, that rankled more. His Force signature fluffed its tail, but the eopie wasn't intimidated.

The animal didn't react when Anakin placed his right hand on her nose. Her fur was rough under his hands. Fascinated by the sensation, he let his hand run over the fur on her neck. As he marveled at the bristles, Akkani allowed the touch begrudgingly -- only because she could chew on his cloak in the meantime.

Anakin was overjoyed that he couldn't contain the emotion in his body. It had to be shared. Focusing the Force on his vision, he turned to Obi-Wan, grinning so brightly that his cheeks hurt. He wished he could communicate his happiness with Obi-Wan, who had given him this back.

Realizing Anakin looked at him, Obi-Wan smiled affectionately. Obi-Wan's smile lit his face up. His happiness was more reserved and muted but no less sincere.

His heart skipped a beat when Anakin realized he was the reason Obi-Wan smiled indulgently. Obi-Wan had watched him limp through the cave, touching every surface with childish enthusiasm, and now Obi-Wan looked at him with... adoration. Oh, Anakin was doomed because he loved so fiercely that it lit his cheeks on fire. The pale skin discolored faster than his previous tan. The contrast with the thick, white scars showed his blush even worse. Quickly, he ducked his hide to hide his flush, focusing on Akkani again. The eopie didn't react as Anakin continued the petting. He didn't even remember to pull his cloak from Akkani's mouth, still distracted by Obi-Wan's smile.

Eventually, exhaustion made Anakin pause his exploration of his regained sense of touch in his hand. He returned to his wall, where he settled, admiring his sleek right hand and forearm in the moonlight.

The arm was gorgeous, and the perfect fit wouldn't cause Anakin any discomfort.

Although it was still durasteel, palladium, and circuitry, he felt more human. This was a greater gift than Obi-Wan could ever imagine. Lifting his gaze from his right arm, Anakin realized Obi-Wan rested under the threadbare blanket, pretending to sleep.

Did his black eye and swollen nose hurt?

Anakin wished he could alleviate those bruises, so deeply in love it turned him silly.

'I love you,' he mouthed at the lump under the blanket that his poor vision could barely distinguish in the shadows.

Repeating the words felt freeing.

"Go to sleep, Anakin."

A startled yip escaped Anakin, followed by an undignified yowl. His heart raced, a rush of adrenaline running through his veins. He hadn't noticed that Obi-Wan studied him. He hadn't seen it, and it spooked him badly.

"Did I startle you?" Obi-Wan asked, sounding sleepy.

"Mrow." Yes, Anakin complained. "Meow." Very much so.

"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry, dear. Nevertheless, I must urge you to sleep."

Anakin didn't feel like sleeping when he knew he would wake up with stiff, cramped muscles. Still, Obi-Wan called him dear, and that word had power.

"Mrow." Okay, he agreed sullenly, closing his eyes to create the illusion he complied.

"Goodnight, Anakin."

"Mew."

Goodnight, Master.

He snuggled under the blankets, burrowing in the warmth. A contented sigh fanned against the pillow. Obi-Wan's scent clung to the pillow and threadbare, soft blankets, reminding Anakin of home and belonging.

Although he didn't deserve it, he could only find security in Obi-Wan's bed.

Had Obi-Wan carried him here again while Anakin slept? Would this turn into a habit?

A pattern that neither would acknowledge because Anakin didn't deserve so much mercy from a man whose family he had killed. He was the cuckoo's bird that had destroyed everything else in the nest. Yet, Obi-Wan still gave him a warm spot to sleep, good food, and shiny treasures. When he opened his eyes, his right arm filled his blurry vision, the palladium-tipped fingertips on display.

Selfishly, he wished Obi-Wan was still in his bed. Then, Anakin could shift closer for cuddles. Footsteps startled him, making him swivel his head until he realized Obi-Wan approached him. He sat upright, the blankets pooling around his waist. His hood fell over his eyes, concealing his hazy vision.

He yipped a greeting hoarsely. His heart beat a frantic rhythm as he waited for Obi-Wan's reaction. After all, Anakin sat in his bed.

"I have some water for you," Obi-Wan said. He didn't address the bantha in his room or the failed Sith in his bed. Oddly breathless, Anakin stared at Obi-Wan's silhouette, his lips parted around a silent sigh. "Here are the last tubers. We have to eat them before they go bad."

Because most things went bad fast on Tatooine. Obi-Wan was the exception, and Anakin nodded. He never used to like tubers, but now his stomach cramped, grumbling embarrassingly loudly while his mouth watered. He knew they would be delicious.

"Thank you," he said, the words feeling awfully inadequate. He shucked his hood back with his right hand. The motions were smooth and painless. His right arm responded well to the new prosthesis, and sleeping in a warm bed had relaxed him, so his muscles didn't cramp unbearably. He met Obi-Wan's gaze, hoping his expression conveyed his gratitude. Even the frosted-glass-vision couldn't hide the dark bruising on Obi-Wan's face.

Bruises Obi-Wan had obtained while looking for a prosthesis for Anakin. Anakin didn't know how to react to receiving so much care.

"You're so good to me," Anakin added, wishing he had better words to express his gratitude. Yet, he couldn't bear to say 'too good,' scared that Obi-Wan would agree. Ultimately, the point was moot because Obi-Wan couldn't understand his hoarse barks.

"You can take more water if you are thirsty. I will return at sundown. Will you be fine?"

A thousand questions burned on Anakin's tongue. He could only nod, rendered mute by too many questions battling to be prioritized.

"See you tonight, Anakin."

"Stay safe, Master."

Obi-Wan sighed deeply. "I wish I could understand you," he confessed.

Gathering courage he didn't possess, Anakin reached out into the Force. He feared rejection as he sidled close to Obi-Wan's Force signature with his sand cat one. This connection wouldn't sustain a conversation. They were too far apart, and Anakin didn't possess the required power. But he could remember and share a memory. He brushed past Obi-Wan's shields, waiting patiently. Perhaps he should investigate why he believed Obi-Wan would lower his shields for him. Yet, Obi-Wan did, and Anakin could show a memory so precious he was mortified to share. The fact that Obi-Wan starred in this memory didn't temper Anakin's mortification.

Obi-Wan. May the FORCE be with you.

Goodbye, old FRIEND.

May the Force be with YOU.

Obi-Wan remained silent for too long. Belatedly, it occurred to Anakin that he may have made a mistake. He released the memory and retreated. His bottom lip wobbled as he considered how the memory would hurt Obi-Wan.

A low keening sound started in his throat. Remorse filled him quickly, and Anakin didn't know how to fix this. He sniffled pathetically, hoping his pitiful reaction would soften Obi-Wan's response. He tried to sharpen his vision, but tears swam in them -- tears that Anakin wasn't allowed to cry.

"May the Force be with you," Obi-Wan whispered. He didn't sound angry or shattered. Wistful or nostalgic seemed closer matches. In fact, Obi-Wan sounded fond as he greeted Anakin.

The keening stopped. Dumbstruck, Anakin blinked.

"Mrow?" he whispered.

"May the Force be with you, Anakin," Obi-Wan repeated, each word solemn. A hand brushed over his cheekbone, probably planning to run through Anakin's curls but stroking bald, scarred skin instead. Anakin swallowed thickly, expecting Obi-Wan to jerk his hand back. Instead, Obi-Wan stroked his bald head with reverence, his touch feather-light as if he worried he would hurt Anakin.

Anakin did hurt, but not for reasons Obi-Wan could know. Obi-Wan's Force signature bumped his to share another memory -- possibly to assuage Anakin's guilt.

See you on the other SIDE, Master.

Ah-nakin.

What? Can't keep up?

That's ridiculous. ANAKIN. Anakin?

Then, Obi-Wan left Anakin in his bed. Anakin heard him swing in Akkani's saddle, after which the duo took off to Anchorhead, leaving a confused Anakin behind.

He knew he had hurt Obi-Wan with the memory, but Obi-Wan hadn't appeared to mind too much, sharing something with Anakin in return.

"May the Force be with you," Anakin whispered in the silence, putting every shred of love and faith in the words. He wished Obi-Wan would always be safe and protected by the Force.

His head tingled with the ghost of Obi-Wan's hand -- a casual, affectionate touch that made Anakin's lips twist into a happy smile. Nothing had changed; Anakin was still a vile, revolting monster. Yet, when Obi-Wan ran his hand over Anakin's head, never hesitating when he discovered anew that Anakin was hideous under the cloak and hood, he didn't feel so uncomfortable in his body.

He reached for the drink Obi-Wan had left him with his right hand, marveling at the ease with which he picked up the glass. No longer worried about crumpling the thin cup like it was made of cardboard instead of metal, he enjoyed the first sip. Then, his attention wandered to the tubers. He couldn't see them. However, he could use his right hand to locate them effortlessly.

Anakin had never liked tubers, but he devoured them with quick bites, loving the texture and taste on his tongue. Obi-Wan had prepared them so well, and Anakin knew they were quickly turning into his favorite food. While he should be relieved Obi-Wan wasn't here to witness the happy little noises he produced as he ate the tubers, he missed Obi-Wan, too. He wished Obi-Wan was here -- or that he was with Obi-Wan. As Dauntless, he had been around Obi-Wan all day, safely hidden in his clothes.

This was no longer an option, but Anakin would also be fine sticking to Obi-Wan's side, molding himself to Obi-Wan to sit or stand as close as possible. Petulantly, he pouted at his empty plate, missing Obi-Wan with an intensity that stole his breath away and made tears burn in his useless eyes.

A plaintive, long-drown mewl was ripped from his throat, sounding like a kitten calling for its parents.

Embarrassed by the sound, Anakin's shoulders rose to his ears, his head tucked low.

He was pathetic.

Yet, this knowledge didn't soothe the fierce loneliness. He couldn't let Obi-Wan leave without him again. But Anakin couldn't even walk properly. His wild gaze flicked to his legs, which were blurry outlines in his vision, partly concealed by Obi-Wan's soft blankets. He narrowed his eyes in repulsion. He loathed how they limited his movement, how they chained him.

He deserved it, though.

He would fix them.

Didn't that erase the punishment he was given? Only this morning, he had shared precious memories with Obi-Wan, who had recoiled in hurt over them. Anakin hesitated.

It was such a small price to pay for everything he had done. Yet, everyone was gone except for Obi-Wan and him. No one was left, and Anakin knew that, inexplicably, Obi-Wan didn't want him to suffer.

He wanted to help Obi-Wan. Perhaps this need was born from selfish, greedy love, but... Anakin couldn't be better. He could pretend. He could feign to be oh-so-good, but it was only an act meant to deceive. It would barely conceal his rotten core.

Who do you suffer for? Whose punishment do you mete out? Whose forgiveness are you looking for?

Anakin struggled to his feet. Again, his left knee refused to bend, so he had to drag it along as he retreated to his corner. There, he bowed over his legs, the nimble fingers on his right hand helping him see when his eyes didn't work.

There would never be redemption for Anakin Skywalker -- not after everything he had done. This was not an excuse or justification to stop trying. Instead, it told Anakin that refusing to fix his legs was a mockery for atonement. Believing he could find forgiveness by refraining from walking was ridiculous. Anakin Skywalker was wretched and miserable, and nothing he did could ever settle in interest on the debt he had accrued.

When he closed his eyes, he saw so much death.

Haunted by the people he had killed, he removed the heavy panels from his legs.

Chapter Text

Time ran agonizingly slowly. Anakin couldn't focus on his legs despite the challenge they presented. Since he could only use the parts he pilfered from his legs and the tools Obi-Wan had available, his options were limited. Once, he would have relished in this impossible test. Now, he had to grit his teeth and squint, resisting the urge to give up. His discomfort twisted around his spine, and Anakin could only hope that fixing his legs would help him feel less dehumanized by their presence.

Although he dreaded them, he committed to trial runs to test the improvements, barely getting to his feet before collapsing in his corner again.

Eventually, he got lost in the work anyway, making minor tweaks to remove more weight. Unlike Anakin as a person, his legs weren't unfixable, he discovered. His nimble right hand and clumsy left one worked on his crude legs in tandem. Removing weight and fixing the joints were his priorities. There was little Anakin could do about the connection points with what he had available. Thus, he hoped removing weight would reduce the strain on the scarred stumps and sore muscles. Even to Anakin's grayish, hazy vision, the skin was an angry red.

By the end of the afternoon, he had finished another round of improvements. Slowly, he stood, grabbing the wall to help support his legs. The knee joints moved smoothly, but Anakin was still unused to how they reacted. Unlike his right hand, his body didn't recognize the upgraded legs as an extension of himself. Those legs would always be unwelcome strangers, he knew. Even slower, going at an excruciatingly glacial pace, he stepped forward. The ankle joint moved smoothly, but the foot couldn't bend, and Anakin had to compensate for the inflexible foot. Panting, he put his foot on the floor. Sticking to the wall, he continued walking, finding a rhythm.

When he reached the entrance of the cave, he had to make a decision. Did he dare push away from the wall?

What's his NAME?

Well, I suppose MY little friend needs a name, indeed.

WE all do.

Names are IMPORTANT.

Anakin swallowed thickly.

Dauntless.

He pushed away, briefly swaying on his feet. Then, he continued walking, his feet unable to keep up with his pounding heartbeat. Yet, as he circled the cave, each step was smoother than the last. His lips quivered, threatening to twist into a smile. It was a fight he was bound to lose.

He grinned.

His heart felt lighter than his feet.

Anakin couldn't resist twirling on his feet, the world whirring by in a blur. He couldn't see how fast he spun, but the afternoon air was cool on his skin, zooming in his ears as he turned.

His feet moved quickly as he turned in circles, twisting on his heels, barely noticing that his feet couldn't flex. The world spun faster and faster as Anakin enjoyed the new movement. He couldn't help laughing in soft, joyful barks, his tiny Force signature blossoming and painfully alive, supporting his eyes and lungs effortlessly.

For a moment, Anakin could forget the shame and guilt weighing him down, nothing existing but the rhythm of an almost-dance.

During another rotation, his gaze met Obi-Wan's. Their gazes locked, shock rippling through Anakin. He hadn't realized Obi-Wan had returned, too absorbed in twirling to pay attention to his surroundings. Thus, he wasn't sure how long Obi-Wan had watched him already. Anakin couldn't look away. It was only a millisecond, but it lasted for an eternity. Obi-Wan watched him with an awestruck expression. He seemed captivated. Like Anakin was... beautiful or breathtaking. Anakin's heart stuttered, clenching violently.

He stopped abruptly, overbalancing and tripping over his feet. His new legs were lighter, and he could regain his balance. By then, Obi-Wan had reached for him reflexively, grabbing him by the arms to steady him. Anakin's right palm landed on Obi-Wan's chest, his fingers splayed over the blue fabric. Finally, he felt Obi-Wan with his hand, surprised by the heartbeat he could feel under his fingertips. His gaze had landed on his hand, the contrast of sleek durasteel on worn cotton striking. His fingers flexed, crumpling the fabric. They pressed against hot skin through thin fabric.

Oh. The sensation surprised Anakin.

This was why he had avoided Obi-Wan when he explored his returned sense of touch in his hand the previous night. Now, he was enchanted. How he wished he could touch Obi-Wan's bare chest. His fingers twitched as he imagined running them through the chest hair he remembered seeing when Obi-Wan disrobed in Benet's Boudoir.

Once his fingers shifted, Anakin couldn't stop kneading lightly. His eyes widened while his head went terrifyingly blank as he watched his fingers move and touch.

He loved how warm and solid Obi-Wan was under his palm, Obi-Wan's heartbeat and rhythmic breathing intoxicating Anakin. Anakin was giddy with the undeniable proof that Obi-Wan was alive. Stunned, he raised his gaze, accidentally or inevitably meeting Obi-Wan's, who smiled warmly. Anakin's heart skipped several beats in short succession. Obi-Wan's hands dropped to his side again. They left an unbearable cold and absence in their wake. Yet, Obi-Wan's attention mellowed the disappointment and stinging loss. 

It was easier to focus on his hand on Obi-Wan's chest, resting there in a bold claim that wasn't rebuked. His heart raced as if he had run for clicks. He couldn't make sense of anything anymore, but he knew this was highly unusual. Nervously, Anakin's gaze darted away, the intensity of Obi-Wan's affection making him ridiculously shy.

"Mrow."

"Hello, Anakin. I take it you had a good day."

Anakin shrugged awkwardly, chancing another glance at Obi-Wan, which turned lingering when he caught Obi-Wan running a hand through his hair. His fingers curled loosely against Obi-Wan's chest as he imagined chasing after Obi-Wan's hand, feeling the strands with his synth nerves.

Then, he realized his hand still rested on Obi-Wan's chest. Quickly, he snatched his hand back. As Obi-Wan headed into the kitchen, Anakin's vision grew dimmer. Although the synth nerves worked perfectly, the fingertips tingled with a phantom touch -- as if the vibration of Obi-Wan's voice still traveled through the circuitry. He retreated to his corner, watching Obi-Wan intently.

"Here's dinner, Anakin," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded, waiting patiently for Obi-Wan to place his dinner by his knee.

"Can you find it, or shall I guide your hand?"

"Meow," Anakin said primly. Yes, please. He nodded to help Obi-Wan understand.

"Very well," Obi-Wan said. A hand curled around Anakin's right wrist. Obi-Wan's fingers, thick and calloused, made durasteel feel fragile. He let his hand hang limply from Obi-Wan's hold, focusing entirely on the sensation of Obi-Wan's fingers on his body.

A shiver wrecked his body, making him jolt with its intensity.

Then, fingers interlaced with his, and Anakin's jaw dropped in shock, his lips going slack. Lightning shot through his arm, frying his jumbled brain. Fingers slid past his, twisting and moving against his, making Anakin's new fingers strain in ways that Anakin's touch starved body instinctively  associated with intimacy. What? Confused, he shook his head slightly, caught blindsided by his reaction to Obi-Wan's hand holding his. It was just hand-holding, but Obi-Wan's fingers were thick, settling between his, and Anakin's fingers had to split wider to accommodate them, sandwiched between Obi-Wan's. A breathy noise slipped from his lips before he could trap the sound. His eyes rolled back as his synth nerves communicated a million contact points, relaying the feeling of Obi-Wan's hands in insane, graphic detail. Heat pumped through his veins. Oh, Anakin knew this was so incredibly lame. Yet, the panicked realization only made him more aware of his reaction to Obi-Wan's fingers against and around his. In Obi-Wan's hold, Anakin's fingers twitched automatically. He could only experience the molten pleasure and his twitching fingers, still too unused to the new prosthesis to stop its reflexive reaction to the rising heat pooling low in his guts and skittering through his nerves.

"Come on, Anakin," Obi-Wan muttered, and his grip shifted to bend Anakin's fingers as Obi-Wan wanted them. "Some cooperation would be appreciated."

Anakin couldn't begin to guess what Obi-Wan wanted when he had lost the ability to string two thoughts together. Static filled his mind as his body yielded to Obi-Wan, willfully surrendering to each direction, though immediately curling limply when Obi-Wan focused on a different finger.

His breathing turned ragged. He would blame his breathlessness on losing control over his Force signature, but Anakin knew better. His body needed more oxygen to burn brighter. Still, his Force signature spasmed as his mind lost the battle against pleasure. His body had never betrayed him over such an innocent touch, and Anakin didn't understand why. His confusion only riled him up further, his being trusting Obi-Wan to guide him when he couldn't make sense of his body. This was who they were, after all.

Another sound slipped from his slack lips, reedy and wrecked. Distracted by whatever quest Obi-Wan was on, Obi-Wan didn't hear him moan.

Then, cold durasteel touched his palm. Obi-Wan's hand curled around his after manipulating Anakin's fingers around the durasteel a last time. The contrast of cold, smooth durasteel and Obi-Wan's hand made him mewl desperately, crying for something indefinable.

His hips tried to buck, but Anakin had melted against the wall. Thus, he only managed a twitch. His mind couldn't parse the signals his hand sent, and it was like Obi-Wan had reached into his core to rearrange his being.

"Is there a problem, Anakin?"

Anakin wet his dry lips repeatedly, saliva smoothing the glide. His erratic breath ghosted over his moist lips. Slowly, he shook his head.

He barked a negative, sounding so debauched that even Obi-Wan realized.

"Ah," Obi-Wan said. "Was that too much?"

Anakin shook his head rapidly. Still, Obi-Wan released Anakin's hand, his fingers tracking over the sleek durasteel plating on the back of his hand. Anakin's back arced, his hips shifting slightly, drawing Anakin's attention to the hot weight between them. As Obi-Wan had fondled his hand to make him hold his spoon, Anakin had gotten hard, he realized. His erection strained, demanding attention, throbbing hotly.

The muscles in Anakin's abdomen quivered and clenched.

"Good," Obi-Wan said, patting Anakin's leg, reaching high enough to touch skin rather than unfeeling durasteel. Anakin's leg jerked under the intimate touch. A strangled sound escaped him. How many centimeters of leeway did Anakin have before Obi-Wan's wrist would brush by his erection? He craved an accidental touch, the looming humiliation drowned out by arousal. 

Yet, Obi-Wan remained oblivious, stroking Anakin's thigh like Anakin was a sand cat before pulling back. "Here's your dinner," he said casually. Obi-Wan's hand curled around Anakin's wrist again to guide him to his plate.

Anakin nodded dumbly, accidentally dropping his spoon in his food when Obi-Wan's hand disappeared. He couldn't focus when his cock ached in his pants, and his mind still whirred with a terrible hypothesis.

He had gotten hard from Obi-Wan holding his hand. Extrapolating from this, Anakin knew with a dooming certainty he would react to any touch as long as his new hand was somehow involved. Sith-hells. Any direct skin contact would do the trick when he was so wired. Two nights of good sleep and the absence of pain had transformed Anakin into a wanton, needy, sexually frustrated mess. This wasn't good. Anakin's mouth went dry as his imagination ran wild, needing no skin contact.

Oh no, this wasn't good at all.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan scolded.

Briefly, Anakin didn't know what had triggered Obi-Wan's admonishment. Then, he remembered dropping his spoon. Had he made a mess? Had food splattered everywhere?

"I can't help it," Anakin whined, sounding too pitiful when his voice rasped with arousal and desperation.

"It's fine," Obi-Wan promised. "It's not your fault."

What?

"It totally is," Anakin protested. His disbelief was clearly communicated in his yips and mewls.

"A little bit, then," Obi-Wan acquiesced. "Though, I'm impressed you admit it."

"Is that an insult?" Anakin asked. His incredulity was morphing into confusion. "Did the punch to your eye also mess with your head?"

"While I don't understand what you just said, I will assume it was an agreement," Obi-Wan said.

"It was not," Anakin argued.

Obi-Wan settled on the ground, crossing his legs, and making himself comfortable as if he planned to stay. He had always returned to his side of the cave. Silent anticipation swept through Anakin, dousing his indignation.

Would Obi-Wan eat with him?

Straining his eyes, Anakin believed Obi-Wan's plate rested on his crossed legs. However, he could only be sure when he heard a spoon scrape over the plate. Scared to disrupt or ruin this moment, Anakin remained silent.

Cautiously, he watched Obi-Wan's silhouette.

When Obi-Wan didn't move, Anakin hunted for his spoon again. His appetite had disappeared after Obi-Wan had interlaced their fingers. Arousal had made his stomach collapse into a tiny raisin. Nevertheless, the food smelled good. Anakin could only go through the motions when his mind still freaked out over the weight of his erection, its outline hopefully hidden under his cloak. He could barely pretend nothing was amiss -- that he didn't hunger to crawl into Obi-Wan's lap and nuzzle close.

"A few centimeters to the left, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. Following Obi-Wan's advice, Anakin's right hand found the spoon, drawing a pleased sound from him and a soft chuckle from Obi-Wan. Swallowing thickly, he forced his shoulders to relax. After the first tentative bite, he forgot his appetite had taken a backseat to desire, the stew melting on his tongue. Ravenously, he attacked his dinner, his erection forgotten. They ate in an amicable silence, peace settling between them.

After finishing his plate, Anakin couldn't resist the temptation to lift the plate to his face. With quick, cat-like licks, he got the last traces of stew, enjoying the taste of herbs and the warmth in his full stomach. Contentedly, he lowered the plane, recalling Obi-Wan sat a foot away when Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

Expecting a reprimand about his bad table manners, Anakin braced himself.

"Do you like the food, Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked him instead.

Anakin blinked. Then, he nodded. "I do," he said, producing a yip instead.

"Anakin."

"Mew?" Yes?

Obi-Wan sighed deeply.

"Ah-nakin," he repeated.

"Mew?" Yes, Master?

"You react to your name, so I can only assume you are Anakin."

Anakin's eyes widened. "I am," he promised solemnly albeit hesitantly, for he couldn't be sure. He knew he did not deserve to carry the name his mother had entrusted him with. However, he couldn't use the revolting moniker the Emperor burdened him with either. The title sickened him. Darth Vader was covered in thick, oily tar that tainted him. Anakin knew he had done that himself.

At its core, the matter was simple. No one pronounced Anakin's name like Obi-Wan. And he couldn't be Obi-Wan's Vader or Darth. He could only ever be Obi-Wan's Anakin.

He nodded in case Obi-Wan hadn't understood his yips and mewls.

"You were a sand cat," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded, agreeing with a bark.

"When you disappeared,  I thought you had returned to your family."

"I did," Anakin mewled. "I returned to you."

"I must admit, I was lonely without your company."

Anakin pressed his lips into a tight line, swallowing tears.

"I didn't mean to make you sad," he said. "I'm sorry." His apology was a pathetic warble.

"Don't be sorry, dear. It is not your fault."

If they were back to assigning blame, Anakin could point out everything was his fault.

"Okay," he agreed instead.

"I'll do the dishes," Obi-Wan said, grabbing Anakin's plate and leaving the corner.

"I can help." Anakin lifted to his feet smoothly. Obi-Wan paused briefly when he noticed Anakin stumbled after him, allowing Anakin to catch up.

"You want to help, Anakin?"

Anakin nodded. He knew Obi-Wan asked closed questions on purpose. He kept his questions simple so Anakin could answer them in a way both would understand. Because Anakin could only shake or nod, relying on the assortment of barks, yips, and mewls to indicate tone. Yet, this seemed enough for Obi-Wan to carry on a conversation -- to include Anakin in his world.

Eagerly, Anakin joined Obi-Wan in the kitchen, helping him to the best of his ability but mostly interfering with Obi-Wan's routine. To his surprise, Obi-Wan didn't ban him from the kitchen. Instead, he bore Anakin's overeager assistance gracefully.

"Thank you, Anakin," Obi-Wan said once he had finished despite Anakin's help.

Producing a nonsensical sound, Anakin slunk from the kitchen after Obi-Wan, planning to follow him on his perimeter check. Of course, Obi-Wan understood what he planned to do before they could leave the cave. Obi-Wan stopped abruptly. Although Anakin's legs worked better, he couldn't stop his forward motion, slamming into Obi-Wan's back and reeling back.

Hands curled around his shoulders to stabilize him, disappearing before Anakin could lean into the touch.

"I don't believe this is wise, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "Wait here. I won't be out long."

Anakin shook his head. He didn't understand why.

"Stay here, Anakin," Obi-Wan repeated, an order slipping into his voice.

"Here?" Anakin echoed helplessly. Obi-Wan didn't want Anakin to follow him? Did Anakin unwittingly intrude on Obi-Wan's alone time? Clearly, he wasn't welcome here. He steeled his shoulders, resolved to hide his hurt. He trapped his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the treacherous wobbling. Then, he gave a stiff nod.

"I can see you limp, Anakin. Don't overexert yourself."

Anakin hadn't noticed his limp. However, once Obi-Wan drew attention to his legs, he realized the connection points felt uncomfortably warm and sore. They had swollen, the prostheses applying too much pressure on his gnarled scar tissue. He grimaced, feeling ill at ease as he was reminded of the prostheses. The pain was sluggish and hot, making the muscles in his thighs tense. He hadn't noticed the tension but could already tell that his thighs would cramp soon.

"I will return soon," Obi-Wan stressed before leaving Anakin at the entrance to the cave.

Letting his gaze drop to his knees, the interface between metal and skin concealed by his cloak and blurred by his hazy vision, Anakin allowed his face to slip from its mask. He knew his hurt twisted his scarred face into an ugly grimace.

Stars. His body made him so uncomfortable. He shuddered violently, awfully conscious of his left hand and the inflexible feet. Wrinkling his nose and gritting his teeth, he returned to his corner, grappling with the sharp onset of dysphoria that came and left in crushing waves. He worked his jaw as he ran his right arm over his left, jerking his hand away when the touch increased his visceral discomfort.

Anakin had settled against the wall, willing his mind to ignore his hideous body unsuccessfully when Obi-Wan returned. Following his usual schedule, Obi-Wan went to his bed.

After a minute, Obi-Wan sighed. The blankets rustled, indicating that Obi-Wan shifted.

"You may as well come over and save me a trip later tonight. I'm not getting younger, and it's wreaking havoc on my back," Obi-Wan said, finally acknowledging he carried Anakin to his bed each night.

Startled, Anakin gawked at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan patted the blanket, encouraging him to move. "Come, Anakin," he said, addressing Anakin like he was still a sand cat.

Anakin shouldn't melt, but Obi-Wan talked to him -- Obi-Wan cooed, actually. Terribly weak to Obi-Wan's attention and eyeing the blankets greedily, Anakin climbed to his feet. Obi-Wan defied their unspoken rules by inviting Anakin in his bed and acknowledging his acts of kindness and compassion.

Clumsily, he lowered to his knees by Obi-Wan's bed, snorting when Obi-Wan pulled the blankets back. Didn't Obi-Wan think this situation was surreal?

"Less laughing and more moving, dear," Obi-Wan lectured him. "You're letting a cold draft in." Immediately, Anakin clambered on the blankets on the floor. His metal legs scraped over the floor, producing a screeching sound. Then, he tumbled onto his side, landing in Obi-Wan's blanket nest. Obi-Wan's arm wrapped around him to tuck them in, adjusting the blankets so they shared fairly.

Once Obi-Wan was satisfied with their arrangement, his arm retreated again. Although they shared a bed, they didn't touch each other. Lying with his back turned to Obi-Wan, Anakin couldn't see him. Yet, he heard Obi-Wan's slow breathing all the same, giving Anakin a rhythm to copy. Reflexively, Anakin's breathing slowed to match Obi-Wan, air filling his damaged lungs deeply.

Warmth surrounded him. The proximity was cozy, reminding Anakin of how he had slept splayed over Obi-Wan's chest as a sand cat.

"Sleep well, dear," Obi-Wan said, his voice pitched low to fit the tranquil atmosphere.

Each dear tugged on the corners of Anakin's lips. He adored being dear enough to Obi-Wan to tease reflexive terms of endearment from him.

"Sleep well, Master," Anakin muttered, hoping that Obi-Wan would understand his sentiment while glad that Obi-Wan couldn't hear that he called him Master.

Obi-Wan was his Master, but Obi-Wan had made it abundantly clear that those ties were severed. Anakin had knelt for another, shunning everything Obi-Wan was. He had chosen another over Obi-Wan when it mattered most. Anakin had never realized what he held in his hands until he had squandered Obi-Wan's love. Anger was a poor excuse to justify his actions. Betrayal. Paranoia. Desperation. The wish to hurt Obi-Wan to even the playing field was an unforgivable admission. Anakin had screamed for Obi-Wan to look at him, determined to let Obi-Wan face what he had turned Anakin into. But it wasn't Obi-Wan's fault. After all, Anakin had always been a monster donning a human guise. Unsurprisingly, Obi-Wan didn't want him back.

Anakin hadn't just rejected Obi-Wan when he knelt for another, turning Obi-Wan's title -- or perhaps a claim or term of endearment -- into a mockery. He had then ruined everything Obi-Wan had dedicated his life to.

Anakin sighed softly. The exhale whispered past his lips.

Briefly, he closed his eyes, struggling to open them again. His eyelids were heavy. Drowsiness had snuck up on him; the warmth and security of Obi-Wan nearby helped him relax in his soft perch. His breathing slowed further, the thoughts slipping from his quiet mind.

Anakin had suspected sharing a bed with Obi-Wan would make him hyper-aware of the proximity. It was supposed to be awkward when he was human. Instead, he couldn't open his eyes anymore, already snoozing. His muscles relaxed as he melted against the blankets, Obi-Wan's scent on each deep inhale. He didn't even rely on the Force to breathe, using Obi-Wan as a guide. With nothing to focus on, his mind could unravel into sleep.

A dense fog hung between the towering rock formations. Rubble shifted under his feet as Anakin walked through the forest of rock spikes. Some spikes were taller than houses, their tips hidden in the fog.

His breathing rasped through a machine, uncannily loud in the unnatural silence that cloaked the planet. The sound upset Anakin, making his skin crawl in disgust and discomfort. Each wheezing breath made him shudder, his mouth attempting to twist into grimaces. Something stopped his lips from moving, a rigid piece that sat in his mouth, possibly to help him breathe.

Although clear oxygen entered his damaged lungs, Anakin couldn't breathe.

Obi-Wan.

He called out, surprised by his voice. Even his voice was mechanical, all traces of humanity gone. Nevertheless, Anakin uttered Obi-Wan's name in Basic. He was a monster that could talk.

His vision, tinted in ted, scanned his surroundings. The visor blinked when it detected an IR signature from a person.

Obi-Wan.

The second call was softer, yet it echoed nonetheless, forcing Anakin to listen to his mechanical voice. Obi-Wan didn't move as Anakin stumbled in his direction, struggling to move his legs. The life-support suit helped him lift their weight but couldn't fix the limited flexibility.

Obi-Wan didn't speak as Anakin approached him, though his hand slipped to his belt. Would Obi-Wan draw his lightsaber? Would Obi-Wan strike him down?

Anakin stopped, swaying on his feet. They stood at opposite edges of a clearing in this stone forest. Close enough to see Obi-Wan's tortured expression through the red haze of his helmet but too far away to touch.

His voice sounded so unpleasant that Anakin yearned to talk in barks and yips again. However, Obi-Wan would understand him if he used his voice.

Obi-Wan.

He whispered, but the rock formations caught and carried the sound, letting Anakin's inhuman voice echo. Shakily, he inhaled, his hands balling into fists. Something creaked in an ominous warning that he applied too much pressure. The realization that an old, barely functional prosthesis had replaced Obi-Wan's gift choked him to death.

Those were hands that couldn't create or care. Destruction was their only purpose.

Yet, he had fixed a vaporator and held Obi-Wan's cheeks, he reminded himself. He unclenched his fist to raise his hands to the helmet. The clips clicked as Anakin pulled on the helmet.

The world went from red to blue once he no longer looked through his helmet's visor. All details blurred, but Anakin could find Obi-Wan's silhouette effortlessly.

I'm sorry, Master.

His voice was rough but human.

I'm so sorry.

The apology took him out, his knees buckling. Although Obi-Wan had told him not to kneel or bow, Anakin ended up on the ground regardless. He tipped his head back to pin Obi-Wan with his pleading gaze. Tears blurred his frosted-glass vision further. Although he knew he didn't deserve to cry, he couldn't stop the tears rolling down his cheeks.

I'm sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me, Master.

I've done terrible things.

His fingers curled into the rubble as he lowered his head in a clumsy albeit sincere show of his remorse.

I'm so sorry.

Tears turned Anakin's hoarse voice wrecked. Anakin wasn't sure if Obi-Wan could understand him when he warbled nasally. Yet, his voice was human, and the words poured freely from his lips. He sniffled loudly.

I'm so sorry.

He could only repeat the words. Eventually, he ran out of air, a hacking cough consuming every bit he had left. His shoulders heaved violently, snot and tears running down his face. 

Master.

He cried miserably, pouring all his regret into the word.

Anakin.

It wasn't forgiveness. Anakin froze, his eyes going so wide they ached. He hadn't anticipated a scenario in which Obi-Wan wouldn't forgive him. It was his duty as Jedi -- though the Order no longer existed after Anakin cut them down.

He chewed on his bottom lip harshly, trying to stop the tears. It was a fight he lost. He wailed as he cried louder, letting his gaze drop to the rubble. He had lost everything.

