Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Anakin examined the bruising around Obi-Wan's throat. It was deep purple, edged with green and yellow, the shadows of fingers imprinted violently on his skin. More bruises were sucked across his collarbone.

Anakin frowned, gently dabbing concealer across the worst areas. Obi-Wan sucked in a quick breath at the pressure.

Anakin’s teeth ground together. Obi-Wan was too old for this. He shouldn’t still be getting requested this often. Qui-Gon certainly hadn’t. From the stories Anakin had heard, his tonjaieh’s popularity had waned after his late twenties.

That was certainly not the case for Obi-Wan. If anything, he was getting more popular, especially since the start of the war.

Anakin squeezed the sponge blender a little too hard and his nails punctured it.

Obi-Wan cracked one eye open, then gently removed the sponge from Anakin’s grasp.

“It’s not fair,” Anakin spat, snatching back the beauty sponge and resuming his work. “You shouldn’t still be doing this. You’re too old.”

“Thank you, padawan,” Obi-Wan said, voice wry. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

Anakin glared. “You know what I mean.”

“I hardly think thirty is too old for anything,” Obi-Wan said.

“It’s too old for being throttled,” Anakan snapped. “If they want to play rough, they should request me.”

A hand fastened around his chin, lightening quick, and guided his face up. His jaieh met his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” Obi-Wan said, voice low and hard. “Never, ever say that. How would you feel if Ahsoka said that?”

Anakin averted his eyes. “Ahsoka’s different. She’s fourteen.”

“And in a few years, when she’s not?” Obi-Wan said. “You were fourteen once too, not too long ago.”

Anakin didn’t answer. It was different. He couldn’t explain it.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan dropped it.

“Nothing else?” he asked, when Anakin finished with the concealer.

“It’s just a meeting,” Anakin said. “I don’t think you need anything else.”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“And you?” he asked.

Anakin shook his head. “I don’t need anything.”

They were on leave on Coruscant currently, and that meant their schedules were always booked full of requests, but his last couple of ones had been women, and not particularly sadistic ones at that.

It wasn’t any better, in a lot of ways, but at least he didn’t have to reckon with any tearing or internal injury.

Anakin stood and helped Obi-Wan to his feet, feeling the older man wobble slightly in his grip.

After steadying himself, Obi-Wan pulled his hands back and smiled grimly.

“Well, then,” he said. “I suppose there’s no point in putting it off any longer. We wouldn’t want to keep anyone esteemed waiting.”

Anakin’s frown twisted back into a snarl, but he agreed.

“No,” he said. “No, we wouldn’t.”

They’d gotten word of the delegation a month prior. An anomaly in deep space had opened, bleeding distortion. No one had gone near it, but a ship had come out of it.

They were dimension travelers. The same anomaly had appeared in their universe, and their senate had sent a delegation of jedi of explore it. The fact that they were jedi surprised no one. The jedi weren’t people, after all, they were bodies to be thrown at problems. Who else would you send through a potentially dangerous anomaly?

The senate hadn’t wanted to risk displeasing the other senate, so they’d placed the foreign jedi in quarters within the senate itself and banned any requests on them.

The meetings between the two groups had dragged on for weeks. The foreign jedi had apparently been given diplomatic authority. Other than that, Obi-Wan hadn’t been informed of the specifics.

He doubted he’d be given much more information now, as he stood with his padawan in front of a regretful council.

“The senate had requested that you and Skywalker accompany the foreign jedi back to their universe. Skywalker will take his padawan as well.” Tonjaieh Yoda said regretfully, ears drooping.

“I see,” Obi-Wan said, voice cracking on the last word as the ache in his throat bloomed into fire. “Then we shall go.”

At least they were going together, Obi-Wan thought, focusing on the fact instead of the pain pulsing across the back of his thighs.

He hadn’t told Anakin about the belt marks, or any of his other hidable injuries. Anakin had enough to worry about, especially with Ahsoka, and he always seemed to be dangerously close to lashing out at people he couldn’t afford to lash out at.

