Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Anakin… I need to speak to you.”

There were only ever two occasions that Watto used Anakin’s full name: when he was in front of someone who wouldn’t view Watto favourably for referring to a grown man with a ‘cute’ name, or when he wanted something. As Anakin could hear no one’s footsteps trailing behind the frantic buzz of Watto’s small wings, Anakin figured it was the latter.

Of course it was.

Letting out a sigh he knew Watto could hear, he dropped the screwdriver next to the guts of the engine he had pulled apart and swiveled around on his stool. Shoving his goggles up, he rested them on the top of his head and peered at Watto through the dusty gloom of the shop. Watto remained hovering behind the shop counter, his sun hat grasped in his hands with his cigar slowly burning away as it hung precariously from his limp bottom lip.

If Anakin didn’t know any better, he’d say Watto was nervous. But Anakin did know Watto. It was all an act - it always was.

“What?” he said. Grabbing the rag next to him he started cleaning off his hands. One day he’d have clean nails…

“You know how I haven’t been at the shop much recently? It’s because I’ve been making new friends, you see, with uh… different groups here on Tatooine.”

Anakin snorted. “You mean the Hutts?”

Watto glared. “Not so loud, Ani. I run a reputable establishment here. If one of my customers heard you even say their name they’ll walk out of here and go over to Pickman’s. We can’t have that now, can we?”

“I mean, we could. In fact, most people go there anyway.”

“Ey, they only go because they’ve got a new twi’lek working the shops. As soon as they realize Pickman charges them twice what we do, and their work is half the quality of ours, they’ll come running back. You’ll see.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and tossed the rag back down on the counter. Hooking his heel on the edge of the base of his stool, he watched as Watto slowly hovered over the counter before dropping down onto it like a sack of tatos. He really didn’t want to encourage Watto’s delusion of the shop returning to its former glory - if it ever had any glory to begin with - but he also wanted to get back to work on the engine. So, with no small amount of reticent, he played along.

“So, about your new… friends.”

Watto grinned and pulled his cigar out of his mouth, flicking the ash down onto the sandy floor. “You know how I’ve been doing favours for them recently?”

“You mean smuggling drugs and people and other junk out of the system for them?”

“Ani, I’m not smuggling drugs or people. I’m just… allowing them to do it via my shop.”

“Yeah, sure. You’re just turning a blind eye to it all, huh?”

Watto shrugged. “What they do here in the middle of the night is not my business.”

“Except it is your business. Quite literally.”

Watto let out an exaggerated groan and waved his hand at Anakin. “Ani, Ani, Ani. Always obsessing over the details.” His demeanour suddenly changed, a small smile breaking out across his wrinkled face. “See, that’s why I took you on when you were a kid, eh? You could see the details.”

“Or it’s because your slave - my mother - got pregnant, and you agreed to keep her if you could exploit her child.”

“You’re so critical, Ani. I could have left your mother to the streets, but did I? No!”

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek and squeezed his knee tightly. They’d had this conversation before, a million different times in a million different ways. But it always came back to one profound truth: Watto was a slave owner. Whatever else he claimed to be - a professional business man, a ‘friend’ of the Hutts, a not-smuggler - didn’t matter.

But what Anakin thought also didn’t matter. After all, he was just some ‘poor unfortunate’ that Watto ‘saved’ along with his mother. Nothing Anakin had ever said, or ever threatened, or ever did mattered to Watto so long as Anakin still did his job. Which he did, despite himself. After all, Anakin’s rage and indignation wouldn’t sustain him or his mother for long, no matter how much it heated his belly and satisfied his soul.

“What did you want?” he asked finally.

Watto’s grin returned. “My friends came to realize the incredible work I’ve been helping them with, and they’ve invited me to an event on Zeltros.”

Zeltros. Anakin had never heard of it, which meant it was probably a nice planet - somewhere where the rich and the fortunate went to exploit people like Anakin. “That’s… good?”

It was Watto’s turn to roll his eyes. “Ay, Ani, you’ve never been curious enough about the rest of the galaxy.”

Anakin gripped his knee until it hurt. “Maybe because I’m not allowed off world.”

“Well, maybe this is your time…”

The temptation hung in the air between them. Anakin didn’t dare take a bite, however. He’d been humiliated before - had his hopes raised only to see them dashed across the dirty floors beneath his feet. But the need to know more hung delicately between them even so; tempting and sweet like a sugary treat or a fresh bit of fruit.