Anakin.

That sounded too close. Anakin jerked his chin up. Obi-Wan had crossed the clearing, standing in front of him. The shock had silenced Anakin's loud wails, though tears still stung in his sore eyes. He blinked helplessly.

Obi-Wan knelt, and hope constricted in Anakin's chest.

I'm sorry, Master.

Anakin whispered his apology on a quiet exhale.

Your eyes are blue.

Obi-Wan reached for him, a rough palm cupping his cheek. Anakin let his head settle against Obi-Wan's palm, nuzzling the inside of Obi-Wan's wrist with his nose. Resisting the urge to let his eyelids flutter closed, he maintained eye contact with Obi-Wan.

It's the most gorgeous blue in the galaxy.

Your eyes are mesmerizing, Anakin.

Goosebumps rose on Anakin's skin, disbelief pressing on his lungs. An embarrassed squeak escaped him, sounding oddly feline.

They are?

Obi-Wan's thumb traced over Anakin's cheekbone.

Don't cry, dear. Now, your eyes are swollen.

I'm sorry, Master.

Obi-Wan didn't reassure him. He didn't say it was okay, nor did he forgive Anakin. However, he let Anakin call him Master without consequence.

I'm here, Anakin.

Anakin nodded jerkily. Obi-Wan sounded impossibly fond. Anakin knew he wasn't forgiven, but Obi-Wan didn't shun him either. He was welcome here despite everything.

Don't leave me, Master.

Did he say it out loud or only think the words?

I wouldn't dream of it.

Chapter Text

He startled awake, his cheek pressed against the blankets, undoubtedly leaving creases in his face. He had slept so deep that his mind had melted and struggled to come back online. Sluggishly, he blinked at the blankets filling his blurry vision. He had dreamed of Obi-Wan, he remembered. The apologies still sat on his tongue, leaving a sticky residue of regret and futility.

But Obi-Wan had called his eyes blue and pretty.

Mesmerizing.

Were they blue, or had Anakin hoped so much that it had infected his dreams with delusions?

A low rumble echoed in his chest, the purring adding to the soft sounds of early morning. Outside, Akkani bristled, a breeze rustled the loose sand, and insects hummed. Closer, Obi-Wan breathed deeply and evenly. Slowly, Anakin sighed, time turning sticky as he stretched before melting into the blankets again.

Behind him, Obi-Wan groaned. Then, he turned, bumping into Anakin. His side pressed against Anakin's back, a burning line that Anakin's back automatically molded and curved against. His spine pulled taut, and Anakin realized that he presented himself to Obi-Wan in a way he had never tried before.

Unaware of Anakin's horrified epiphany, Obi-Wan sat up, taking the blankets with him. Cold invaded Anakin's warm spot.

"Mrew?" he complained, turning around to squint at Obi-Wan. Immediately, Obi-Wan turned his head to look at him, and Anakin wished he could see more details. 

"Ah. Good morning, Anakin," Obi-Wan muttered, rubbing his beard.

Anakin couldn't look away despite barely seeing anything through his bleary eyes.

When Obi-Wan turned to him, what color were Anakin's eyes? Although it wouldn't change anything, Anakin needed to know.

"What color are my eyes?" he asked Obi-Wan. His desperation didn't sneak into his voice, the bark, yips, and mewls sounding like inane babbling. Or at least, that was how Obi-Wan interpreted it.

"Yes," Obi-Wan muttered. His voice was thick with sleep, and the words muttered drowsily, as if Obi-Wan struggled to wake up fully. Anakin couldn't recall Obi-Wan sleeping in before. But the bed was warm and comfortable, too cozy to leave when he could sleep curled up against Obi-Wan's side. "It's early. You can sleep in if you want, though."

"What?" Anakin blurted. "No, you don't understand, Master." He reached for Obi-Wan's sleeve, tugging on the blue tunic. "What color are my eyes?"

"Breakfast?" Obi-Wan asked, guessing what Anakin meant.

Anakin shook his head.

"The weather?" Obi-Wan guessed again.

A frustrated sound escaped Anakin, making Obi-Wan chuckle. Betrayed, Anakin squared his shoulders, squinting at Obi-Wan.

"Don't you dare laugh," he warned Obi-Wan, whose only concession to this threat was snorting behind a raised hand. Feeling a phantom tail puff up, Anakin shook his head. He released Obi-Wan's sleeve to reach for his hand instead. Obi-Wan's palm was rough against his fingers. Reflexively, Anakin's fingers flexed, going lax around Obi-Wan's hand briefly.

Holding hands had no right to feel so good. Anakin could sit here for hours with Obi-Wan's hand in his, only touching Obi-Wan's fingers, watching them intertwine. However, he was on a mission that took precedence. Thus, he raised Obi-Wan's hand, secretly pleased to feel Obi-Wan move along without offering resistance. While it was not a sign of trust, Obi-Wan still indulged Anakin. Luxuriating in the knowledge Obi-Wan allowed him, Anakin preened.

Then, Obi-Wan resisted the movement.

Producing a quizzical mewl, Anakin titled his head.

"While I do not understand what you're aiming for yet, my dear, I doubt you want me to poke your eye," Obi-Wan deadpanned. "What is it you want, Anakin?"

Obi-Wan cooed and sounded so fond while delivering his dry comments. Heat flooded Anakin's cheeks as he struggled to move beyond being called my dear.

"Right," he squeaked, his voice oddly reedy.

Slowly, moving more carefully, Anakin maneuvered Obi-Wan's hand again. Finally, Obi-Wan's fingertips bumped against his cheekbone. Satisfied, Anakin pinned Obi-Wan with a gaze.

"What color are my eyes?" he asked slowly. He enunciated each bark.

"Well, Anakin, I must admit that you're still talking in sand cat. Talking slower won't improve my comprehension. But thank you for trying."

Obi-Wan sounded so unfairly amused. Did Obi-Wan allow him to tug and pull on his sleeve and hand because he thought it was funny? Sullenly, he released Obi-Wan's arm, twisting his body away from Obi-Wan to glower at the cave wall.

"Ah, I'm sorry," Obi-Wan apologized. All Obi-Wan's mirth had disappeared in an instant. In its wake, Obi-Wan sounded awkward and stilted. "I didn't poke fun at you," he said haltingly. "You must believe that, Anakin. Would you try again for me? I promise I will endeavor to..." Obi-Wan's voice trailed off. Did he really think Anakin wouldn't notice the amusement returning in his voice while he spoke?

Miffed but too stubborn to give up, Anakin turned back to Obi-Wan. Carefully, he lifted his hand, hoping he wouldn't poke Obi-Wan's eye out. Though, Obi-Wan deserved it after making fun of him.

Obi-Wan moved his head slightly, and Anakin's fingertips landed on smooth skin. Obi-Wan's cheekbone was soft under his touch, and Anakin wished he could curl up against Obi-Wan and rub his cheek against Obi-Wan's.

"Your eyes," he said.

Then, he moved his hand to his own cheekbone.

"My eyes?" he asked, making sure the inflection in his voice turned his babbling into a question.

Obi-Wan remained silent.

"My eyes?" Anakin repeated. "What color are my eyes, Master?"

Tension sat in Anakin's stomach, twisting and turning until his stomach churned. What if Obi-Wan never understood? What if his eyes were still yellow? What if his eyes would always be yellow? After all, the past couldn't be changed. Nor could the future, Anakin had learned.

"Your eyes are blue," Obi-Wan said. "They are the most gorgeous blue in the galaxy. Your eyes are mesmerizing, Anakin."

Sincerity dripped from each hoarse syllable, and Anakin nodded along. His eyes were blue. They were blue, and it meant everything.

Did it matter?

Did the color of his eyes erase the past and the hurt he had inflicted? Did those eyes change who he was? When would Anakin finally acknowledge he was a monster that deserved nothing?

"You don't like them being blue?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin hadn't noticed his gaze had dropped to his lap until he jerked his head up to meet Obi-Wan's gaze.

"No," he denied, shaking his head. Although he didn't deserve them, he had been so happy that the yellow had drained. "I only like them when they're blue."

"Why are you so sad?" Obi-Wan whispered. He lifted a palm to cup Anakin's cheek. "Why are you so sad, my dear?"

"I'm not sad," Anakin protested weakly. Earlier, Obi-Wan had needed extensive help interpreting Anakin. Now, he understood Anakin's grumbling without any issues.

"No?" he asked. "You're not sad?" Obi-Wan's Force signature swept in like a falcon, its talons curling around Anakin's sand cat Force signature. Anakin was trapped in Obi-Wan's grip. Anakin stiffened, his tongue frozen as it darted to wet his lips.

"Oh," Anakin sighed.

Obi-Wan's Force signature wrapped around Anakin's soul, invisible thumbs applying vague pressure on Anakin's flimsy excuses for shields. Yet, Obi-Wan didn't need to exert any pressure because Anakin's shields crumbled voluntarily. His head lolled back, which tipped his center of gravity. Anakin swayed where he sat. Only Obi-Wan's hand cupping his cheek kept him upright. He melted in Obi-Wan's Force signature, his soul as flexible as a sand cat. This connection felt too good, and Anakin wished he could dilute himself in Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan picked him apart with eerie precision, his Force signature manipulating Anakin's soul to locate the self-loathing.

"You are sad," Obi-Wan said. "If you won't tell me, I have no choice but to look for the reason. Giving you space clearly didn't work. You only went to another with your worries. I will not fail you, Anakin. I will not fail you."

Anakin wanted to argue Obi-Wan had never failed him. Everything was Anakin's fault. All his words had disappeared, though. They had evaporated from his mind, leaving only static behind. His breathing echoed in his skull, replacing his thoughts. Nothing could compare to the intimacy of falling apart into Obi-Wan's Force signature and yielding to his touch.

"I will not make the same mistakes twice," Obi-Wan whispered.

"I won't either," Anakin promised.

Obi-Wan nodded as if he understood Anakin. He likely didn't, but that was alright.

Sighing, Obi-Wan pulled away, physically and in the Force.

Anakin watched him go, not remembering to protest when he still reeled. Obi-Wan had sounded too desperate, catching Anakin off-guard. How was he supposed to react when Obi-Wan turned so urgent, reminding Anakin of Mustafar?

I loved you.

The confusion would drive him mad. He raised a hand to his cheek, the durasteel cold against his overheated skin. Obi-Wan's behavior had flustered him so much that he was lightheaded. His Force signature was useless, twitching and molded to Obi-Wan's touch like memory foam. Although Obi-Wan had retreated again, Anakin's Force signature remained lax and limp.

Anakin's mind raced with how uncharacteristically heavy-handed Obi-Wan had acted. He couldn't believe it was more than an empty threat. Obi-Wan wouldn't have bulldozed through Anakin's shield unless he knew what he would find. Perhaps Obi-Wan considered this a last resort, but Anakin hoped he would reach for Anakin's Force signature again, no matter how out of character this was.

Obi-Wan was never this direct or candid about their feelings. Shouldn't Obi-Wan accept Anakin's deflection instead of making it abundantly clear he knew Anakin lied? Wasn't that how they had always worked until they broke?

Anakin didn't understand the world anymore.

However, he couldn't ponder the issue in Obi-Wan's bed, or Obi-Wan would leave him behind. Today, Anakin planned to help Obi-Wan at his job, never mind that he hadn't been allowed to join Obi-Wan on his perimeter check.

He dropped his hand, using it as leverage to struggle to his knees. His legs clicked as he stood, but they held his weight. The first few steps, he tottered on his feet. Then, his gait grew more fluent. Obi-Wan looked up as Anakin entered the kitchen nook.

He extended his hand, holding something Anakin couldn't discern. He tilted his head.

"For me?" he asked despite already reaching for whatever Obi-Wan offered him.

"Bantha jerky," Obi-Wan said, mistranslating Anakin's chirped question.

"Thank you, Master."

Anakin put the strip of bantha jerky in his mouth, overjoyed at the salty taste. The meat had gone chewy, and Anakin chewed vigorously, training muscles gone weak with disuse. Humming happily, he worked on the bantha jerky.

"Here," Obi-Wan said, offering him another piece once Anakin had finished his strip.

"What about you?" Anakin demanded, prodding Obi-Wan's chest with more strength than he had planned.

"Yes, yes," Obi-Wan placated him. "I will eat, too. Let's not get violent, Anakin."

Anakin couldn't help grinning smugly when Obi-Wan popped the strip of bantha jerky in his own mouth before offering Anakin another one.

"That expression is surprisingly infuriating," Obi-Wan commented.

Anakin would have wiggled his eyebrows if he still possessed them. Instead, he stuck out his tongue.

"Not with food in your mouth, Ah-nakin." Obi-Wan sounded horrified, and Anakin couldn't help laughing in overjoyed barks. When Obi-Wan joined him with hushed laughter, Anakin fell in love deeper, tangling further in a web of affection, warmth, and adoration.

Anakin tottered after Obi-Wan when Obi-Wan collected water from the vaporator. Again, Obi-Wan took care of him and Akkani first before pouring himself a glass. He tossed the glass back, and Anakin's attention snagged on Obi-Wan's bobbing Adam's apple, enchanted by the sight. Tension settled in the muscles in his abdomen, and his lungs felt too tight and constricted. His right hand flexed around his glass, reminding him of its presence. Anakin quickly drank his water to keep up with Obi-Wan. When Obi-Wan put his glass down and moved to the cave's mouth, Anakin followed his example.

"I will be home by dusk. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do. Actually, take some rest..." Obi-Wan stopped talking abruptly. Ostensibly, he had glanced over his shoulder and discovered Anakin had followed him. Anakin stood directly behind Obi-Wan, waiting to be acknowledged.

"Anakin?"

Anakin hadn't prepared a speech. Perhaps he should have rehearsed what he would say because he drew a blank.

"Take me with you," he mumbled.

"Could you talk louder?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Take me with you," he meowed louder, pleading with Obi-Wan. He focused the Force on his eyes, needing to see how Obi-Wan would react. 

Obi-Wan's expression smoothed, going so empty that Anakin knew Obi-Wan had understood him.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan began, the finality in his voice telling Anakin enough. This was a rejection, one Anakin couldn't bear. He didn't deserve-- No. No, he couldn't give up without trying.

"I can help," he pleaded. He couldn't help showing his overwhelming disappointment, his shoulders slumping. "I want to help," he added. Obi-Wan remained silent. Anakin's vocal cords produced little noises that sounded like warbles, vocalizing Anakin's immense disappointment.

"Fine," Obi-Wan sighed. The noises withered on Anakin's tongue. Caught between hope and disbelief, he blinked at Obi-Wan. "I will grow immune to those puppy -- or kitten, I suppose -- eyes, Anakin. Acting adorable will stop working eventually."

"I don't act adorable," Anakin protested.

"Yes, I know," Obi-Wan said sardonically. "You are adorable."

"Master."

"Come over here, Anakin," Obi-Wan talked over him, gesturing for Anakin to stand by Akkani's side. Knowing better than to push his luck, Anakin complied obediently. Standing by Akkani, he turned to give Obi-Wan an innocent look.

"Don't even try," Obi-Wan grumbled, sounding annoyed. Yet, he still reached for Anakin, his hands wrapping around Anakin's waist over the cloak. Anakin squeaked loudly, jolting in Obi-Wan's hold, who only tightened his hold on Anakin. "Stop squirming," Obi-Wan told him absentmindedly before lifting Anakin like he weighed nothing.

He plopped Anakin on Akkani's back. Akkani didn't stop eating her portion of bantha jerky, ignoring Anakin's weight on her back. However, Akkani was an animal made to carry loads, unlike Obi-Wan, whose back undoubtedly complained after lifting the equivalent of a durasteel container.

Appearing unaffected by hoisting Anakin on Akkani's back, Obi-Wan urged Akkani to stand. The eopie stopped eating, listening to Obi-Wan's gentle encouragement. As a sand cat, Anakin had ridden in Obi-Wan's tunic of cloak. Now, Obi-Wan swung in the saddle behind him, and Anakin slipped back to settle between Obi-Wan's thighs when Akkani began walking.

Gingerly, Anakin shifted his hips forward slightly.

Each swaying step made Anakin press against Obi-Wan's chest. Unbidden, Anakin's ass ground against Obi-Wan's pelvis, creating the illusion that Obi-Wan thrust against his ass. Anakin knew he was overthinking, but the rolling of Obi-Wan's hips against his ass was suggestive. And Anakin's body was making an unfortunate recovery.

Each time he slid back, Anakin wiggled forward to avoid rubbing against Obi-Wan's groin. He had to resist leaning back because he didn't trust his body. Heat pooled in his guts, bubbling like champagne but heavier than molten durasteel. If he leaned into Akkani's rhythm, he would start grinding against Obi-Wan. Fed up with Anakin's squirming, Obi-Wan took one hand from Akkani's reins to wrap around Anakin's waist and press him close.

"I know it's not a speeder," Obi-Wan said. "But try to relax, Anakin."

Anakin squeaked. The weight of Obi-Wan's forearm against his lower abdomen forced his attention to the heat that had gathered low in his guts. The pressure of Obi-Wan's arm compressed his budding arousal, turning into a solid, unignorable weight. It echoed Anakin's pulse, which shouldn't arouse him more.

"How?" Anakin bemoaned his fate as his ass slit right between Obi-Wan's thighs, settling against Obi-Wan's groin. He couldn't even arch his back, safely pressed against Obi-Wan's chest. Each swaying step jolted them, making Anakin's ass grind against Obi-Wan, and it was... it was more than suggestive. It was filthy, and Anakin's only saving grace was that Obi-Wan couldn't see his face.

He lifted a durasteel hand to his cheeks, mortified by how cool the lukewarm steel felt against his cheek.

"Everything okay?" Obi-Wan asked, somehow oblivious to the emergency happening in front of him. Anakin didn't know what to say when even Obi-Wan's voice flustered him. What if Obi-Wan discovered that Anakin reacted to sitting between his thighs, imagining that Obi-Wan would rut against him.

"Yes," Anakin answered, producing a little cheep.

"Then, you can relax. I promise Akkani won't bite. She never bothered you as a sand cat either."

Perhaps Akkani wouldn't bite, but Obi-Wan would. Still, Anakin forced himself to rest against Obi-Wan's chest. Akkani's steps no longer jarred him, the motion traveling through him. As a result, their bodies stopped grinding against each other. Yet, Anakin's heart still raced, the heat trapped low in his guts and high in his throat.

"That's better," Obi-Wan praised him, but he didn't remove his arm wrapped around Anakin's waist, keeping him securely tucked against Obi-Wan. Since Obi-Wan wouldn't budge, Anakin could only enjoy the proximity. Time passed, and slowly, Anakin let the tension bleed from his body. His sigh shuddered in his throat, and the arousal turned into comfort and a thick, viscous drowsiness.

Cautiously, expecting to be rebuked, Anakin settled his head under Obi-Wan's chin. Then, he went pliant in Obi-Wan's hold, molding his body against Obi-Wan's, and the final bit of tension and heat slipped from his body. Still, Obi-Wan didn't acknowledge Anakin burrowing closer. Anakin's hands settled on Obi-Wan's forearms, the only place he could keep them that wasn't awkward.

As time passed, Anakin grew increasingly comfortable. His eyes slipped shut, but the binary suns still burned too bright, so Anakin turned his head to tuck his face into Obi-Wan's cloak.

After shifting around, he waited with bated breath.

Yet, Obi-Wan didn't put any distance between them. Could he trust that he was welcome? Anakin tilted his head back to steal a glance at Obi-Wan's expression. Briefly, their gazes met, and Anakin wished he could see clearly. Then, Obi-Wan's attention wandered to the hills ahead of them. The movement was deliberate, meant to communicate something. Or it could be a test, though Anakin didn't know what question Obi-Wan wanted him to answer.

Giving up, Anakin returned his head to Obi-Wan's chest, nuzzling Obi-Wan's shoulder as he settled again. The rhythmic swaying and Obi-Wan's heartbeat lulled him into a light doze. Snoozing, he could barely stifle his purring.

"A little less pressure, please, dear," Obi-Wan said. Obi-Wan's other hand came to rest on Anakin's hands on Obi-Wan's forearm.

Blinking, Anakin yawned. Then, he turned his bleary vision to his hands, realizing he was kneading Obi-Wan's forearm. His fingers dug into Obi-Wan's forearm rhythmically, the motion soothing Anakin, calming his animal hindbrain. The kneading was reflexive, communicating how at ease he felt in Obi-Wan's arm.

But he hurt Obi-Wan.

He tried to snatch his hands away, but Obi-Wan's hand trapped the metal fingers against his forearm.

"It's okay. Just a little gentler," Obi-Wan told him. Anakin watched Obi-Wan smooth over the durasteel fingers of his left hand. Then, he shifted to Anakin's right hand, and Anakin's synth nerves picked up the skin contact. Obi-Wan's fingers ran over his, straightening them individually, and Anakin could only watch and feel. Anakin could be as gentle as Obi-Wan was with him, but kneading Obi-Wan's forearm on purpose rather than driven by instinct was intimate. Didn't Obi-Wan understand?

Yet, he couldn't help but let his fingers grip lightly around Obi-Wan's forearm, focused on keeping his touch light and gentle. Anakin could be tender, massaging Obi-Wan's forearm, consumed by the kneading. It was an instinctual response to how Obi-Wan made him feel, so reenacting it consciously should feel silly. Instead, it reassured animal instincts, helping him remain calm.

After rocking once, Akkani stopped moving. Anakin's gaze snapped up, realizing they had reached the stables in Anchorhead.

Obi-Wan's arm fell away, returning Anakin's freedom to him. Although Anakin wished to stay on Akkani's back, nestled against Obi-Wan, he had a duty to perform. He would help Obi-Wan.

"Don't--"

Anakin had already slid from Akkani's back. His knee joints buckled, incapable of carrying the weight Anakin put on them. With a startled yip, he collapsed to the ground, glowering at his splayed knees.

"--jump," Obi-Wan said. "Or do jump," he said. "Can I give you a hand?"

Anakin huffed, considering accepting the offer. Then, he shook his head, struggling to get to his feet to show Obi-Wan he could. Proud of his accomplishment, he turned to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan had descended gracefully, and his attention was on Akkani. He petted the eopie's neck as he guided her into the stables, addressing the animal in a soothing tone. Disappointment soured Anakin's mood. The sharp stab of jealousy was ridiculous. Anakin knew that. Regardless, Anakin's stomach curdled with the intensity of these unseemly emotions.

What was there to be jealous of?

Anakin had slept in Obi-Wan's bed. He had snoozed in Obi-Wan's arms as they traveled to Anchorhead. Yet, he couldn't stand sharing Obi-Wan's attention with an unassuming albeit useful animal.

They weren't in competition, but Anakin's gaze snagged on Obi-Wan's broad palm on Akkani's neck.

"Anakin?"

Startled, Anakin focused on Obi-Wan's face, unaware Obi-Wan studied him. His hazy vision and tiny Force signature didn't warn him beforehand, and every unexpected sound spooked him.

"Mrow?"

"You seemed out of it," Obi-Wan said. "Also, I do wonder what you plan to do."

Anakin tried to grin ominously, but his lips were too stiff. So, he shrugged instead. He would help Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan had walked slower than usual, matching his pace to Anakin's heavy one. Although the prostheses worked better than before, they couldn't replace organic legs.

"Listen, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, still trying to convince Anakin to return to Akkani. "I believe I know what you are planning, and I must say, I have a bad feeling about it."

"That's just too bad," Anakin said.

"I can sense the recalcitrance," Obi-Wan muttered. "In your meowing." He sounded slightly hysterical.

"Good," Anakin said. That would simplify the process of him getting what he wanted.

"And the smugness," Obi-Wan added wryly.

The banter was so easy. Although Anakin couldn't talk, Obi-Wan understood him somewhat. Would he eventually see that Anakin's heart beat for him, too? 

"You are capable, Anakin. Terrifyingly so. However, your body is not ready for such strenuous physical labor."

Did Obi-Wan plan to exploit Anakin's weakness to praise? Anakin couldn't help glowing as he listened to Obi-Wan despite disagreeing vehemently. Unfortunately for Obi-Wan, it was already too late. 

"We've arrived," Anakin said, pointing at the convoy of speeders parked at the city's edge.

"Why do I get the feeling you're ignoring what I said?" Obi-Wan asked him.

"Come on, Master."

Anakin quickened his pace, trusting that Obi-Wan would follow despite his complaints.

"Don't dawdle, Master," he ordered Obi-Wan when they reached the convoy. "We can't be late."

Anakin knew this was a brilliant idea. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan heaved a deep, long-suffering sigh.

"I suspect I can't stop this foolishness?"

Anakin nodded vigorously.

It looked like Obi-Wan struggled to resist the urge to throw his hands in the air.

"Of course, Anakin Skywalker will be stubborn," he muttered. "What else did I honestly expect? Very well, follow me, dear."

Obi-Wan reached for Anakin's right hand, ignoring the closer left one. Their cloaks hid Obi-Wan's fingers tangling with Anakin's metal ones. As synth nerves fired, Anakin gawked at Obi-Wan. A soft tug on his fingers made Anakin stumble forward, following Obi-Wan, who headed to the speeders. Their fingers slid against each other, intertwining more closely as Obi-Wan guided him, and Anakin was hyper-aware of each minute shift.

His fingers accommodated Obi-Wan's, finding the perfect place to slot. They passed by several speeders until Obi-Wan found the correct one. Obi-Wan climbed into the speeder first, using their held hands to help Anakin up.

While imagining how he would help Obi-Wan, Anakin had forgotten that wouldn't work alone. Apprehension stifled Anakin's enthusiasm as his gaze wept over the workers who already sat on the long benches, simultaneously frightened to make eye contact and incapable of stopping his inspection. There were more people than he had expected. Although no one looked at him, Anakin hid behind Obi-Wan, his gaze on the ground and shoulders hunched. The proximity of too many other people unsettled him, and he would swear they sneered at him. Yet, when he dared a glance, no one looked.

His breathing rasped through his throat. Obi-Wan's fingers tightened around his, but he continued to walk through the aisle. Knees filled Anakin's vision, but he couldn't count them when his mind spun so fast he was dizzy.

At the far end of the speeder, Obi-Wan stopped, nudging him to sit in the corner. Anakin's trembling knees gave out, and he slumped on the bench, his gaze skirting over the other workers. They were absorbed in their own bleak galaxies, he reminded himself.

Yet, he couldn't escape the paranoia.

Obi-Wan sat next to him, his body blocking Anakin's view of the other workers.

"It's okay," Obi-Wan mumbled. "It's okay, my dear."

Anakin gripped Obi-Wan's hand tighter, belatedly remembering Obi-Wan cautioning him about his fingers' inhuman strength. He squinted with concentration as he kept his touch gentle, stroking the back of Obi-Wan's palm.

He felt too overwhelmed and vulnerable, but the repetitive motion soothed him. Especially when Obi-Wan's thumb rubbed over his in return. Anakin sagged against Obi-Wan's shoulder, who tipped his head to rest his cheek on Anakin's hooded head. They waited as the speeder filled, the driver waiting until all spots were filled before taking off, not caring about who had boarded.

Anakin sighed, the soft rumble in his chest hitching. Although he should stifle his purring, he was too exhausted to care. Had he bitten off more than he could chew? The day had barely started.

No. Anakin had commanded armies and functioned without sleep. This was fine.

This was not, in fact, fine.

He hauled another chunk of meat from the table to the packaging droid. His legs and arms groaned under the strain, and Anakin's feet slipped in the sand with each step. Panting, he dropped the chunk into the chute. The packaging droid whirred and swallowed the meat.

Wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his cloak, Anakin turned back to the table. Searing pain stabbed through the connection points in his legs as he waddled back. His gait revealed he was in pain, but no one noticed.

Except for Obi-Wan, who glowered at him when he reached the table again.

"Take a break, Anakin," he hissed under his breath.

"Mew," Anakin protested. No.

His metal fingers scrambled to get under the chunk Obi-Wan had cut. He lagged behind, and the meat had accumulated on the tables. The other butchers ignored him, but Anakin knew they were growing annoyed with his slow pacing.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan warned him, still whispering to avoid drawing attention to them.

Anakin hoisted the chunk of meat, swaying on his feet to regain his balance. Obi-Wan dropped his knife to steady him. Briefly, Anakin leaned into the hand supporting the small of his back. Then, he pushed away, limping to the packaging droid again.

Obi-Wan cared. Anakin didn't know why, but Obi-Wan worried for him.

His hand trembled as he waited for the machine to dispense credits in his hand. The credits clattered against his durasteel palm. Too drained to be pleased, Anakin let his fingers close around the credits before stuffing his fist in his cloak.

He swayed on his legs, only held upright by Obi-Wan's arm around his shoulders, keeping some weight from his legs.

Neither talked as they embarked on the speeder. Again, Obi-Wan led him to the far end to let Anakin sit in the corner. Obi-Wan protected him, using his body as a shield against the other workers. Although Anakin knew he only imagined the weight of their gazes, his mind wasn't convinced. He could only see enemies everywhere.

Anakin barely noticed the trip home, curled into Obi-Wan's side, sleeping restlessly. Memories whispered.

Well, then YOU are lost!

A whimper escaped him as Obi-Wan's voice echoed in his mind. Obi-Wan pulled him closer with the arm that Anakin hadn't settled against. His hand curled around Anakin's shoulder, almost hugging Anakin.

Despite knowing his lips had twisted into a deep pout, Anakin tilted his head back to look at Obi-Wan.

"Meow," he whined miserably.

"We're almost in Anchorhead, dear. We're almost home."

Obi-Wan shared his home with Anakin freely. This should delight Anakin, but he couldn't swallow the guilt. While hungering for acceptance, he also needed Obi-Wan to reject him. Why didn't Obi-Wan blame him for destroying his home and family? Shame curdled in Anakin's stomach, making sour, bitter bile rise in his throat.

"I failed you," he muttered. "I ruined everything."

Everything.

What a silly word. How convenient that Anakin could conceal the depth of his betrayal and cruelty of his actions -- his massacre -- behind one word.

Everything.

"You're spiraling," Obi-Wan whispered in the hood of Anakin's cloak. "Your suffering does not bring my joy, Anakin. It pains me to see you hurt. Why are you sad, dear?"

They remained silent for the remainder of the trip to Anchorhead. Anakin milled over Obi-Wan's words. It was so unfair that Obi-Wan was so kind and compassionate. Anakin was a monster, and when Obi-Wan welcomed him with so much warmth, he would forget that he had lashed out indiscriminately.

He had doomed the universe, tearing through everything pure and good single-handedly. Because he was scared and powerless and oh-so-angry. He was a cornered animal, he was cruelty impersonate, he was a nightmare, unable to tell delusion and reality apart.

Yet, Obi-Wan didn't seem to see a hideous monster.

Your eyes are BLUE.

They are the most gorgeous BLUE in the galaxy.

Your eyes are mesmerizing, ANAKIN.

Anakin bit on his bottom lips, grounding himself in a harsh pain. Ruthlessly, he worried his bottom lip.

I loved you.

I HATE YOU!

I LOVED you.

But I couldn't save you.

"I love you," he breathed in Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

I HATE YOU!

"I love you," Anakin breathed, his despair bleeding in his voice, spilling from the wounds that littered his tainted soul. 

Obi-Wan's hand lifted from his shoulder to the back of his head to cup his hooded head.

"I wish I knew why you were so sad," Obi-Wan confessed. "Though, I suspect that may make it worse."

Perhaps so.

Anakin didn't know. He couldn't trust himself. All he trusted was that he loved Obi-Wan. He was too indebted to Obi-Wan, their fates so tightly intertwined and tangled that they could never be separated.

"Come, dear. Let's go," Obi-Wan coaxed him.

Anakin straightened from Obi-Wan's side, belatedly realizing that they were the only ones in the speeder. Obi-Wan had waited until they were the last ones left. Because he knew other people unnerved Anakin and didn't want to cause Anakin any discomfort.

How could he stop loving Obi-Wan when Obi-Wan treated him like he was precious?

Anakin struggled to his feet, whining as he put pressure on his legs. The connection points were searing hot, the metal digging into the swollen scar tissue. Obi-Wan hovered, but he didn't offer help as Anakin waddled to the exit of the speeder.

The jump to the sandy desert loomed below him. Although the distance was relatively small, the impact would rock through his body, jarring his legs. He hesitated. After a decade of barely surviving and almost functioning, always suffering immense agony, he shouldn't shy away.

Yet, he had grown weak already, apprehensive to experience the blinding pain that awaited him.

Obi-Wan brushed past him, jumping to the sand. Dust billowed in the air, covering Obi-Wan's duty boots in another fine layer. Anakin swallowed thickly, groaning when he bent his knees to prepare.

Rather than walking away, Obi-Wan turned back and reached for him. Bewildered, Anakin remained awkwardly squatted, feeling Obi-Wan's hands close around his waist.

He couldn't see Obi-Wan's expression. Thus, he couldn't judge whether Obi-Wan's features twisted under the strain of lifting Anakin. While he grunted as he picked Anakin up, the motion was smooth and he lowered Anakin softly in the desert sand, taking him time to ensure Anakin's knees wouldn't give out.

"Thank you," Anakin chirped. He was too relieved for the humiliation to sting.

"You're welcome."

Obi-Wan released him, leaving only the ghost of a touch behind. Anakin stumbled after him, embarrassingly flustered by the memory of Obi-Wan's hands on his waist while simultaneously dead on his feet.

They knew Obi-Wan had been right. Working under the scorching desert sun was too much, but Anakin wouldn't give up. His body would fall apart before he would consider staying in the cave. However inadequate, this was his redemption for Obi-Wan. Anakin would not ruin this.

In the stables, Anakin waited by Akkani's side as Obi-Wan fed her strips of the beast's meat. He remembered hiding in Obi-Wan's tunic, begging for a bite, bothering Obi-Wan until he caved in.

It hadn't taken much whining for Obi-Wan to fold.

No, not much at all. Animals tended to like Obi-Wan. Because he was steadfast and calm. Because his voice was gentle and smooth. Because he carried treats, and couldn't say 'no' to them, and cared so deeply.

Anakin couldn't help smiling, the fondness squeezing his heart.

"I take it you're ready to be lifted in the saddle?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin realized Obi-Wan was right. He had waited for Obi-Wan to help in the saddle, patiently standing by Akkani's side for his turn. Before he could formulate an answer that wouldn't add to his mortification, Obi-Wan had guided Akkani to her knees.

"Ready?" he asked.

Anakin nodded.

"Very well."

Obi-Wan's hands wrapped around his waist again, claiming that spot so frequently that the skin thrummed in recognition. Obi-Wan's thumbs rested over his belly, denting the scarred skin under his cloak. So far, Obi-Wan's hands had remained over his cloak, but the folds had shifted slightly.

Now, Anakin's mangled, disfigured body was visible, standing in stark contrast to Obi-Wan's tanned hands. Although Obi-Wan's hands were also covered in scars from a hard life, they were different from the thick ropes that covered Anakin, interspersed with parts where his skin had boiled and coagulated in tight patches.

Yet, Obi-Wan didn't rear back or shift his hands to a safer territory. The thumb of his right hand brushed over the scars, infinitely gentle with Anakin.

"I'm so sorry, Anakin."

Obi-Wan's voice was thick and hoarse with emotion.

"It's not your fault," Anakin said. "It never was. This was my fault."

"I shouldn't have left you. I shouldn't have hurt you. Look what I've done to you."

"I would have killed you," Anakin intoned.

I hate you!

He had wielded his lightsaber with the intent to kill Obi-Wan. Remorse was a fathomless lake swallowing him whole, cold despite the blistering heat of the suns. Obi-Wan took his time depositing Anakin on Akkani's back, ensuring Anakin was comfortable and treating Anakin like he was fragile. Perhaps he looked fragile when his soul crumbled under the weight of his crimes and remorse. Anakin felt awfully vulnerable, needing to nestle against Obi-Wan. He craved easy companionship from the person he loved.

"Don't be sad, dear."

Anakin sighed, so incredibly tired. His body hurt and ached while his soul felt like a blooming bruise. All his emotions were thrown into disarray, and his Force signature strained under the burden it carried.

He just needed to sleep.