Obi-Wan had already had several nightmares featuring him holding Ahsoka while Anakin was flogged to death in the temple courtyard.

He wished Anakin was still small enough to fit between the curve of Obi-Wan's body and the walls, bracketed safely in place, but he kept insisting on getting bigger and scrambling away.

And now he had a padawan, at the age of nineteen.

Obi-Wan tried very hard not to think about it.

“We were informed this morning,” Tonjaieh Yoda said. “You are required at the docks at five tonight.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Of course.”

The short notice wasn’t a large problem. It wasn’t like they had much to pack.

Jaieh Koon stepped forward and pressed a bag into Anakin’s hands.

“This is for you all,” he said. “Use it carefully.”

It would be ration bars and perhaps some medical supplies. Obi-Wan bowed in thanks, watching from the corner of his eye to ensure Anakin did the same.

“Thank you, jaieh,” he said. “We will endeavor to do our best.”

Chapter Text

Ashoka met her alternate’s eyes, her own widening.

Somehow, she hadn’t realized that there would be an alternate her, but she should have. There were alternates of both her jaieh and tonjaieh.

Her alternate was dressed skimpily, and Ashoka felt a shiver run through her stomach. Had that been a request? Was the age of request younger here?

Ashoka wasn’t a fool, she knew what her lineage was primarily used for. Some lineages were favored for certain types of missions, some as private guards, and some for any of the millions of other tasks that went into pampering the elite and keeping order in the galaxy. Her lineage happened to be favored for sex.

Her jaieh tried to shield her from it. He didn’t even let her put on his makeup, like she knew her tonjaieh had let him do when he was her age.

It infuriated her. She only had two years before reaching the age of request. He couldn’t protect her forever, and she was sick of watching him struggle through everything alone.

Some of his regulars had started looking at her, she knew. When her jaieh was out of sight, she even flirted with them a little bit, letting their hands stray just a tad bit more than what was appropriate.

Hopefully, in two years – well, more like one now –, they’re start requesting her, not him.

Given the look of her alternate, that might already be happening in this world. Ashoka clenched her fists, hidden within her draping sleeves.

“Hi!” her alternate said. “This is weird, but kinda cool, right?”

Ashoka nodded hesitantly. It was, from a certain perspective. It was also terrifying, not knowing expectations.

The excitement was slowly winning though.

A new dimension. It was undeniably cool.

And this was an extremely nice ship.

“Are we allowed to explore?” Ashoka asked.

Her alternate grinned. “Of course! Come on!”

Her alternate reached out her hand.

Ashoka took it.

Anakin wasn’t entirely sure what to make of his and Obi-Wan's alternates.

The padawans were off somewhere, probably exploring. It was safe enough, since there were only jedi and clones aboard.

They talked for a bit about nothing serious. Him and Obi-Wan tried to probe a bit into expectations, but their alternates deflected.

That either meant it wasn’t safe to talk about things here, or that things were so exponentially bad that they couldn’t bring themselves to explain things yet.

Anakin’s alternate’s comm beeped. He glanced at it.

“It’s the chancellor,” he said. “I need to step out.”

Anakin’s spine locked. He didn’t look at Obi-Wan. His eyes tracked his alternate as he exited the room.

Obi-Wan's alternate watched him too. He huffed, then turned back to them.

“I hate when he does that,” he said, voice purposefully light.

Obi-Wan thought he might be sick. It was fortunate his stomach mostly empty. He’d only had half a ration that morning, having given the other half to Ashoka.

The chancellor couldn’t do anything now, surely. They were still on the ship.

But it could be a request for when they got back. A party perhaps? To celebrate a successful mission?

The memory of Anakin’s first summons still haunted him. It'd been the chancellor, of course, and it had been for a party. His sixteen-year-old padawan had come back sobbing, covering in blood and bruises.

Obi-Wan had hoped, foolishly, naively, that things might be a little different here. A little kinder perhaps.