Anakin wanted to know more, but didn’t dare prompt Watto.“So you’re going to Zeltros for a meeting with your… friends? To discuss your drug smuggling?”

Watto shook his head. His cigar was long since abandoned, thick piles of ash building on the top of it that floated off with each movement of his hand. “This is a reputable event, Ani. I mean it. Politicians, artists, celebrities, business men such as myself - they’ll all be going to the event. It is the place to be seen, Ani. And it’s entirely legitimate.”

Anakin had never heard Watto say ‘entirely legitimate’ and believed it. “And you want me to look over the shop while you’re off-world?”

“I need you to come with me.”

Blinking slowly, Anakin released the grip on his knee just a fraction. Between them the sweet temptation continued to hover, feeding Anakin with something akin to… excitement. But still he didn’t take the bait. There was a catch - there was always a catch.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, you know… I’m just starting out, you see. And I want to arrive at the event as prepared as my peers are.”

Dread fluttered through Anakin’s chest. “You… you don’t want me to pose as your… concubine, do you?”

Watto, for his part, seemed genuinely disturbed and shocked by the suggestion. He sat back and pressed his hand against his chest, showering his stained shirt with more cigar ash. He made a series of quick sputtering sounds that reminded Anakin of a broken G9 Rigger. “A concubine? A concubine? Ani, just who do you take me for? Some low level— some sort of man who would— you’re not even my type.”

Relief coursed through Anakin. He wasn’t even offended that he wasn’t Watto’s type. He was fairly certain no one wanted to be Watto’s type.

Seemingly getting a grip over himself, Watto leaned in a little. He stunk of smoke, grease, and sweat, making Anakin’s nose itch. “Being in the sort of business that I am, it comes with certain uh… dangers. So I need someone to protect me. I need a bodyguard, Ani.”

Anakin almost laughed. In fact, he was fairly certain the small squeak of air that skittered through the shop wasn’t a release valve of some sort. “What in Sith’s name makes you think I would ever take a blaster bolt for you?”

“Ay, Ani, come on. I’m like an uncle to you. You wouldn’t let your uncle be shot, would you?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Watto shoved his hand against his chest again, and made an exaggerated grunting sound as he sat back on the counter. “You’re cruel, Ani. So cruel.”

“And you’re a fool, Watto, if you think I’d be any good at being a bodyguard. Go hire one of the goons down the street for you. I hear Glabdor, the Trandoshan, is looking for work.”

“He lost both his eyes,” Watto said. “How can I rely on a merc with no eyes?” Anakin shrugged and turned to go back to work, but was stopped when Watto hopped off the counter and flew next to him. “I don’t expect you to actually perform as a bodyguard, Ani. I just need to, you know… look like a professional. Every one of these businessmen have full entourages with them. If I show up all alone, I won’t get the respect I deserve.”

Anakin laughed this time. “So you just want to fit in with your friends?”

“Ay, Ani, you make it sound stupid. But my reputation is on the line. How I present myself is important. And you’re… well, you’re large and full grown, Ani. Impressive for a human, I suppose. Your glower alone will keep most people away, eh? And you’ll be allowed to glare at whoever you want. You don’t have to pretend to be nice.”

Watto could make Anakin do it. There wasn’t anything stopping him from forcing Anakin’s hand, save for the fact that the last time he’d threatened Anakin, Anakin had threatened back. It turned out that Watto had more to lose than Anakin did. But the fact that Watto was asking did mean something. Anakin just wasn’t sure what.

Still. Anakin had leverage. If Watto wasn’t going to force him to do it, Anakin could demand something of his own.

“I’ll do it,” Anakin began, “under the condition that you give my mum three weeks off immediately after we get back.”

Watto’s jubilation stuttered, his smile falling slightly. “Three weeks? Ani, I don’t—”

“You’ll look like an idiot if I don’t go,” Anakin said quickly. “You said so yourself - what kind of businessman shows up all alone to such an important event? No one will take you seriously.”

“Ani…”

“Watto…”

Watto hesitated a moment longer, before he sighed and stuck his hand out. “It’s a deal. But you’re expected to make up for your mother’s lost productivity during those three weeks, alright?”

Anakin nodded and took Watto’s hand in his own, confirming his commitment with a terse shake.

Anything for his mum.

XXX

“Zeltros? With Watto?”