Obi-Wan swung in the saddle behind him, the body heat tempting Anakin closer. He sidled to Obi-Wan, settling against his chest. Obi-Wan's hands reached for the reins, encircling Anakin.

Everything hurt, and Anakin just needed a moment of peace. Closing his eyes was ill-advised, but his eyelids were too heavy to stop the inevitable. In the periphery of his consciousness, he saw lava bubble and pop. Those edges were tainted red by the visor of a helmet he no longer wore. Misery lived there, talking in the voices of those he had killed and those who had killed him.

There was only death. Nothing survived in the wasteland of his mind, the memories swallowing everything.

Yet, only darkness greeted him. Obi-Wan pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head. Anakin produced a lazy, quizzical sound.

"You're sunburned, dear," Obi-Wan explained.

"Oh."

"Sleep, Anakin."

Hearing Obi-Wan call him terms of endearment so casually was flattering. It was gratifying, soothing invisible bruises and burns. Being dear to someone meant that he mattered. While undeserved, Obi-Wan thought he was dear. Anakin shouldn't sustain on reflexive, unintentional terms of endearment. Yet, he locked them away in his crumbled heart, where everything he cherished went.

But kept behind lock and key, the memory could only fade unnoticed.

"You're thinking so hard," Obi-Wan said. "Your brows are furrowed."

A thumb pressed lightly between his closed eyes. Anakin whined, drawing a low chuckle from Obi-Wan.

"Sleep, Anakin," he repeated.

Chapter Text

He opened his eyes, managing only a crack. Drowsy and disoriented, he burrowed closer to Obi-Wan's chest.

"We've arrived," Obi-Wan said, his voice rumbling in his chest and echoing in Anakin's lungs.

Anakin hummed. He raised a hand to his face, trying to rub his eyes, which were crusted shut. He missed by a margin, the durasteel hitting his cheekbones instead. Grumbling, he gave up, too tired to care. Obi-Wan scooped him in his arms, lifting Anakin from Akkani's back. Anakin collapsed in Obi-Wan's hold.

"Did I fall asleep?" Anakin asked. His voice sounded sluggish, slurring on the meows.

Obi-Wan shushed him. Content to rest in Obi-Wan's arms, he let his eyes slip shut again. Obi-Wan's arms were soon replaced by the soft blankets of their bed -- had it only taken one night for Anakin to start calling Obi-Wan's bed theirs?

Barely managing to produce a murmuring sound, Anakin let Obi-Wan tuck him in and fuss over him. Obi-Wan's hand roved over his body, mapping every mangled scar with only the barrier of Anakin's threadbare cloak preventing skin contact.

Then, he slipped the hood back to reveal Anakin's face.

Anakin was no longer handsome, and he braced himself for disgust despite knowing Obi-Wan would never show it. Unlike Anakin, Obi-Wan wasn't cruel. He had always been a better Jedi.

Obi-Wan didn't retreat his hand. Instead, he stroked the side of Anakin's face. Each reverent albeit hesitant stroke took a millennium, so feather-soft the touch tickled. Did Obi-Wan believe that Anakin would pull away? Because he would never. Sand cat instincts kicked in, a low purr humming in his throat.

"It's okay," Obi-Wan whispered. "Sleep well, Anakin."

Obi-Wan turned his attention to the blankets, arranging them to ensure Anakin was comfortable. Finished with the blankets, he put the only pillow under Anakin's head.

Anakin had to protest. After all, Obi-Wan had only one pillow, and Anakin couldn't steal it. Yet, he had already lost control over his vocal chords. The purring continued unhindered, but he couldn't find the energy to speak. Sleep pulled on his heavy body, every muscle going lax as he burrowed in their little nest like he was still a sand cat and could turn into liquid on command.

Obi-Wan had wished him to sleep well, but Anakin knew he wouldn't find reprieve. He should fight against the sleep dragging him under harder, but he was so comfortable.

Neither the lava lakes of Mustafar nor eternal twilight greeted him today. He was somewhere warm, resting on and between someone's thighs. A hand ran through his fur. Anakin purred louder, his tiny body vibrating with the intensity of the rumbling.

He twisted into a tighter role in Obi-Wan's lap, accidentally rolling onto his back. His paws stuck in the air under awkward angels, prompting laughter from Obi-Wan. The sound mixed well with Anakin's purring. Obi-Wan's hand migrated to his stomach, ruffling the paler fur.

Anyone else would have met Anakin's paws, claws extended. However, for Obi-Wan, he went pliant, leaving his sensitive underbelly exposed. Obi-Wan wouldn't hurt him; he would never harm Anakin's trust. He was safe in Obi-Wan's lap, no matter how vulnerable a position he twisted into.

His eyesight was so sharp that it stole Anakin's breath away. He had forgotten how gray and dim his vision remained, even with the Force supporting his straining eyes. The world in his dream was in technicolor. Obi-Wan's eyes were a vibrant blue. The contrast between his auburn hair and the gray streaks was brighter.

Obi-Wan had called his eyes mesmerizing, but the pale blue of Obi-Wan's eyes, alight with amusement, was breathtaking. Anakin's purring stuttered as their gazes met.

"Hello there, Dauntless," Obi-Wan said.

The timbre of his voice was everything.

"Hello," Anakin chirped.

He admired Obi-Wan's freckles, swatting one of his stocky paws to chase Obi-Wan's freckles. He wished he could touch them, but his paws were too short. He wanted to place kisses on them, but leaving Obi-Wan's lap and dislodging the hand on his tummy was out of the question.

"Hello, Anakin," Obi-Wan continued.

"You recognize me?" Anakin asked, producing a string of mewls that Obi-Wan couldn't understand. Obi-Wan didn't respond, focusing his attention on giving Anakin ear scratches. Anakin languished in Obi-Wan's lap, tilting his head back to lean into the ear scratches. Instead, Obi-Wan's hand migrated to his chin to scratch his chin.

Anakin purred embarrassingly loudly, almost dislodging Obi-Wan's hand as he leaned into the scratches.

"The resemblance is uncanny," Obi-Wan said.

"Is it?" Anakin asked.

"You are so adorable it's bad for my health."

"Oh, great. So I'm bad for your health now?" Anakin grumbled, his tail flicking in faux annoyance. He didn't think he hid how pleased he was, though. When Obi-Wan's hand ran over his head and side to the tip of his tail, his tail curled around Obi-Wan's wrist automatically.

"You're so dear to me," Obi-Wan continued. "But if I had known, I would have called you Reckless instead."

"Too late," Anakin purred. "You called me Dauntless already."

Obi-Wan laughed, a deep, hoarse, breathless sound. "And I can just imagine your attitude."

"My attitude?" Anakin echoed, so affronted he could only bat at Obi-Wan's hand with a furry paw.

Obi-Wan's smile fell from his face, melancholy replacing his joy.

"I wish I could hear your voice, Anakin. I wish I could understand you, even only once."

Anakin's eyes widened. Helplessness swept through him, holding him in a crushing grip. He couldn't talk. Once Anakin talked in Basic, Obi-Wan would realize he had made an error.

I HATE YOU!

Anakin couldn't talk, or he would ruin everything. An apology would always fall short, and he was frightened that he would accidentally try to justify his actions. Then, Obi-Wan would turn away again. He should never have taken Anakin in like a stray cat, but Anakin couldn't survive the alternative. Being cast out would kill him.

"Master," he yipped. Despair and fear turned his voice hoarse.

"I love you, dear. I love you so."

Anakin's heart stopped beating. Two sentences, each containing four words and one damning confession, wiped his mind. Blankly, he stared at Obi-Wan, failing to comprehend what Obi-Wan said. He thought he had lost Obi-Wan's love. Surely, he had.

This couldn't be real.

It felt so good to be the object of Obi-Wan's love. Obi-Wan resumed petting him, running his hand over Anakin's back, turning his affection into a physical weight. Anakin curled around Obi-Wan's hand, purring contentedly.

He didn't realize he no longer dreamed initially. While he still purred so deeply the rumble echoed in his bones, and he was nestled against Obi-Wan, the discomfort was undeniable. His breathing dragged through his throat. Also, his legs burned fiercely. As a sand cat, he didn't experience the pains and aches of his broken body. He wrinkled his nose. He didn't like the pain. To escape the fever-hot stinging, he burrowed closer to Obi-Wan, his head automatically rubbing Obi-Wan's shoulder, bumping into Obi-Wan as he searched for cuddles.

Under him, Obi-Wan groaned.

"What?" he mumbled incoherently. "Anakin? Is it morning already?"

"Mrow."

Anakin wormed closer, basking in the body heat and wondering why the petting had stopped.

"Stop wiggling, Padawan."

Padawan?

Anakin's head reared back, his gaze meeting Obi-Wan's. He should have realized he was awake earlier. He had dreamed he was a sand cat. And as he had slept, he had ended up on top of Obi-Wan, purring up a storm. The purring stuttered and halted.

Obi-Wan had called Anakin his Padawan, and the term shouldn't feel so right. However, Anakin's mind still reeled with the knowledge he had migrated as he slept until he used Obi-Wan as his mattress and pillow. Their legs had tangled. Despite the additional strain this put on the connection points, Anakin was too comfortable to roll away. His palm rested on Obi-Wan's chest, supporting his weight as he stared at Obi-Wan in shock. A deep silence punctuated the absence of his purring.

How had he ended up in this position?

Why did Obi-Wan sound so unperturbed? They had slept like lovers, intertwined completely, and Obi-Wan was infuriatingly casual about the affair. Meanwhile, Anakin would combust, his mind racing to detect each contact point between their bodies, and there were many.

It would be better to forget that he had dreamed about Obi-Wan declaring his love for him. How humiliating that Anakin was love-struck enough to dream that Obi-Wan would confess his love. Stars, he was delusional.

"That's better," Obi-Wan muttered, his voice still gruff with sleep. Anakin could only watch Obi-Wan run a hand through his hair. Anakin's hand twitched on Obi-Wan's chest, the temptation to test the softness and texture of Obi-Wan's hair irresistible. Yet, he held himself back, shifting awkwardly on top of Obi-Wan.

He felt overheated, too agitated to remain silent as a heavy tension built in his guts.

Obi-Wan's hands curled around Anakin's waist again, finding their spot. Perhaps Anakin was made to be held by Obi-Wan, their bodies slotting together perfectly.

"Meow?" he asked, his voice rising higher and higher in pitch until it broke.

The pressure in his guts solidified, turning unignorable, and Anakin could only wait in Obi-Wan's hold. Thickly, he swallowed, his throat clicking. His thirst barely registered, his entire being focused on the heat in his pelvis and the blood rushing in his ears.

His fingers curled and scrabbled at Obi-Wan's chest. Synth nerves sparked, the world turning oversensitive. He could feel each fiber of Obi-Wan's tunic, the solid muscle underneath, and the body heat that appealed to Anakin. He was a sand cat, looking for a safe perch to hide and a warm spot to bask in the sunlight of Obi-Wan's Force signature. He was a human, craving intimacy and companionship. He was Anakin Skywalker; he could only yearn for Obi-Wan -- for his Master.

He was still Obi-Wan's Padawan despite losing the right to use the title over a decade ago.

He gasped as Obi-Wan's fingers twitched, digging against his waist.

"It's time to wake up," Obi-Wan said, but he didn't move.

They were already awake, though. Anakin was no longer a sand cat, and the burning contact points in his legs wouldn't let him forget.

"We have to get up," Obi-Wan repeated weakly.

He stared, Anakin knew. Too curious for his own good, Anakin redirected the Force to his eyes. As a sand cat, his vision had been unbelievably sharp. Now, he barely managed to bring Obi-Wan's features into focus. Anakin didn't recognize the expression on Obi-Wan's face, peeking through a neutral mask.

Obi-Wan lifted Anakin from his chest. After placing Anakin on the blankets, Obi-Wan fled their bed, moving too fast. This was undeniably an escape. Ignoring the pain in his legs, Anakin clambered to his feet to follow Obi-Wan through the cave.

They fell into their morning routine, which carried them from the kitchen to the vaporator and back. Anakin hovered, waiting for a clue as he sipped from his cup. Although Obi-Wan didn't ignore him outright, he didn't talk either. No matter the reason, this silence could only last until they would go to Anchorhead.

Smug with anticipation, Anakin waited by Akkani's side while Obi-Wan put his cup away. Shamelessly, he tilted his head when Obi-Wan left the cave, meowing to catch Obi-Wan's attention. Obi-Wan sighed, but the amusement in his sigh only spurred Anakin on.

Obi-Wan's earlier escape had triggered an instinct Anakin was unfamiliar with. It turned him playful and giddy, making him want to hunt Obi-Wan and play. He knew Obi-Wan would respond to Anakin's request to help him into Akkani's saddle. Obi-Wan wouldn't stay away. Anakin bounced on his toes, but the pain piercing his connection points tempered his enthusiasm.

Obi-Wan paused, and Anakin straightened to hide his discomfort, producing another yip.

"You are suspiciously eager. If you aren't careful, we'll be early."

Anakin rolled his eyes, knowing he failed to hide that he was inordinately pleased by Obi-Wan's fond amusement.

"I'm just making sure you aren't late. You would never recover from the humiliation," Anakin shot back despite knowing Obi-Wan couldn't understand his barks.

A hazy finger entered his vision, touching the tip of his nose. Anakin couldn't resist leaning in to nuzzle the finger. His eyes fell shut in a slow blink as he nudged Obi-Wan's finger against his nose. It felt like Obi-Wan greeted him, and Anakin was oh-so-happy to make acquaintances.

"Spare me the insolence, dear."

"I would never," Anakin said, feigning innocence.

"Oh, of course, you're a good boy," Obi-Wan joked.

Yet, those two words sent electricity down Anakin's spine.

Good boy.

An involuntary squeak fell from his lips. Anakin lost the rhythm of their banter, consumed by Obi-Wan calling him a good boy. He shivered despite being warm. Although he had waited for Obi-Wan to lift him, he still wasn't prepared for Obi-Wan's hands curling around his waist. He sucked in air, so startled he almost twisted from Obi-Wan's hold before melting.

His body didn't know how to respond, and Anakin's mind had gone blank minutes ago. He blinked at Obi-Wan, too far gone to worry about desperation showing on his face.

Good boy.

He shivered in Obi-Wan's hold, perhaps going a little too limp -- as if he wasn't already too obvious.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, finally noticing Anakin's odd behavior. "Well," he said, drawing the word out. "Ah." Then, his voice tapered off, and nothing followed. He sounded strangled, almost tortured, and Anakin could only sigh a breathy sound. 

Soon, he would sit pressed against Obi-Wan, cradled between his thighs, and Anakin didn't think this would end well. He was already wired, strung up after nosing Obi-Wan's finger, finding meaning where there wasn't any.

Though Obi-Wan had reached for him, initiating skin contact.

He let Obi-Wan plop him in the saddle, steadying himself and waiting for Obi-Wan to settle behind him. As soon as Akkani lifted to her feet, Anakin shifted back. A hand stopped him, helping him settle but maintaining a sliver of distance between Anakin's ass and Obi-Wan's front.

"No squirming," Obi-Wan ordered.

Although he grumbled, Anakin complied. Soon, he was too comfortable to complain, but Anakin wouldn't forget this slight.

The second day was worse, but Anakin would bear it. He deserved the pain. His legs hurt badly, reminding him of his journey to Obi-Wan's cave. In the days after, his legs had healed, but now the connection points throbbed. Inflammation made the delicate tissue swell, scars tugging on the tight skin to resist the swelling. The durasteel prostheses couldn't adjust to his swollen connection points, putting unbearable pressure on them.

Still, Anakin waddled from the packaging droid to the table and back under Obi-Wan's worried scrutiny. He knew Obi-Wan's gaze rested on him. Unlike the previous day, Obi-Wan hadn't tried to make him take a break. Somehow, Anakin doubted he had given up.

Anakin was right. After the machine had deposited credits in his palm, Obi-Wan crowded him, sticking close by his side. Anakin leaned against Obi-Wan to take some weight from his legs. Obi-Wan welcomed him. Anakin had expected Obi-Wan to force the issue and hold his victory over Anakin's head. Instead, Obi-Wan tugged him closer without acknowledging that Anakin was falling apart as he had predicted.

"Let's go home, dear," he said.

Did Obi-Wan realize he had called the cave their home? Belonging was sweeter than anything Anakin deserved. As they rode to Anchorhead in the speeder, Anakin snoozed on Obi-Wan's shoulder, too tired to care about the other people. Realistically, he knew they didn't stare -- moreover, it didn't matter if they did. Lassitude smoothed the sharp edges of unease, the prostheses barely bothering him. He was growing used to discomfort, which should bother him more. Yawning, Anakin nuzzled closer, time turning into sticky toffee. In Anchorhead, he relied on Obi-Wan to return to the eopie stables. Obi-Wan guided him, trying to bear all of Anakin's weight. After putting Anakin on Akkani, Obi-Wan stepped back rather than joining him.

Wouldn't they go home?

"One minute, Anakin," Obi-Wan said.

"Where will you go?" Anakin asked.

It was both a blessing and a curse that Obi-Wan couldn't understand what he said. Because now Obi-Wan could pretend this conversation took a different turn.

"Perhaps two," he said.

"Master," Anakin snarled, his fingers curling in Akkani's fur.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice serious. "I will return."

"That wasn't my question," Anakin grumbled, but he couldn't stop Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had put him on Akkani on purpose because Anakin's legs were too heavy and painful to lift over the eopie's back. He was stuck unless he dove to the ground, which was a bad idea for several reasons. It would hurt. Also, they knew he couldn't stand up anymore afterward.

"I promise," Obi-Wan said before leaving him in the stable.

"I don't like this," Anakin complained to the eopie. Of course, the eopie remained unbothered, chewing on the meat Obi-Wan had given her. "It's unfair."

Obi-Wan returned with one hand in his pocket. So, he had made a purchase but refused to show Anakin what he had done, silently swinging in the saddle behind Anakin. Needing no further prompting, Akkani lifted to her feet.

Anakin considered kicking up a fuss. Yet, he relented, staying his tongue despite feeling wrong-footed by Obi-Wan's brief absence. He didn't like the secrecy. However, he couldn't bear to be a nuisance. Despite knowing he couldn't make amends he wanted to help Obi-Wan any way he could. It was all he wanted. Obi-Wan welcomed him, giving him a safe home that Anakin had yearned for -- a place to belong.

He wanted to return the favor by making Obi-Wan's life happier. Still, Anakin would like to know.

"What did you buy?" he asked, carefully pitching his voice to be cuter. He knew Obi-Wan wouldn't fall for it, but he could try.

"During my supply run, I forgot something," Obi-Wan answered.

Did it work? Dumbstruck, Anakin tipped his head back, the hood falling to his shoulders.

"We're still good on food, but I realized I had neglected... You know what? I can show you when we're home."

Anakin squinted at Obi-Wan's chin, suspecting a trap.

"A hint?" he pleaded, hitting that same tone.

Obi-Wan's arm curled around him, pinning him in place.

"Bacta cream," he said, caving to Anakin's squeaks.

"Are you injured?" Anakin asked, squinting at Obi-Wan. Concern sloshed in his guts. Obi-Wan's black eye was impressive shades of deep purple, blue, green, brown, and yellow. His nose was still swollen, too. What other injuries did Obi-Wan hide under his tunic?

"Don't worry, dear," Obi-Wan said. "I'm fine."

"Why would you buy something you don't need?" Anakin asked. Halfway through the sentence, an epiphany hit him like a speeder. "It's for me," he concluded. "You're punishing me for not taking a break," he complained. His yips and yowls communicated his displeasure.

"I knew this would happen," Obi-Wan muttered, having the gall to sound exhausted.

Anakin grumbled. "I'm not using it," he warned Obi-Wan.

"Oh, you do not have a choice, Anakin. I will ground you." Suddenly, Obi-Wan had gained the skill to understand him perfectly.

"That's unfair," Anakin whined. "You can't do that."

"Yes, you're surrounded by cruel, cruel people who care for you. I know it's very tragic."

Realizing that his complaining wouldn't get him anywhere, Anakin produced plaintive, pathetic whimpers.

"You act like your life is on the line," Obi-Wan said. "I promise it won't hurt. Also, acting cute won't save you, Anakin."

Finally, Anakin's embarrassment won. He crossed his arm over Obi-Wan's arm slung around his waist to keep him from fleeing. He stewed in silence, sulking despite gloating over the knowledge that Obi-Wan cared.

Then, he straightened, realizing he could apply the cream to Obi-Wan. He assessed Obi-Wan's black eye with a calculating eye. One layer of bacta cream and these bruises would be gone overnight.

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan muttered, reading Anakin's mood swings easily. "I don't even want to know."

Anakin knew he only made Obi-Wan more suspicious as he led the way into the cave, already plotting to apply the bacta cream on Obi-Wan's injuries. Yet, Obi-Wan followed him anyway.

"Well then, take a seat," Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the ground. He sounded simultaneously hopeful and cautious, unsure why Anakin followed him without argument. Anakin obeyed immediately, plopping down on the floor. As his knees buckled, searing pain shot through his legs, drawing a pained grunt from him.

Obi-Wan knelt in front of him. Rare hesitation made Obi-Wan reach and withdraw his hands. Curiously, Anakin cocked his head.

"What's wrong?" he barked.

He sharpened his vision with the Force, which intensified the stinging in his legs. He hadn't noticed he had instinctively used the Force to cushion the pain. Obi-Wan's expression was inscrutable as he met Anakin's gaze.

"Anakin," he said. "I can't treat your legs while the prostheses are still attached."

Ah.

Anakin would be vulnerable without them. In their shared history, Anakin had always objected to showing weakness. He loathed being perceived as weak. He had never managed to let anything go, hiding behind all he believed he was due and everything he felt he deserved.

Let her GO, Anakin.

He had clung to his pride and his attachments. Letting anyone see him when he was weaker than a sand cat was antithetical to Anakin Skywalker. Back then, he had known Obi-Wan would help him, and it had chafed. Now, he knew Obi-Wan would help him no matter what, which was heady and antithetical to who Anakin believed Obi-Wan Kenobi was.

MY allegiance is to the Republic.

He sighed. Perhaps Obi-Wan remembered Anakin frothing at the mouth. He had turned into a wild beast that regarded Obi-Wan with paranoia. He had lived a fever dream, delirious with the Darkness. Anakin had been a monster snarling at Obi-Wan, warning him to stay far away. Weakness... they were far beyond sharing anything, let alone revealing vulnerabilities that required mutual trust -- because Anakin had betrayed Obi-Wan's trust while shielding himself by pretending he could no longer trust Obi-Wan.

Let HER go!

NEVER!

He nodded. "Mrow." Okay. I understand, Master. Thank you. He leaned over to grab the hems of the cargo pants, pulling the legs up. The fabric bunched where his thighs met his hips, revealing the damage to Obi-Wan.

Anakin had forgotten how hideous he looked. Insecurity made him second guess. Likely sensing that Anakin would pull the legs back to hide the damage, Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin's thigh to stop him.

"Thank you, Anakin," Obi-Wan said gently. His voice was unfairly soothing, distracting Anakin from the burning need to hide the damage. Then, Obi-Wan shuffled closer, rearranging Anakin's legs to sit between them. Obi-Wan sat cross-legged, and Anakin's legs dangled over Obi-Wan's thighs. Although Obi-Wan had no experience with Anakin's crude prostheses, Anakin knew Obi-Wan would do his best to avoid hurting him. Thus, Obi-Wan would be patient and slow, dragging this out. This could take a while, he realized. This realization came without the bitterness he had expected to associate with the knowledge he was in Obi-Wan's hands.

He made himself comfortable, watching Obi-Wan through heavy-lidded eyes as Obi-Wan hunched over Anakin's left leg, letting his hands run over durasteel. His legs didn't have synth nerves, and Anakin didn't know why.

Anakin's memories were too foggy, slipping outside his reach. Admittedly, Anakin didn't try, fearing what he would find if he pierced the haze. Thus, he couldn't know why he suffered. Were the ill-fitting prostheses a punishment, or did they serve another purpose? But who would benefit from keeping Anakin in pain?

He only knew he deserved nothing more.

However, Obi-Wan disagreed. Butterflies erupted in Anakin's stomach as he watched Obi-Wan's hands run over the durasteel, investigating how the prostheses were anchored into the connection points. Obi-Wan was so focused on Anakin's legs, trying to figure out how to remove them, that he seemed oblivious to how far his hands roamed.

More than once, they skirted past the interface between flesh and durasteel, his fingers running over the gap to test the give. Despite knowing that Obi-Wan's hands never traveled higher than necessary, his mind still ran with the sensation. His thighs tingled, even in spots where Obi-Wan hadn't touched him yet, almost itching. Obi-Wan leaned further over his leg, too focused to realize his posture was terrible, and Anakin learned how devotion looked through useless eyes.

Oh, this would take a while, and Anakin could only sit and watch with wide eyes and a dry mouth.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan straightened.

"Did I block your view?" he asked Anakin.

Anakin blinked.

"I can't see," he said.

Obi-Wan hummed, but Anakin doubted Obi-Wan understood him. Because Obi-Wan still twisted out of the way. This allowed Anakin to track Obi-Wan as he treated Anakin's legs -- in theory, at least. Thus, Anakin made the effort to squint to watch. Anakin's throat clicked as he swallowed. Obi-Wan's hands rested on his left thigh, smoothing and massaging the muscles to make them relax.

Finally satisfied with his preparations, Obi-Wan's hands turned to the connection clips, hesitating for a heartbeat. Anakin watched Obi-Wan's confidence waver before he committed to unfastening the leg. After each clip, Obi-Wan hunted for more. Obi-Wan's focus was laser-sharp, treating Anakin like he was a bomb triggered to go off. He treated Anakin like he was fragile glass that would crack if mishandled. Obi-Wan treated the soulless hunks of metal with so much care that Anakin's heart squeezed.

After taking unnecessarily long to disconnect the left prosthesis, Obi-Wan lowered the durasteel to the ground gently. Then, his hands returned to Anakin's left thigh. Anakin had never felt so claimed, aware that Obi-Wan had found every ugly scar on his thigh at least five times.

Didn't Obi-Wan realize he lingered? His touch was almost proprietary, reminding Anakin of Obi-Wan's hand running through his dense fur.

Finally, Obi-Wan took the jar with bacta cream from his pocket. He placed it conveniently on the floor between them. Waiting for the right opportunity to strike, Anakin let Obi-Wan unscrew the lid and dip his fingers in the bacta. The sharp scent of disinfectant made him wrinkle his nose. It stirred old memories.

On the battlefield, everything smelled vaguely of blood and bacta. How often had Anakin applied bacta on his wounds, declaring himself healed with minimal care?

The fighting had never stopped.

Obi-Wan rubbed his fingers to spread the bacta cream. Time slowed as Obi-Wan reached for the swollen connection point on his left leg. The skin had discolored into shiny, angry red, paler scars running raggedly over the inflamed tissue. His connection point looked disgusting, but Obi-Wan didn't shy away. His hands cupped the end of the stump where metal met skin.

Obi-Wan's hands were chilly against the hot skin, offering instant relief. The bacta tingled against his skin. As Obi-Wan focused on rubbing the bacta into the scar tissue, muttering about scar creams and other nonsense, Anakin leaned in. The fingers of his right hand dipped into the cream. His synth nerves couldn't capture the tingling sensation of bacta against skin. Yet, he still felt the blob of gel as he rubbed his fingers together. Bent over Anakin's stump, Obi-Wan hadn't noticed him yet.

It wasn't meant to be a surprise attack. However, Anakin did take advantage of Obi-Wan's inattention. Thus, he could move slowly, angling his fingers and wrist. His bacta-covered fingers stroked over Obi-Wan's cheekbone, leaving bacta cream in their wake. Obi-Wan's head jerked up, and he blinked owlishly at Anakin.

"Those wounds will heal," he dismissed.

"Those, too," Anakin said, pointing to his legs.

Obi-Wan's expression was skeptical, and Anakin begrudgingly admitted the connection points looked ghastly. Still, this didn't change the facts. Obi-Wan was injured, Anakin's fingers were covered in bacta cream, and he only had to tip forward to massage the cream into Obi-Wan's skin, marveling at feeling Obi-Wan under his palladium fingertips.

Obi-Wan allowed the attention, looking so indulgent that Anakin's heart burst with his love. As Anakin worked on Obi-Wan's face, Obi-Wan returned his attention to Anakin's leg, coating his thigh in a thick layer of bacta gel. The contrast between Anakin's scarred skin and disfigured body and Obi-Wan's broad fingers would never stop surprising -- mesmerizing -- him. He enjoyed the sensation of hands curling around his legs, mapping the skin to locate every scar, and showering them with care.

What if Anakin forgot he was disgusting?

Yet, he couldn't find any terrifying, damning consequences, realizing there was only Obi-Wan.

With the bacta cream remaining on his fingers, Anakin focused on Obi-Wan's nose, watching the swelling disappear as he applied the cream.

Humming contently, he leaned back to admire his handiwork, ignoring how entertained Obi-Wan was by Anakin's care.

Obi-Wan massaged higher and higher, his hands climbing up Anakin's thigh. As they traveled higher, more nerves sang and tingled, the scar tissue growing less dense. Anakin couldn't look away from Obi-Wan's hands on his leg. Then, Obi-Wan's hands fell away, his focus moving to Anakin's right leg.

Although Obi-Wan had already practiced on Anakin's left leg and his movements were more confident, he worked slowly and thoroughly, lingering at every step.

"I'm so sorry, Anakin," Obi-Wan apologized. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm so sorry."

His voice was husky, brimming with tears Anakin couldn't see.

Anakin reached for Obi-Wan, placing his right hand on Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan's fingers flexed under his. He hadn't noticed the tension in Obi-Wan's body until he could feel it in Obi-Wan's hand.

Obi-Wan was stressed.

"I never should have hurt you," Obi-Wan muttered. "You deserved better. I failed you, sweet. I failed you. This is my fault."

Each frantic word pierced Anakin's heart. He deserved nothing.

"I'm so sorry, Anakin."

Anakin's heart thundered, the blood rushing in his ears. Softly, he inhaled. Then, he purred on purpose, the sound hitching and breaking. His purring was always accidental, pulled from him by foreign impulses. Battling a crushing wave of embarrassment, Anakin purred louder. The sounds grew smoother over time.

Anakin lifted Obi-Wan's hand from his right thigh, lowering his head to butt Obi-Wan's hand with his forehead, nuzzling the back of Obi-Wan's hand.

"I love you," he murmured, the confession lost in his purring.

Obi-Wan's hand twisted in his hold to cup his cheek. Anakin nuzzled Obi-Wan's palm, his purring growing natural. He didn't think he could stifle the sound anymore.

Obi-Wan sighed shakily before pulling his hand away. With a pout, Anakin let him, resisting the urge to lean in and rub his head against Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Chapter Text

"Give me that right hand," Obi-Wan ordered once he had put a thick layer of bacta cream on Anakin's thighs, applying it far higher than necessary -- using far too much cream. Yet, Anakin couldn't complain when Obi-Wan still fretted. He had used the Force to focus his vision and noticed Obi-Wan's brows furrowed in tortured guilt as he worked on Anakin's legs. If using egregious amounts of bacta cream helped alleviate the guilt, this was only another way Anakin could take care of Obi-Wan.

"Mrow?"

"Leaving bacta cream on those fingertips is bad for them," Obi-Wan explained.

Anakin lifted his hand, realizing his fingers trembled in anticipation as he waited for Obi-Wan's touch. Obi-Wan wrapped his hands around the durasteel fingers, bending them back to investigate whether bacta cream had crept between the plating.

Obi-Wan's calloused fingers slid between his smooth ones, wiping away bacta cream carefully. Anakin's stomach lurched when Obi-Wan's thumb pressed between two plates, stimulating the synth nerves directly. A hiccup stuttered in his throat when Obi-Wan searched further for bacta cream, tutting when he spread Anakin's fingers. Oversensitivity skittered up his arm, which flinched in Obi-Wan's hold. Perhaps to soothe him, Obi-Wan stroked his knuckles, only messing Anakin up further. He swallowed a breathy sound, happy that Obi-Wan was too concentrated on his hand to look at his face.

"You did get it everywhere, dear," Obi-Wan lectured Anakin, who had lost the ability to listen. Obi-Wan's voice wrapped around him, the words meaningless. Nevertheless, he nodded. Obi-Wan's thumb rubbed over the inside of his index finger, straightening the finger trapped between Obi-Wan's.

The pressure was delightful. While Obi-Wan was so careful with his legs, he rubbed vigorously over Anakin's fingers to get every stray bit of bacta cream. He tested the flexibility of Anakin's fingers without hesitation, reaching deep in each crevice, and stimulating synth nerves and pressure sensors in way that was more intimate than a massage. Anakin's stomach had collapsed into a black hole, his greedy eyes on Obi-Wan's confident fingers, watching them manipulate Anakin's fingers and feeling every press and tug and delightful, filthy sensation.

Desperately, he clung to a semblance of a calm breathing pattern. Then, while Anakin was too distracted by turning Obi-Wan cleaning his fingers into something far more sexual, Obi-Wan targeted the fingertips. The concentration of synth nerves was highest here, and Anakin was ill-prepared.

"Eep."

"Does it hurt?" Obi-Wan asked, still concerned about Anakin's well-being.

Anakin wet his lips, but his mouth was too dry to achieve anything. "Mrow," he panted. This drew Obi-Wan's attention to him. He could see Obi-Wan's chin lift slightly, knew that Obi-Wan looked at his face through his eyelashes, and was powerless to conceal how dazed he was. Obi-Wan had scrambled Anakin's brain, and his features had fallen out of control as harsh pants wrenched past his parted lips. 

"Oh," Obi-Wan sighed, an epiphany in his voice. "Oh, dear," he repeated, a tremor in his voice. "I-- I will be quick, Anakin."

Obi-Wan's voice had turned ragged and hoarse. The distinct way he pronounced Anakin's name with a lilt that turned the crisp Coruscanti accent melodious was illegal. It was sinful, intoxicating, and sent sparks down Anakin's spine, his fingers curling in Obi-Wan's hand. He should be humiliated that Obi-Wan had discovered how affected he was by Obi-Wan's clinical albeit oh-so-thorough cleaning of Anakin's fingers. Instead, he could only nod, too far gone to care. Thickly, he swallowed, awfully aware of his chest rising and falling in an erratic rhythm. The rippling muscles in his abdomen were safely hidden under the cloak. However, the twitching in his thighs was on display.

"I will be quick," Obi-Wan promised, but it sounded like a lament or a prayer.

Although Obi-Wan promised to be quick, he was still thorough, giving each individual finger his full attention. 

As if Obi-Wan's awareness of Anakin's state had flicked a switch, Anakin couldn't suppress a drawn-out moan. Obi-Wan's fingers froze around his ring finger. Then, consciously deciding to ignore Anakin, Obi-Wan continued to flick his thumb over the palladium coating. This wasn't permission to continue to act like a loth cat in heat, Anakin told his body. Nevertheless, little gasps and moans kept pouring from his lips. Anakin lifted his left hand, trying to cover his mouth, but the durasteel was too heavy, and he had already gone too limp to carry its weight. Thus, his hand flopped back to the ground while another reedy mewl filled the space between them. The heat and touch of Obi-Wan's fingers shouldn't feel so good, but he couldn't help it. His new synth nerves fried his brain, but Anakin knew Obi-Wan had tuned the fingers well.

It wasn't his fingers but Anakin himself who reacted strongly to Obi-Wan's thorough mapping of his thighs and hand. His body was broken, and Obi-Wan relearned its limits and flexibility with the diligence of a Jedi Master.

"Master," he whimpered when Obi-Wan massaged his little finger. He was raw; he was oversensitive, simultaneously everywhere and nowhere. Ecstasy waxed and waned in crushing waves, making him need more -- always more and more and more.

The pad of Obi-Wan's thumb rubbed over the tip of Anakin's little finger, treating the durasteel gently. Anakin couldn't help moaning louder than before, a sound pulled from deep in his chest, so low it almost hummed. Briefly, he stiffened, every muscle in his body clenching. Then, he went lax, his pleasure too sharp to let Obi-Wan continue touching him, but he couldn't pull away either. Exhaustion made him slump forward, his forehead hitting Obi-Wan's shoulder. He settled there, breathing erratically, his mind too sluggish to race. Slowly, Obi-Wan lowered Anakin's hand to his lap.