He should have known better. Any world run by the chancellor was a cruel one.

He sent a tendril of comfort Anakin’s way, then attempted to the same for his counterpart, but his shields were too high. Obi-Wan knew better than to push.

Bonds were a two-way street, and you didn’t pry into that sort of pain without permission.

Anakin, for his part, latched on to the comfort with his typical ferocity, wrapping himself in it. A few seconds later, he sent over his own attempt at comfort.

Obi-Wan could feel the helpless fear curdling the edges of it, but he appreciated it anyway.

His alternate was looking at him strangely and Obi-Wan did his best to straighten his shoulders further. He wished Cody was here. His commander always felt sturdy, like for once in his life Obi-Wan could collapse and have someone to catch him that could also protect him.

Obi-Wan knew the feeling was a lie. The clones were slaves. Battle slaves, yes, but slaves none the less. Cody couldn’t protect him anymore than his jaieh could.

But, gosh, it was nice to pretend.

“Will Anakin return soon?” he asked.

His alternate shook his head with what was probably well-practiced nonchalance.

“No,” he said. “The chancellor always insists on taking up a fair amount of his time.”

Only a thread of annoyance managed to creep into his tone. He was far more self-controlled than Obi-Wan had ever managed to be.

When it came to himself, Obi-Wan could smile and flirt and fake with the best of them, but Anakin always caused desperation to creep into his performance. It was something about his smile that ceased to be flirtatious and instead seemed to scream please, please please.

His alternate clearly didn’t have the same problem; his expression remained cool and collected.

“There’s an office down the hall,” he said. “The chairs are tolerably comfortable, if you’d like to relocate there?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said. “Lead the way.”

The chairs in the office were more than tolerably comfortable and Obi-Wan sunk into them with a sigh of relief.

They had lumbar support.

Next to him, Anakin stiffened as soon as he hit the cushion, breathing picking up just slightly.

His presence, when he reached out, was panicked, laced with memories of someone pressing him deeper into a different cushioned chair, one that was upholstered in the deep red of the chancellor’s office.

Obi-Wan did his best to smother the memories. He pushed the physical sensations currently playing across his own body across their bond to ground his padawan and encouraging him to synch up their breathing. After a few moments, Anakin relaxed minutely.

Obi-Wan considered asking after Anakin’s alternate again, then thought better of it. He asked about Ashoka instead. He hadn’t seen her yet.

“How is Ashoka in this world?” he asked.

Next to him, Anakin stiffened back up, their bond suddenly flooded outrage and images of Ashoka in a little tube top.

Obi-Wan's alternate waved his hand. “She’s as well as yours is, I assume. Energetic, enthusiastic, and entirely too chaotic for her own good. Her and Anakin feed off of each other, I swear.”

Yes, because that was what happened when you gave a nineteen-year-old a fourteen-year-old.

“And Anakin is still her master here?” he asked, just to be sure. Maybe they had assigned her to him in this world. That would be far better. He also purposefully used the common word for jaieh. If they were still speaking in euphemisms, then this area probably wasn’t secure either.

“Yes,” his alternate said. “I questioned the wisdom of it, but it is turning out slightly better than expected.”

The feeling of the cushion under him was still making Anakin slightly nauseous, despite his jaieh’s help, but the alternate’s praise settled his stomach somewhat.

He was trying with Ashoka. He was trying really, really hard, but the thought of messing her up make him want to crawl into some dark, deep hole and never come out. It was his alternate that had said he was doing a decent job, sure, but their situations were the same.

Some of that good job must transfer onto him, surely.

I’m doing a good job too? he sent his jaieh, more feeling than words. Just to be sure.

Yes, his jaieh sent back. A very good job.

Satisfaction uncurled in Anakin’s chest, and he settled deeper into the chair. Memories threatened him again, but his jaieh’s presence succeeded in warding them away this time, serene and strong in the force.