Anakin tried very hard not to roll his eyes and sigh as he dropped his spoon in his empty bowl. Looking up at his mother, he nodded. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

Multiple times, in fact.

“I still don’t understand why Watto of all people would be going to Zeltros.”

Anakin had left a lot of details out when describing the situation to his mother. Most, in fact. All he wanted her to know was that he was going away for a week, and when he returned she could go and do whatever she liked for the next three. She didn’t need to know about Watto’s new ‘friends’, or how many and what sort of strings came attached with said friendships. And she definitely didn’t need to know that it was Anakin who would be expected to ‘step in’ should anything actually happen.

“He’s looking for parts for luxury ships,” Anakin lied. “He thinks that he can cater to a richer client base if he’s already got the parts in stock. You know how he’s always trying to expand his business.”

His mother shrugged and pressed her lips tight together. She wasn’t buying it. “Alright, I trust you.” Anakin’s stomach tightened. Standing, he helped her collect the dishes before dumping them in the kitchen sink. As she started cleaning with the recycled water and he began drying, she spoke again. “I’ve heard Zeltros is quite fancy. You must be excited that it will be your first off-world visit.”

“I am…” Anakin said.

His mother nudged him gently with her elbow. “You could feign more enthusiasm.”

Ever since he’d been given time to think about what he’d agreed to, Anakin couldn’t shake the anxiety that crept through him like the chill of midnight shadows. It was as his mother had said: Anakin had never been off-world, let alone to some place that could only be described as luxury in excess. The most luxurious place in Mos Espa was a bathhouse in the centre of town that had fresh, clean running water at all hours of the day, and didn’t reek of stale piss and rotting garbage. And Anakin hadn’t even visited there.

So how was he expected to navigate a whole new planet, with different customs and different expectations? He was a slave from Tatooine, not a bodyguard and certainly not equipped for it. Anakin could fight, certainly, but all the fights he’d been in were brawls with the locals. If Watto was actually correct in his danger assessment, Anakin wasn’t certain he’d be able to protect him.

Not that he really relished in the idea of saving Watto, but he was his only ticket back to Tatooine. And his only ticket back to his mother.

“It’s just a lot,” Anakin confessed. “The farthest I’ve been was to Mos Eisley, and that was only for a night. Going off-world for a week and leaving you with everything… I just don’t like it.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and the shop while you’re away,” she said as she passed a bowl to Anakin. “You forget that I was mostly running things before you were born. Watto’s gambling addiction was even worse back then. There were weeks where he wouldn’t show up and I was left to keep the shop going.”

“You should have just run.”

“Anakin, you know it’s not that simple.”

“I know.”

A slave wasn’t able to feel their transmitter chip, but it weighed down on them all the same. Like a knife that hovered above the back of their necks, sharp, sweet malice felt with each gentle swipe.

“You’ll need to clean under your fingernails if you want to blend in with polite company,” his mother said, dragging Anakin back to the present.

Scrunching his face, he dropped the last of the cutlery into the basket next to the sink. “It’s not that bad.”

“And you’ll need to actually brush out your hair,” she said. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. He let her do as she pleased, her touch gentle as she shook out his curls before braiding a small piece of hair behind his ear. “You almost look like a Padawan. You know, from those Jedi books you used to read.”

“I haven’t thought about those books in ages.”

“They gave you a nice escape for a little while.”

“They were idealistic and gave me stupid ideas about becoming a Jedi myself.”

His mother’s hands faltered slightly, her smile dropping just a little. Her eyes, usually warm and kind, were now clouded with a melancholy that she thought she hid well, but Anakin always saw. “Don’t be so unkind to yourself. There is nothing wrong with a little idealism. Especially in the world we live in. Sometimes hope is all we have.”

Dropping her hands, she patted Anakin’s cheek before she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Swallowing his emotions, Anakin bit his bottom lip and stared down at the stone and wooden bowls and plates. The stone ones were chipped and the wooden ones had lost their luster, scratches on the insides from repeated use. They’d had them ever since Anakin could remember, used and re-used and then used again, until they eventually turned to dust.

Picking them up, he put them away with hardened hands that would never be soft. When he was done, he walked down the hall toward his room, but stopped when he caught his reflection in the fresher’s mirror. The braid his mother had given him lay in amongst his messy curls, hidden almost save for the different pattern. Approaching the mirror he studied the braid. It was neat and pleated, the end curled upward. Anakin had tried to create the same pattern when he was a kid, desperate to be chosen like the children he read about in his books.