"Are you okay, dear?" Obi-Wan asked. "Do you need a moment? A cloth, perhaps? I do have a spare set of pants and underwear for you."

Anakin stiffened, staring wide-eyed at the blurry blue of Obi-Wan's tunic. Did Obi-Wan believe he had orgasmed? Because he hadn't. Despite being shivery and wired from the pleasure, he was still half-hard in his pants.

Admittedly, too much blood had pooled in his cock, which thrummed in tune with his fluttering heartbeat. However, he wasn't fully hard.

"Mrow," he denied, his voice odd to his ears, strung out and undone. Stars. Obi-Wan couldn't be blamed for assuming when Anakin sounded wrecked like he had orgasmed from Obi-Wan's hands cleaning his.

"Okay," Obi-Wan muttered. "Okay," he repeated. "I see." Short, desperate words with a wild edge to them. "Are you tired?"

That last question was almost neutral, but Obi-Wan's voice broke on the syllables.

"It's okay, Anakin," Obi-Wan coaxed when Anakin nodded against Obi-Wan's shoulder, too drained to lift his head. "There's no need to be embarrassed."

"But I didn't come," Anakin wailed. Never mind that he was half-hard in his pants and that Obi-Wan's lilting, honeyed voice did things to him. "I didn't come," he complained softer.

"It's alright," Obi-Wan continued, making Anakin wonder who he tried to reassure. "Anakin, dear."

It was unfair to call Anakin dear.

"The bacta cream needs time to work. It would be best if you slept without the prostheses."

Anakin paled, finding enough strength in his hands to lift them to Obi-Wan's shoulders and push back from Obi-Wan.

"I know I ask for too much," Obi-Wan continued, his voice soft and crooning. "Too much trust and dependence. It's more than you are comfortable with." Obi-Wan paused, sighing, and Anakin wondered whether this moment of contemplation was deliberate. "I would rather not ask," Obi-Wan confessed, surprisingly candid. Anakin's jaw went slack, his unseeing eyes automatically tracking over Obi-Wan's face. "Because I know the price is too high. But I can't hurt you. Not anymore. I've seen... You cannot imagine how much it pains me to see you suffer."

Anakin hesitated, frowning when he found he could only nod.

Obi-Wan remained silent.

Thus, Anakin nodded again, exaggerating the movement.

"Yes?" Obi-Wan asked breathlessly. "It's okay?"

Anakin nodded a third time. Nerves gnawed on his stomach, adding to the simmering tension in his body. Although he was loose-limbed, he could feel muscles quiver and flex, tensing from the nerves and anticipation. Even vulnerability had turned into pleasure, Obi-Wan's continued tenderness and awe making Anakin's wires cross.

Obi-Wan's arms shifted and lifted him from the ground, drawing a surprised yowl from Anakin. Anakin's hands tangled in Obi-Wan's tunic, clutching the fabric in a tight grip, possibly choking Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan froze immediately.

"I'm carrying you," he said hurriedly. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you. Is it okay?"

Anakin felt helpless as he hung in Obi-Wan's arms. Cradled to Obi-Wan's chest, he was keenly aware of the awful pit of hot, sticky arousal that sat low in his belly and the weight of his cock, which was no longer swollen or hard but still demanded his attention because Obi-Wan believed he had karking come in his pants. Anakin hadn't, but his head flopped back, and he melted in Obi-Wan's arms, loose-limbed like he had orgasmed. He hid his face in Obi-Wan's tunic to avoid showing how untethered he felt.

Obi-Wan hoisted him higher to carry him to the bed nook. "Let's get you to bed," Obi-Wan muttered. "And then, I'm going outside for a long walk."

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan through his eyelashes. "Without me?" he asked.

Obi-Wan looked at him, and Anakin could guess how unimpressed he looked. "Without you," Obi-Wan agreed, his voice too sardonic, edging on desperation rather than the dry wit he likely intended to convey.

Anakin let Obi-Wan place him in the bed nook, too lax to protest as Obi-Wan fussed over him, putting the pillow under his head and tucking the blankets around him.

"Do try to sleep," Obi-Wan ordered.

"You say that because it'll be awkward when we're sleeping together now," Anakin grumbled. "I won't jump your bones, Master." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "I can't jump your bones without my legs."

Obi-Wan patted his head, still unfazed by the ugly scars and baldness.

"Goodnight," he said, and wasn't it convenient that he could ignore what Anakin said precisely?

A blue twilight greeted him, the dense fog wrapping around him like a second cloak. He was back again, wasn't he?

Obi-Wan.

He liked saying Obi-Wan's name and loved to talk in Basic. Yet, the distortion of the vocoder, which turned his voice mechanical and his breathing into loud wheezing, bothered him too much. Inhuman, a mental voice whispered. Anakin shuddered with visceral disgust.

He tore the helmet from his head. Then, his clumsy hands ripped the breathing apparatus from his mouth, tossing the machinery aside.

Obi-Wan.

He sounded human, his voice ravaged by fire and toxic fumes. Yet, it wasn't enough; it wasn't real, and Anakin knew it could be.

"Obi-Wan."

His heart accelerated, pounding in the hollow of his throat. Another word, a title and term of endearment that would only ever belong to Obi-Wan, burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it. Every night, he returned here. On this planet, he had shattered, waking up as a sand cat somewhere else. Perhaps his mind couldn't get through this event, putting him back in this shatter-point to make him understand the incomprehensible.

Ultimately, the reason didn't matter. Anakin remembered where Obi-Wan would be. As he walked, he unclipped his lightsaber, barely sparing it a glance before tossing it aside. It clattered on a rock and rolled into the dense fog.

Then, his fingers scrabbled against the plating of his armor, wrenching the black plastoid away from his body. His metal hands were made to destroy, ripping through his suit.

Each plate hitting the rocks took more weight from his back, helping Anakin walk smoothly. His legs could never compare to his organic ones or his upgraded ones. Yet, the shedding of his prison made him feel free and scared.

Obi-Wan waited for him on the other side of the clearing. Anakin had already yipped happily before remembering he could talk.

"Master," he greeted eagerly, the one title he shouldn't use jumping from his lips.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, and he smiled. Anakin's heart skipped a beat. "You're finally here."

"I'm not late," Anakin protested. "We didn't agree on a time."

"Still, you're slower than on the other days."

"Well, sorry for getting comfortable, Master."

"That's a lot of cheek for someone who shows up late, Padawan."

They were back on the same unassuming rock. A planet that would always remain nameless because Anakin -- Vader -- hadn't bothered to check its name before following Obi-Wan. Here, he found the past was always in transit, ready to be changed by pliable human minds.

"You've gone rusty if you think that is cheek," Anakin challenged. He stepped forward into the clearing. The distance fell away until he had cornered Obi-Wan against a rock formation. He had no reason to be smug over those extra centimeters he towered over Obi-Wan. They were only cold durasteel, after all. Although Obi-Wan had to tip his head back to meet Anakin's gaze, he still looked in control, unperturbed. Somehow, he managed to look down on Anakin, grinning as if he had already won.

"Winning isn't that simple, Anakin."

"If that's your comeback, then I think only cheating can save you from a humiliating loss. Admit it, Master."

Obi-Wan didn't argue, looking so incredibly fond that Anakin almost choked on it. Bashful under the attention, he glanced away. Anakin had always gloated over growing taller than his Master, delighted to surpass him in something so base. He had never considered it had its drawbacks. Suddenly, his added height was a disadvantage because Obi-Wan could still see his face, likely noticing he was flustered.

"I will admit no such thing," Obi-Wan whispered. This was no longer banter. Instead, it was affection. Obi-Wan reached for him with a hand.

Anakin flinched away. Obi-Wan's hand stopped, outstretched between them. Belatedly, Anakin realized Obi-Wan would interpret this as a rejection. Panic seized him around the throat, asphyxiating him. He was scared that Obi-Wan would pull away, which turned him too honest or direct.

"I'm disgusting," he blurted, bolder about his self-loathing than he intended.

"Well, that is just not true," Obi-Wan said. Then, he bridged those final centimeters to cup Anakin's cheek. "You're beautiful, Anakin."

"Liar," Anakin choked hoarsely.

"It's the truth," Obi-Wan whispered. "You are precious to me."

"And my eyes are blue?"

"Always," Obi-Wan promised. "Always." Obi-Wan's thumb ran over Anakin's eyebrow, which had burned away on Mustafar, scar tissue preventing regrowth.

"Mesmerizing," Obi-Wan said with a fond smile. "As always."

Anakin wished he could believe Obi-Wan. He truly did. He didn't think Obi-Wan deceived him on purpose.

"Liar," Anakin sobbed, grinning widely so Obi-Wan would know it wasn't an accusation. I love you, he thought desperately.

Obi-Wan stepped closer, their bodies touching in a long line.

"I wouldn't lie to you," Obi-Wan said, which was a blatant lie. Perhaps Obi-Wan realized Anakin would call him out because he leaned in, standing on his toes to bridge the inches Anakin had on him.

Anakin's lips parted around a surprised gasp, which turned his lungs into a vacuum and his stomach into a tiny raisin of heady anticipation. Obi-Wan's head tilted, that final centimeter falling away. While Anakin's mind lagged behind, Obi-Wan's lips had already connected with his. It was a featherlight touch, barely a meeting of their lips.

Anakin's eyes fluttered shut automatically, another lovelorn sigh slipping through his slack lips and fanning against Obi-Wan's lips. Neither moved, which meant neither pulled away, existing in closer proximity than ever before. 

Anakin had never been so closely intertwined with Obi-Wan. He collapsed against Obi-Wan, his clumsy durasteel hands twisting in Obi-Wan's tunic. Anakin's back arched as he molded against Obi-Wan. One minute tilt of his head and Anakin rested its weight in Obi-Wan's palm.

The kiss still lingered, lasting in endless seconds.

Finally, Obi-Wan leaned back a millimeter. Rather than disentangling them, Obi-Wan's hands moved around Anakin to support his weight, pinning him close to Obi-Wan's body.

A warm exhale puffed over Anakin's lips. Anakin opened his eyes sluggishly, blinking slowly at Obi-Wan. Did he look as dazed as he felt? His lips still tingled, and Anakin couldn't resist wetting his lips in short flicks of his tongue.

Obi-Wan's gaze rested on his mouth, making Anakin painfully aware of the tip of his tongue and the pout his lips had twisted into. Anakin tipped his head back to bridge the gap, his eyelids falling shut. Obi-Wan didn't move away, and Anakin's clumsy lips landed on the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth, missing his mark by millimeters. He had never missed a target, which he promptly blamed on Obi-Wan distracting him with his wandering hands. One hand moved from Anakin's shoulders, not threading through his hair but resting against his scalp. Obi-Wan tilted Anakin's head to angle and guide him. Their lips brushed, connecting, and Anakin couldn't help sighing.

He mouthed against Obi-Wan's lips, needing something.

Obi-Wan's other hand flexed against the small of Anakin's back. Anakin was reeled in further, the hand on his head shifting to his jaw to guide Anakin to tilt his head further. The kiss deepened as their lips slotted together under this new angle, Obi-Wan's tongue running over the seam of Anakin's mouth, tracing Anakin's tongue as he had wet his lips.

Anakin's lips parted further under the ghost of pressure, letting Obi-Wan in. Obi-Wan didn't follow immediately, lingering to tease Anakin's bottom lip, which throbbed under the undivided attention. He keened, distracting Obi-Wan from his bottom lip. Obi-Wan's tongue slipped inside, muffling another moan.

Anakin's fingers twisted tighter into Obi-Wan's tunic. Obi-Wan kissed him agonizingly slowly, letting Anakin match him. He moaned as Obi-Wan's tongue met his, a shiver running down his spine, making him shudder in Obi-Wan's hold. And Obi-Wan groaned in response, a sound dipped in pleasure and unbearably filthy. Obi-Wan's voice had never sounded so wrecked, muffled by Anakin's mouth. More little moans poured from Anakin's lips, the rhythm of their kiss broken as his breathing hitched on each breathless sound wrenched from his lips.

Obi-Wan diverted his attention, placing sweet pecks on Anakin's forehead and cheeks, unperturbed by the ugly scars, targeting them even.

"You're so perfect," Obi-Wan whispered against his skin. "So good for me."

Anakin desperately wanted to be good. He panted wrecked sobs, his mind spinning wildly out of his control. While Anakin gasped, Obi-Wan's attention wandered to his throat. Obi-Wan's beard brushed over his skin while his lips roved over the column of Anakin's throat.

Anakin was keenly aware of how quickly his throat worked under Obi-Wan's lips. His eyes opened, staring blindly at the sky.

His hips undulated, fabric slipping over his frame, feline sounds pouring from his throat, hoarse and husky with sleep. He ground back, his ass pressing against Obi-Wan's pelvis. Obi-Wan was hard, his erection hot against Anakin's ass. Anakin tossed his head back, still feeling the ghost of Obi-Wan's lips roving over them, mapping the column of Anakin's throat like he owned the stretch of mostly unharmed skin.

A noise caught between his teeth, turning into a silent gasp. He was asleep and awake. He was on a nameless planet, cradled in Obi-Wan's arms, lips kissing a reverent path to his collarbones. He was in a blanket nest on Tatooine, trapped in blankets and Obi-Wan's arm wrapped around his waist, its palm resting securely -- possessively according to Anakin's sleep-addled and delusion-ridden brain -- over his abdomen, fingers splayed wide.

The arm tightened around his waist to pull him back against Obi-Wan's pelvis. Every muscle in Anakin's body clenched or jumped, his back arching and head tossing back. A wounded sound escaped through his constricted throat. Obi-Wan's arm tightened further, forcing Anakin's back straight again. He couldn't shift in Obi-Wan's hold, his pliant body molding to Obi-Wan's frame. Anakin blinked dazedly at his hand, which filled his blurry vision, the palladium glinting in the morning light. Yet, his vision was also clouded in a gray-blue, the dense fog clogging his lungs. The heat was stifling, but he was cold, too.

Obi-Wan rocked his hips against Anakin's ass, sending heat skittering up Anakin's spine. His lips went slack, saliva pooling in his mouth. Desperately, he swallowed, almost choking on his saliva when Obi-Wan's rocked more insistently, his erection pressing against the crack of Anakin's ass.

He couldn't produce a sound while mewling like a loth cat in heat in his dreams, his throat flexing under Obi-Wan's lips.

Did he drool?

Anakin swallowed repeatedly, discovering his mouth was dry. Perhaps he didn't. Obi-Wan's mouth latched onto the nape of his neck, suckling. The vestiges of the dream fell apart, and Anakin was only on Tatooine, sharing a bed with Obi-Wan, clumsily rutting back against his Master.

He couldn't move his legs, which hampered his movements. Frustration made his eyes burn with powerless tears. He needed more but couldn't find his voice to demand or beg, too occupied by panting in Obi-Wan's pillow.

Obi-Wan rolled over, crushing Anakin under him. A shocked gasp shuddered through Anakin's throat, Obi-Wan's weight making him aware of the effort breathing took. The blankets had been stifling, but they paled compared to the heat Obi-Wan's body radiated. Yet, Anakin didn't experience any discomfort when it was Obi-Wan.

His hips made aborted little thrusts into the blankets underneath him. The motions were reflexive, pulling on the muscles in the small of his back and abdomen. Obi-Wan met him halfway, his hips rolling against Anakin's ass. A punched-out groan fanned wet against the sensitive skin behind Anakin's ear. He didn't have hair to protect the spot, so Obi-Wan's lips roved directly over the scarred skin, finding the unharmed nerves in a mess of gnarled, twisted tissue.

Anakin melted against the blankets, producing a pitiful sound.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed against the shell of his ear, coherence returning in his raspy voice. Anakin shivered as Obi-Wan's Coruscanti accent wrapped around his name, emphasizing each syllable that felt like fingers running down his vertebra.

Obi-Wan's next thrust used more pressure, driving Anakin's hips into the blankets. Simultaneously, Obi-Wan's erection pressed between the cheeks of his ass. Anakin's erection rubbed over the blankets as the force of Obi-Wan's thrust drove him forward. There wasn't enough friction, the blankets sliding and slipping and the sweat and precome turning everything gross. But he couldn't stop the pleasure from building nonetheless. It rose, climbing --clawing -- up his spine and throat.

Anakin's eyes rolled back, his fingers flexing in the blankets repeatedly. With a loud sob, he came, his come soaking into his pants. He hadn't realized how much tension still pulled his body taut until he went lax into the blankets, another sob spilling from his lips. The blankets muffled his pathetic sob.

Obi-Wan ground against him, suddenly freezing while his weight bore down on Anakin's ass, pushing Anakin's hips into the blankets and making pleasure skitter up his spine. He ached hollowly. The muscles in his abdomen rippled as he came in spurts, writhing against Obi-Wan with little, pathetic sounds.

"Please," he whined, producing a mewl instead. He couldn't stop rutting, his orgasm taking forever when Obi-Wan pressed him into the blankets. He was still so empty, too hollow while wrung dry.

Obi-Wan's breath shuddered against his ear.

"Anakin," he sighed. Obi-Wan's forehead dropped to the pillow, his hair brushing past Anakin's cheek and throat. The motion made Obi-Wan bear down on him more, forcing a wheeze from Anakin's throat.

Then, Obi-Wan rolled away, pulling the blankets with him. Anakin's head whipped around, his hazy gaze fixing on Obi-Wan.

"I'm-- I'm so sorry, Anakin," Obi-Wan croaked, sounding pained and desperate, and Anakin knew Obi-Wan was still hard -- that his erection strained in his pants, hidden by the blankets. However, Obi-Wan's voice was also steeped in horror. He recoiled further, leaving Anakin behind. Anakin shook his head to make Obi-Wan stop.

"I should never have done that," Obi-Wan muttered -- frantic, urgent, undeniably deeming this a mistake.

Hurt, Anakin struggled to sit up without his prostheses to help him balance his weight. His soiled pants stuck uncomfortably to his thighs and groin, chafing on the sparse scars in the area. He knew he was undesirable, but it hurt to sense Obi-Wan's loathing and despair in his words and attitude.

"I attacked you," Obi-Wan whispered.

What?

Confused, Anakin shook his head again. Was it self-loathing rather than disgust over touching Anakin's maimed body that turned Obi-Wan's voice so thick?

"I molested you," Obi-Wan said louder.

Did Obi-Wan panic because he thought Anakin wasn't willing? Anakin's gaze dropped to the wet groin of his pants before lifting his head again to look at Obi-Wan's burry silhouette. Puzzled was an understatement for his level of bafflement. He had rutted against Obi-Wan's stiff prick for kriff's sake. Yet here Obi-Wan sat, claiming Anakin hadn't enjoyed this?

For all they knew, Anakin had initiated this. He didn't know -- and Obi-Wan didn't know either. They were both asleep. Why did Obi-Wan cause a dramatic fuss?

"You look like I'm insane," Obi-Wan muttered. "Which is very kind of you, but I know what happened, my dear."

Anakin preened as Obi-Wan called him his dear, wholeheartedly agreeing with the sentiment while also flustered and embarrassed. His lips twisted into a smile, bubbles popping in his chest, buoying him with a tentative hope. He was dear to Obi-Wan -- Obi-Wan had rutted against him, and Anakin could still feel his name whispered against his throat. His gaze dropped to his thighs, the fabric of his pants pooling since he didn't have knees. He plucked on the fabric with his right hand, unable to identify the emotions rushing through him. Thus, it took a long time for the rest of the sentence to register.

"I'm insane?" he balked. "You are insane, Master. I do want you more than anyone -- anything -- else. Haven't you noticed the state of my pants? Does it look like I didn't like it? Well? Nothing to say now, Master?"

Anakin's yips and yowls bled into each other, and he pointed wildly at his crotch to emphasize how much he had enjoyed their... tryst in the sheets.

Obi-Wan coughed, sounding strangled. "Right," he stammered. "You are very spirited this morning, Anakin. Are you sure you planned to..."

His voice trailed off, another awkward cough all Anakin received. Belatedly, Anakin realized he had forced Obi-Wan's attention to the come staining his pants and the reality that some dry humping had been enough to set him off. Embarrassed, he dropped his hand, his mouth working around silent syllables. His mortification was hot, burning in his cheeks and making him overly aware of his pants sticking to his body.

He was touch starved. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had come. It wasn't his fault that he was so sensitive. Moreover, he loved Obi-Wan, craving every touch, and Obi-Wan had covered him fully, kissing him in his dream and grinding against his ass in reality.

Obi-Wan snorted. Alarmed, Anakin's head whipped up from his wet crotch.

"You look distraught. I assure you, you should not feel ashamed, Anakin."

"Easy for you to say," Anakin whined.

Obi-Wan chuckled, the tension Anakin had expected bleeding into an easy companionship. As Obi-Wan had reared back, Anakin had envisioned they wouldn't speak, stewing in the discomfort while refusing to acknowledge what had happened.

Though, he supposed they didn't acknowledge anything, after all.

"I will give you a new pair of pants," Obi-Wan suggested, already lifting to his feet. Anakin's useless eyes dropped to the crotch region of Obi-Wan's pants automatically.

"I can see you staring," Obi-Wan commented as he brushed past Anakin. His usual fluent gait was off, each step indefinably wrong without its grace.

"You didn't have to point it out," Anakin grumbled. He should be mortified enough to hide under the blankets forever. Instead, he was only slightly disgruntled, rolling his eyes and hoping Obi-Wan would notice.

"That's quite the attitude for someone who wants to borrow pants from me."

"What happened to the tearful apologies?" Anakin asked. "Can I get them back?"

He only received a pair of pants flung in his face. Anakin put them aside to follow Obi-Wan, who headed to the kitchen with a vague limp. He fell flat on his face instead. Distracted by their easy banter, he had forgotten about his legs.

Frustrated, he relaxed, his sigh stirring the loose sand in the cave. This was Tatooine, and dust snuck everywhere. He used to hate it. At some point, it had turned into a source of comfort that caused amusement rather than annoyance.

Obi-Wan knelt by his side, filling his vision. Anakin blinked slowly as Obi-Wan fretted, the apologies returning. After Obi-Wan handed him his prostheses, Anakin connected them himself, surprised by how much his thighs had healed overnight. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan prepared their breakfast, seemingly oblivious to Anakin's gaze piercing his back.

Things didn't turn awkward, though neither referred to Obi-Wan grinding against Anakin's ass until Anakin came. Anakin's stolen cargo pants were stored somewhere he couldn't see them, which erased the events.

Still, he had expected more distance, but Obi-Wan still held him as Akkani carried them to Anchorhead. He still crowded Anakin in the corner of the speeder to protect him from the overwhelming presence of other people.

He still talked to Anakin about the same topics in a low voice, interpreting Anakin's barks correctly when it benefited him. They would have the next day off, and Obi-Wan spent a lot of time explaining this while glossing over the fact he had hidden Anakin's come-stained cargo pants in his cave.

There was neither tension nor discomfort, and Anakin settled against Obi-Wan's chest as they rode the eopie to the cave. It wasn't like they ignored what had happened -- it simply didn't seem to matter. Moreover, Anakin had another plan that consumed his attention, excitement turning him so giddy he could barely conceal he was up to something.

Anakin had waited until they returned home, the clattering credits in his pocket burning a hole through his cloak. His impatience seemed to amuse Obi-Wan.

"What's so urgent?" he asked. Yet, he helped Anakin from Akkani's back into the sand anyway.

Anakin reached into his pockets to collect the credits he had earned working by Obi-Wan's side. With the coins resting on his upturned palm, he presented his hands to Obi-Wan.

"For you," he chirped.

"While I appreciate the gesture, you should keep them for yourself, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "You've worked hard for them."

"For you," Anakin repeated, stressing his meows. To emphasize the words, he pushed his hand against Obi-Wan's sternum. Obi-Wan didn't flinch away, still allowing Anakin to touch him.

Obi-Wan lifted his hands from his side. Pleased, Anakin waited for Obi-Wan to take the credits. Instead, Obi-Wan curled his fingers around Anakin's durasteel ones. Together, their fingers closed around the credits.

"Keep them, dear," Obi-Wan said. "They are yours."

"But... That's unfair," Anakin complained. "Why won't you take them?"

"Don't pout, dear," Obi-Wan cooed. He sounded indulgent, but Anakin knew better than to believe that he could convince Obi-Wan to take the credits. Obi-Wan's head dipped, blurred by Anakin's frosted glass vision. Anakin squinted, still wondering what Obi-Wan planned to do when Obi-Wan's fingers pressed against palladium-coated fingertips. His synth nerves sang as Obi-Wan kissed a fingertip. "Give it time."

Dumbstruck, Anakin nodded, agreeing despite himself. His mind had gone blank, giving Obi-Wan an overwhelming victory. He didn't follow Obi-Wan as he entered the cave. Slowly, Anakin's gaze dropped to his hand, the fingers still curled around the credits.

Did Obi-Wan think one kiss would make Anakin comply? He was smarter and more cunning than Obi-Wan gave him credit for. After all, he was only momentarily distracted by Obi-Wan's lips against his fingers. While Obi-Wan cooked their dinner, he snuck to the box with credits on a durasteel container in the cave. Glancing over his shoulder and confirming Obi-Wan was still occupied in the kitchen nook, he opened the box. Credits filled the box, more than Anakin had expected.

How frugally had Obi-Wan lived?

Anakin's heart squeezed. He had to take his duty to make Obi-Wan take care of himself more seriously. No, he had to take care of Obi-Wan. Nodding solemnly, he placed the credits in the box, careful not to make a sound.

A cleared throat made him jump. The credits still clutched in his hand all dropped into the box, clattering so loud his ears rang. Squeaking, he turned around, pressing the small of his back against the container's edge.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, one name that contained so much meaning.

"Mrow?" Anakin mewled, blinking at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I should have seen this coming, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, you should," Anakin agreed, jumping on the opportunity to shirk responsibility. "It's all your fault."

"You sound a little smug for that apology you're giving me, Anakin."

Anakin shrugged. Obi-Wan had caught him in the act. Though, Anakin wouldn't have feigned innocence regardless. Thus, he could only wait for the consequences, stifling a silly purr. Obi-Wan sighed before straightening abruptly.

"Drat," Obi-Wan blurted. "The food."

He swept away, leaving Anakin by the box. Surprised, Anakin's gaze flicked from Obi-Wan's back to the box. Had he succeeded? Smugly, he closed the box. He trailed after Obi-Wan, following him into the kitchen nook.

"I see your hands are empty," Obi-Wan commented wryly.

Anakin snorted.

"Eventually, I'll learn to say 'no' to you," Obi-Wan said.

"You did say no," Anakin pointed out. "I just don't listen."

Obi-Wan chuckled to Anakin's delight. He shuffled closer, daring to hook his chin over Obi-Wan's shoulder to glance at what Obi-Wan was making for them. To his surprise, Obi-Wan didn't push him away, letting Anakin plaster himself against Obi-Wan's back and lean heavily. Anakin sighed in relief as his legs no longer had to carry all his weight.

"We'll eat first. Then, I will take another look at your legs," Obi-Wan said, catching on too fast.

"My legs are fine," Anakin protested, wondering how Obi-Wan had noticed. Sulking, he retreated to his corner. Obi-Wan joined him with their dinner. Although Anakin took his sweet time, he finished eventually under Obi-Wan's watchful eye.

"Time for your legs," Obi-Wan decided.

Anakin scrambled to stand to put distance between them in a desperate last-ditch effort to escape.

"You can't waste more bacta cream on me," he complained. "We have to save it for an emergency."

Obi-Wan followed him through the cave, prowling slowly. Both knew Obi-Wan would corner him eventually, so there was no rush. Anakin pouted, trying to appeal to Obi-Wan.

"I warned you, Anakin," Obi-Wan told him. "That expression would stop working eventually."

"What expression?" Anakin warbled, desperate to escape Obi-Wan's care. Obi-Wan couldn't waste more bacta cream on him. His legs no longer hurt a lot. He could grin and bear it -- without the grinning. What if Obi-Wan was injured again?

"You will sit down," Obi-Wan warned him. "Being adorable won't save you."

Anakin stuck out his tongue, waddling on painful legs to the kitchen nook, plotting his escape.

"Padawan."

He froze, trapped in time.

"Mrow?" Master?

"Pick your battles wisely," Obi-Wan told him. Obi-Wan calling him Padawan echoed in the marrow of Anakin's bones. He could only comply when Obi-Wan called him his Padawan. It was an honor Anakin didn't deserve. Yet, it made him embarrassingly happy, too.

Sulking, he relented. Oh, he was secretly pleased to be subject to so much care. Realizing Obi-Wan genuinely didn't care about his appearance filled him with wonder. But he wouldn't show it, putting on an unconvincing act. He knew Obi-Wan saw through it, which somehow made Obi-Wan laugh fondly. Obi-Wan laughed because of him.

Anakin laughed deeply, but it wasn't a torrent or rip current dragging him down. It was light but pervasive, diluting into his soul.

Obi-Wan knelt before him, helping Anakin pull the legs of his pants back to reveal the interface between durasteel and skin. Obi-Wan's hands were confident as he reached for Anakin's legs, finding latches and connectors effortlessly. It was easy to fall into the fantasy that this was a routine turned rote with years, yet performed with love.

Obi-Wan placed the legs by Anakin's side, treating them carefully.

He wanted to live here for the rest of their lives.

The bacta tingled against his thighs, applied in a thick lather. Obi-Wan's bruises were gone, and Anakin leaned back on his hands, focusing the Force on his eyes to turn the world sharper.

Obi-Wan's face was creased in focus, his attention devoted to Anakin. Bacta-covered hands moved over his thighs, massaging the cream into the scars and irritated areas.

"Meow." I love you.

Obi-Wan looked up from Anakin's thighs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

"Yes?" he asked, clearly not understanding that Anakin professed his undying love.

"Mrow." Yes.

He nodded solemnly.

"We're almost done," Obi-Wan promised.

Anakin shrugged. Obi-Wan could take his sweet time. Anakin didn't care. Obi-Wan leaned back on his haunches, straightening his back, which popped as he stretched. He wiped his hands on his pants.

Anakin reached for Obi-Wan with grabby hands, waiting for Obi-Wan to carry him. Obi-Wan stiffened, and Anakin remembered what had happened the previous night. He couldn't blame Obi-Wan for hesitating. Still, he would need help to get back into his corner.

Despite understanding, he felt hollowed out, disappointment eroding him until he was a rotting tree.

"You're sad," Obi-Wan observed.

Anakin shrugged. Sadness was close enough to describe the numb disappointment.

"You don't even deny it," Obi-Wan muttered. "I wish you could speak, though I doubt you would give me a straight answer."

Anakin huffed.

Obi-Wan shifted, his hands wrapping around Anakin's waist where they had carved out a space for themselves.

"You should tell me what bothers you so."

Anakin wondered how Obi-Wan would react. Tentatively, he unfurled his Force signature, brushing past Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan's shields lowered a fraction, creating a gateway for Anakin.

STOP scoffing, Padawan.

They are DISGUSTING, Master.

Perhaps so, but we have a DUTY to perform.

My very young apprentice.

Anakin had sneered and snarled at the monarch of an irrelevant planet, disgusted by the exploitation of its people. And Obi-Wan had refused to do the right thing, claiming that change needed time and regulations, not a bloody insurgence.

The monarch was a monster -- not unlike Anakin himself, though Anakin had the added benefit that his appearance matched his personality. The memory wasn't a perfect fit, but he hoped it conveyed his repulsion.

"I see," Obi-Wan whispered. He cradled Anakin closer to his chest. "You are wrong, of course."

Anakin was lowered into the nest of blankets on what had turned into his side. He was too tired to protest. Instead, he snuggled close to Obi-Wan when Obi-Wan joined him, taking note of each shift in Obi-Wan's body language, his breathing, and every micro-expression on his face.

Obi-Wan yawned, relaxing in the blankets, nothing suggesting Anakin's presence unnerved him. Slowly, Anakin dared wiggle closer, repeatedly bumping his nose against Obi-Wan's collarbone. The gesture was instinctual, creeping up on him, but it was the only way he could express his gratitude.

Chapter Text

Caught in a dream, Anakin blinked slowly, his tail swishing. His ears perked, picking up a steady heartbeat. He sat in a cave, ensconced between thick, muscled thighs. This wasn't the home cave, so Anakin was glad he wasn't alone. He rested curled in Obi-Wan's lap, watching the world outside the shallow cave. The cave sat in the wall of a raised sandstone rock formation, slightly elevated with respect to the moisture farm in the valley below.

Anakin recognized the farm. They had visited this spot before. His mother was buried here.

Obi-Wan's hand ran through his fur in lazy strokes, petting him from his furry ears to the tip of his tail. Time didn't move outside the cave, the scenery frozen in place. They were alone in the galaxy yet still together.

Anakin twisted in Obi-Wan's lap to rest on his back, his paws tucked to his chest to reveal his belly. The fur on his vulnerable belly was a shade lighter, inviting Obi-Wan to pet him. While Obi-Wan covered Anakin's belly with a broad hand, he didn't move. Instead, its solid weight rested over Anakin like a weighted blanket.

Could Anakin fall asleep in his dream?

Even his purring was turning disjointed, his body surrendering to sleep in the comfort of Obi-Wan's lap.

Anakin woke up alone. Obi-Wan had already risen, walking through the cave to prepare breakfast.

"Mrow?" he asked.

"You can sleep in," Obi-Wan said. "There is someplace I must go today."

Obi-Wan's voice trailed off. He didn't elaborate, and Anakin understood Obi-Wan was hesitant to share his destination with him. He rolled on his stomach, his shoulder bumping into his leg prostheses as he twisted. Ignoring them, he sat to watch Obi-Wan more carefully.

Should he try to join Obi-Wan?

Either way, he would have to do something about his legs first. He wavered and vacillated as he attached them, working quickly and far less gently than Obi-Wan.

After attaching the prostheses and eating breakfast, Anakin still hadn't decided. Time was running out; Obi-Wan saddled Akkani under the awning. Meanwhile, Anakin loitered in the shadows, watching them with hungry, greedy eyes.

He took a staggering step forward before hesitating. Torn between pushing closer and giving space, he watched Obi-Wan lead the eopie away from the awning.

Anakin's body decided while his mind still weighed his options. He rushed forward as Obi-Wan swung in the saddle, reaching the eopie seconds before Obi-Wan could take off. His metal fingers curled around the reins to help him balance.

Akkani bristled but allowed him, steadfastly ignoring his presence. A tug on his cloak told Anakin that she munched on the fabric. He resisted the urge to pull the cloak free to focus on Obi-Wan. He yipped a frantic sound. It was too short to be a question or command. After all, Anakin still didn't know how to persuade Obi-Wan -- whether he should try. 

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, and Anakin nodded. Would Obi-Wan send him back into the cave? Could Anakin convince him otherwise? Should he want to?

Anakin's heart was a selfish, hungry, greedy creature; it was a krayt dragon curled around its hoard protectively. Thus, he couldn't give up.

"Please," he said, the sincerity making the plea near-impossible. The words tasted like ashes on his tongue.

Obi-Wan sighed. "There are things you don't know, Anakin."

Anakin tilted his head.

"Things that may hurt you," Obi-Wan continued haltingly. Clearly, there was something Obi-Wan hid from him. "I'm hesitant to... You see, I have not... But perhaps it does not matter."

"Which way is it?" Anakin asked. "Because if it doesn't matter, I can join you!"

Obi-Wan blinked at him. Then, he laughed, a deep rumbling sound so sincere and amused that Anakin's indignation only kicked in after he had stared for a long moment.

"You look just like the sand cat you were," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin cataloged his limbs, realizing he leaned on Akkani's back with both hands, raised to his tiptoes and leaning forward eagerly. His head was canted back to look at Obi-Wan.

"Very well, then. Since you insist."

Obi-Wan slid to the ground. Anakin hadn't realized he had won, still crowding Akkani when Obi-Wan landed on the ground before him. There was no space. Surprised, Anakin staggered back, his inflexible feet messing with his steps. Before he could tip over, Obi-Wan steadied him with one arm while slipping away from the sliver of space between Anakin and the eopie.