His jaieh and the alternate continued their conversation, and Anakin was content to let their voices wash over him.

Chapter Text

The ship was already pulling out of the docks when Rex received word of his general’s whereabouts. He staggered, started to run, then pulled up short. There was no point.

It’s a diplomatic mission, the natborn officer had finally sneered, once Rex had broken down and started begging him for information.

Rex settled for pacing in the hall, air panting in and out of his lungs and fists clenched so tight his fingernails punched through the skin, raising little half-moons of blood.

Diplomatic mission.

Rex knew exactly what that meant. It meant his general would be expected to sleep his way into good graces and a good deal.

Cody. He needed to call Cody. His general was on the ship too.

So was the little commander, for that matter. What if things were different in the other world? What if she was old enough for a request there? Even here she was almost of age.

Rex knew what some of the natborns thought of her. He’d heard the phrase “exotic beauty” being thrown around more than once.

Oh gosh, his little commander.

Rex barely made it to a nearby potted plant before heaving up the contents of his stomach. Please, please no. It was bad enough that he’d been essentially forced into the role of pimp for his general, sometimes being made to escort him to and from, but the thought of doing the same to Ahsoka was intolerable. Rex might rather die, if it didn’t mean leaving her alone.

He needed to get over there.

Cody would want to too. So would the rest of Ghost Company. They were all as protective of their general as he was.

He needed to call Cody. Cody would have a plan. That was what he and his general were good at: plans.

Rex fished out his comm with shaking fingers and maneuvered to the correct contact.

“What?” Cody said when he picked up.

“The generals,” Rex said. “They’re gone.”

There was a pause on the other side of the line, then: “Report.”

“Your general, my general, and the little commander were all sent back through the anomaly with the alternate ship. They left thirty minutes ago,” Rex said. “I don’t know why.”

Through the line, there was a deep breath.

“Be prepared to move,” Cody said, and hung up.

Rex lowered the comm and took his own deep breath. That was good. That meant Cody had at least an inkling of what to do.

He took out the comm again. He had a few more calls to make.

Cody was almost vibrating.

They sent his general through the anomaly without him.

His general was highly competent on his own. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was that his general was a self-sacrificing di’kut and, without Cody dragging him back, he was going to either get himself killed or worked into the ground.

Cody called Bail.

The senator picked up on the first ring.

“Commander,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“They took my general through the anomaly,” Cody said. “Without me.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line.

“I knew they were sending someone,” the senator said. “I didn’t realize it would be him. I'm sorry, commander.”

“Don’t be,” Cody said. Bail was one of the few people who didn’t need to apologize for anything, largely because he was one of the few people who requested his general for no other reason than tucking him – fully clothed – into bed and telling him to sleep.

Cody highly approved.

“Does the other dimension still have a war going on right now?” Cody asked, rather than waiting for Bail to insist on his apology.

“Yes,” Bail said. “I don’t see how that’s relevant though.”

“Well, surely it would be amiss to send three jedi into a warzone but not even one squad to support them?” Cody said. “As marshal commander, it is my professional advice that I am allowed to pick a few squads of men to send after them.”

Cody thought for another second, then added, “It could also work as a display of power – since we can spare the men – or as a show of solidarity, since we’re giving them more men.”

Cody was quite proud of that idea. It seemed his general was starting to wear off on in.

“You said three jedi?” Bail said. “Who are the others?”

“Skywalker and Tano,” Cody said.

There was the sound of typing on the line.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bail said. “Anything else, commander?”

“No, sir,” Cody said. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Bail said. “Please, call me anytime.”

The line went dead. Cody smiled grimly.

They wouldn’t be left behind, not for long.

Chapter Text

The alternate temple was warm.

Obi-Wan hadn’t expected that.

Back home, him, Anakin, and Ahsoka climbed into the same bed, stacking their scant blankets on top of each other until their little huddle reached a tolerable temperature.