But a Jedi never came to rescue him and his mother from this life. It was all just a fantasy story, thought up by a desperate, stupid kid who didn’t want to accept the fact that this was it. This was his life. And there was no changing it.

He pulled at the pleats and ran his fingers through it, quickly destroying whatever evidence there was of it.

XXX

Staring at the beaded door of the bathhouse, Anakin gripped the credit chits in his pocket a little harder. Above him a sign glittered with sequins and neon lights, while soft harp music played out onto the busy streets through old speakers built into the stone walls. Every now and again Anakin caught the scent of flowers and herbs he didn’t recognize, pleasant and sweet.

Watto had given him the afternoon off along with a pocket of credits to ‘clean himself up.’ When Anakin asked Watto if he was going to do the same, or if he intended to keep the thick layer of grime he’d built up after years of not washing, Watto shoved him out the door with a reminder to respect his elders.

It wasn’t as if Anakin was fully against the idea of going to the bathhouse. Of all the establishments in Mos Espa, it was at the very least slightly more reputable. And it did smell nice inside, Anakin would give it that. But the thought of getting undressed in front of strangers and - worse yet - having them touch him was unpleasant, to say the least. Anakin was a slave - by rights and by the laws on Tatooine, he didn’t even own his body. But he still had dominion over who was and wasn’t allowed to touch him. Take that away and Anakin had no consent whatsoever.

But his mum said he deserved pampering, he deserved a nice place to visit for a change, and he deserved to rest in clean water that hadn’t been recycled six hundred times over, and smelled of cleaning chemicals and rust.

And she was right. He did.

Swinging his pack further on to his shoulder, Anakin entered the bathhouse. Immediately he was swept up in a cloud of perfume, thick in the back of his throat. The air was muggy and wet, and Anakin immediately felt like he was going to suffocate. Taking in a deep breath, and then another, Anakin tried to relax himself even as the air seemed to stick to his ribs with each laboured breath.

Stepping in further, he approached the front desk. Behind it was a Twi’lek, her dark eyes framed with black liner and gold eyeshadow that flickered with each slow blink. She smiled when she saw Anakin, making his cheeks grow even hotter.

“Hello, sir. I don’t recognize you, and I know I’d recognize a pretty face such as yours. Is this your first time at Kandria’s Bathhouse?”

Anakin smiled tightly. “Yes… ma’am.”

The Twi’lek’s smile brightened, and she walked around the counter with a datapad in her hand. Anakin noticed that she was wearing very little, her blue skin shimmering with sweat. He looked back up and focused desperately on the datapad she presented to him. “We have a list of services we provide, along with the prices of each service. We ask that you pay upfront, and leave all your personal belongings in the lockers just behind the desk.” She touched Anakin’s hand as she passed the pad over to him - brief but scalding - before continuing. “I understand this is overwhelming if you’ve never been here before, so please let me know if you have any questions.”

Anakin had questions. He had many, in fact, most of them about if he could just get a bath without embarrassing himself.

“I uh… I just want a bath. And maybe a haircut.”

The Twi’lek’s smile didn’t dampen. In fact she seemed quite pleased. “We offer whatever you may desire here - including baths and haircuts. Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

“Yes,” he said, and was grateful his voice didn’t crack.

“Very well. Let me see who is available. Would you prefer a man or a woman? Human or Twi’lek? Togruta, Nautolan, Gamorrean? What about Zabrak?”

Anakin stared down at the wooden counter top. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Twi’lek’s chest rise and fall with each soft breath. “Um. Whoever can give me a bath and a haircut. And just that. I just want a bath. I don’t want anything else.”

She laughed then, pretty and sweet, and touched Anakin’s arm. “Alright, sweet thing. Don’t worry, we won't get up to any funny business.”

His blush deepened, and Anakin thought for a moment he might pass out from all that was going on. But then the Twi’lek moved out of his orbit and back around to the other side of the counter, freeing him from her heat. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he watched as she typed away at the console in front of her, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. Then her expression returned to relaxed, and she smiled at Anakin once more.

“I have just the person for you.”

He paid the amount that she quoted, using Watto’s unusually generous amount of credit to do so. He watched as she slipped the money into a secure case beneath the centre console, adding it to an already large pile of chits. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall, he noted it was still early in the day.