Anakin couldn't help reaching for Obi-Wan, the fingers of his right hand tangling in Obi-Wan's tunic.

Obi-Wan didn't notice; his attention was turned to the eopie, petting her back with his free hand. The animal knelt in the sand slowly, listening to Obi-Wan while ignoring everyone else.

 
"Well done. Thank you, Akkani," Obi-Wan praised the eopie.

Then, Obi-Wan's hands shifted to Anakin's waist, wrapping securely around him. Anakin sucked in a surprised breath despite knowing Obi-Wan always reached for his waist. Obi-Wan's fingers tightened further, claiming the extra space Anakin's sharp inhale had created.

Anakin couldn't look away, never mind that he looked at Obi-Wan through frosted glass.

Obi-Wan didn't grunt as he lifted Anakin, pretending it was effortless. This was kindness, and Anakin couldn't help preening. Mid-air, Obi-Wan stopped, holding Anakin a foot above the ground. Was this posturing? Confused, Anakin waited for Obi-Wan to put him on the floor or Akkani's back. Concern bled into his confusion when Obi-Wan remained frozen.

"Did you pull a muscle, old man?" he asked. "Is it your back?"

"I can just imagine what you're saying," Obi-Wan commented, possibly aiming for a dry voice, but he strained under the effort of keeping Anakin aloft. "Could you let go of me, dear?"

Anakin's gaze dropped, landing on his hand tangled in Obi-Wan's robes.

Oh.

Embarrassed, he released Obi-Wan, letting the soft fabric fall from his fingers. They ached with a phantom sensation, reminding Anakin of how natural holding onto Obi-Wan had felt. His mortification made him twitchy, his fingers itching to fiddle with something, and Obi-Wan's threadbare tunic was within reach. Yet, he resisted the urge, allowing Obi-Wan to plop him in Akkani's saddle.

"You always stewed in your embarrassment," Obi-Wan said. "I thought you would grow out of it, but you can pull some impressive sullen faces, Anakin."

Anakin scoffed. "I don't think the effect is the same, Master. Have you seen my face? Actually seen it? Because I'm starting to believe you're suffering from presbyopia in your old age."

"No disparaging comments about yourself, Anakin," Obi-Wan lectured him in a familiar tone. The one he had always used on Anakin while Anakin was a Padawan.

"You started it," Anakin complained, turning his head to keep looking at Obi-Wan's silhouette as Obi-Wan swung in the saddle behind him.

"Oh, I know, dear," Obi-Wan said, tucking Anakin against his chest, who went willingly. "I know," Obi-Wan repeated, the word vibrating through Anakin.

Akkani began walking unprompted, needing only subtle direction from the reins to pick a path through the desert. Shapeless dunes lined their path, swimming in Anakin's vision as Akkani swayed.

Still, he recognized landmarks. His mental map of Tatooine had so few locations that he identified their destination within the first few clicks.

They were headed to the moisture farm, where Anakin's mother was buried. Why had Obi-Wan hesitated before taking him along? What secrets were buried alongside his mother in the sand?

Anakin didn't voice his questions. Instead, he watched the dunes they passed. Although the distance was relatively small, Akkani walked at a leisurely pace, unconcerned with Anakin's apprehension.

Eventually, they passed the spires of the vaporators marking the periphery of the moisture farm, though territories tended to be ill-defined in the ever-shifting desert.

"Can you walk?" Obi-Wan asked him.

"After all the bacta you put on my thighs? Of course." Anakin nodded so Obi-Wan couldn't misunderstand him.

"Good," Obi-Wan said. "Because we have a climb ahead of us."

Behind him, Obi-Wan jumped from the saddle, and Anakin, deciding he didn't need help, followed him. Although his feet hit the sand hard, he didn't stumble or trip. Proud of his accomplishment, he straightened, grinning at Obi-Wan.

"Your mobility improves at an astonishing rate. I'm very proud of you, Anakin."

How could Anakin have expected praise uttered so casually? While Anakin gawked, Obi-Wan reached for Akkani's reins, leading the animal up a narrow dirt path that meandered in rings around the sandstone formation. Realizing Obi-Wan left him behind, Anakin hurried to catch up. He knew Obi-Wan could sense how pleased Anakin was by the praise. It always left him wrong-footed. It was much easier to bristle at advice or argue that he had tried his best.

"Thank you," he muttered.

Obi-Wan didn't hear him, talking to Akkani instead. Anakin couldn't look away from Obi-Wan's back as he trudged after him. Obi-Wan wouldn't catch him staring unabashedly, taking excellent care of the eopie who didn't seem fazed by the climb because Obi-Wan soothed the animal. Anakin loved so deeply that the words burned on his lips. He wished he could tell Obi-Wan, but it was better he didn't. Melancholy was bittersweet, its edges gentled by Obi-Wan's presence. Anakin's gaze flicked to the sky and he tasted freedom, sand, and love on his inhale. The previous time Obi-Wan took him here, he was still a sand cat. Unlike today, they had arrived in the early morning. The suns had barely over the horizon, still casting Tatooine in a pink glow. Today, the suns had already risen high. 

Did they wake up later than before?

Recognizing their destiny, the eopie pulled free, her gait quickening as she headed up the dirt path into the cave. Obi-Wan stopped walking until Anakin caught up with him. They had walked side-by-side for a lifetime, so inseparable that they moved in perfect synchrony. Anakin would slow down while Obi-Wan would quicken his steps.

What a far cry from Obi-Wan falling back so Anakin could walk carefully, the sand shifting treacherously under his inflexible feet. The dry desert air rasped through his throat, a background sound that provided him a rhythm to move to.

Near the entrance, the dirt path turned into uneven rocks with a sharp elevation. Anakin slowed down while Obi-Wan continued onward. Not noticing Anakin lagged behind, Obi-Wan pulled ahead again. Anakin's useless gaze swept over the terrain, trying to find a path he could navigate.

Finding nothing, he slowed to a stop.

It was a minor hiccup. Days prior, Anakin's legs had been so inflamed he could barely walk. Yet his successes so far, the considerable distance to the valley below, didn't matter when he looked at the path ahead of him. Once, he hadn't believed anything was impossible.

"Anakin, dear," Anakin's gaze flicked to Obi-Wan, snagging on the hand Obi-Wan offered. "You can do it."

Anakin's throat constricted with gratitude and love. Silently, he reached for Obi-Wan's hand with his right one, feeling Obi-Wan's fingers curl around his palm. One sharp tug pulled Anakin over the first ridge. They moved slowly to the cave's entrance, where Obi-Wan released his hand.

Automatically, Anakin twisted his hand, tangling his fingers with Obi-Wan's. Upon realizing what he did, Anakin stiffened, heat rising to his cheeks. He acted unbearably clingy, but he couldn't help it. Apprehensively, he lifted his gaze, dimly aware that Obi-Wan waited patiently while Anakin stewed in his mortification. Obi-Wan smiled so widely that Anakin could see it with his frosted-glass vision.

"It always makes me happy when you reach out for me -- perhaps because it happened so rarely."

It was a reassurance. Obi-Wan's fingers tightened around him as if he anticipated Anakin would pull away. Anakin produced a chattering sound, surprising them both. It was distinctly inhuman, communicating a sentiment that had no human equivalent.

"You think so?" Obi-Wan asked, audibly amused but willing to entertain Anakin's weird noises.

Anakin snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Let's get in the shade before you burn. You should try to wear that hood more, dear. You are terribly sensitive to those suns." As Obi-Wan lectured him, he reached for the hood of Anakin's cloak, pulling it over Anakin's eyes.

"We're already inside," Anakin complained. With his vision doused in darkness, he searched blindly for the hood with his left hand. Finally, he found his mark, his clumsy fingers pulling harshly on the hood before he reversed the action. However, Obi-Wan hadn't released the tip yet. 

"Obi-Wan," he whined. "Come on."

Obi-Wan laughed, finally letting go. The hood slipped back as Anakin shoved it aside impatiently, realizing Obi-Wan was incredibly close as their noses almost bumped. Startled, he yipped.

Obi-Wan's laughter tapered off, tension replacing the lighthearted banter. A soft tug on his right hand, barely perceptible, guided Anakin into the cave. Obi-Wan walked backward, seemingly remembering every step. In the center, he stopped.

As Obi-Wan sat, Anakin followed him, the movements turned awkward by their interlaced fingers. Yet, neither let go. This meant that Anakin almost ended up in Obi-Wan's lap. He was squished against Obi-Wan's side, his body molding to Obi-Wan, who sat ramrod straight. They mirrored their previous trip to this cave. Anakin had snoozed by Obi-Wan's side, enjoying Obi-Wan's expert petting.

Anakin settled his head on Obi-Wan's shoulder. Yawning, he relaxed. Happy and content to spend the day here. Obi-Wan abandoned his perfect posture, curling around Anakin in turn. Again, the moisture farm looked abandoned, baking under the scorching binary suns.

Once, Anakin's mother had lived here. In a sense, she had never left, buried at the back of the farm. Watching this farm frozen in time turned him melancholy or contemplative. Time turned into syrup, slowing down until Anakin melted into this moment. Peace hung heavy in the air, tasting like sand, eopie, and Obi-Wan.

Despite the heat, he was cold, goosebumps erupting on the patches of unharmed skin. A shudder traveled through him. Under Anakin's cheek, Obi-Wan shoulder shifted. With one arm, he tugged his cloak over Anakin, letting Anakin snuggle closer. In the comfort of Obi-Wan's embrace, Anakin snoozed. His eyelids were too heavy to keep open, exhaustion pulling him into the twilight between awake and asleep. He surrendered to a nap on Obi-Wan's shoulder, begrudgingly coexisting with the purring rumbling softly and unhindered in his chest. He couldn't stop the sound, and Obi-Wan's shoulders relaxed.

Anakin was too comfortable to care, letting the sound wash over him. His fingers flexed automatically, kneading Obi-Wan's thigh. Anakin hadn't noticed his hands sneaking to Obi-Wan's leg, though his cross-legged position gave Anakin a perfect place to rest his hands.

Obi-Wan didn't comment on Anakin making biscuits on his leg or the purring close to his ear. He only pulled Anakin closer to him, offering him a warm spot to nap. Anakin nuzzled Obi-Wan's throat briefly, bumping his nose to warm skin that smelled familiar and pleasant several times. Then, he settled further, curling further into Obi-Wan. His body, usually too inflexible, an amalgamation of durasteel and scarred skin, was surprisingly pliant, holding so much more give than Anakin had expected. He was liquid against Obi-Wan's side, breathing deeply and steadily without the Force.

Time continued to pass, but Anakin couldn't see the shadows turn or the suns move. So, he didn't know how long he had dozed like a sand cat when Obi-Wan stiffened suddenly.

The tension alerted him, and Anakin straightened, his gaze sweeping over the moisture farm. Noticing nothing amiss, Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, realizing that Obi-Wan's attention was on the dirt path leading to their cave. Slower, his heart pounding in the hollow of his throat, Anakin turned his head to the rocky path.

"Ben!" a child called out, helping Anakin locate a small child scrambling up the path. The child waved frantically. Surprisingly quickly, the boy reached the cave entrance, talking animatedly to Ben.

"I knew you were here," the boy chatted. Anakin frowned, recognition hitting him like a freighter. This was the boy they had met in Anchorhead -- the one who had petted Anakin. Obi-Wan lived a solitary existence, but that boy had known Obi-Wan's name and was comfortable enough to approach him and chat up a storm. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan knew the boy's name, though he had stiffened when he noticed his presence.

In the Force, Obi-Wan was coiled tight, trepidation running through his signature loud enough to reach Anakin's shrunken Force signature. 

Anakin's gaze flicked to Obi-Wan, clinging to his confusion because the alternative was unbearable. Obi-Wan looked at him already, his expression tense. This was the secret Anakin wasn't allowed to discover.

Or perhaps Obi-Wan worried about something else. Maybe he was reminded of--

Anakin couldn't stop turning to the boy. He was older than--

MASTER Skywalker.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Yet, there was some resemblance.

There are too many of THEM.

What are WE going to do?

A deep chill settled around his spine, prickling and stinging unbearably. His shoulders hunched as he glanced away. The boy looked at him, studying him, judging him for all the crimes he had committed.

Anakin didn't deserve to turn away or hide in his cloak. He didn't deserve it. He didn't, he didn't, he didn't--

His stomach roiled and churned, bile rising in his esophagus. He retched like a sand cat, twisting away sharply as he knew he would throw up. His durasteel knees hit the sandstone with loud clangs. The joints wouldn't bend far enough, turning Anakin's crawling awkward, degrading, and painful. He only managed a small distance before a knee stalled. Wildly, wide-eyed, Anakin stared at the floor, shame curdling in his stomach, too strong for his body to bear. All the guilt had to be expelled. Oh, he was so sick.

A hand between his shoulder blades made him jolt. He jerked his head, pinning Obi-Wan with a wild look, feeling feral.

He didn't deserve anything.

They had trusted him, and Anakin had killed them all. Why did Obi-Wan allow him here? Obi-Wan knew Anakin could never be trusted.

Oh, stars, he was sick.

His shame turned solid, poisoning him, and his body reacted to the visceral self-loathing the only way it knew how to.

His stomach lurched violently, and Anakin scrambled back on his knees, clawing through the sand to avoid throwing up on Obi-Wan. He retched again, his shoulders shaking under the intensity. His misery and breakfast rose in his throat, and Anakin couldn't stop it. He heaved, producing strangled feline sounds as he stared at his puke. His arms trembled, barely supporting his weight.

A small hand joined Obi-Wan's, patting him clumsily.

"Are you ill?" the boy asked, concerned for a monster.

Obi-Wan should get him away from Anakin. Anakin shifted away from the puke and the boy, collapsing against Obi-Wan. His head nestled against Obi-Wan's side, tremors wracking his body as he breathed unevenly, each shallow inhale tasting like bitter bile. His knees pulled to his chest as he curled up.

The hood had fallen over his eyes.

"Is he okay?" the boy asked, addressing Obi-Wan.

"He will be, Luke," Obi-Wan answered.

Obi-Wan stroked Anakin's side, petting him like Anakin was a sand cat.

"I just have to take good care of my companion. Just like Aunt Beru does for you when you feel unwell."

"Oh, the boy said, drawing the word out. "Ben. I thought you lived alone?"

"No, I took your advice," Obi-Wan said.

"Do you live together like Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen?" the boy asked. "Are you married?"

Surely, the boy was too old for such naive questions. However, Anakin supposed the question could carry more meaning than Anakin could glean as an outsider. Nevertheless, it was an excellent question. Ignoring the misery and shame that coalesced in his stomach like coagulating gravy, Anakin peeked through a fold in his hood, studying Obi-Wan's face.

He focused the Force on his eyes, the question about marriage making him stupidly aware that Obi-Wan was handsome. He stared at Obi-Wan's profile while nestled against Obi-Wan's side, slumped into a tiny, miserable ball.

Obi-Wan looked at him, smiling at him with unfettered fondness.

"We did promise, didn't we?" Obi-Wan asked. He patted Anakin's waist before resuming his slow strokes. The continuous, repetitive touch grounded Anakin in the present. Obi-Wan's calculating expression told Anakin that Obi-Wan knew how much he benefited from the touch.

The past seemed so far away despite staring him down with curious, wide blue eyes.

"Hello," the boy said, extending his hand.

Anakin hesitated, too scared that he would hurt the boy. Obi-Wan nudged him gently, a tap of his hand which had slipped to the small of Anakin's back. Anakin lifted his hand from the cloak pooled over him, offering limp fingers to the boy.

He knew the boy noticed the metal. How could he miss the obvious signs Anakin was inhuman? His appearance was hideous, a closer match to a monster. Yet, Luke barely faltered, grabbing Anakin's fingers and yanking on them in an enthusiastic handshake.

"I'm Luke," he said.

Anakin's gaze flicked to Obi-Wan, looking for help.

"Mrow," he muttered when Obi-Wan shrugged, letting this scene play out without intervening. Shouldn't Obi-Wan protect Luke?

"Can you talk?" Luke asked.

Anakin shook his head.

"Ben, how do you talk with your companion?" Luke asked. "Beru and Owen always talk."

Luke made it sound like a chore, but nothing was as delightful as bickering with Obi-Wan, testing his limitless patience and seeing how far Obi-Wan would indulge him.

"You have to listen very closely," Obi-Wan said. "But Anakin has a way of showing what he means."

"Unless it suits you," Anakin grumbled in sullen barks.

"See?" Obi-Wan said. "You can tell that he disagrees."

Obi-Wan ran his hand over Anakin's hood, cradling his skull while he talked in a hushed voice. He addressed Anakin despite answering Luke's question.

"That's cool," Luke gushed. "Can you say more?"

Anakin shrugged awkwardly. Then, he nodded. He tipped his head back to look at Obi-Wan. His eyes fell shut in a slow blink.

"I love you," he meowed, enunciating each word, reassured by the conviction Obi-Wan would never know.

"What did he say?" Luke asked eagerly.

"Well, I'm not sure," Obi-Wan responded.

Anakin swallowed a chuckle.

"You look rather smug, Anakin. You're really not making this easy for me."

"I think it's the simplest thing in the galaxy. I love you, Master."

"Yes, dear. You're very right. I'll endeavor to listen more closely."

Anakin scrunched his nose. It would be bad news if Obi-Wan discovered what Anakin confessed on a whim.

"Don't bother," he said, burying his nose in Obi-Wan's side. His gaze met Luke's, who looked intrigued.

"He loves you," Luke said.

What?

"I think that's what your companion said, Ben. He loves you. I felt it."

Was... Was the boy Force sensitive?

Apprehensively, Anakin uncoiled in the Force, planning to test Luke's Force signature. Obi-Wan caught him as if he were an unruly kitten escaping its box. An invisible hand curled around his tiny signature, cupping him to hold him back.

He could almost hear Obi-Wan click his tongue.

Patience, Padawan.

A shared memory.

Anakin pouted. Still, he relaxed in the palm of Obi-Wan's Force signature, making himself at home. He felt safer with his tiny Force signature contained by Obi-Wan. It was a reminder Obi-Wan wouldn't let him harm the boy -- that he would protect both everyone else and Anakin.

Part of Anakin wondered whether the flash of panic in Obi-Wan's Force signature indicated more was at stake here. What secret did Obi-Wan protect, too? Wasn't he tired of balancing all those responsibilities and secrets?

Anakin had been so intensely tired near the end.

He didn't attempt to escape Obi-Wan's hold. Instead, he stuck to Obi-Wan's signature, melting and diluting in Obi-Wan until it was near-impossible to distinguish between their souls.

"Mrow," he said, unsure what he intended to communicate. But the noise achieved his goal, prompting a smile from Obi-Wan.

"You're doing very well, Anakin," he praised.

"What about me?" the boy asked eagerly.

Obi-Wan's lips twisted, his expression quirking funnily as he tried to suppress laughter. He was inordinately amused by this situation.

Did Obi-Wan poke fun at Anakin?

Instantly suspicious, Anakin squinted at Obi-Wan, his Force signature fussing in Obi-Wan's hold. Obi-Wan stroked his waist, maybe believing that was enough to make Anakin settle. Begrudgingly, Anakin relaxed in Obi-Wan's hold.

"You have been very polite to Anakin, Luke," Obi-Wan said. "Are you helping your uncle and aunt on the farm today?"

"I didn't mean that," Luke argued stubbornly. "Did I guess right?"

The boy sent Anakin a hopeful look.

"Well, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, still soft and gentle when he addressed Anakin. "What do you think about Luke's translation?"

His mild tone couldn't hide his entertainment. Obi-Wan believed Anakin's reaction would be hilarious because he couldn't comprehend a reality in which the boy was right. Oh, Obi-Wan thought he knew everything and the temptation to shake those foundations was too strong. Ultimately, Anakin was weak to temptation, incapable of resisting it.

I loved YOU.

He would always wonder and hunger. Did Obi-Wan's love survive the fires and lava? Did it burn as strong as Anakin's love? Was it romantic, platonic, or familial? Obi-Wan had implied they were married when the boy asked. They had promised, indeed. Anakin Skywalker was Obi-Wan Kenobi's Padawan, a bond that could be severed but a tie that would linger for a lifetime. Their souls had been connected, and it was frighteningly easy to believe they still were.

Obi-Wan hadn't denied that they were married outright, dancing around the question.

Anakin squinted at Obi-Wan, his eyes narrowed in careful consideration. He couldn't speak or write, but he could try...

He placed his right index finger in the loose sand covering the sandstone cave floor. The hand responded smoothly to the stimuli. Anakin drew a heart -- or an approximation of one based on muscle memory. Then, he raised his hand from the cave floor, tapping Obi-Wan's chest with his fingertips. The synth nerves sang, feeling soft fiber and heat.

"Oh," Obi-Wan gasped, his chest moving under Anakin's fingertips. "I didn't--" Obi-Wan cut himself off. "You are very, very dear to me," Obi-Wan said, sounding endeared -- charmed perhaps. "And I love you very much. But you know that. I already told you so."

Anakin huffed and rolled his eyes.

"You said you loved me, Master. That's in the past tense," Anakin reminded him.

Of course, Obi-Wan knew what Anakin said.

I HATE you!

I LOVED you.

How could he not know the words seared in Anakin's soul and heart?

"I do love you, Anakin," Obi-Wan whispered. "It was not something I could stop, no matter the reason. It had grown too deep already to be removed."

"I was right," the boy interrupted.

Obi-Wan sighed, focusing on the boy again. Anakin mourned losing Obi-Wan's attention.

"Shouldn't you help your uncle and aunt on the farm?"

The boy cleared his throat.

"Maybe," he admitted reluctantly.

"Perhaps you should check whether they need a hand."

"But you're never here, Ben. I don't want to go already," the boy complained. Obi-Wan didn't respond verbally, but Anakin had a good idea of Obi-Wan's expression. How often had Obi-Wan looked at him with disapproval, silently telling Anakin he knew and trusted Anakin could do better?

The boy's shoulders drooped.

"Fine," he groused. Then, his petulance disappeared, the grin returning. "I'll tell Aunt Beru that you are here."

"Now, wait a moment, Luke--"

But Luke, despite his earlier reluctance to stay, turned away.

"Luke, you can't tell her that--"

Obi-Wan noticed a second before Anakin did. Tucked away against Obi-Wan's side, he didn't have a clear vision of Luke. Obi-Wan's wince made Anakin straighten, his eyes on the boy. He ran down the hill too fast -- faster than his legs could keep up. His center of gravity tipped forward. Rather than accelerating, the boy stopped, his arms cartwheeling.

Anakin's heart stopped, horror seizing it in a clammy, cold grip.

The boy swayed on his feet, but the inevitable was already written in the fabric of the galaxy.

I have a BAD feeling about this.

The boy would fall. Time never ran this slow. Was Anakin still a sand cat, wired to react faster than a snake could strike?

Luke was still near the cave entrance, where jagged rocks covered the dirt path. Anakin had struggled to climb the last steep increase in elevation and unsteady ground. A human child falling was different from a sand cat rolling down the slope. Instinct drove Anakin. His Force signature weaseled from Obi-Wan's hold, slipping free.

It was tiny, still the Force signature he had as a sand cat, but he reached for the boy nonetheless. Anakin's Force signature collided against the boy's soul.

Something WONDERFUL has happened.

Ani.

I'm pregnant.

The world lit up, flashbacks racing through his mind, but the corresponding images were whited out, too bright for his damaged eyes.

What are we going to do?

His tiny Force signature yanked on the boy.

I want to have our baby back HOME on Naboo.

His pulling didn't yield anything, and now the boy tumbled down. Anakin's mind was a mess, and...

Where we can be SAFE.

It was agony to remember, to meet the boy's Force signature and be greeted with Padmé. The boy was falling, and Anakin knew he couldn't let that happen.

"Obi-Wan," he pleaded. Panic turned him shrill and loud and human. "Obi-Wan, help him!"

A human voice uttering human words. 

Obi-Wan.

Anakin could talk. He had never genuinely lost the ability to; he just elected not to. His Force signature was unharmed, but he had shrunk it, wrinkling his soul to make it smaller than a sand cat. Although he had decided not to talk or use the Force, he hadn't known he could. He had believed his Force signature was gone, never realizing it had only crouched to appear smaller, tugging itself into a tiny ball to look harmless and ineffective. A potent illusion that had turned into Anakin's reality.

He was scared -- frightened. He didn't deserve to speak or use the Force or fail again. Because he would fail again -- he would Fall and ruin everything he had not yet tarnished. Anakin Skywalker should be erased.

He was a person.

He was not.

There was a monster, and it waited patiently in the dark.

Anakin was a monster, but he would never be Vader. He had been too much. And now, he was confused. His identity was fractured across nine lives, all cut short too soon by his own hand.

Anakin was gone.

His being exploded, his Force signature ripping from its leash and nuzzle. His Force signature grew from a sand cat to a lion, pouncing on the boy. Anakin captured Luke with the Force before his head could hit the rocks and split open.

Anakin delivered the boy to the bottom of the hill, depositing him there gently.

It had happened so fast that Obi-Wan's name still echoed in the cave, bouncing back from the walls to tell Anakin he had spoken.

Obi-Wan looked at him with wide eyes.

"Obi-Wan," the cave said with Anakin's voice -- panicked, raw, human. Kark.

Obi-Wan.

Chapter Text

I don't want the world,
no, I just want a piece of it.
I don't have a red hand
like Caesar did
-Little Cup, Arrested Youth

Anakin's gaze flicked to the bottom of the hill, where Luke clambered to his feet. The boy dusted off his clothes, the grains of sand lit by the suns and visible to Anakin's eyes. Luke looked unfazed by the events while Anakin's heart pounded in his throat. Slowly, Anakin withdrew his Force signature. After subconsciously restraining his Force signature for so long, he struggled to control its intensity and power.

His signature had turned a prowling lion with a fluffy tuft on its tail, untamable and indomitable. And so very Light that it blinded Anakin.

The boy turned back to their perch to wave enthusiastically. Obi-Wan returned a small wave. Then, the boy dashed away through the sand, ostensibly unperturbed by the nasty fall Anakin had prevented.

Anakin kept his gaze on the boy's retreating back. Nowhere else was safe. Obi-Wan's Force signature was a snake. Anakin's lion signature should be faster and stronger, but he was paralyzed by Obi-Wan circling him. Obi-Wan surrounded him, investigating Anakin's soul with a fleeting brush before withdrawing, obviously pleased by what he had found.

Light.

Relief constricted Anakin's throat, and Anakin would cry if he wasn't frozen, anticipating Obi-Wan's reaction.

Obi-Wan.

Anakin had cried out in Basic accidentally.

"Well, that answers that question," Obi-Wan said, deceptively casual.

The Force had turned Anakin's vision sharper than it had been since he woke up in a bacta tank. It was effortless, but Anakin feared seeing too much. Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, slightly frightened -- so frightened his heart thudded and pounded. Obi-Wan looked calculating as he studied Anakin's face.

"So, we can talk now," Obi-Wan continued pleasantly. His mild smile was a warning.

Anakin wet his lips.

"Mrow?" he tried, but his vocal cords had changed, and it sounded too fake. In response, Obi-Wan cuffed him on the head.

"Ow! That hurts."

"Wonderful. Some encouragement, and you talk again."

Was there a need for so much wry amusement? Anakin pouted.

"The boy," Anakin began, turning to Obi-Wan. He trusted that his eyes would catch any twitch and slightest tell. Yet, he was distracted by Obi-Wan's freckles, which dotted his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

Once he started, Anakin couldn't stop cataloging every minute change. Obi-Wan's hair was streaked with gray -- his beard, too, and it delighted Anakin. The wrinkles had deepened in the past decade. Grief and Tatooine's suns had helped age Obi-Wan. Each change trapped Anakin's gaze, turning a familiar face into something new.

Obi-Wan was simultaneously exactly who Anakin remembered and someone entirely else. Handsome in a more rugged way, age turning suave edges rough -- more direct, too roguish, bad for Anakin's sanity.

Yet, Obi-Wan's smile hadn't changed one bit. Anakin couldn't meet Obi-Wan's gaze, glancing away, awfully aware of how Obi-Wan's smile affected him.

"Does the boy feel familiar?" Obi-Wan prompted, and Anakin recalled he had tried to say something.

He wet his lips and swallowed thickly, which made his throat constrict around a lump of desire lodged there.

"Yeah," he croaked. "He did."

"I did wonder," Obi-Wan said, voice absentminded. "I considered the possibility."

"What possibility?" Anakin asked. He had to know while simultaneously shying away from the confession Obi-Wan would make. Whatever secret lay buried here, Obi-Wan would reveal it to him.

Never mind that Anakin didn't deserve it -- Obi-Wan deemed him worthy nonetheless.

"The boy you met; his full name is Luke Skywalker."

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan for a long moment.

"Huh? What do you mean? Master?"

Each word shot from his lips like a blaster bullet. Could he claim to be shocked when he knew what hideous truth Obi-Wan would reveal? The Force signature had been too familiar, so could Anakin refuse to believe when his surname was echoed back at him?

Not really.

Yet, Anakin was still startled by the admission, perhaps not expecting Obi-Wan would reveal a truth that took impossible trust to share.

Obi-Wan looked equally surprised. Perhaps he hadn't planned to say so much.

"Well, the short of it is that he's your son," Obi-Wan said, his lips quirking funnily. Did he try to swallow the words? Or would Obi-Wan laugh? Was he amused or panicked?

 Anakin's head jerked from Obi-Wan to the farm and back, a muscle in his neck pulling under the uncontrolled movement.

"My son?" he echoed, not daring to believe that he heard Obi-Wan correctly. He knew Obi-Wan didn't pull his leg. This was real. Padmé's son had survived despite the Emperor's insistence they had died -- that Anakin had killed them. However, Anakin had also already mourned a child that was never born. Fine hairlines ran over his reality, distorting it. His life was a mirror house, a thousand reflections staring back -- different paths and pasts all coexisting because the truth was so malleable.

Obi-Wan nodded once. "Your son," he agreed. Obi-Wan's voice was thick with emotion, but his expression was inscrutable. This was a gambit, and Anakin wanted to show Obi-Wan that no matter how misplaced his trust was, Anakin wouldn't abuse it.

"You... you picked a good name," he offered awkwardly.

"Padmé picked the names," Obi-Wan said. His gaze was vacant, and Anakin knew he was trapped in the past, in a mirror house of his own making.

Or perhaps they wandered the same mansion, looking for each other but only seeing reflections and shadows.

Anakin reached for Obi-Wan, his palladium-tipped fingertips grazing over Obi-Wan's arm. Obi-Wan focused on him, smiling mildly.

And Anakin had to try again.

"He looks healthy and happy. You took great care of him," he said.

"I left him in Owen and Beru's care," Obi-Wan deflected the praise. "They raised Luke as their own."

Did Obi-Wan have to make this so difficult? Anakin knew it was only because of Obi-Wan that Luke was alive and well. Obi-Wan had played an instrumental role in the boy's -- his son's -- safety. Anakin couldn't imagine an alternative.

"You looked over him," he claimed.

Finally, Obi-Wan didn't deny the claim, inclining his head.

"Will you train him?" Anakin asked. "He's Force sensitive. He could sense my intentions."

Obi-Wan perked up, the sly quality sneaking in his expression a warning.

"How often did you confess your love, Anakin? Because these meows sounded eerily familiar."

Anakin opened his mouth while his mind still raced.

"I figured those chirps were a greeting, but I assumed wrong, evidently."

Anakin closed his mouth again. Obi-Wan leaned closer.

"Well?" he whispered against the shell of Anakin's ear. "Cat got your tongue, dear?"

Obi-Wan loved him.

"Maybe you misheard," Anakin spluttered, his hands automatically lifting to Obi-Wan's shoulders. He clutched Obi-Wan's to keep his balance while he tipped back to meet Obi-Wan's gaze, fully prepared to go on the offensive.

Obi-Wan was faster.

"Maybe?" he asked, laughter spilling from his question. He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest and traveling through the synth nerves in Anakin's right palm. "Oh, Anakin. I missed talking to you so much."

"Because you love me."

It was Anakin's only, albeit weak, defense. After all, he loved Obi-Wan, too.

"For a million reasons. But also because I love you," Obi-Wan agreed. "So, how often did you say you love me?"

Obi-Wan raised one hand to cup Anakin's cheek. He looked so endeared that Anakin could only give in.

"Whenever I thought you wouldn't notice," he admitted. "Often."

Obi-Wan tipped his head forward so their foreheads touched. He really didn't mind the scars. Regardless of how often Anakin had reached this conclusion, it still astonished him. Obi-Wan's hand slid from his cheek to the back of his head, cradling the puckered skin, taut and ribbed burn scars, and the deep gouge where his flesh had burned away altogether.

"Let's not turn this into competition."

"Because I have a huge head start, and we both know I would win?" Anakin asked innocently.

"You are a menace."

Anakin's retort was swallowed by a big yawn that almost dislodged his jaw. 

"Do you want to go home?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin sighed, relishing the knowledge both knew where home was without needing clarification. How long had he searched for a place to belong, traveling too fast to realize it had always been by Obi-Wan's side? He had never paid Obi-Wan attention, set in his belief he would never fit there.

How silly.

"Yes," he muttered, every last bit of energy draining from his body. He was so intensely tired. Their breathing mingled in the sliver of space between them, giving Anakin a rhythm. It wasn't necessary, not anymore. His Force signature was closer to a lion than a sand cat, reflexively and effortlessly supporting his vision and lungs. Still, habit made Anakin match his breathing to Obi-Wan, finding peace in copying the deep, slow rhythm.

Obi-Wan shifted back on his heels. Not expecting to lose Obi-Wan's support, Anakin tipped forward, collapsing against Obi-Wan's chest.

"Mrow," he protested, the meow spilling from his lips reflexively.

"Uh... Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked by his ear.

"I'm fine. I can still talk," Anakin grumbled.

"Just making sure," Obi-Wan said. He helped Anakin sit up, his hands curled possessively around Anakin's shoulders -- touching him confidently. And Anakin melted in Obi-Wan's hands on his shoulders, proving that Obi-Wan was right when he believed his touch was welcome.

"I do enjoy hearing you talk back to me," Obi-Wan added, and it could almost be an admonishment. Instead, it was fondness, poorly hidden behind a gentle smile. Because Obi-Wan still loved him, Anakin's betrayal and the years spent apart notwithstanding. He had never stopped loving Anakin. And Anakin could only remember Obi-Wan's erection against his ass. Anakin had woken up hard, aching with need from dreaming that Obi-Wan kissed him.

Anakin's eyes focused on Obi-Wan's lips. He could still feel the scratch of Obi-Wan's beard over his chin and cupid's bow. A shiver traveled through him, making him hyper-aware of Obi-Wan's hold around his shoulders. Had Obi-Wan felt Anakin's shudder through his palms?

Helplessly, he stared at Obi-Wan, licking his lips repeatedly.

Obi-Wan's left hand lifted from Anakin's shoulder. Obi-Wan's face scrunched up, conflict playing out on his face. Then, his thumb covered Anakin's lips, stopping his tongue.

Obi-Wan's thumb stifled the unintelligible sound Anakin produced, his tongue rasping against the side of Obi-Wan's thumb as it slipped back into his mouth. Anakin couldn't help mouthing against the pad of Obi-Wan's thumb, his lips finding a comfortable position against Obi-Wan's thumb.

Each shift of Anakin's lips against Obi-Wan's thumb sent shivers down Anakin's spine and turned his lips tingly. They felt more pillowy than ever against Obi-Wan's thumb, soft despite his constant licking.

His lips parted, driven by impulse rather than the vaguest hint of pressure Obi-Wan applied. He couldn't help his lips going slack and pliant against Obi-Wan's thumb. Anakin didn't want to imagine what his expression revealed. His mind settled and went blank as he grew so calm he could drown in it.

"Ah," Obi-Wan stammered. "I--"

Obi-Wan shrugged and flinched, his thumb flexing. As Obi-Wan's thumb curled, the tip slipped past Anakin's lips, Anakin's slack jaw opening further to accommodate Obi-Wan's thumb. His lips closed around Obi-Wan's thumb before he realized what he was doing.