Once, at the very beginning of the war, there had been a true power outage while they were on leave. The jedi temple had been the last to receive power of any sort and Anakin had spent nearly the entire time frantically rubbing Ahsoka’s hands and feet, blowing on them periodically to keep them from turning blue.

Anakin himself had almost lost his pinky toe because he wouldn’t stop long enough for Obi-Wan to do the same for him.

The air in this temple was blissfully, shockingly, warm. It wasn’t even the baseline cold the temple sat at normally, held just warm enough that they could live in it without risking injury.

Obi-Wan could even feel the heat pumping out through the vents when he passed by one.

His alternate smiled at him.

“Is it different from your temple?” he asked.

Obi-Wan realized his mouth was hanging slightly open and he snapped it shut.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is very different. How did you earn it?”

Now that the shock was wearing off, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel sick.

Once, when he was still a padawan, there had been an outbreak among the younglings. They were running through their entire stock of medicine, and the cold was only making things worse, despite the crechemaster’s best efforts.

The council had begged and bargained for more, for more heat and more medicine. His jaieh had long been waning in popularity, but he was still a favorite among some select circles and so had been sent to some of the parties.

Some of the adult jedi had offered themselves for private contracts. The senate had accepted some, then demanded padawans as well.

The council had sent a list.

Obi-Wan had spent the day hiding in their apartment, shaking and crying, praying that his picture wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye.

Three days, fifty parties and twenty private contracts – nine of whom were padawans - later, they were awarded two weeks of heat within the creche and enough medication to treat most of the younglings.

Looking back, Obi-Wan realized that that was what the Senate intended to do all along. They wouldn’t risk losing an entire generation of jedi.

They’d made them beg anyway.

But this temple had heat everywhere, and there was nothing to suggest that it was irregular.

What had they done? What were they doing?

“Earn it?” his alternate said. “We don’t have to earn it. The senate provides it.”

Of course the senate provided it. The senate provided everything. That didn’t mean they didn’t have to earn it.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “I know the senate provides it. What do you have to do in exchange for the senate providing it?”

Maybe they called it something different here. They did seem to be fans of euphemisms.

“We serve the Republic, I suppose,” his alternate said. “For now, that means fighting this war. Most of our other duties have ceased, if I’m being quite frank.”

Obi-Wan blinked, processing that.

That... could make sense? If most of the jedi were being used for war, and they were losing higher than normal amount of jedi, then it would make sense that they didn’t want to lose more to preventable causes.

Normally, the senate didn’t care. Death via neglect occurred decently often, especially among the younglings. It kept them desperate and afraid.

It also kept their numbers under control. Force sensitivity wasn’t uncommon by any means, and Obi-Wan was sure part of the neglect was purposeful population control. There was enough of them to serve, but no more.

If this dimension’s senate was worried about their numbers, then it would explain the heat.

Did that mean they also got extra rations? Obi-Wan's stomach twisted longingly at the thought.

“Does that mean we’re at standard rationing?” he asked. “Even for the younglings and non-combatants?”

Ever since the war started, the fighting jedi received standard rations, or at least something close to it, while on active duty. They didn’t want hunger compromising them. The same did not hold true for any jedi not currently fighting, even if they were just on leave.

Realistically, even jedi on active duty still didn’t get enough food, even with standard rations. Most jedi saved out at least a little of their food to give to the younglings the next time they returned to Coruscant.

“Yes,” his alternate said. “Of course.” His eyes sharpened. “Are you hungry?”

Yes, yes Obi-Wan was. He was desperately hungry.

“Yes,” he said. “Will the Anakins and Ahsokas be joining us?”

“They can,” his alternate said. “I’ll comm them.”

“Please,” Obi-Wan said and then, because it was never good to take food for granted, “Thank you very much. You are very generous.”

His alternate gave him an odd look.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’ll bring you to the dining area.”

The first thing Obi-Wan noticed about his alternate was how thin he looked. The second thing he noticed was how stressed he seemed, his presence a low thrum of tension within the force.

What had happened to him?