Following her through the dark hallways of the bathhouse, Anakin kept his gaze forward as they passed numerous curtained rooms. They eventually walked through a large room in the centre of the bathhouse, steam and perfume curling up from the massive bath in the middle. People of all different backgrounds lounged in the waters and along the edges, some undressed completely while others kept towels over their modesty.

Anakin relaxed a little then. So this was a bathhouse in addition to being a bathhouse.

Leaving the room, they entered another hallway, this time brightly lit with skylights up above. He was led into the second room on the left and was greeted with the sight of a bath in the corner as well as a dresser with a variety of ointments, gels, perfumes, and scissors laid out on top. And in the middle of the room was a large male Zabrak, his black and yellow skin hidden beneath white robes that swaddled his impressive form.

He smiled, but it did little to ease the severity of his features.

“This is Garo,” the Twi’lek said. “He’ll be looking after you today. Did you need anything else before I go?”

Anakin shook his head. The Twi’lek left then, her perfume lingering next to Anakin for a short time afterward. Standing awkwardly in the doorway, Anakin’s gaze flicked from Garo’s large form to the bath and then back again.

“Hello,” Garo said. His voice was deep but oddly soft, soothing Anakin a little.

“Hi,” Anakin said. He glanced up at Garo finally, locking eyes with him. “I’m Anakin.”

“Anakin. Please, be welcome,” he said as he guided Anakin further inside.

He too smelled of dense perfumes, cinnamon and something else swirling about as he led Anakin to the bath. It was already filled with clean, hot water, petals of various flowers drifting along on top. Anakin had never been so near so much clean, clear water before. It was almost overwhelming.

“Are you from Tatooine?” Garo asked.

Anakin nodded. “I’m a slave. My Master wanted me to get cleaned up for an event off-world.”

“Ah, I see. Did he have any special requests?”

“No,” Anakin said sharply. He looked up at Garo. “I’m not that type of slave.”

Garo smiled and bowed slightly. “I apologize.”

Anakin relaxed a little then. Garo understood. Garo knew what it was like to own nothing - not even yourself.

“I just need to look professional,” Anakin continued. “It’s some fancy event and I’m supposed to look like a bodyguard.”

Garo made a little sound in the back of his throat. “I’ve had some clients associated with the Hutts come in recently asking for a similar treatment. Perhaps you’re going to the same event.”

“Probably,” Anakin grumbled.

“Would you like me to be present while you undress?”

Anakin stiffened. He’d almost forgotten that he was expected to undress. Stranger or no, Anakin had never been naked in front of someone else. Sensing Anakin’s discomfort, Garo made toward the exit. “I’ll let you undress and get comfortable in the bath. Call for me when you’re settled and I’ll return to wash your hair and back.”

Anakin waited until the door had been shut before he dropped his pack and undressed. The tiles beneath his feet were warm to the touch while the thick air wrapped tight around his body, easing the discomfort somewhat as he shed his well-worn cotton and linen clothes. Once undressed, he stared down at the water. He’d bathed a few times over his life, but it had always been in dirty ponds that formed just outside the city, sand and silt and garbage collecting on the bottom that knocked against his legs and filtered uncomfortably through his toes. He mostly stuck to the fresher, using the recycled water they collected from the pumps deep in the earth. It always smelled vaguely of dirt.

But this was clean and fresh, collected from the lakes that still survived nearby, filtered and filtered and then filtered again, before it was dumped into the large collection basins that were heavily guarded by armed security guards in the basement of the bathhouse.

Anakin felt almost unworthy.

Almost.

Sliding into the bath, Anakin let out a deep groan as the hot water curled around his sore limbs. Immediately he plunged down into the water, letting it cover him entirely. He’d not felt such immense relief - a total release of all his stress and tight knots and curled anxieties - in a long, long time. Perhaps ever. Sitting back up, the water splashed loudly around him as he floated in the large basin. Pushing his hair back from his eyes, he ran his hand over his face and sat back in the tub.

“Anakin?”

A knock at the door broke Anakin from his reverie, and he curled in on himself, knees tucked up against his chest and chin resting in the water as he called for Garo to enter. Garo came back still covered in his robes, his head ducked in deference. Anakin’s stomach clenched slightly at the sight.

“Would you like assistance in your bathing?” Garo asked as he pushed a cart filled with shampoos and soaps towards the bath.

“Just my hair?”