In fact, Anakin realized only after an endless moment of eye contact, Obi-Wan too frozen to do more than stare, that he was suckling on Obi-Wan's thumb while a purr rumbled in his throat.

Not his chest.

Because this was a sound he made consciously despite never deciding to do so.

Yet, Obi-Wan didn't pull his thumb back, apparently entranced by how deeply Anakin could humiliate himself. His gaze was on Anakin's lips, which had closed around Obi-Wan's thumb, watching Anakin suckle.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed. The sigh was ragged, sounding utterly wrecked. "We should go home."

Anakin couldn't help pouting, losing the suction on Obi-Wan's finger. However, Obi-Wan didn't retreat his thumb, the pad resting on Anakin's tongue. Retreating should be easy, but Obi-Wan didn't move despite putting a stop to this. His gaze didn't wander from Anakin's mouth. Could he see where his thumb pressed against Anakin's tongue?

At least, he seemed oblivious to Anakin unraveling under the touch. Anakin had gone heavy-lidded, his eyes unfocused. His lion-sized Force signature could support his body, but it needed direction, and Anakin's thoughts had scattered. Only sensation and taste remained.

Obi-Wan leaned in, kissing the corner of Anakin's mouth, his thumb applying more pressure. Anakin's purring hitched on a needy sound that made Obi-Wan jolt. He shuffled back, his thumb sliding over Anakin's tongue in a deliberate path that made Anakin flick the tip of his tongue at the disappearing finger and rub the flat against the callouses in a facsimile of a deep kiss.

"Stars, Anakin," Obi-Wan choked as his thumb pulled on Anakin's bottom lip, a string of saliva connecting Obi-Wan's finger to Anakin's bottom lip until even this final connection broke.

"Master," Anakin whined, his voice wet and lips feeling too loose around the term of endearment, the absence of Obi-Wan's thumb leaving him bereft.

"I don't know why I did that," Obi-Wan muttered. Anakin couldn't lift his gaze from the hand Obi-Wan had balled into a fist. He hadn't wiped his thumb on his tunic, seemingly not caring about the saliva.

Anakin's heart thudded.

Arousal slithered in his guts, a sensation that burrowed deeper than anything else, making him aware of his pulse and how it echoed in his body. As Obi-Wan lifted to his feet, Anakin remained on the floor, too noodle-limbed to consider following Obi-Wan's example.

His legs were too heavy, tremors running through his thighs. Anticipation had rooted him in place.

Thus, he stared as Obi-Wan staggered one step backward. Interpreting this as a cue they would leave, Akkani stood, bristling in the tense silence following Obi-Wan's confession.

Typically, the eopie ignored Anakin, which Anakin appreciated. As a human, he no longer worried that the animal would try to eat him. Nevertheless, he preferred the distance, never fully trusting the animal. A valid distrust because eopie wandered over to chew on the hood of Anakin's cloak. The fabric pulled taut, choking Anakin.

"Mrow," he yowled, the meow pulled from him reflexively as he reached for the hood.

"Akkani," Obi-Wan reprimanded the animal sternly, though the reprimand crumbled on the tense edge in Obi-Wan's voice. Chastised, the animal let go of Anakin's hood. Immediately, Anakin shifted out of Akkani's reach, his limbs responding delayed and clumsy to his input, even the perfect right hand. The arousal turned him sluggish.

Obi-Wan knelt in front of him, blocking Akkani's access to Anakin's cloak with his body.

"Can you stand, dear?"

Anakin nodded dumbly but made no move to stand. He didn't think he could. Obi-Wan offered him a hand. Swallowing thickly, his throat clicking, Anakin reached for Obi-Wan's hand with his right one. With Obi-Wan's thumb resting on his tongue, saliva had pooled in his mouth. Now, his throat was dry, anticipation making his heart pound.

Obi-Wan closed his hand around Anakin's, triggering every synth nerve his broad hand covered. The pressure sensors and synth nerves sent electricity through his nervous system, overloading his brain. Each shift of Obi-Wan's hand was a caress, frying Anakin's brain.

Obi-Wan tugged him to his feet. Briefly, Anakin tottered, his knees threatening to buckle. He stepped forward to regain his balance, which placed him squarely in Obi-Wan's personal space. Anakin's gaze dipped to Obi-Wan's lips. The galaxy was reduced to Obi-Wan. Emboldened by the ghost of Obi-Wan's thumb on his tongue, Anakin leaned forward, one hand lifting to Obi-Wan's shoulder.

They had confessed their love to the other, so surely Anakin could steal a kiss? It wouldn't even be stealing. His eyes fell shut as the increasing proximity turned Obi-Wan's lips blurry. A hand landed on his shoulder, tipping him back to his feet. Anakin was spun around with his eyes still closed.

"I've got you," Obi-Wan said soothingly.

Anakin's eyes shot open. Confused, he looked at Obi-Wan, who had already released his hold on Anakin to focus on the eopie. Had he misunderstood that Obi-Wan loved him? Had Obi-Wan pulled away because he knew Anakin would kiss him? Or did he think Anakin would fall on his face?

You are very, very dear to me.

Anakin couldn't have misunderstood. After all...

And I love you very much.

He would try again. Obi-Wan looked back, and Anakin followed Obi-Wan and Akkani out of the cave. His waist already burned, anticipating Obi-Wan's hands curling around him to hoist him into the saddle.

Anakin had melted against Obi-Wan's chest, watching the dunes pass absentmindedly.

Luke Skywalker.

He had a son who looked happy and healthy and adored Obi-Wan.

"Thank you for taking care of Luke."

Obi-Wan hummed. A hand filled Anakin's vision to tug his hood further over his face, blocking the overhead binary suns.

"You give me too much credit."

Although Obi-Wan refused Anakin's gratitude, he couldn't deny that he had lived here to watch over the boy -- over Anakin's son. Because he loved Anakin Skywalker. Anakin had believed he had lost Obi-Wan's love, but he was wrong. It was another language, one that came difficult to Anakin until he had suddenly understood.

Obi-Wan's love was silent. It was devotion, care, and unyielding, unwavering support.

"I never give you enough credit," Anakin complained. A fundamental truth. Of course, Obi-Wan would protest, but that wasn't the point.

Obi-Wan chuckled lightly, tugging Anakin closer in a one-armed hug.

"Sure," he said, clearly not believing Anakin. "Ah, Anakin. There's something I forgot to tell you."

"There's more?" Anakin asked. Truly, Anakin should have seen this coming.

"You have a daughter, too. Luke has a twin sister."

"Oh."

"She doesn't live on Tatooine. A couple adopted her -- close friends. They adore her."

Anakin sighed. How could he explain that he had already mourned Padmé's child -- the child he had never met. Obi-Wan's confession was an abstract idea that Anakin's brain couldn't comprehend. He hoped he only needed time to wrap his mind around his children. 

"I'm glad they survived," he whispered. "Thank you, Master."

Exhausted, he leaned back to look Obi-Wan straight in the eye to ensure Obi-Wan understood how immensely grateful Anakin was. They were so close. Anakin tipped his head back further, his back protesting against contorting so much that he could fit under the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat. Again, Anakin's attention wandered to Obi-Wan's lips. Obi-Wan didn't seem to notice, too focused on guiding them through the desert.

He had dreamed they kissed. Anakin's fingers twisted in his cloak with anticipation that bubbled in his stomach. Anakin's hood fell back as he canted his head. A shivery exhale puffed over his lips, which felt incredibly sensitive. He pressed them together, chewing on his lips.

Would Obi-Wan welcome him?

Anakin leaned in to place a peck on Obi-Wan's cheek or the corner of his mouth.

Obi-Wan's attention didn't wander from the dunes. Yet, one hand lifted from the reins. Briefly, Anakin thought that Obi-Wan would cup his head. Then, his vision was doused in darkness as the hood of his cloak was tugged far over his eyes. A yip fell from his lips.

"Master?" he asked.

"You have to be more careful, Anakin," Obi-Wan lectured him. "You will get sunburned quickly, dear."

Betrayed, Anakin opened and closed his mouth.

You were my brother, Anakin.

I loved you.

Perhaps Anakin had misunderstood after all.

You were my brother.

Oh, Obi-Wan loved him, but he didn't want to kiss Anakin when he could help it. Disappointment settled heavily in Anakin's stomach. He knew he had no right to be disappointed. He wasn't owed Obi-Wan's romantic love, but he had hoped. No, he had believed that Obi-Wan reciprocated.

And Obi-Wan did, but it was a different brand -- another taste -- of love. No less valid or fierce, just as all-encompassing and complete, but different.

Anakin glanced away, struggling with the magnitude of his stupid disappointment. As they reached the cave, Anakin found a semblance of peace against Obi-Wan's chest. It was okay. Admittedly, Anakin would always hope to win Obi-Wan's heart and be the subject of his desire, but this was already more than he had ever believed he could have.

They shared dinner in Anakin's corner on the floor. Eating in Anakin's corner had turned into a habit. Considering how stiff Obi-Wan was as he stood, they should move to a better spot, but Anakin liked Obi-Wan seeking him out, and he enjoyed realizing they had made new habits together.

Anakin scrambled to his feet, so familiar with Obi-Wan's routine that he knew Obi-Wan would do the dishes and then go on his perimeter check.

Obi-Wan moved aside in the kitchen nook before Anakin reached him, so accustomed to Anakin's presence that he created space for him. In turn, Anakin had grown used to helping without getting in Obi-Wan's way.

"You want to join me?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin nodded before he remembered he could talk. "Yes," he said. The word sounded strange, his body unaccustomed to human words. "Yes," he repeated, marveling at the word.

This time, Obi-Wan didn't stop him, heading to the exit slowly, matching his pace to Anakin. Despite the improvements he had performed on the legs, Anakin's still limped, his gait so irregular it offset his balance. The uneven and shifting terrain was another strike against him, making walking on his crude prostheses difficult. Yet, Anakin would manage.

Slowly, he gained his confidence back, almost willing to declare to the universe that nothing was impossible. It was just that he no longer felt the need to show the galaxy wrong. He no longer itched to bare his teeth in a declaration of war because losing dogs were beaten.

Outside the cave, Obi-Wan paused until Anakin caught up. Obi-Wan waited without acknowledging that Anakin would slow him down.

There was the heavy knowledge that Obi-Wan loved him still. That Obi-Wan had never stopped loving him, undeterred by how inconvenient Anakin was -- a burden, a traitor, a disappointment, their ruin. As they walked down the perimeter to check on the alarms, their knuckles brushed intermittently.

Eventually, brushing knuckles turned into tangled fingers. Those, again, turned into hand-holding. Anakin didn't know how it had happened, but in the final stretch home, they held hands tightly, Obi-Wan guiding him through the terrain.

Soon, they would return home, and Anakin knew Obi-Wan would let him in their bed again. He glanced at Obi-Wan's profile, recalling the cave overlooking the moisture farm, the weight of Obi-Wan's thumb on his tongue, and suckling the digit.

That morning, he had come in his pants under Obi-Wan, rolling his hips to find friction against the blankets and rubbing his ass against Obi-Wan's erection.

That night, he had dreamed they kissed -- did that count?

Obi-Wan looked relaxed while Anakin was a coiled spring, the tension building and threatening to boil over. He kept stealing glances, eagerly snuggling closer when they settled under the blankets. Obi-Wan opened his arms, letting Anakin get comfortable.

Since Obi-Wan's thumb had popped from his mouth, Anakin had anticipated this moment. Yet, he couldn't initiate closeness when he knew Obi-Wan loved him but didn't want to kiss him. Still, definitely foolishly so, he hoped for more. After all, they had ended up in compromising positions so often that it could almost be considered a habit. But he needed Obi-Wan to bridge those final centimeters. Thus, he waited.

Predictably, nothing happened.

Eventually, the tension bled from Anakin. He relaxed in Obi-Wan's arms, enjoying the warmth. He nuzzled Obi-Wan's collarbone, the rhythmic motion grounding him.

He jolted awake. Had he slept? He couldn't recall his dreams. Sunlight fell through the cave entrance. He shifted in Obi-Wan's arms, barely swallowing a groan. While he stifled the noise, he couldn't stop his hips from flexing, his erection rubbing over Obi-Wan's thigh. His breathing turned erratic. Anakin balled his hands into fists, forcing his body to stay still. The urge to rut against Obi-Wan's thigh stole his shallow breath away.

Despite his best efforts, a low moan filled the damp space where Anakin's sharp exhales fanned against the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was so hard it hurt, so empty he ached with it, and he needed Obi-Wan's weight on top of him to ground him.

Disoriented, Anakin tried to catalog what he knew. It was morning. He couldn't remember his dreams. Also, he was hard in his pants, though nothing had happened.

Anakin's hips jerked again, finding friction against Obi-Wan's thigh. His eyes rolled back as he moved more deliberately before stilling again.

This was torture. Defeated, Anakin sighed, glaring sullenly at the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat. Should he initiate something? His hips juddered. Anakin's head tipped forward against Obi-Wan's collarbone, an odd noise trapped in his throat. Desperation made it impossible to stop rutting.

Obi-Wan shifted, and Anakin could feel him resurface in the Force. Anakin's lion-sized Force signature had huddled around Obi-Wan's, drawn to the comfort and dappled sunlight. Quickly, he jerked his hips away, losing his balance and rolling over. He tipped over the ledge of the bed, falling to the floor with a loud yowl.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked him hoarsely. "Are you okay? It's early... right?"

Anakin let his head flop to the floor, staring at the ceiling despairingly. He was still hard in his pants, Obi-Wan sounded befuddled but awake, and Anakin felt utterly ridiculous.

"I'm fine," he said with humiliation burning his cheeks. He had hoped that Obi-Wan would wake up to his rutting and decide to reciprocate. And then Anakin had startled and ruined everything.

"Well, it certainly didn't sound fine," Obi-Wan said as he peeked over the ledge while leaning on an elbow.

Looking up at Obi-Wan, Anakin couldn't help laughing.

"What's so funny?" Obi-Wan asked.

"You have the high ground," Anakin said.

Obi-Wan gawked at him, jaw dropping. Anakin didn't think he had ever seen Obi-Wan so shocked. Slowly, disbelievingly, Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Are we making jokes about that?" he asked.

Anakin didn't know how to react to a dumbstruck Obi-Wan. Nor could he help the memory resurfacing, recalling Obi-Wan's expression and his own ruthless fury.

It's OVER, Anakin.

I have the HIGH GROUND.

"Is it in poor taste?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan blinked, somehow more flabbergasted than before.

"In poor taste?" he echoed helplessly. Then, he laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that rocked Obi-Wan's shoulders. Mirth showed in his expression, his white teeth flashing as he bared them. It was a belly-deep laugh that resonated and burrowed in Anakin's soul. Awestruck, Anakin watched Obi-Wan laugh, admiring the shifting freckles and deepening crows' feet. His heart skipped a beat as he stared, too enamored -- too smitten and besotted. Foolishly drunk on his love for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan really was handsome. Seeing Obi-Wan happy and carefree because of him made butterflies erupt in Anakin's stomach, somehow turning Anakin nervous.

"I don't think you have ever asked that question before," Obi-Wan said after his laughter trailed off. He offered Anakin a hand. "The high ground," he muttered in disbelief. Then, louder, he added, "Let's get you back here, dear."

Anakin's insides were as scrambled as his mind, Obi-Wan's laughter still echoing in the marrow of his bones. Struck speechless, he nodded, accepting Obi-Wan's offer.

"Thank you, Master," he said when Obi-Wan pulled him back in bed. Obi-Wan didn't correct him. He permitted the title despite rejecting it when Anakin had arrived on his doorstep. He didn't seem to object at all, only huffing an exhale.

"Try to sleep. We have some time before we have to get up," Obi-Wan chided him. Anakin was pulled against Obi-Wan's chest again, their personal space merging and disappearing. After squirming to make himself comfortable, Anakin relaxed.

"Also... I do not think it was in poor taste. Joking about Mustafar caught me off guard. However, I must admit it is better than stewing in guilt -- regardless of how deserved these feelings are. I hurt you, Anakin. Despite promising you that you would always be safe with me, I hurt you so much... permanently. I'm so sorry. So deeply sorry, my Padawan."

"It's okay," Anakin said, his voice muffled by Obi-Wan's shoulder. He was too tall to fit perfectly against Obi-Wan's chest, but Anakin was determined to make it work. And his body proved more flexible than he had expected, curling to fit under Obi-Wan's chin anyway. "I would have killed you."

Probably.

Obi-Wan hummed a dubious sound. However, he didn't argue with Anakin, yielding the point to him. They understood that it had been inevitable. Reconciliation hadn't been on the table when they had yelled at each other to make the other see. Anakin had been blinded by rage -- fear, shame, guilt, paranoia, and smothering Darkness. He would never have seen through the haze, but he was also too stubborn to have given up on the one justification for his actions.

Obi-Wan's hand cradled the back of his head, petting him with short brushes. Anakin melted into the touch, still marveling at Obi-Wan treating him like an over-sized sand cat rather than a mutilated monster.

A purr rumbled high in his throat. Although it was an unnatural sound for human vocal cords to produce, it persisted. Anakin had only purred on purpose for Obi-Wan once. And it had changed him permanently, rewiring his brain to think purring was a reasonable way to communicate his contentedness.

Stars. Why couldn't he stop embarrassing himself?

At least Obi-Wan didn't mention the stilted purring, his strokes never faltering as if Anakin's purring was normal. Anakin supposed things could be worse.

They settled into a new routine.

Anakin would wake up curled around Obi-Wan some days. On others, he would wake up lying on top of Obi-Wan, crushing his Master against the blankets and using him as a pillow. Most mornings, he woke up pinned against Obi-Wan's chest instead.

Yet, every single, increasingly frustrating morning, Anakin would be hard and aching, his body growing increasingly needy for the sexual release it had been refused for too long. His body had healed and caught up, and now it demanded that Anakin do something about his proximity to Obi-Wan.

Because he loved Obi-Wan. A mutual sentiment, for Obi-Wan loved him, too.

Nevertheless, nothing happened. Each day, they woke up more closely entangled than lovers, but nothing happened.

Anakin was going insane, debating the different types of love in his mind, wondering how far he could push Obi-Wan before invariably deciding the answer remained unchanged. He would never push Obi-Wan. Instead, he would wait and see if Obi-Wan ever changed his mind. Meanwhile, Anakin would suffer his hormones and raging boners with a modicum of dignity.

It would help if they stopped bantering and bickering, which riled Anakin up.

He groaned deeply, the sound pulled from the pit of his stomach, where arousal had taken residence. Although his body was loose-limbed from sleep, the muscles in his ass and abdomen tensed already, gripping onto the desire. He was hard, he knew. He groaned again, hoping the universe understood how sick he was of the delayed gratification -- of the absence of any satisfaction.

"Hard time waking up?"

Anakin stiffened, blinking at the blankets. He swallowed thickly.

"No," he denied hoarsely. He stifled hysterical laughter and the urge to point out how correct Obi-Wan was. Only the consequences and the inevitable explanation of how he interpreted Obi-Wan's question stopped him.

When Obi-Wan just woke up, his voice was so gravely that even his wry amusement turned delightfully husky. Anakin loved hearing Obi-Wan talk early in the morning, enjoying his voice and the proximity.

Anakin clutched the blankets as he waited for Obi-Wan's response.

"Okay. So, we're groaning for a different reason. What's so tough about your life that you had to wake me up?"

"Please go back to sleep, Master."

"Well, I'm awake now," Obi-Wan said. Anakin could feel Obi-Wan shift behind him. "Don't keep all the fun to yourself, Anakin."

Obi-Wan's voice sounded closer, indicating he had propped on an elbow and leaned over Anakin. Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, but it was too late to pretend to sleep.

"You're red," Obi-Wan pointed out. "You look feverish, dear. Do you feel sick?"

"No."

Anakin didn't mean to sound so short. But Obi-Wan breathed in his neck, making Anakin hyper-aware of each spot where they almost touched. He ached with desire, but he could pretend he was fine as long as Obi-Wan didn't touch him directly.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said sternly, turning Anakin's name into a reprimand. Simultaneously, he grabbed Anakin's shoulder to roll Anakin on his back none too gently.

Anakin's back hit the blankets with a hollow thud. He exhaled sharply, blinking at the ceiling, a weird noise ripped from his throat. It landed between a breathless moan and a chirp. He gasped, filling his lungs with air, sounding wrecked. Anakin knew his eyes were glossy with unshed, desperate tears. His cheeks were flushed with the rising heat of his arousal and embarrassment.

Perhaps he looked feverish.

Considering the dawning understanding on Obi-Wan's face, it was more likely he looked as aroused as he felt. He had done so well, not touching himself so Obi-Wan wouldn't be uncomfortable. And now, Obi-Wan knew.

His eyelashes were heavy.

Obi-Wan's hand twitched on his shoulder.

"I'm not sick," Anakin repeated morosely. "Do you need additional evidence?"

Obi-Wan's hand tightened around his shoulder.

"My apologies for not believing you. However, I was not entirely wrong either."

Anakin's jaw dropped. Not entirely wrong? Kriffing hell. Obi-Wan really wanted to be right, and Anakin could barely string two thoughts together. And neither of these thoughts were appropriate.

"What?" he blurted.

"Something did bother you."

Anakin had a snarky comment prepared, but Obi-Wan was faster.

"And I want you to be comfortable enough to take care of yourself here. There is no shame in needing to masturbate. I also find moments to isolate myself to take care of myself."

Anakin's initial reflexive reaction was betrayal. When? When had Obi-Wan snuck away to rub one out? And it sounded like a regular thing, too.

His second, slightly delayed, reaction hit him like a speeder. His mouth went dry as he stared at Obi-Wan. He wondered how Obi-Wan would look with his hand wrapped around his hard cock. Would he stroke fast or slow? Would he grip his cock tightly or not? Did he focus on the head? Did he draw things out?

Anakin needed to see Obi-Wan's face when he came. He shivered violently, the muscles in his abdomen fluttering. A helpless, reedy sound was forced from his lips by his shudder.

Obi-Wan jolted, shaking his head lightly.

"Okay," he said, sounding choked. "I think... I will leave you here for a bit. Take your time."

Obi-Wan stumbled out of the bed and hurried from the cave, leaving Anakin and his overactive imagination behind.

Stars. Anakin was so sexually frustrated, but he couldn't even blame being touch starved had him on a hair trigger. Not when they woke up in a tangled mess and Obi-Wan's hands wrapped around his waist to help him so frequently that Anakin was sure his body had molded to Obi-Wan's hands. Defeated, he closed his eyes, which was another mistake. He could only remember Obi-Wan rutting against him and tasting Obi-Wan's thumb on his tongue.

Anakin's gaze dropped to his metal hands, repulsed by the idea of jerking off with his durasteel hands. Even the right hand was too inhuman. It reminded him of black plastoid, a life-support system that always ran, and the clinical environment that had trapped Anakin every minute he was outside his suit.

He couldn't do it.

He stared at the ceiling. Sexual frustration would kill him. He could see it now. Perhaps he overreacted, dramatically plunging into deep despair, but he couldn't help sniffling.

Chapter Text

After staring at the ceiling blindly for far too long, swallowing stupid tears, Anakin collected himself. Crying in the desert was foolish. Moreover, the reason was too silly, which didn't soothe the need thrumming under his skin. A need he couldn't address without his hands, but Anakin refused to let the durasteel fingers roam his body. Even a decade later -- though he had never considered using his prostheses to seek pleasure -- it was still too soon. Too miserable to keep up his animosity for the eopie, Anakin filled the eopie's bucket with water. He needed a distraction, and perhaps company from an animal that couldn't understand how unsightly Anakin was. The simple motions took his mind off his body.

Akkani bristled at him when he placed the bucket under the awning, which was remarkably cordial. Anakin sighed. Perhaps the animal could sense his gloomy mood. He patted the eopie's long nose, surprised that the animal allowed the petting. The repetitive stroking calmed him. Slowly, the urge to cry faded, leaving a numb tranquility in its wake.

"I see you have struck a truce," Obi-Wan said. Anakin jolted, glancing over his shoulder. Obi-Wan had returned to the cave, watching Anakin and Akkani with his arms crossed and a fond expression.

"We have," Anakin said haltingly, wondering whether Obi-Wan would ask. He hoped so. Anakin needed an excuse to whine and plead. Obi-Wan nodded but didn't say or ask anything, seemingly content to watch Anakin and Akkani interact.

Anakin's hand dropped to his side. "Do you want water?" he asked when the silence dragged on too long. Obi-Wan jolted, blinking at Anakin.

"What?" he asked.

"Water?" Anakin asked, pointing at the eopie's bucket.

"Yes? That's water," Obi-Wan said, sounding as bewildered as Anakin.

"Obviously. Do you want it?"

"The bucket?"

Anakin's shoulders sagged, the fight leaving him.

"Are you okay?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan looked flustered, his gaze darting up and down Anakin's body.

"Yes, of course. Of course, I am. Yes. Why... Why do you ask?"

Anakin blinked. "You're stammering, Master," he pointed out. "Also, you seem to want to drink from the eopie's bucket?"

"When did that happen?" Obi-Wan asked.

"A second ago!"

Obi-Wan hummed and chuckled, but the chuckle was too tense and insincere. "Would you like water, Anakin?"

Anakin's jaw dropped. Obi-Wan blinked. "Oh," he said, understanding dawning on Obi-Wan's face. "I suppose you asked me..."

Obi-Wan coughed.

"Let me get you something to drink," he muttered, heading into the cave hurriedly to collect cups.

Anakin turned to Akkani.

"Did you see that?" he asked. "Usually, he's smoother than that. Something must be wrong."

Yet, Obi-Wan looked collected as he handed Anakin a metal cup filled with water. Then, he hesitated. Anakin narrowed his eyes, scanning Obi-Wan's face for a tell.

"Make sure to drink enough water," Obi-Wan advised him.

Ah.

Realization crashed into Anakin, closely followed by mortification. Obi-Wan couldn't know that Anakin hadn't followed his advice. Obi-Wan didn't know that Anakin hadn't come. Thus, he worried Anakin would get dehydrated. Embarrassment loosened his tongue.

"I didn't-- I couldn't with my hands. It wouldn't--"

His voice tapered off. Wasn't confessing that he hadn't been able to get off more humiliating?

Obi-Wan opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Clearly, Anakin had stumped him. This allowed Anakin to stew in what he had admitted. Embarrassed, he glanced away, aware that his cheeks had heated up.

"I see," Obi-Wan said eventually. Anakin took sips from his cup, using the metal cup as a shield. Anakin watched Obi-Wan saddle Akkani over the rim, waiting for what he knew would happen.

Once Obi-Wan was finished, he didn't hesitate to reach for Anakin. His hands wrapped around Anakin's waist to help him in the saddle. Calloused fingers splayed over Anakin's stomach and back while broad palms settled comfortably against Anakin's sides. Obi-Wan's touch was a relief and torture, making Anakin oh-so-aware of the low pulse of sexual tension that turned him too sensitive to innocent touches.

When Obi-Wan swung in the saddle, he let Anakin sidle back until he melted into Obi-Wan. Even when Anakin was plastered against Obi-Wan's front, Obi-Wan didn't shift back.

Someone or something had triggered the proximity alarms. They lit up blue when they returned to the cave. Obi-Wan pulled on the reins, and Akkani stopped.

Anakin's Force signature unfurled, stretching before reaching into the cave, searching for what had entered their home.

Obi-Wan's Force signature brushed past his to contain him.

"It's okay. It's only Teeka," he said. "He stops by here occasionally."

Anakin's Force signature went limp in Obi-Wan's hold, and he yawned as he relaxed in the gentle warmth Obi-Wan exuded.

"Who's Teeka?" he asked.

"You'll meet them soon," Obi-Wan promised. While Obi-Wan slipped from Akkani's back and helped Anakin down, something stirred in the shadows inside the cave.

Two glowing yellow dots stared at him.

"Teeka is a Jawa," Anakin concluded. "Are you letting them rob you in broad daylight, Master?"

"It's a complicated story," Obi-Wan said, heading inside the cave to escape the conversation.

"Master, this is ridiculous," Anakin complained, following Obi-Wan to cut off his escape.

Obi-Wan ignored him. Inside, a Jawa waited for them with a little cart.

"Ah, Teeka, you are early today," Obi-Wan greeted the Jawa.

"Always complaining. Late or early. Never good," the Jawa responded. Anakin struggled to translate, relying on knowledge he hadn't used since leaving Tatooine.

"Well, you can only sell me parts when I am here. I would hate to waste your time," Obi-Wan said.

Teeka scoffed. 

"So, what do you have for us today?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Soap," Teeka proclaimed as he turned to his cart to dig in the pile of parts.

"Ah," Obi-Wan responded, a hint of amusement in his voice. Clearly, there was a story here that Anakin didn't know. "While that is a tempting offer, I'm afraid I have no use for it. Anything else?"

On cue, the vaporator gurgled, the noise of its death throes echoing in the cave. Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation, unfazed by the sound of their vaporator dying. Agitated, Anakin's gaze swiveled from the Jawa to the vaporator before landing on Obi-Wan. The Jawa had a reputation for stealing items and selling them back.

"What happened?" Anakin asked anxiously despite already knowing the answer. He didn't like the idea that Teeka had rummaged in the vaporator.

"I suppose Teeka will sell us whatever is missing from the vaporator," Obi-Wan said. Although Anakin wanted to adopt Obi-Wan's casual attitude, concern gnawed on his stomach. He worried; he couldn't help it. However, he didn't know whether Teeka's vandalism or the Jawa's presence bothered him. People made him uneasy. 

And indeed, the Jawa took an item from its cart that Anakin recognized instantly. He had very intimate knowledge of this specific dampener. Until Anakin had repurposed it for the water pump unit, the dampener was a part of his leg, after all.

He stumbled forward to seize the part back, durasteel fingers sliding over the material reverently. His fingertips followed a new bent in the dampener. Damage was a common problem when removing dampeners, and Anakin had used a trick to make the dampener fit in the limited space anyway. Still, he despaired at the damage.

Fixing the vaporator had been his way to pay back, and now it was broken.

"It's bent," he whispered, too appalled to muster anger. Obi-Wan's hand curled around his shoulder in support, and Anakin couldn't help letting his cheek drop to Obi-Wan's hand, nuzzling the knuckles.

"I know we talked about this, Teeka, but if cleaning isn't included, could you at least avoid damaging them?"

Although Obi-Wan sounded as polite as ever, his voice was laced with a sharp reprimand. 

"I don't sell broken goods," Teeka protested. "Here, give it."

Teeka waddled over, grabbing the dampener from Anakin's hands. He paused to give Anakin a long once-over. Immediately self-conscious of his appearance, Anakin turned slightly, using his cloak to hide the damage. Yet, those yellow eyes pierced him, creating the illusion that the Jawa saw every hideous detail.

"You stink worse than him," Teeka accused Anakin. "I have soap. You need it. Sixty credits."

"Teeka," Obi-Wan cut in, the mild tone gone from his voice. Instead, it was a whip, startling the Jawa.

"An honest merchant never lies," the Jawa claimed.

Obi-Wan's Force signature bumped against Anakin's, confiding in Anakin that Teeka had no honest bone in his body, telling him not to worry, that he didn't stink.

Terribly self-conscious, Anakin wrapped the cloak closer around his body as the Jawa used force to flatten the dampener, hitting the part on a container. He knew he smelled... Well, two weeks past stale. The grime had built up on his body, but there was neither water nor a sonic in the cave. They couldn't afford to waste resources. 

Now, on top of being hideous, he was also gross. He retreated in on himself, his lion-sized Force signature curling smaller and smaller. Usually, he felt safe in their home. Instead, he felt too exposed, insecurities rearing their heads. Anakin knew what he looked like. He wished he looked better and smelled clean. 

"On second thought, thirty credits for the soap," Obi-Wan said. "Also, please stop hitting the dampener on the container. How many credits is it?"

The Jawa protested but reached a deal with Obi-Wan while Anakin still furtively sniffed his cloak and tried to hide a grimace. He had forgotten how uneasy he could feel in his skin, the discomfort crawling and skittering over him.

A shudder ran through him as his body physically rebelled against the discomfort. He was revolting.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, and he only used that mild and patient tone when Anakin was in trouble.

Anakin straightened to meet Obi-Wan's gaze.

"Yes?" he asked apprehensively.

Obi-Wan twisted the dampener in his hands without looking, instead pinning Anakin with a shrewd gaze.

"I know Teeka steals parts from our vaporator to sell them back to me. But I do not recognize this part. Wouldn't you agree it's reasonable to assume it came from somewhere else?" Obi-Wan asked. Oh, he sounded dangerously placid and smiled sharp enough to cut bone.

"Uh," Anakin stammered.

"Of course, that introduces a new question; how did this foreign part end up in our vaporator? And arguably more important: where does it come from?"

Obi-Wan stepped closer, prowling like a large predator.

"I have a hypothesis, Anakin," he said. "I think you plundered your legs to fix the vaporator, disregarding your health like it doesn't matter."

Anakin shrugged awkwardly. "You weren't supposed to know," he muttered. Fixing the vaporator was his act of kindness, the proof of his remorse, and a sign that he would be better.

"Of course, I wasn't supposed to know," Obi-Wan muttered exasperatedly. "You haven't changed, Anakin. So, I can't change either because someone has to protect you from yourself."

Obi-Wan sighed as he smiled, pulling Anakin into a hug.

"Thank you, dear," he muttered against Anakin's scarred temple. "Thank you. You have always been too kind and generous. From the moment I met you, your willingness to help others has always impressed me. However, your readiness to sacrifice and risk yourself in the process never ceased to worry me."

Anakin glowed under the praise, grinning widely. Fortunately, his grin was hidden against Obi-Wan's shoulder. However, his Force signature still blossomed, unfolding from its tiny coil. The lion purred, rubbing against Obi-Wan's Force signature before curling around it with his sensitive underbelly turned to Obi-Wan's Force signature.

Obi-Wan kissed his temple.

Anakin melted in Obi-Wan's arms, hoping he didn't smell too bad, but Obi-Wan didn't turn away. That had to count for something. Still, Anakin wished he was at least clean again.

"Do I smell?" he asked Obi-Wan, regretting the question instantly.

"It doesn't bother me," Obi-Wan answered carefully.

Anakin staggered backward, breaking free from Obi-Wan's hold. "I stink," he gasped, his eyes wide. He knew he shouldn't be hurt, yet he was. Anxiously, he tugged on his cloak. "I know I do," he despaired.

"There is a vast difference between smelling and stinking," Obi-Wan lectured him. "We don't have access to a sonic in the cave, so it's a natural consequence. I'm no better. Really, Anakin. It doesn't bother me."

"Right," Anakin huffed, considering his options. He was filthy, and it unsettled him. Perhaps he overreacted, but Teeka's offhand comment echoed in his mind.

Anakin smelled worse than Obi-Wan. After spending so much time in Obi-Wan's company, his nose had grown used to their combined scents. He couldn't detect them anymore in the way he used to. It was just Obi-Wan and home. But if Obi-Wan could still smell him... Anakin couldn't help fretting as he ate his dinner and prepared for bed.

Usually, he crawled close to Obi-Wan for maximum skin contact. That night, he kept a safe distance between them.

"Just a moment, dear. We're going somewhere else today," Obi-Wan said when Anakin left Obi-Wan in the stables. Anakin's new tactic relied on hoping the dry desert breeze and putting moderate space between them would hide his smell from Obi-Wan. He had never known he was this vain, but with his appearance gone, this was all he had left. And even this -- even this little thing -- he didn't have. Because he stank, never mind that Obi-Wan was too kind to say it outright. Unbidden, Anakin turned on his heels though. He would always stop when Obi-Wan called for him.

"Where are we going?" he asked. Obi-Wan ignored his question, focusing on Akkani instead.

"Master?" Anakin pressed.

"Well, I had an idea," Obi-Wan said, obviously stalling. Obi-Wan tugged on Akkani's reins gently to confirm she was attached securely and rearranged her saddle to ensure she was comfortable.