Actually, what had happened to all of them? Anakin’s and Ahsoka’s alternates weren’t any better, and the flash of pure rage his Anakin had reported when the alternate Anakin saw Ahsoka for the first time was concerning.

It was probably just the effects of the war, but it was still disconcerting.

Now they were in the temple, and things were getting more confusing. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure why he’d thought it was going to get better.

His alternate kept himself eerily still while they walked to the dining hall, hands tucked deep inside his robe’s billowing sleeves.

Obi-Wan wore robes often enough himself, of course, but the way his alternate wore his was... different, to say the least.

Obi-Wan wore his robes as clothes. His alternate appeared to be trying to use them as a shield, covering every inch of skin he conceivably could. It was a stark contrast to the alternate Anakin, who seemed to prefer to show as much skin as he could feasibly get away with in polite company.

It was bizarre, even without taking in his alternate’s odd reaction to the offer of food. And it was odd. His question about whether the Anakins and Ahsokas would be joining them had been hesitant, like he’d been expecting to be denied, and his gratitude had been almost palpable.

Had there been more severe shortages in their world?

Obi-Wan watched his alternate from the corner of his eye as they entered the dining room.

It was probably just the war.

It wasn’t like there was anything else it could be.

Chapter Text

Anakin was trying to find his alternate – he needed to ask about Ahsoka, it was driving him mad – when he heard the sounds.

He ducked behind a bush without thinking, pressing back against the wall and peering through the branches.

His alternate stumbled into view and was promptly pinned against a wall by Senator Amidala.

Anakin’s stomach plummeting into his boots. He hoped, desperately, that this wasn’t what it looked like.

The senator kissed his alternate. He faltered beneath her, then parted his lips submissively, letting her pillage his mouth with her tongue.

Anakin counted the seconds.

The senator didn’t let him up for air for nearly a minute, and, when she did, Anakin could see that his alternate’s lips looked bitten. His chest rose and fell in a ragged pattern instead of a steady one and his eyes looked hazy.

Anakin’s alternate jerked as the senator slid a hand under his shirt and up his chest, then he forced a flirtatious smile.

“Your room is only a few minutes away,” he said. “No one would notice if we stopped by for a moment.”

Anakin couldn’t blame him for asking for a more private space. Public sex, even when no one was technically around, was always a nightmare.

It was a risky move, though, especially if the senator though that he was trying to get out of something.

Thankfully, she seemed amused, though she did do something under his alternate’s shirt that made him jump.

Anakin winced in sympathy.

“No,” she said. “I suppose no one would. Though you would have to make the inconvenience up to me somehow. I have plenty of meetings I should be going to instead.”

She practically purred the last bit, eyes hooded with satisfaction at her own cleverness.

Anakin’s stomach twisted itself into a knot. Sex in meetings – or at least in private meetings between like-minded individuals – wasn't terribly uncommon.

There were also few things that Anakin hated more than being passed around like a toy, being placed on laps and under tables at equal turns while more powerful people talked business above his head.

There were plenty of scenarios that were more brutal, more painful, but nothing could beat a meeting for sheer dehumanization.

Clearly, his alternate felt the same way, as he readily agreed to the senator’s demand.

The senator’s smile widened, and she let him off the wall.

His alternate was just as skilled as he was, Anakin would give him that. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his alternate was eager, even when the senator grabbed his wrist and pulled him around the corner.

He hoped she wouldn’t be too rough with him, even though he had bargained for a private room.

Anakin watched the hallway for a long time, trying to calm the roiling acid making its way up his throat and hold back the hot tears of betrayal threatening to overspill.

Senator Amidala was supposed to be safe. She only ever requested him to feed him, or to let him rest. Very rarely, she wanted some entertainment, but it never went farther than a game of dejarik.

Early on, he’d tried to convince her to let him brush her hair or give her massage, to do anything that wasn’t sex that might feel good, so that she would decide to keep requesting him. So that he might be able to, someday, convince her to request his jaieh too.