Garo smiled and nodded. Grabbing one of the shampoos, he pumped the liquid into his large, broad hand before seating himself behind the tub. As soon as he started massaging Anakin’s skull, Anakin thought he’d died and become one with the Force. It felt good - the pressure, the sensation, even the sound of the soaps working through his tangled curls. Leaning back slightly, Anakin enjoyed the pampering for what it was.

By the time he was finished in the bath Anakin felt clean for the first time. There was no residue on his body, no flecks of dirt and sand between his toes and in every crevice. His skin was pink and soft, and he smelled like rich perfumes and not motor oil and grease from the guts of the engines he tore into day after day.

Garo gave him his privacy once again so he could dress in one of the robes left behind. When he sat on the chair in front of the mirror on the dresser, he was presented with an entirely different man. His eyes looked brighter, his skin flush and clean, his curls more golden and shiny. For a second he felt like a person and not a slave, stuck on an Outer Rim planet that deserved the reputation it had.

When Garo returned Anakin felt more relaxed under his watchful eye. As he ran his fingers through Anakin’s curls, he hummed and inspected with great care before he grabbed the scissors and started trimming. He kept the curls at relatively the same length, but brought them up more along his face to frame his jaw and cheeks. Afterward he grabbed a slim blade and leaned Anakin back on the chair, before slathering his jaw and cheeks with a cream that smelled strongly of mint.

“Lets clean up these hairs, hm?” Garo mumbled, his hulking form looming over Anakin.

Anakin appreciated it. He also appreciated Garo’s lie. They both knew he could barely grow any facial hair of note.

Closing his eyes he trusted Garo to do his work. It was nice to be touched with kind hands. It was also nice to be able to let go, if only for a moment.

When Garo was done he sat Anakin back up slowly before he applied more perfumed oils along Anakin’s hair and skin. “I’ll give you some samples of these,” Garo said as he pressed his fingers against Anakin’s temples, massaging the muscles. “You apply the oils to the corners of your jaw, the back of your neck, your sternum, and if you’re feeling bold, the soft places of your inner thighs.”

“I… okay.”

“Wherever you’re going will have their own soaps and shampoos, I’m sure, but in case not I’ll send you with some so you can keep fresh for the event.”

“Thank you.”

“If you really want to dazzle, I can have Kandri come in and show you how to apply some makeup.”

Anakin’s cheeks reddened. “No, I think I’m okay. I’m a bodyguard, remember?”

Garo smiled at Anakin through the reflection of the window. “Right.” Just as Anakin thought he was done, however, he came back around and grabbed Anakin’s hands. He made a sound before looking at Anakin with something akin to disappointment. “These hands have seen a lot - these nails have seen a lot. Mind if I clean them a little?”

Anakin held back a laugh. “My mum would love it if you did.”

XXX

Standing on the loading dock behind Watto’s shop, Anakin stared at Watto’s VCX freighter. Watto had tried to improve the image of the ship by giving it a new slick of red paint that ran along the front and sides of it, but it was like trying to make a Bantha pretty by shellacking it with lipstick. It just wouldn’t hide the fact that it was a Bantha wearing makeup, just like it was obvious that Watto’s ship was still a light freighter that had been slapped together with spare parts scrounged from the yard.

Still, Anakin knew it ran well. It ought to - he’d rebuilt most of it.

“I’ve come up with a story,” Watto said, as if he knew what Aankin was thinking. “We were on our way in my personal Petite Opu-Yacht when we ran into mechanical issues just outside of Zeltros’ space. Not wanting to be late, I decided we’d take the freighter that was offered to us, and I’d come back and fix my yacht with my own two talented hands after the event. How does that sound, Ani?”

“Like you’re trying to hide the fact that the freighter is your ship.”

Watto waved Anakin off. “You’ve no imagination. It’ll be perfect. Besides, if all goes well this weekend, I’ll be able to afford an entire fleet of Petite Opu-Yachts! And I can kick this clanking piece of shit to the curb.”

Anakin frowned. He didn’t like it when Watto talked to the machines like that. While the droid crew finished up their last inspection, Anakin turned and approached his mother as she stood beneath the shelter of a small awning outside the shop.

Immediately he swept her up in a tight hug, his face pressed against her neck.

“Be good, Anakin,” she said as she petted his newly cut curls. “Don’t accept any offers while you’re there, don’t speak to anyone unless you absolutely have to, and leave all personal details out. And look after Watto.”