Anakin shucked the hood of his cloak back to force eye contact once Obi-Wan stopped delaying. Obi-Wan met Anakin's gaze, and Anakin could see the calculation in Obi-Wan's expression.

"Is it that bad?" Anakin asked worriedly.

"It's a shower," Obi-Wan responded. "That's the idea. Now, let's go."

"A shower?" Anakin echoed, his head turning to follow Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan left the stable with brisk steps, giving Anakin no opportunity to derail Obi-Wan's itinerary.

"Indeed. Come on. No loitering."

Anakin hurried to catch up, struggling with his prostheses. Noticing Anakin's stumbling with his inflexible feet, Obi-Wan slowed down.

"It's a waste of credits," Anakin argued weakly when he joined Obi-Wan. His breathing was labored from walking too quickly and keeping his balance. "It's too expensive."

"Well, I have plenty of credits. You see, someone keeps putting credits in my box. And if this someone is unhappy about how I spend these credits, well... Perhaps this person ought to reconsider listening to me and save his credits."

"I don't want to."

Although Anakin put on a brave, recalcitrant front, he fretted. He should be happy that he got to shower, but Teek's accusation echoed in his mind. Obi-Wan's clumsy reassurances replayed, echoing over Teek's voice. He stunk. Uneasily, he twisted his upper body away.

"We shouldn't," he muttered gloomily, awfully aware he stunk so bad that Obi-Wan forced him to take a shower. He shouldn't complain about something he wanted, but the reason cut him too deep.

"Well, you're not getting out of this, Anakin."

"Because I smell?" Anakin hated how small he sounded. Despite knowing these sneaking insecurities were paranoid delusions, he couldn't help listening to their whispering voices. They sowed doubt, always telling Anakin he fell short. That people looked at and judged him.

"No," Obi-Wan said. "Because you whine, and I'll resort to drastic measures when you don't shut up."

"I didn't whine," Anakin protested. "I barely said anything!" He had been too embarrassed -- too humiliated by the knowledge a Jawa couldn't stand to be in his vicinity -- to talk about his discomfort. Although the rank smell had been a bruise that he had itched to press on, he couldn't acknowledge it when he risked drawing Obi-Wan's attention to how undesirable Anakin was. So, he had shied away instead, silent and insecure and oh-so-uneasy.

He supposed he didn't need words when his appearance already spoke volumes.

"Fine. You were moody. Extremely moody and down, and that gets to me," Obi-Wan relented.

"Because I'm annoying?"

"No, because you're endearing, and it should annoy me that you take Teeka's comment and my... clumsy response so seriously, but I just want to..." Obi-Wan's voice trailed off. He shrugged. 

"Want to?" Anakin echoed.

"Commit to something I shouldn't," Obi-Wan said. Then, he shook his head and changed his answer. "Make you comfortable, I suppose. When you are uneasy, it bothers me. I love you, Anakin, so I want to see you happy."

But I just want to commit to something I shouldn't.

Anakin's complaints evaporated as he mulled over the confession, wondering what Obi-Wan meant. Upon realizing Obi-Wan took him to a familiar place, Anakin's musing fell apart.

"Another visit to Be'net's Boudoir?" he asked disbelievingly. "Really, Master?"

"Is this about me taking my former Padawan to a brothel?" Obi-Wan asked. "I would assume you're old enough by now, Anakin. But you do delight in proving me wrong."

Anakin choked on his saliva. "I do not," he argued, his voice high as his breathing whistled through his throat.

Obi-Wan gave him an unimpressed look. Until they reached the entrance, Anakin couldn't stop running his mouth, arguing and complaining to calm his nerves. Perhaps Obi-Wan noticed. However, Obi-Wan had a snide response ready for everything Anakin said, clearly enjoying how Anakin talked himself from one corner to the next.

Yet, as the entrance loomed, 'Be'net's Boudoir' carved in a sign over the door, the anxious babbling trailed off. Nerves and talking too much had turned his throat drier than the desert. As he swallowed thickly, his throat clicked.

Obi-Wan gave him an encouraging smile. Then, he stepped inside, brushing by the lacy curtains hanging in the entrance. Anakin followed him, tugging his cloak closely around him. Still, a Twi'Lek in a mesh outfit caught a glimpse of his face.

The young Twi'Lek flinched, his shock briefly visible on his face. Anakin's shoulder curled in an attempt to appear smaller, though he knew it wasn't his towering height that intimidated the man.

He was so ugly that the workers paused as he passed them, and Anakin felt guilty for frightening them. Did they worry that Anakin would pick one of them?

Another Twi'Lek fiddled with the tip of her loose-hanging lekku when their gazes met. She smiled bravely, her lips quivering around the effort. Anakin knew they were professional and kind; this wasn't cruelty. Yet, Anakin could see through their attempt to project indifference and calm.

He knew they were disgusted by his appearance, silently hoping he wouldn't pick them.

Spending so much time around Obi-Wan had helped him forget how hideous and repelling he looked. This was a good reminder. There were many reasons why Obi-Wan wouldn't want to kiss him or be kissed by Anakin. His past was a big one. However, his looks -- or lack thereof -- were another factor. He was disgusting.

This reminder drew his attention to Obi-Wan's appearance. He admired Obi-Wan's back, awed by the knowledge Obi-Wan allowed him close. They slept in the same bed, and Obi-Wan initiated skin contact without hesitation. Unlike the rest of the galaxy, Obi-Wan wasn't scared of him.

Even without kisses, this was a heady realization. Anakin kept his head down, swallowing his giddy smile, aware that smiling would make the workers more apprehensive. When Obi-Wan stopped by the counter, Anakin shuffled close, hiding behind Obi-Wan's back. He tugged his hood further over his eyes to hide his face.

"Good morning," Obi-Wan greeted the man behind the counter. The man looked up from whatever he was doing under the counter. Anakin watched the man's gaze flick from Obi-Wan to him. Despite the hood, the man still saw Anakin's face. The morbid fascination and sudden silence told Anakin all he needed to know.

Uneasily, Anakin hunched further, tucking his chin to his chest to hide.

Anakin knew there was a script to these exchanges. He clearly remembered the man barking out prices during his first encounter with him. But Anakin had unsettled the man behind the counter, rendering him dumbstruck. The man wavered briefly, his gaze flicking to the workers in the lounge before returning to Obi-Wan.

"You wanna share?" he asked, his gaze flicking to  Anakin after each word. "You pay double."

"That is alright," Obi-Wan said.

The man didn't pretend to look at Obi-Wan anymore, seemingly so disgusted by Anakin's appearance that he couldn't look away.

"It is twenty credits per person per fifteen minutes..." His voice trailed off, the math too complicated when he was distracted by Anakin's appearance. Perhaps he wondered if it was safe to let Anakin inside. Or it was pity mixed with disgusted fascination. Anakin couldn't tell. He was so viscerally uncomfortable under the continuous scrutiny that he couldn't perform the math either.

Everyone looked at him as if the cloak didn't hide him.

"Very well," Obi-Wan cut on, louder than necessary. The man jolted, dragging his gaze back to Obi-Wan. "Then, I will give you eighty credits, which is thirty minutes for both of us."

Obi-Wan put the credits on the counter with too much strength, which made the credits clatter overly loud in the hushed silence. Anakin hadn't noticed, but the conversations had died.

He wasn't that disgusting, right?

Surely, they saw worse.

Right?

"Here's the list," the man said, putting the greasy laminated flimsi with the photographs on the counter. It looked like the menu for a fast food chain, and Anakin felt sympathy for the workers who were so obviously disgusted by him but still stayed in the lounge. They watched quietly, their breath held. Anakin could feel it in the Force. His Force signature picked up their apprehension effortlessly. However, among those blips, Obi-Wan's rising irritation, pickling in the Force, drew his attention. Confused, he blinked. "You--"

Obi-Wan sighed, interrupting the man.

"You will give me the key to our room," he ordered, the Force running through the statement, curling around it in a lazy flick that was impossible to ignore. "You will not disturb us. Nor will you send anyone to our room. Also, stop staring at my companion."

The last order was laced with frostbite, which almost broke the command.

Yet, the man's eyes glazed over, and his movements turned stiff.

"I will give you the key to your room," he intoned, and he followed the instructions, trapped in the Force suggestion. Uncharacteristically impatient, Obi-Wan plucked the key from the man's hand.

"Thank you," he said stiffly. "Come on, Anakin," he added, addressing Anakin with so much warmth that Anakin couldn't help smiling shyly.

He followed Obi-Wan closely to the stairs, aware of the stares piercing his back.

Were they relieved that Anakin hadn't picked them?

"Really. That was quite unnecessary," Obi-Wan seethed as he climbed the stairs.

"I agree. You didn't have to pay if you were going to use a mind trick," Anakin complained.

"We're not thieves, Anakin," Obi-Wan reminded him. "Moreover, recently, I came into a small fortune."

"So, that's where my hard-earned money goes."

Obi-Wan chuckled, waiting on the landing until Anakin joined him. Anakin's whining earned him a pat on the shoulder.

"You're supporting the local economy, dear. Think of it as your good deed of the day."

Anakin snorted, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"And mind tricking people is part of that?" he asked.

"You know the man would have sent someone to our room otherwise. Do you wish to have an audience while we shower?" Obi-Wan retorted.

"But--"

"It is not too late, Padawan. You can go back to arrange someone from his list."

Obi-Wan gestured to the stairs. Anakin gawked at Obi-Wan, having no comeback ready for the question.

"If you're too shy, I can ask for you, of course."

Finally, Anakin's mind connected to his mouth. Unfortunately, he stammered the first thought that popped into his mind.

"Who would you have picked?"

Obi-Wan stared at him, his eyes widening comically.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

Anakin wet his lips, too curious to give up. Furthermore, he had already said the words.

"Who would you pick from the list?" he asked.

Obi-Wan's expression was blank, betraying nothing. Thus, Anakin couldn't tell whether Obi-Wan even seriously considered the question.

"Well?" he urged.

"I picked you, obviously," Obi-Wan said. "Enough with the silly questions and loitering. We have only thirty minutes, Anakin."

Struck speechless, Anakin watched Obi-Wan continue to their assigned room, rushing to catch up when Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder.

Obi-Wan would pick him? Was this a defection to avoid answering the question? Or had Obi-Wan phrased his answer awkwardly to avoid implying too much?

Anakin knew what answer he preferred. He longed for the latter option, and that frightened him. He was too easily swayed by what he wanted to be true, which made it easy to manipulate or fool him. When it came to the things Anakin desired, he was gullible and naive -- and he hadn't wanted anything as badly as Obi-Wan's attraction and affection in a long time.

The door closing behind Anakin cut off his spiraling train of thought. Belatedly, Anakin realized they would shower, which required a certain degree of undressing.

Full undressing.

The memories of the lounge still clung to Anakin like tar, the workers' visceral disgust hidden behind professional masks piercing through his shoddy armor. However, he supposed no amount of confidence could have protected him from those looks.

This was different from being Dauntless, Obi-Wan's sand cat.

Anakin was human, and his disabilities were on full display, drawing fascination, disgust, and pity alike. The workers' heady relief that Anakin hadn't picked them -- that they didn't have to explore what lay underneath the cloak -- made him hesitant to reveal the damage.

Remembering that Obi-Wan hadn't cared, and never would, didn't matter. Obi-Wan sat on the bed, tapping the spot next to him.

Anakin considered the bed. Who knew what had happened on the bed? Still, he joined Obi-Wan, the mattress dipping under his weight.

He placed his hands on the edge, letting his durasteel fingers curl around the edge. His right hand communicated the softness of the blankets. Their bed home was softer, the blankets more welcome, threadbare, and well-loved.

Yet, he couldn't be malcontent when Obi-Wan sat by his side. Time ticked away, but Obi-Wan acted like there was no rush, removing the element of urgency. Anakin studied Obi-Wan's profile. With each silent breath, Anakin's heartrate slowed, the anxiety dissipating until only curiosity remained.

"I want you to be comfortable," Obi-Wan said eventually. He looked straight ahead, perhaps so Anakin wouldn't have to hide his expression. "But sometimes, when you withdraw, I wonder if I should push."

Obi-Wan turned in his direction. He looked melancholy and fond. His voice brimmed with love. "I wonder what would happen if I did."

Anakin shook his head minutely in confusion, his brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what Obi-Wan meant.

"A little nudge," Obi-Wan said.

"And then?" Anakin asked, his tongue heavy and unresponsive in his mouth.

Obi-Wan's shields lowered. Usually, Anakin brushed up to Obi-Wan's shields, asking for entrance, which was yielded instantly. While his Force signature was smaller than a sand cat, Anakin couldn't support his body and construct shields simultaneously. After his Force signature had turned into a big lion, he had forgotten to reconstruct them.

Once, keeping up thick walls had been as reflexive as breathing. Too many secrets were protected behind those defenses.

He had forgotten, and Obi-Wan petted the lion gently, ruffling its manes and catching the fluff on the tip of its tail. Anakin smiled at his knees as their Force signature entangled, Obi-Wan's exploration of Anakin's Force signature amusing.

He was proud to show that the Darkness had washed from his system.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, and the name echoed in Anakin's soul.

Anakin looked up from his knees, Obi-Wan's call irresistible. He had spent a lifetime turning to Obi-Wan when Obi-Wan called for him. The movement was reflexive, trained into him.

"I wish I had told you more often that I love you," Obi-Wan said. "Every night, I dreamed of you, wondering what could have happened if I had told you how proud I am of you and how much I love you."

"I love you, too, Master," Anakin blurted, the words forced from his lips, too ardent and intense, but Obi-Wan knew him so well that he didn't flinch at Anakin's fervency. "So, so, so much."

He was desperate to show Obi-Wan how much he loved him. He sidled closer to Obi-Wan's Force signature, clinging tightly. He had already grown used to Obi-Wan indulging him, but he still preened when Obi-Wan let Anakin bathe in the mellow warmth.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, cupping Anakin's scarred cheek. Obi-Wan never shied away. On the contrary, Obi-Wan looked at him with adoration.

"I want you to be happy and loved," Obi-Wan said. "I want to spoil you rotten and give you everything you deserve."

But Anakin deserved nothing. He was a monster, though it was easy to ignore his reflection when Obi-Wan cooed at him like Anakin was a cute sand cat. He couldn't remember how hideous he was when Obi-Wan's Force signature regarded Anakin with quiet awe like Anakin was an untamed, beautiful lion.

Anakin's gaze dipped to Obi-Wan's knees to escape the eye contact. Yet, he couldn't lower his head to hide his pained expression. Doing so would dislodge Obi-Wan's hand on his cheek.

"You are sad again," Obi-Wan whispered. "Is it the praise? Now, I don't know whether I should push at all."

"Master?"

Obi-Wan smiled, but it was a rueful thing. "Time is running out, my dear. Will you shower with me?"

"Together?" Anakin asked, a tremor traveling through his voice. "But..." Anakin's voice tapered off. "I am..." Anakin gestured to his cloaked body helplessly. He didn't want to lose the admiration in Obi-Wan's gaze and adoration in his voice.

"I will not look if that helps you," Obi-Wan promised.

Anakin considered the option.

"A blindfold?" Obi-Wan asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. Anakin snorted despite the tension sitting in his stomach.

"No," Anakin said, shaking his head. "It's fine." Yet, his fingers tightened around the mattress, and his voice was stuck high in his throat.

"I promise," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded stiffly. 

Obi-Wan returned his nod with a mild smile. Then, he stood with all the grace Anakin had lost. And he turned his back to Anakin, keeping his promise more strictly than Anakin had expected. It was so gratifying and oh-so-intensely flattering that Obi-Wan cared so much about his comfort.

Anakin's hands dug into the edge of the mattress as Obi-Wan pulled off his cloak and tossed it on the bed behind him without looking back. The tunic followed, revealing an expanse of skin as Obi-Wan tugged it over his head.

The skin moved over muscle, which shifted and rippled as Obi-Wan struggled with the tunic. Anakin's mouth went dry as he watched Obi-Wan. Watching so closely, Anakin noticed immediately that the burns had faded. Bacta treatment had healed the damage Anakin had inflicted. Relief left him light-headed. Although Anakin hadn't lingered on the memory, he was intensely relieved to see the burns of their fight had faded.

He regretted hurting Obi-Wan so much.

His lips twisted into a moue, unable to look away despite the urge to glance away. The tunic joined the cloak on the bed, almost hitting Anakin's thigh. Obi-Wan's hands lowered to the waistband of his pants, and Anakin finally tore his gaze away. He lifted his trembling fingers to his cheeks, the durasteel cold against his overheated cheeks.

The sleeves of his cloak fell back, pooling in the crooks of his elbows in a reminder that Anakin would have to follow Obi-Wan's example. Preferably before Obi-Wan finished and discovered Anakin had been too distracted to undress. Oh, Anakin knew that Obi-Wan wouldn't break his promise, but... 

Hurriedly, Anakin reached for his cloak, his fingers tangling in the fabric. He swallowed thickly, hesitating. He knew Obi-Wan pulled his pants down, which made this ordeal more awkward. Undeniably, Obi-Wan had noticed. Anakin knew he had. However, Obi-Wan didn't address him directly, waiting in Anakin's periphery.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Anakin tugged his cloak down. The cloak pooled on the bed, still tangled around his wrists, and Anakin dared open his eyes. As he blinked the world back into focus with help from the Force, his gaze wandered, automatically landing on Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was naked now, back still turned to Anakin. Obi-Wan padded to the shower, seemingly unbothered by the weight of Anakin's gaze.

Anakin couldn't look away.

The air had turned syrupy. Dimly, Anakin knew time passed, ticking down from thirty to zero, but he couldn't feel its passage anymore. Each blink took a decade. His hands hesitated on the waistband of the pants Obi-Wan had gifted him.

Obi-Wan wouldn't look.

Still, Anakin turned away, his shoulders hunched until his back curled into a crescent moon. His breathing was loud to his ears.

Chapter Text

Anakin stared at his knees, fidgeting with the fabric. He pinched the loose fabric between durasteel fingers, remembering why Obi-Wan had gifted him these pants. His lips quirked, which made him oddly aware of his erratic breathing. He suspected needling Obi-Wan for hints on where his stolen cargo pants were hidden would be entertaining.

Imagining Obi-Wan's reaction made him snort, which broke through his shallow, quick breathing. One blip of amusement pierced through the nauseating nerves and rising panic. Behind him, Obi-Wan turned the water on. The rush of falling water drowned out Anakin's breathing and thoughts. His mind blank, Anakin's jaw worked around silent breaths.

Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, confirming Obi-Wan ignored him as promised. Illogically, this irked him. Obi-Wan obviously enjoyed his shower, apparently not caring that Anakin sat hunched over the bed, the tension in his shoulders painful. He knew Obi-Wan gave him as much space as possible, but...

When you withdraw, I wonder if I should push.

Oh, please.

I wonder what would happen if I did.

Anakin's heart pounded in the hollow of his throat. Although Obi-Wan promised he wouldn't look, both knew this was a promise Obi-Wan couldn't keep forever. The cubicle was small, and they would share the soap Obi-Wan had bought from Teeka.

Of course, Obi-Wan would try to avoid peeking, but Anakin knew. He knew lingering, stolen glances and skin contact were inevitable. Rather than fear, he almost desired this possibility -- this certainty. Perhaps he wanted Obi-Wan to look despite fearing Obi-Wan discovering the full extent of the damage Anakin had suffered, too.

A little nudge.

Anakin wished Obi-Wan would push rather than give him space, but he couldn't ask for help. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

He didn't feel dauntless, but he clung to the nickname as he shoved his pants down his thighs, hissing when the fabric caught on the knee joints. His struggle was awkward, but he freed the pants without ripping them.

Tiny victories helped him move forward.

He couldn't help his gaze dipping to Obi-Wan's ass and muscled thighs. Realizing what he was staring at, Anakin shifted his gaze back to Obi-Wan's shoulders. Water had drenched Obi-Wan's hair, turning it several shades darker. If Anakin wanted to join, he would have to approach. This time, it couldn't be Obi-Wan cajoling and encouraging him. This relied on Anakin finding the courage and confidence to cross the distance. Rejection was unlikely, but the possibility would always frighten Anakin.

He inhaled deeply, his eyes slipping closed for a moment. Obi-Wan would never reject him. Moreover, Obi-Wan didn't want him carnally, so wasn't the point moot? This wasn't the encouragement Anakin had hoped for. Yet, it put the matter in perspective. Luckily, Obi-Wan didn't know what Anakin fretted over. Rolling his eyes, he lifted to his feet.

His durasteel feet clicked against the floor as he approached, his footsteps so distinct they couldn't be confused for anything else. Obi-Wan stepped aside to make space for Anakin, his back still turned to Anakin. Anakin was simultaneously grateful and resentful that Obi-Wan noticed how self-conscious Anakin was of his appearance.

Obi-Wan tried to help, and it was humiliating that he clung to this. Conflicting emotions churned in his stomach. Finally, he stepped into the cubicle, desperately ignoring Obi-Wan's presence. Acknowledging the proximity and their state of undress would be his undoing. Yet, everything fell away when he stepped under the water, which cascaded over his body. A delighted gasp escaped him, followed by laughter. He tipped his head back, his eyes closed as he let the water rain down on him. Streaming water surrounded him, washing the worst grime from his body and muting the outside world. He relaxed under the warm spray, his skin tingling with each droplet hitting him. And wasn't this marvelous?

He had forgotten how good water could feel. He hadn't missed the rain because the sensation was burned away by the past, the memories long-forgotten. But he knew that he couldn't go without anymore. How was he supposed to live without this luxury?

Anakin knew his Force signature overflowed with his excitement. 

He turned his palms up, the water raining in the palms and pooling there before overflowing like Anakin's Force signature. In seconds, his eyelashes were weighed down by water and clumpy. Another peal of delighted laughter filled his mouth with droplets. It didn't matter. Anakin was so intensely happy to exist, and it was a breathtaking sensation. 

After luxuriating under the shower for precious minutes they couldn't waste, he dipped his head down, blinking to get rid of the droplets that had settled in the sparse clumps of eyelashes he had left -- a few precious unburned spots. He was lucky he still had his eyes, which were damaged by the toxic fumes rather than the flames.

As he raised his head, he realized two things.

First, he had monopolized the shower, and Obi-Wan had graciously moved aside.

Secondly, Obi-Wan watched him, his promise ostensibly forgotten in favor of staring. Obi-Wan looked awestruck, his wide-eyed gaze tracking over Anakin's body and face, the wonder wiping Obi-Wan's smile from his face. Suddenly shy, Anakin looked away, his hands raising, but he didn't know what to hide.

Everything was hideous.

His body had already turned away when Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

"No," Obi-Wan pleaded. "Dear. Don't withdraw."

Anakin shook his head. "You wouldn't look?" he muttered, his inflection turning the statement into a question.

"Let me push," Obi-Wan whispered, reaching for Anakin. And Anakin forgot to hide his body away. He waited with bated breath, every inch of scarred skin -- the deep gashes, wrinkled, twisted patches, and the knots and ropes lying on top of damaged skin -- on display. Chunks of meat had burnt away, with no tissue on his body left to reconstruct them, while his skin pulled too tight over those wrinkled patches, experiencing constant pressure. The burns still shone in the light, reflecting the light spilling through narrow windows wrong.

Yet, Obi-Wan didn't seem to notice the damage to Anakin's body -- or at least disregarded it.

Thus, Anakin didn't twist away as Obi-Wan's palm landed on his heart, directly against his skin. Could Obi-Wan feel Anakin's heart flutter?

"I love you, Anakin. All of you. There's no reason to be shy or uncomfortable."

"I know that," Anakin said, the water running down his face muffling the admission. "I do."

"And you're brilliant. You shine so bright."

At least Obi-Wan didn't lie and call him handsome.

"You're gorgeous," Obi-Wan continued, which was an arguably worse lie.

Embarrassed by being called gorgeous and too self-conscious to accept the praise, Anakin scoffed.

"Right," he said, rolling his eyes. "No need to flatter me. Just ignore... all this. If you can. I know what I am. I suppose it's kindness that makes you turn a blind eye to this, but it's cruel, Master. It's too cruel. I know you don't want to be close to me."

He loathed his own body when he was forced to confront the damage. And always, in the background, his mind remembered how he had ended up here. This was a punishment, though it could never be enough -- it could never compare to the damage Anakin had done. He deserved this. Why did Obi-Wan try to convince him he deserved happiness? Why did Obi-Wan tell him he wasn't disgusting when everyone knew he was?

The workers in the lounge below had been clear about that -- as had any other person who had seen Anakin's body.

It was humiliating, but Obi-Wan didn't realize that all these empty words ruined Anakin. Obi-Wan wouldn't kiss him for a very good reason. However, if he refused to kiss Anakin, then he couldn't tell Anakin he was gorgeous. It wasn't allowed. Because Anakin would believe him eventually, and that was dangerous. He was already so deeply in love with Obi-Wan.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his tone funny. "When I say I love you, what do you think that means?"

Anakin shrugged, looking away.

"I don't know," he mumbled. "You said you loved me like a brother. I guess, it's like... Someone irritating you can't get away from, and after tolerating my presence for too long you've grown a little fond of me. Or something like that. Whatever."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "It was -- is -- rather more than that, I'm afraid. I loved you more deeply than I could express. It's... every part of you. Every kind of love I know. Perhaps I should have been clearer, but how could I tell you I was in love with you when I should never be? I am in love with you, dear. I never meant it as an abstract concept or hypothetical, Anakin."

"I changed," Anakin said, which was such an inadequate way to describe the changes his body had undergone. Changes Anakin still couldn't accept; they chafed every time someone noticed and reacted appropriately. Obi-Wan was the only one who never flinched or retched. He should, though. "I betrayed you."

"How we have changed doesn't change anything. I would only be turned off by your behavior but never your appearance or identity, my dear."

"My behavior?" Anakin parroted. The notion that Obi-Wan could be turned off by something made the ground under his feet crumble. He couldn't find his footing, staring at Obi-Wan with wet eyes, aware he looked pitiful -- pathetic perhaps, but Anakin couldn't fight the fear squeezing his heart.

"Yes, like eating with your mouth open or monopolizing the shower," Obi-Wan explained.

Eager to correct this, Anakin reached for Obi-Wan, his hand curling around the back of Obi-Wan's neck to reel him in. Obi-Wan stumbled forward, apparently ill-prepared for Anakin's attempt to remedy the situation.

It was a plaintive cry to be loved more. Anakin used to be more guarded than showing the depths of his feelings.

In turn, Anakin wasn't prepared for Obi-Wan stumbling forward and crashing into him. Anakin's ankle joints couldn't flex far enough, and he fell back against the wall, the air slamming from his lungs on impact. Obi-Wan crushed him against the wall, blanketing Anakin completely.

The tips of their noses brushed, sheer luck preventing a clashing of teeth or bruised noses.

"Oh," Obi-Wan gasped, his surprised exhale fanning against Anakin's lips. They were so close that Anakin's vision had blurred. He could almost feel Obi-Wan's lips shift against him. Almost.

Anakin couldn't help tilting his head to cross the last few centimeters. He hadn't expected to succeed in stealing a kiss. Yet, his lips landed lightly on the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth. He froze in surprise, waiting with bated breath for something to happen. The bristles of Obi-Wan's beard tickled his lips. The urge to rub his lips against Obi-Wan's jaw was near-irresistible.

Anakin's shaky inhale was trapped against the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth. The exhale seemed to startle Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan's hands slipped between the wall and Anakin's back, one ending in the small of his back while the other climbed to rest between his shoulder blades.

Anakin inhaled sharply, the touch electric on his bare skin. Obi-Wan's hand between his shoulder blades traveled higher, cradling his scalp. Anakin's head tipped back, falling into Obi-Wan's palm, trusting Obi-Wan would guide him. Obi-Wan crossed the sliver of space between them. Lips shifted, catching, firmly pressing against one another.

The kiss broke again, their foreheads touching instead.

"You didn't move away," Anakin whispered roughly, marveling at the knowledge Obi-Wan wanted this. He wanted Anakin. It couldn’t be true. It was undeserved. But Obi-Wan met him halfway with promises and kisses, assuring Anakin his love was real and unconditional. It was never despite of. This was inevitable, and Anakin, who typically ran so low on luck, couldn’t believe that he could be so lucky. A lifetime of luck saved for this instrumental thing -- and it was worth it. 

"I never would," Obi-Wan denied. "I never could," he amended.

"But you did before." Anakin didn't mean to convey so much despair and petulance. He whined, despite Obi-Wan's hand on his scalp and the afterimage of Obi-Wan's lips pressed against his. It was silly -- Anakin sure felt silly -- but Obi-Wan only encouraged him. Moreover, he still remembered Obi-Wan turning away from Anakin's attempts to kiss him, apparently oblivious to them all.

"Then, let me rectify the situation, dear," Obi-Wan muttered. The promise knotted hot in Anakin's belly in a moment of heady anticipation. Then, Obi-Wan canted his head to capture Anakin's lips in another peck, a feather-soft brush. It was a brief kiss, broken far too soon, though it was immediately followed by another kiss.

Obi-Wan didn't give Anakin time to get used to the kisses or move against Obi-Wan's lips, perhaps trying to make up for not kissing Anakin enough by the sheer number of them.

"Master," Anakin warbled in another brief pause. Instead of dipping in again, Obi-Wan leaned back, the teasing expression on his face telling Anakin everything he needed to know. Anakin let his lips go slack and soft, almost pouting in an invitation. He would deny making his lips look as kissable as possible, but he begged for it silently.

"What is it, Padawan? Is there a problem with my kissing?" Obi-Wan asked.

A frustrated meow escaped Anakin. "You-- You--" he accused hotly before reconsidering. He stepped forward, and Obi-Wan mirrored the movement. While Obi-Wan retreated, Anakin advanced, putting them under the cascading water again. The water turned each inhale wet and weighed the clumps of eyelashes down. "Kiss me like you mean it, Master," Anakin demanded.

Obi-Wan's gaze lowered to Anakin's lips, lingering there. Considering. Admiring. Making Anakin feel precious and wanted.

"Oh, but I do mean it, my darling Padawan," Obi-Wan said, lilting the title. Was it a sardonic reminder that Obi-Wan was no longer Anakin's Master? "But if I have failed to convince you..."

Obi-Wan stepped forward, cupping Anakin's jaw. Anakin leaned into the touch. Obi-Wan's lips found him again. Unlike previously, Obi-Wan's mouth was open to fit against Anakin's slack, pouty lips. Their lips slid against each other, fitting like puzzle pieces. This kiss was hot and breathier, and then Obi-Wan's tongue ran over Anakin's lips, asking for access, which was granted immediately. Anakin sighed in Obi-Wan's mouth, a whimper, oddly feline in nature, carried on the exhale.

Obi-Wan's lips quirked against his in amusement, and Anakin could only retaliate by trying to nip at Obi-Wan's lip. Obi-Wan thwarted his attempt effortlessly. Obi-Wan's tongue slipped past Anakin's parted lips, deepening the kiss. The heat seared Anakin, even the tip of Obi-Wan's tongue filling his mouth completely. And he couldn't help the kitten licks or purr rumbling in his throat, muffled by their lips. Anakin's hands had fallen to his side, but now they lifted to curl around Obi-Wan's neck to find leverage. Obi-Wan's hair slipped through his fingers, smooth and soft against his right hand.

For so long, Anakin had yearned. He had dreamed and fantasized. But his imagination paled to Obi-Wan kissing him so thoroughly. Anakin pressed closer, his back arching and throat pulled taut as he fit his larger frame under Obi-Wan. 

His purring rumbled, hitching on whimpers and chittering chirps. The sound vibrated against Obi-Wan's hand on his back, traveling through Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan could both hear and feel every gasp, stifled sob, breathy moan, and quivering purr. Obi-Wan shifted to press impossibly closer, his thigh pressing between Anakin's hips. The rushing water smoothed the friction of their lips and slide of Obi-Wan's thigh. Yet, Anakin still jolted, the kiss breaking briefly.

"Ah," Anakin moaned wantonly, the sound bouncing from the shower wall.

Obi-Wan captured Anakin's lips again, undeterred by the water. Everything was wet and slippery. Yet, moving away didn't occur to Anakin. He tried to urge Obi-Wan's tongue deeper, needing Obi-Wan to fill him more until he could feel it in his durasteel toes.

Obi-Wan gave in, complying, and Anakin melted, going unbelievably pliant in Obi-Wan's arms. Obi-Wan's hold tightened, his thigh slipping further between Anakin's legs, claiming space for himself. Anakin's legs shifted to accommodate Obi-Wan, his body molding to Obi-Wan, finding pleasure, heat, and so many points of skin contact where their naked bodies rubbed together, closely intertwined. Pleasure skittered down Anakin's spine, unraveling him and tearing his spinal cord apart with the tension in his lower back.

Obi-Wan pulled away, breathing harshly against Anakin's mouth.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin mewled, his eyes still closed. When Obi-Wan replied, it wasn't with words. A low, throaty noise echoed between them, reminiscent of a purr but too deep compared to Anakin's rumbling. Had Anakin infected Obi-Wan? The sound tapered off before Anakin could point it out.

Obi-Wan pulled back further, still panting, and Anakin mourned when he could no longer feel each exhale on his skin. Obi-Wan's hand fell away from Anakin's back, breaking the final point of skin contact. Anakin yearned for more, one second of separation enough for touch starvation to set in. Why did Obi-Wan abandon him? Dazedly, Anakin opened his eyes, blinking slowly at Obi-Wan. 

I love you.

"I love you," he confessed.

He couldn't look away from Obi-Wan's mouth, which was opened around his ragged breaths. Anakin still remembered how hot each exhale had been in and against his mouth. Obi-Wan's lips were red from the friction and pressure, and Anakin could feel his lips tingling. Undoubtedly, he looked wrecked, one deep kiss turning him into a purring puddle.

"We should shower," Obi-Wan said. "You distracted me. I don't know how much time we have left."

Time had stopped to exist for Anakin.

"But..." Anakin's complaint tapered off when Obi-Wan reached for him again. Obi-Wan's hands brushed over his shoulders, uncaring of the gnarly, burnt skin under his fingers.

"We should wash," Obi-Wan said. "Stop distracting me."

"I didn't do anything," Anakin whined. He couldn't look away from Obi-Wan's lips and beard. A shudder ran through him as he remembered Obi-Wan's tongue in his mouth and their lips rubbing. He had forgotten to pay attention to Obi-Wan's beard. The water had turned the slide of Obi-Wan's beard against his skin too smooth.

He would have to pay more attention next time.

Could he steal another kiss?

Obi-Wan was faster, leaning in to capture Anakin's lips in a short kiss that still short-circuited Anakin, turning him into a needy, incoherent mess.

"Let me help you," Obi-Wan pleaded after scrambling Anakin's brain.

Anakin nodded dumbly. He would have agreed to anything.

One of Obi-Wan's hands slipped to the small of his back, nudging Anakin further under the water. Anakin wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes, drawing a chuckle from Obi-Wan. "Master," he complained. He had never complained like this. He would have found it humiliating before. Moreover, it wouldn't be welcome anyway. His whining was often only rewarded with a stern lecture or deadpan comment. As Obi-Wan treated him like he was precious, indulging Anakin at every turn, Anakin started to lean into this new dynamic.

It was so good to be taken care of. Obi-Wan didn't consider Anakin a burden, and Anakin was so pleased with every reminder that Obi-Wan wanted him here and liked Anakin in his personal space, yapping, whining, and purring.

Obi-Wan didn't react verbally, but his hands returned, covered in suds from the soap. They curled around Anakin's waist, effortlessly finding the spot where they always rested. The muscles in Anakin's abdomen jolted, shifting under the scarred skin, making it obvious how affected he was by Obi-Wan's touch. Perhaps to soothe him, Obi-Wan's left hand traveled to his stomach, running over its length. Anakin swallowed a sob poorly, his expression contorting as Obi-Wan's hands roamed over Anakin's arms, worshiping him, for no other word could do justice to how Obi-Wan touched him.

Reverently. Softly. Obi-Wan reached for him with the confidence that his touch was welcome. He was right; Anakin waited eagerly. Obi-Wan didn't dodge the gnarliest scars, instead treating them more delicately, perhaps investigating them.