She’d always firmly rebuffed him, even when he contorted himself into something enticing and young, on his knees with his head on her thighs.

Now, two years later, Anakin could almost trust it, the regular requests that resulted in nothing more than a hot meal and a soft bed. She even requested his jaieh sometimes, when the mood struck her.

But here -

Anakin choked on the rapidly growing knot in his throat.

It took a moment to remember how his legs worked, but he eventually managed to stumble back into the main hallway and through another doorway.

He needed his jaieh.

The rooms Obi-Wan was given were shockingly nice. They looked like a place where he would receive a request, not somewhere he would live.

And yet, there had been no mention of a request, only the acknowledgement that these were, in fact, the rooms they were to stay in.

Obi-Wan tentatively ran his fingers over the couch in the small living room. It was old, but in good condition. Not a single portion of it was threadbare. There was even a throw blanket tossed over the arm. Obi-Wan poked it and nearly gasped at its softness.

A warm glow started in his stomach.

It was good to see that, even in this strange world, the jedi remained kind. They had given them what was likely one of their nicest rooms, so that they could be comfortable while they were uprooted.

Obi-Wan dropped onto the couch, drawing the blanket closer around himself. He wondered who had sacrificed to earn it and he took a moment to silently thank them before settling deeper into the couch.

The door to the apartments banged open, then shut, and Obi-Wan's lap was suddenly full of overly grown, sobbing padawan.

He could tell immediately that Anakin was too distraught to speak, so he simply put his arms around him, carding one hand through his hair, and ignored the way his legs were already going numb.

It took twenty minutes for Anakin to stop shuddering quite so badly and start trying to talk.

“Slowly, padawan,” Obi-Wan said, after the second time Anakin choked on his own words.

Anakin, for his part, tried his best, dragging in a few long, gasping breaths before making another attempt.

“I saw my alternate,” he said.

“I see,” Obi-Wan said. “And what did you see him doing?”

Anakin let out another sob and buried his face in Obi-Wan's shoulder, hunching down so he was short enough to fit.

“Senator Amidala was with him,” he whispered. He faltered again, then: “She kissed him.”

Obi-Wan let his own head fall back, but he made sure to keep rubbing Anakin’s back.

That was disappointing. It was heartbreakingly, nauseatingly disappointing.

It was also so predictable.

He had seen the way the senator looked at his padawan sometimes, especially when they were both younger.

He’d kept a careful eye on them throughout the aftermath of the Battle of Naboo, ready to step in if he ever felt like the young queen needed a reminder that the age of request was sixteen, not nine.

When the newly appointed senator had arrived at the senate and immediately requested Anakin, Obi-Wan had been sure he knew what was happening. She had a reputation for benevolence, but everyone had their vices. Obi-Wan had just hoped that that benevolence would result in a kinder experience for his padawan.

Then his padawan had come back untouched and cautiously optimistic, and Obi-Wan hadn’t had the heart to tell him that some senators liked to play at courtship.

But then months passed, and she still didn’t touch him. She never even kissed him.

It baffled Obi-Wan.

Sure, some senators – like Senator Bail – requested certain jedi with the intention of helping them, but none of them looked at their jedi the way Senator Amidala looked at Anakin.

And yet – two years in, and Senator Amidala had never so much as ordered Anakin to his knees. Obi-Wan was almost starting to believe that, while she was attracted to Anakin, she would never act on that attraction, that she was truly trying to help Anakin, just like Senator Bail tried to help Obi-Wan

It must have taken a large amount of self-restraint on her part, though, especially when everyone expected her to indulge herself. The Senator Amidala of their world had remained strong.

It made sense that there were worlds where she had not.

His padawan’s sobs renewed, hands clutched at Obi-Wan's robes. Obi-Wan just held him.

There was nothing else he could do, other than do his absolute best to ensure Anakin was never alone with her. She already had one Anakin, surely she wouldn’t try overly hard to obtain a second one.