Anakin sighed and pulled away. “Do I have to do the last part?”

“He’s been good to us, all things considered. If something happens to him… well. Let's just say we might not be as lucky.”

Anakin hated this. Hated that his mother’s entire life was based on the will and whims of someone like Watto. That she couldn’t do as she pleased, think as she pleased, say what she meant and act as she wanted. She couldn’t leave this planet stained with their collective misery and regret, and go make a life for herself in some place that breathed life and sheltered the needy and the wanting.

But most of all, he hated that she was right. Watto was better than most of the slave owners on their godforsaken rock of a planet.

“I kept some of the credits Watto gave me when I went to the bathhouse. I’m going to buy you something when I’m on Zeltros.”

His mother smiled and patted his cheek. “All I need are your stories when you return.”

“I’m sure I’ll have plenty to tell.”

She kissed his cheek and let him go. Anakin’s chest tightened, the loss of her touch already felt so heavily. He hadn’t been without her all his life. It was only for a few days, and yet it seemed so unendingly long. They were a team, the two of them.

“Be good,” she reminded him as he walked toward the ship.

Watto was already inside and powering it up, the sound of the engines turning on blocking whatever Anakin could say to his mother. He yelled it anyway as he boarded the gangplank. “I love you!”

Stepping into the ship, Anakin dropped his backpack in the loading bay and hurried up to the cockpit. Watto was already sitting in the passenger seat, his little feet kicked up on the console. He smiled at Anakin before scratching his jaw, the sound of his rough stubble pressing against his fingers unpleasant and grating.

It was going to be a long trip.

Sitting down, Anakin set everything up to his liking before he settled in his seat. Waiting for the go-ahead from the small droids, Anakin lifted the control column. Dust and sand kicked up around them, muddying the ground, but Anakin turned the ship away from the blast and pointed it toward the endless blue above them.

“Let’s get away from these suns, eh, Ani?”

Anakin relaxed his shoulders and nodded. “Yeah, let’s get away from it all.”

Chapter Text

Anakin didn’t know what to expect when they arrived on Zeltros. He’d stopped daydreaming about visiting every planet in the galaxy when he was still young, the fantasy nothing but a distraction that hurt, like a sharp stinging in the centre of his sternum that flared any time he thought too long about something other than his lived reality. To Anakin, the world was made up of other planets like Tatooine - barren, brutal, mean.

He couldn’t bear it to know that that wasn’t the case.

But when they landed their ship just on the outskirts of one of the main cities, Anakin was struck by the reality that no - not everyone lived like he did.

Zeltros was a planet made up entirely of revelry. It was in a constant state of joy, parties and large events taking place most every night right across the planet’s surface. From its large beaches with pristine sands and tall palm trees, to its dense gardens and forests with plants that smelled like fizzy drinks and animals that sang their joyful songs into the air up above. And even the air was made to tease and titillate, pheromones that relaxed and encouraged happiness naturally filtered through the planet’s pink, hazy atmosphere.

As Anakin landed the ship he couldn’t help but stare out into the forest next to their landing pad. Green upon green upon green stretched ahead of him, with large, beautiful buildings dotted in between, including one that looked exactly like a castle from one of Anakin’s old picture books. Anakin had never seen so much life before. It almost hurt to look upon it. Blinking back the colours as they swam, Anakin finished the landing before he jumped up from his chair and ran to the loading bay, ignoring Watto’s squeaks of curiosity.

Pressing the button to lower the gangplank, Anakin hurried out as it dropped, jumping off the end. Practically running out of the ship, Anakin came to a gradual stop, closed his eyes, and breathed in the air. It smelled like ship oil and grease, but behind it was clean air. Clean air. No dust, no sand, no sharp scent of masses of bodies moving beneath the brutal dual suns.

Anakin remained there with his eyes closed a moment longer, his body practically humming with the energy of the planet. He supposed it was the pheromones everyone spoke about, but knew it had to be more. This was what freedom felt like - just a taste, a tease. But this was what it was. The ability to breathe.

When he opened his eyes he saw Zeltros dock workers hooking the ship up to the dock, keeping it locked in place. Next to Watto’s ship were other, more expensive ships, their hulls perfectly polished and free from rust and scuffs. If any one of the ships showed up in their garage Anakin would have been obsessed with it, going over every circuit board and bit of wire and tubing. But he couldn’t care less about ships at that moment.