Anakin could predict how this would end. Once they got home, the bacta cream would make another appearance. He reached for the soap with his right hand, paying attention not to drop the slippery bar. After foaming soap in his palms, he hesitated, wondering whether his care would be welcome.

Obi-Wan's hand closed around his right wrist, cinching durasteel. Synth nerves sparked as Obi-Wan brought Anakin's hand to his chest. Palladium-coated fingertips rested on Obi-Wan's skin and chest hair. Intrigued by the sensation, Anakin curled his fingers before flattening them again. He could feel Obi-Wan's heartbeat under his palm.

While Obi-Wan washed him, Anakin made a clumsy attempt to reciprocate, his right hand moving smoothly while the left hand remained on Obi-Wan's chest. He didn't trust the hand could be gentle enough and didn't want to catch hair in the joints.

The building tension fell away as Anakin focused. He sighed contentedly, luxuriating in Obi-Wan's attention while working on helping Obi-Wan. It was a cheap trick from Obi-Wan, and Anakin wasn't fooled for a second. Obi-Wan had expertly taken Anakin's focus away from his own body. Anakin didn't have to touch the scars, confront the lost limbs, or clean the places where dirt and grime covered loose skin that draped over gouged flesh.

This was mercy, and Anakin didn't deserve it, but Obi-Wan gave it freely anyway.

"Give me that right hand. You don't want to have soap in those joints," Obi-Wan ordered when Anakin's hands fell back to his side. He was clean and smelled of the soap Obi-Wan had bought. He hadn't felt so human in a long time. Anakin didn't think he could express how much of this was due to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan gave him his humanity back in many different ways, treating Anakin with love, respect, and adoration that he didn't deserve. He was filled with sticky, sweet gratitude, almost choking on the emotion.

"Mrow," he said. Realizing he meowed again, he coughed. "Yes," he muttered, embarrassed that he had slipped up. Nevertheless, he still purred softly, barely audible over the rushing water. Obi-Wan took Anakin's right hand in both hands, petting the back.

Then, Obi-Wan focused on the joints where soap got stuck in the narrow gaps and ridges. Obi-Wan's fingers clasped around his to force Anakin's fingers back. Anakin inhaled sharply through his nose, his shoulders jolting as the synth nerves fried his brain.

A strangled moan fell from his lips, the purring tapering off. Urgency built in his chest as Obi-Wan pushed further, taking advantage of the staggering flexibility of Anakin's durasteel fingers. Then, he rubbed the pad of his thumb over a ridge, catching the synth nerves. Anakin couldn't be prepared for the sensation. Obi-Wan toying with his fingers, manipulating them while touching Anakin's synth nerves? It was orgasmic. Anakin's eyes rolled back as his head lolled back on his shoulder. Wet gasps echoed in the cubicle, interspersed with sobs and mewls. Another swipe over his fingers, forcing them wide apart, made Anakin's hips buck reflexively.

Stars.

He couldn't do this. It was too much. Anakin moaned, the filthy sound too loud in the charged silence. He couldn't... He couldn't... Anakin staggered back against the wall, his knees giving out under him. His Force signature seized as he tried to catch himself, but it was too late. Obi-Wan guided him to the wall, boxing him in with a thigh while he worked on the fingers of Anakin's right hand.

Anakin's Force signature spasmed in pleasure, mirroring his fingers in Obi-Wan's hold. Even his less-responsive left hand clawed at the wall. Noises were trapped in his throat. After spasming involuntarily, Anakin's Force signature drooped and melted like spun sugar under water. All the tension fell from his body, making him sag further against the wall, only kept upright by Obi-Wan's hip propped against his and the thigh between Anakin's legs, sitting so high the top brushed his groin.

"Focus," Obi-Wan choked out. Anakin didn't know who Obi-Wan addressed. He could only bark pitifully, his human voice breaking on a feline sound. His Force signature felt lazy, accidentally nudging Obi-Wan's as it acted out of Anakin's control.

Obi-Wan's Force signature latched onto his. But if Obi-Wan had hoped to find his footing here, he was oh-so-wrong. Anakin's Force signature was soaked in arousal. The need was so deep, endless ignored boners and one failed attempt at masturbation driving him up the walls so, so, so high.

And now, he would come down. He would fall all the way while clinging to Obi-Wan. Anakin's hips rolled over Obi-Wan's thigh, but his legs were too wobbly for him to get any leverage. The grinding was pathetic and ineffective. His Force signature, curling around Obi-Wan's soul like a cat in heat, didn't fare much better.

He mewled, frustrated tears burning in his eyes.

Through it all, Obi-Wan cleaned his fingers, his touch faltering when Anakin finally found some pressure against Obi-Wan's thigh. Apparently planning to ruin Anakin, Obi-Wan hitched his thigh higher while applying more pressure against Anakin to pin him in place.

Anakin's head fell back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, his vision blurred while his Force signature had escaped his control to mix with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan let him in deeper without concern, closing tightly around Anakin's Force signature until Anakin's soul was as trapped as his body.

There was only friction, but he could barely move. He squirmed ineffectively, needing more.

Obi-Wan curled his fingers, folding Anakin's hand into a fist. His fingertips touched durasteel, the metal lukewarm after Obi-Wan had held it while he cleaned Anakin's hand.

"Please," Anakin pleaded with Obi-Wan. When Obi-Wan didn't react, Anakin let his head slump forward, pinning Obi-Wan with wet eyes --glossy with frustrated tears and arousal.

"We should take this home," Obi-Wan whispered. "Let's go home, dear. I won't withdraw or turn away, but this place is... perhaps a tad unhygienic."

Anakin swallowed thickly.

"Do you promise?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "I do," he said, his Force signature embracing Anakin's tightly before letting him go. Anakin's Force signature clambered to keep Obi-Wan close despite knowing Obi-Wan wouldn't give in. Yet, Obi-Wan folded against all Anakin's expectations. Obi-Wan's shields crumbled, letting Anakin stick close.

Obi-Wan switched the water off. A deep silence settled in the room when the din of rushing water disappeared. Briefly, the drainage gurgled. In the ensuing silence, their breathing was too loud. Then, other sounds rushed in.

People passed on the streets outside, water droplets hit the ground, and a spaceship flew over the buildings, headed to the spaceport.

Anakin's galaxy narrowed to Obi-Wan, his focus automatically zeroing in on the sound of Obi-Wan's breathing. Nothing could stop him from realizing Obi-Wan's lips were already kiss-swollen. Anakin's lips throbbed in sympathy. They stung pleasantly, raw in a pleasant way, and Anakin could barely resist licking them. The saliva would soothe the pain, while Anakin relished in the tingling. It was a physical reminder of the drag of Obi-Wan's tongue and friction of his lips.

Slowly, he raised his gaze to Obi-Wan's eyes, wondering if Obi-Wan had caught him staring. He had. Their gazes met, embarrassment flooding Anakin's cheeks with heat.

"Uh," Anakin stammered.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, drawing Anakin's attention back to Obi-Wan's lips.

"One more," Obi-Wan bargained -- possibly with himself or Anakin. Anakin nodded eagerly.

"One more," he agreed.

Obi-Wan leaned in, and Anakin surged forward eagerly. He draped against Obi-Wan's chest, which put him under Obi-Wan's chin. Anakin had to tip his head back and strain his neck to find Obi-Wan's lips. Obi-Wan took Anakin's untempered enthusiasm in stride, meeting Anakin's lips without startling.

Anakin marveled at the warmth of Obi-Wan's lips against his, quickly falling into the rhythm of their previous kiss, finding the best angle and his favorite spot. Obi-Wan answered, helping Anakin deepen the kiss. When Anakin needled or begged for more, Obi-Wan used to reward him with wry amusement, witty comments, and, ultimately, rejection. Instead, Obi-Wan didn't hesitate to answer Anakin, giving Anakin everything he wanted.

Anakin whimpered in the kiss, a soft sound swallowed in Obi-Wan's mouth, stifled by his tongue. He could drown in this moment. Yet, Obi-Wan pulled away, his eyes heavy-lidded as he kept his gaze on Anakin's lips. The shadows made Obi-Wan's eyes darker, the pupils dilated, swallowing up the pale blue.

Anakin's tongue darted out, the tip wetting his lips in anticipation, drawing a defeated groan from Obi-Wan.

Anakin's lips felt chafed and over-sensitive, warm on his face from the friction. It was a constant physical reminder of their shared intimacy and a promise -- because Obi-Wan had promised -- of more.

Obi-Wan stepped out of the shower backward, and Anakin followed. He always would.

"We have to be quick," Obi-Wan rasped. "I don't think we have much time left."

Anakin nodded, his voice lost in Obi-Wan's mouth, where his whimpers and moans were still trapped.

"I don't have much patience left," he confessed dazedly, the kisses making him too honest. Obi-Wan paused, blinking at Anakin. Then, he laughed, bruising Anakin's ego. It was a different ache from the gazes in the lounge and morbid fascination. This wasn't entirely unwelcome, though Anakin still squinted at Obi-Wan.

"Just wait. I don't think that laughter will last," Anakin threatened Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sobered, shaking his head. Anakin could see him swallow. "I... I don't doubt that, Anakin," Obi-Wan agreed. "I don't doubt it."

Anakin was glad for a towel to hide behind, cataloging the scars that Obi-Wan had mapped. He had expected self-loathing and disgust. Instead, he recalled Obi-Wan's soft touch. Obi-Wan's acceptance was a balm, helping him learn these scars that were a part of him for the rest of his life. Intrigued, Anakin rubbed over his abdomen, finding patches of unharmed skin he hadn't noticed before.

His gaze wandered to Obi-Wan, who had turned his back to Anakin again. It was too late for privacy. Obi-Wan's hands had already claimed Anakin's body, exploring every inch as he washed Anakin. Anakin's heart swelled with love, wondering what he had done -- how he could be so lucky -- to deserve so much care.

Truthfully, he only deserved suffering, but Obi-Wan inexplicably disagreed.

Anakin's gaze wandered over Obi-Wan's back before he caught himself staring. Quickly, he turned back, but the image was already seared in his retinas. He couldn't help glancing at Obi-Wan's ass. Mortification sent his gaze skittering down muscled thighs and calves to the floor. Then, Anakin's gaze darted back to his towel. Unwittingly, he had balled a fist, the towel hanging uselessly from his hands, the fibers tickling his fingertips.

Again, Anakin's gaze flicked to Obi-Wan, focusing on Obi-Wan's hair. It had grown in the decade they had spent apart, closer to Obi-Wan's haircut before the war had started. Yet, the gray streaks made it abundantly clear that they were not back in the past.

They could never return there.

It was okay.

Anakin was happy here. He was so comfortable in this place and time. Here, he belonged, living in a cave on Tatooine with Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan straightened, startling Anakin. Quickly, Anakin lifted the towel to hide his staring. He pressed the towel to his face, his cheeks hot against the harsh fabric. Shakily, he inhaled. Desperately, he closed his eyes, pressing his face closer to the towel.

When he lowered the towel to peek over the edge, he met Obi-Wan's gaze.

A knock on the door made Obi-Wan jolt. He turned to the door sharply, the muscles in his shoulders tense and eyes sharp. Obi-Wan's Force signature had grown rigid around Anakin, hoarding him closer, the shields threatening to erect while Anakin was inside their perimeter.

Then, Obi-Wan relaxed, turning to Anakin with a smile.

"It appears it's time to leave," he said, his shields lowering again rather than kicking Anakin out to rebuild them. Anakin nodded.

Another couple waited when Obi-Wan and Anakin left the room. Tension sat heavy in Anakin's stomach. A different type this time. He braced himself for descending the stairs and mingling with the people in the lounge.

He bit his tongue as he wavered between talking to pretend he didn't notice their attention or dignified silence. He managed neither, producing a pained sound. He cared too much about how strangers perceived him. Once, he had been carelessly vain, aware he was handsome.

Obi-Wan turned to him, already a few steps down the stairs.

"You are Anakin Skywalker," he said, and it sounded like an oath. "And I love you."

Anakin nodded.

"You are strong and brave," Obi-Wan continued. "You have gone through hell to get here. You deserve to be here. There's a place for you here. Don't be ashamed to take up space or exist, dear."

Anakin sucked in a breath.

"I don't deserve..." His muttered protest tapered off. Obi-Wan shook his head.

"You do," he said. "I'm proud of you, Anakin."

"After everything I've done?" Anakin balked.

This wasn't the time nor the place to discuss Anakin's flayed open heart and pick its bloodied strips apart. They blocked the staircase in a brothel, sweet perfume and booze wafting up the stairs, carried with sensual music on a dry breeze.

Obi-Wan stilled. "Well," he began, picking his words carefully. "I'm in love with you, Anakin. Given my predicament, I would argue I'm at least permitted to have a skewed view. Rather, one would expect me to be biased. It would be an insult to you otherwise."

"I'm the predicament?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan laughed, a throaty, toothy laugh that made Anakin's stomach flip.

"Regardless of how much I enjoy your company, dear, I can't deny that being in love with you has been rather inconvenient throughout my life. Some would say it's wildly inappropriate to boot, and I would agree under other circumstances."

"Why don't you?"

Why didn't Obi-Wan blame him? Why didn't he agree with the sensible people who would condemn Obi-Wan for loving a monster?

Obi-Wan tilted his head, his gaze vacant as he contemplated the question. Anakin held his breath, hoping to learn a fundamental truth about forgiveness. He knew there was no atoning for what he had done, but he yearned for an answer.

"What's the harm?" Obi-Wan asked instead.

"What?" Anakin asked, failing to follow the path Obi-Wan's thoughts had taken.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "It wasn't like things could get worse, so I figured I could go all in. Why not take what I truly wanted? I have waited for so long that it feels like it has been my whole life, and I sincerely doubt there will be consequences in this life."

Anakin's jaw dropped. This wasn't the enlightening, humble, life-altering, or romantic response Anakin had anticipated. Obi-Wan turned around and marched down the stairs.

"Wait, Master!" Anakin called after Obi-Wan, storming down the stairs to catch up.

"Master!" he repeated as he entered the lounge, forgetting to be quiet and hide. Yet, he also forgot to check whether people looked at him funnily. He was distracted, rushing to catch up with Obi-Wan, who was already out of the door. Did he try to leave Anakin behind?

"You can't say that," he protested. "That's something I would say."

Obi-Wan laughed again.

"It's not about getting away with consequences; it's about doing the right thing," Anakin reminded Obi-Wan. His voice was urgent as he paraphrased Obi-Wan's teachings.

"It seems I taught you well."

"But-- but you should follow your teachings," Anakin argued, stumbling over the words and gesticulating wildly. "You have to."

"So, no more kissing?" Obi-Wan asked.

"You promised!"

Obi-Wan chuckled, looking at Anakin with an adoring look, and Anakin could only give up. Anakin's shoulders slumped, his righteous indignation slipping from his grip.

"Then, I suppose we should hurry home," Obi-Wan said.

"So, 'patience Padawan' is out of the airlock, too?" Anakin grumbled.

"Well, I'm always willing to impart another lesson on my former Padawan," Obi-Wan teased.

Anakin huffed. Undoubtedly, that would be a lesson Anakin couldn't appreciate while Obi-Wan gloated. "Forget it," he said. "I'm not even going to try and argue with you."

Obi-Wan chuckled, a sound that warmed Anakin's heart. Each laugh he needled out of Obi-Wan felt like a victory, filling him with pride and more love.

He could replay the sound a million times. Even after a billion loops, he would never tire of hearing it. Though Anakin wished it wasn't at his expense, this was a familiar pattern, too. 

Akkani waited for them in the stables, unperturbed or perhaps not noticing they no longer stank. Yet, the eopie did pause when Obi-Wan didn't present her with meat. She bristled, her long nose roving over Obi-Wan's hands as he tried to untie her reins.

Finally, Akkani realized Obi-Wan did not come bearing her snack. Disgruntled, the animal snorted and turned away. Unsurprisingly, as soon as Obi-Wan petted the eopie's neck, the animal turned back, forgiving Obi-Wan instantly. The eopie knelt in the sand, already used to the new routine in which Obi-Wan lifted Anakin on Akkani's back.

Obi-Wan gestured for Anakin to join him, and Anakin complied, his sides already tingling in anticipation of Obi-Wan's touch. Obi-Wan's hands wrapped around his waist, always finding the same perfect spot.

"Comfortable?" Obi-Wan asked when he had put Anakin on the eopie.

"Very," Anakin said, a trill creeping into his voice.

Obi-Wan guided Akkani back to her feet, guiding her out of the stable into the blinding sunlight. Anakin blinked, scrunching up his face against the light.

"You have to put your hood back on, Anakin," Obi-Wan reminded him.

"I know," Anakin sighed.

Obi-Wan swung in the saddle behind him, and Anakin focused on sidling back instead. Obi-Wan let him, curling one arm around Anakin's stomach to help him settle in the saddle.

"Hold the reins for a second, dear," Obi-Wan told him.

Surprised, Anakin accepted the reins, holding them lightly, hoping that Akkani didn't notice the transfer. Unbothered and hopefully unaware, the eopie trudged to Anchorhead's outskirts. Obi-Wan's free hand tugged Anakin's hood over his head. 

Anakin didn't protest, tilting his head and hunching to fit under Obi-Wan's chin. The hand on his hood cupped his cheek over the hood. Anakin nuzzled the palm through the hood, so content that he didn't know how to communicate it. He barely managed to swallow a purr. The purrs were fake, conscious instead of instinctive, Anakin reminded himself sternly.

But they were so useful and felt natural after Anakin had purred for so long.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he waited. The reins hung from his hands, so slack that he knew he provided Akkani no guidance. Yet, Akkani continued to walk, and Obi-Wan didn't interfere, so Anakin assumed they were headed in the right direction.

Anakin listened to Obi-Wan's heartbeat, too distracted by where they were headed and what they would do.

His thumb rubbed the reins, only stilling when Obi-Wan's hands moved from his head to his hands, covering them.

"What's running through your mind?"

"Nothing much," Anakin muttered.

"I may not know what you think exactly, but I believe that is a lie."

Obi-Wan's hand lifted from Anakin's hand to his nose, and Anakin couldn't help bumping Obi-Wan's finger with the tip of his nose, his hood falling back as he craned his head.

Obi-Wan huffed laughter on an exhale. Then, he tugged the hood back over Anakin's face. Then, Obi-Wan leaned closer, his lips resting on the hood of Anakin's cloak, heavy on Anakin's scalp despite the fabric barrier.

"Once, I thought I knew you well," Obi-Wan confessed into the fabric. "Even your secrets. The ones you believed I didn't know. I watched you fail at subtlety and arrogantly thought I could read you like an open book."

Anakin's gaze lowered to the desert sand, guilt churning in his stomach.

"I don't want to make the same mistakes all over again. So, I want to ask all the questions I felt I couldn't or shouldn't ask before."

Anakin inhaled shakily.

Obi-Wan wasn't done, digging deeper and deeper past Anakin's ribs into the hot, mangled mess of flesh in his chest where a broken, battered heart still beat.

"It was easier to ignore the cracks. I don't know how often I told myself 'after the war' because I believed there would be an after. In my cowardice, I let you down. No matter how uncomfortable such a conversation would be, I should have asked the questions I swallowed."

Hadn't they tried and failed? They hadn't known the days counted down, believing they had so much time left. Later. How many times had Anakin thought 'later' only to realize they had run out of time?

You WORRY too much.

I have to--

--because I don't WORRY at all, right?

How did you KNOW I was going to say that?

You're WRONG, you KNOW?

I WORRY plenty.

They had talked past each other, but it was Anakin's fault. When it came to trust... Well, Anakin had rescinded his trust first because his pride was hurt, and it was the only way he could lash out.

What about OBI-WAN?

What about HIM?

You told me ONCE.

That he is as WISE as Master Yoda.

That he is as STRONG as Master Windu.

Couldn't he HELP us?

But I don't THINK he trusts ME.

I'm not SURE we can TRUST him.

He swallowed tickly, his shame lodged in his throat, a physical weight he would carry for the rest of his life.

"I made you sad again," Obi-Wan muttered. He sounded oddly frustrated. "And I need to understand why, Anakin. You get so sad, dear."

Anakin shook his head slightly, Obi-Wan's lips shifting over the hood.

"You don't understand, Master," he said. His voice was thick with grief, a lament for every confession he couldn't force past his lips. "It's all my fault. I don't deserve anything good. I did terrible things. I am a monster. I'm..."

This was a matter of trust.

"I'm scared," he whispered. "That this is only compassion."

Obi-Wan sighed against the hood.

"If I understand correctly, you fear I don't desire you, dear."

Anakin opened his mouth, the admission resting on his limp tongue.

"Well, yeah," he muttered against Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I'm not exactly a catch."

His derisive laughter turned into a warbled sound.

"You are."

"Am not."

"Well, I suppose there's no accounting for bad taste," Obi-Wan dismissed Anakin's concerns.

"Your bad taste."

"Do you need proof, my dear?" Obi-Wan asked. His voice had dropped low, laced with a warning. "Because I'm more than willing to correct your misconceptions."

Anakin gawked at the sand, his voice trapped in his throat. Ill-timed arousal drifted to the bottom of his stomach, settling hot and heavy.

"Okay," he squeaked.

"Perfect," Obi-Wan said, feigning a pleasant tone but landing on something more authoritative, smug, and dark. His Coruscanti accent was sharp, its barbs sticking in Anakin's spine and pulling down. Anakin shuddered, feeling helpless as he listened to Obi-Wan's voice.

"I will keep you to that, my dear."

Oh, Anakin hoped so because he would combust from a heady mix of embarrassment, anticipation, and arousal. And for once, it was all Obi-Wan's fault.

Chapter Text

The reins slipped through Anakin's fingers as he fiddled with them to give the tension in his body an outlet. His attention wandered wildly, nerves swimming in his belly. A lurch pressed Anakin against Obi-Wan's chest. Startled, Anakin pulled on the reins, making Akkani bristle.

"Hush, girl," Obi-Wan calmed the eopie, petting her neck. Deftly, he stole the reins from Anakin with one hand, the other tightening around Anakin's waist to steady Anakin. "Well done, girl," he told the eopie. "We're home."

Anakin listened to Obi-Wan's voice, enjoying the crisp cadence, the melodious Coruscanti accent, and generous kindness. Cold air chilled Anakin's back when Obi-Wan jumped from Akkani's back, abandoning him on the eopie.

Hurriedly, Anakin shifted on eopie's back, his durasteel knees digging in Akkani's flanks as he scrambled inelegantly. Following Obi-Wan was his highest priority, overriding what little caution he possessed. Akkani stepped away, growing restless under Anakin's clumsy attempt to get off her back.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin's waist tightly. While Akkani prepared to kick, Obi-Wan lifted Anakin's considerable weight to effortlessly lower him to the desert sand.

This was a routine; Obi-Wan would only hold Anakin as long as it took Anakin to find his footing in the treacherous, shifting sand. Perhaps Obi-Wan's solemn, pinched expression should have warned Anakin that they would deviate from routine. Following familiar steps, Anakin tried to stumble back, but Obi-Wan's hands tightened. They squeezed Anakin's waist to trap him. Unprepared for the additional pressure, Anakin sucked in a harsh breath. Anakin's stomach pulled in while Obi-Wan's thumbs advanced, claiming the extra space. 

"Oh," Anakin squeaked. His gaze darted higher, noticing the concern etched in Obi-Wan's face. Oh. They stood close. He could count each freckle dotting Obi-Wan's cheeks, which meant Obi-Wan would certainly see every blemish and ugly scar. Yet, it appeared Obi-Wan didn't focus on Anakin's appearance.

"Do you feel better? Less sad?"

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan uncomprehendingly. Words failed him when he needed them most, his denial wilting on his tongue. His confused silence lasted too long because Obi-Wan's expression crumpled.

Yet, Obi-Wan was only crestfallen for a second. His features set into a determined mask.

"Mas--"

Obi-Wan's lips stifled Anakin's hurried denial. While Anakin's mind lagged behind, Anakin's eyes had already slipped shut, and his lips molded to Obi-Wan.

As a strategy to distract Anakin, kissing him senseless worked wonders.

The tip of Obi-Wan's tongue flicked against Anakin's closed lips to request access. Anakin's mechanical knees buckled as readily as organic ones. The hands on Anakin's waist squeezed him to help support Anakin's weight. One thumb stroked Anakin's stomach affectionately. A feline mewl shuddered past Anakin's lips, jolted from him by Obi-Wan's thumb and tongue. Obi-Wan exploited Anakin's lips parting around the punched-out sound to deepen the kiss. Obi-Wan's beard rubbed over Anakin's sore bottom lip while his mustache caught in the sparse downy hairs dotting Anakin's upper lip, sending electric sparks down Anakin's spine. The hairs were more sensitive than whiskers.

Broken sobs and purrs were stifled against Obi-Wan's lips, breaking the kiss. Obi-Wan's sigh fanned hot against Anakin's sore lips.

"And now?" Obi-Wan asked in the muggy space between their lips. Obi-Wan sounded oh-so-smug. Likely, Anakin looked as debauched as he felt. Also, he purred loudly. Stars. His purring was wrecked, husky, and whiny. He panted lightly, his sore lips quivering around a response Obi-Wan had already gleaned.

"Yes," he breathed.

Obi-Wan nodded once. The hands dropped from Anakin's waist. After a last bump of their foreheads, Obi-Wan stepped back.

"Master," Anakin pleaded, surging forward to follow Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan smiled, probably unaware that each smile struck Anakin like a physical blow. Obi-Wan was so unexpectedly handsome.

Fingers interlacing with his right ones drew Anakin's attention to their tangled fingers.

"Mrow?"

"Come," Obi-Wan urged with a tug on Anakin's hand. "I made a promise, didn't I?"

Anakin swallowed thickly.

I won't withdraw or turn away.

"Okay," Anakin whispered.

Obi-Wan paused, staring at their interlaced fingers. Did Obi-Wan expect Anakin to lead? Anakin's nerves were already shot despite his eager anticipation.

"I did say I wouldn't avoid the difficult topics, didn't I?" Obi-Wan asked wryly. Anakin tilted his head. Obi-Wan's gaze lifted, meeting Anakin. Locking for there was no escape. "I don't want to pressure you into anything. There is no rush."

We have to be quick.

"We shouldn't feel forced to continue."

I don't think we have much time left.

"Forced?" Anakin echoed incredulously. "Are you serious, Obi-Wan? I'm not some... scared Padawan."

An eyebrow rose, disappearing under Obi-Wan's hairline. "I'm very serious, my dear former Padawan."

They should be more mature than these silly quarrels. Yet, whenever stubbornness met obstinacy, both turned tenacious. Everything turned into a challenge because even dumb prices were a victory. Anakin strode into the cave, pulling Obi-Wan after him. Obi-Wan followed willingly.

"I wouldn't dare suggest patience, but we should discuss what we are comfortable with."

"Sex," Anakin said with aplomb.

"Ah," Obi-Wan coughed. "Well, I'm not against the idea, but this does involve undressing."

"Are you nervous, Master?" Anakin asked with a feral grin, enjoying Obi-Wan's squirming. While Anakin knew Obi-Wan was concerned about Anakin, he couldn't resist pushing Obi-Wan's buttons. Moreover, Obi-Wan had already seen his body. Obi-Wan had touched Anakin freely with sud-covered hands, mapping every scar.

The damage hadn't mattered. Anakin was a hideous monster, but Obi-Wan still coveted and desired him. Anakin couldn't be scared anymore. Obi-Wan stopped walking, their arms pulling taut. Anakin almost tripped over his feet.

"Unless you're suggesting we do this in the kitchen, I think we've arrived," Obi-Wan pointed out. He sounded so sardonic, raising an eyebrow in a challenge.

Anakin blinked, too confused to respond. Obi-Wan nudged him back. Instantly, Anakin's knees gave out, a surprised, scolding yip escaping him as he lost his balance. Only Obi-Wan's hands catching him under his armpits slowed his descent. Obi-Wan grunted as Anakin's weight hung from his arms, slowly lowering him into the blankets.

"Wait," Anakin blurted, realizing they had reached their bed nook belatedly. "We should undress first."

Now, it was Obi-Wan's turn to blink in confusion. "What about foreplay..." The question trailed off. Humiliation burned Anakin's cheeks. Right. It hadn't taken long for him to mess this up.

Obi-Wan's confusion turned calculating. Oh, Anakin couldn't hide his anxiety. His fingers twisted in his cloak as he berated himself, feeling awfully small and inferior.

"Yes, we should undress," Obi-Wan agreed. He still sounded befuddled, turning his attempt to reassure Anakin too obvious. Really, Obi-Wan's concern was as flattering as it was exasperating. Sometimes, Anakin wondered if Obi-Wan realized he didn't hold a monopoly on fond aggravation in their relationship.

Obi-Wan tugged his cloak off to place it on the blankets as an additional layer. Breathlessly, Anakin watched, admitting silently that he was grateful rather than fondly aggrieved. Obi-Wan's tunic joined the blankets.

Anakin couldn't help smiling, his cheeks aching under the strain. Although Anakin's fingers trembled as he dropped his cloak over Obi-Wan's, he didn't hesitate. Obi-Wan looked ridiculously proud and pleased as Anakin didn't flinch or turn away under the weight of Obi-Wan's gaze.

Love pierced Anakin's heart. The intensity of his adoration choked him. While gentle, Anakin's love was violent, too. It was everything.

Obi-Wan kicked his boots off, his hands pushing his pants and underwear down. Anakin couldn't even pretend he didn't stare as Obi-Wan took off both and folded them. Distracted by the sight, Anakin forgot to remove his own pants.

Anakin's gaze dropped to Obi-Wan's cock. His fingers fluttered helplessly by his side, durasteel curling into weak fists that fell apart again. Uncomfortable warmth rose to his cheeks.

Even flaccid, Obi-Wan's cock was big. Anakin jerked his gaze higher, but Obi-Wan's happy trail guided his attention lower again. Why did embarrassment flood his cheeks with heat? Anakin had a cock, too, which he was hyper-aware of as he stared.

While Anakin had enjoyed his little fantasies, the real thing flustered him. His relative inexperience made his stomach bubble with nerves and shy anticipation. He had only loved Padmé before. His experience was limited to his wife. Anakin had never considered his own preferences -- or Obi-Wan's.

Did Obi-Wan have a preference? Would he be willing to use his bulk to pin Anakin to the blankets? Anakin wished to arch his back as Obi-Wan opened him on his fingers, exploring him as thoroughly as he had done to Anakin's right hand and Force signature.

Anakin's ass clenched around nothing, his rim flexing rhythmically as he imagined the stretch. A visceral shiver rocked his shoulders, forcing a strangled sob from his lips.

Oh.

Anakin hadn't thought he had a preference. But perhaps... His mouth went dry as he imagined Obi-Wan filling him beyond what he could handle. Obi-Wan would prepare him well; there would only be pleasure, though Anakin was so used to pain he could easily bear it. Yet, he knew -- oh, he knew -- that Obi-Wan would chide him for trying to take too much, punishing Anakin by slowing down further.

Anakin struggled with the fastening of the pants Obi-Wan had lent him, frustration rising until his durasteel fingers were successful. Hurriedly, he pushed his pants down his legs and kicked them free from his feet.

"Join me," Anakin invited Obi-Wan, patting the blankets. Anakin's voice was so hoarse it broke on his plea. Of course, Obi-Wan indulged him, sitting by Anakin's side, studying Anakin. Anakin blinked slowly in a silent confession. Yet, silent declarations of love weren't enough anymore. Impulsively, he leaned in to kiss the freckles on Obi-Wan's cheeks.

"I love them," Anakin blurted. "I love you."

"And I love you, dear heart," Obi-Wan said. He lifted his hands to Anakin's cheeks, stroking over the scars, puckered flesh, and shiny burns as if those were freckles.

Anakin's journey of feather-light pecks carried him to Obi-Wan's lips. Obi-Wan captured Anakin's lips, not letting Anakin leave again. Anakin sighed into the kiss, his lips going slack, offering no counterpressure for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan smiled against his lips before exploiting Anakin's lax lips, his tongue slipping past Anakin's slack ones.

Anakin melted into the kiss, letting his considerable weight lean against Obi-Wan. Whenever Obi-Wan carried him, he never showed any strain. But the kiss couldn't lie. As Anakin collapsed against Obi-Wan's chest, Obi-Wan grunted into Anakin's mouth so softly Anakin could only sense the exhale.

Obi-Wan acted for him because he cared.

Basking in Obi-Wan's care, Anakin grew bold. Anakin tipped his weight back, slipping away from Obi-Wan's kiss to collapse into the blankets and cloaks. Oh, he knew this put his body on display. However, Anakin couldn't deny he anticipated Obi-Wan's staring. And when Obi-Wan's gaze roved over Anakin's body appreciatively, his vindication won from the urge to hide the damage.

Slowly, almost prowling, Obi-Wan followed Anakin. He crawled over Anakin, hands bracketing Anakin's head, while one knee splayed Anakin's thighs, planting between them to claim the space between Anakin's thighs.

"I love that you're no longer shy," Obi-Wan whispered.

"I trust you," Anakin confessed, the words somehow heavier than 'I love you.' Perhaps because Anakin had never confessed how deeply and blindly he trusted Obi-Wan.

"I trust you, too."

"You shouldn't."

"You have given me no reason to distrust you, dear. Everything I learn about you suggests my trust is well-placed and safe in your care. There is no one I trust more."

Anakin blinked at Obi-Wan, dumbstruck by the intensity of Obi-Wan's declaration.

"Oh," he sighed, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. His gaze darted away, studying the cave walls as he stewed in pleased mortification. Obi-Wan's words twisted his guts. While Obi-Wan's praise delighted him, he didn't know how to accept it.

"You're so good," Obi-Wan whispered.

A high-pitched chirp escaped Anakin. Helplessly, he stared at Obi-Wan until Obi-Wan leaned in, and his eyes slipped shut naturally. Obi-Wan caught his bottom lip, worrying the flesh gently, teasing Anakin with an almost-kiss. Desperate for more, Anakin reached for Obi-Wan with his hands, the durasteel cupping Obi-Wan's cheeks and covering the freckles. Obi-Wan nuzzled Anakin's palm, releasing Anakin's bottom lip to focus on Anakin's hands instead.

Despite the tension twisting Anakin's insides into knots, Anakin grinned wildly, Obi-Wan's cheek shifting in his hold when Obi-Wan smiled back.

"Hello, dear," Obi-Wan said. "You look enchanting today."

Anakin snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Do not," he argued, but his protest lacked heat -- too willing to believe and go along with Obi-Wan's poor judgment.

"No?" Obi-Wan asked. "Well, that's just too bad."

Obi-Wan leaned in until their noses bumped softly in a clumsy greeting. Anakin frowned, tilting his head back to capture Obi-Wan's lips. Obi-Wan let him in, meeting Anakin's rhythm as the kiss deepened.

Anakin gasped and sobbed, the sounds trapped between their lips. He burned through his oxygen, barely remembering he needed to breathe, but it didn't matter because Obi-Wan broke the kiss. Obi-Wan tipped his head forward so their foreheads touched, a sliver of space between their lips.

"You're in a hurry," Obi-Wan whispered.

"I've waited so long," Anakin sighed. Already, he sounded debauched. "I will explode, Master."

"Poor thing," Obi-Wan said in faux sympathy.

Anakin frowned, their foreheads shifting as his brows furrowed.

"I would like to see how you would do when you can't come."

"No need to yell," Obi-Wan chastised him. "I can hear you loud and clear. When you talked about this before, I should have asked. Let me rectify my mistake, dear. What does 'you can't come' mean, dearest?"

Anakin froze, his hands lifting to lay flat on Obi-Wan's pecs while his gaze skittered away. Why did he always say things in the heat of the moment he regretted immediately?

"Anakin, dear," Obi-Wan cooed, moving so his cheek touched Anakin's. The angle meant his voice whispered straight in Anakin's ear. Anakin was pinned completely under Obi-Wan's bulk, yet their bodies only touched where Anakin had raised his hands to Obi-Wan's chest, and Obi-Wan rested his cheek against Anakin. "I won't judge you."

Anakin snorted. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Obi-Wan."