Stepping to the edge of the dock, Anakin looked out across the expanse of forest. Bright green leaves sprouted out from sturdy, tall trunks. Anakin heard a strange noise up above in amongst the sounds of the dockyards, and he realized it was the sound of wind carrying through the leaves, making them tumble against each other as they fluttered and danced.

“Beautiful, hm?” Watto said as he hovered next to Anakin.

Yes. And you kept it from me.

Anakin kept his gaze firmly ahead. “It is…”

XXX

Perhaps the only thing more surprising than the greenery and wealth Anakin had found himself surrounded by, was Watto’s choice of attire. No longer did he don his usual clothes, mired in dirt and dust and stains, the front barely covering his belly as he waddled and flew around like he owned something more than an old junkyard. Instead he’d bought himself a new linen shirt and khaki shorts that made him blend in with the vacationers who strolled the promenade in front of the gigantic event centre and hotel. He’d even forgone his trademark tin hat, and instead wore a broad brimmed hat that hid him well from the sun and the faces of onlookers.

What was more surprising: he’d bought Anakin new clothes, too. They weren’t anything special, just some black shirts and black trousers, along with a pair of boots that didn’t have holes in the soles. Anakin would take what he could get, even if the collar of his shirt rubbed uncomfortably, and the shoes squeaked slightly when he walked.

Watto had wanted to get right in on the action the moment they landed, stating that he had ‘people to meet’ who would be at the bar. Anakin didn’t know if it was true - probably wasn’t - but as Watto’s ‘bodyguard’ he was forced to tag along. Trying to keep his composure and not run off to explore the winding paths that led into the forest or down to the beaches, Anakin followed Watto into the large hotel. It was built to look like a castle from another planet, the stonework a little too perfect while the insides were a little too brightly lit.

Everything screamed excess and wealth. Even though they were wearing new clothes - fetching by Tatooine standards - Anakin felt immediately out of place once they entered the hotel. The ceilings were vaulted while giant chandeliers made of crystals of various colours glittered high above. The floors were made of a stone Anakin had never seen, polished so much that Anakin could see his reflection in it. Stain glass windows let the excessive light into the building, casting more pinks and blues and greens into the lobby so that the guests seem to change shape and colour depending on where they stood.

And the guests…

They were from all over the galaxy, from Human to Twi’lek, Sullustan to Hutt, to Zygerrian and more. Not to mention the local Zeltros, their bright pink skin standing out even paired next to a blue or green Twi’lek.

“Ey, keep your eyes to yourself, Ani. These ladies are out of our price range, eh?” Watto said, jabbing Anakin with his elbow as they passed a group of barely dressed Togruta.

Stepping into the bar, Anakin was shocked by the size. When he thought of bars he thought of the dingy ones back home, where everyone was cramped tight together, you had to fight to get a drink, and were lucky to leave without a black eye. But the bar in the hotel was a massive, sprawling room, with multiple bars with wide counters, comfortable looking booths dotted along the walls, and chairs and tables in the centre. Beautiful bartenders served drinks to the masses of customers, their teeth flashing in the intimate lighting as they poured all manner of drinks into various sized and shaped glasses. Behind them hundreds of thousands of credits worth of drinks sat in various bottles that glimmered like candy, alluring in their excess.

“Who are we looking for?” Anakin asked as they stepped into the fray.

“The bar,” Watto said.

Anakin rolled his eyes and followed Watto to one of the emptier bars. Standing a short distance away, Anakin looked through the crowd. Even if someone did have it in them to kill Watto, Anakin wasn’t certain he’d be able to pick them out from the mass of people. More to the point, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

It was almost overwhelming how many people there were, the sounds and sights unfamiliar. The people smelled of expensive perfumes and other odors, and chirped and trilled in different languages that sounded both intriguing and intimidating. When they moved they moved both toward and away from Anakin, making him feel decidedly in the way no matter where he stood.

It was in the clamor that Anakin felt eyes on him. Him directly, and not just in passing. There was something else that came along with it, too. Like the pressing of someone else up against his consciousness, familiar and warm but also foreign and intimidating. The pressure grew as Anakin glanced around the room, trying to tug at whatever tether had been set up between them to find them in the crowd. Turning, he glanced over at one of the bars and—

There. At the end. A man. Human.

And impossibly captivating.

There wasn’t anything particularly unique about him, other than the fact that he was gorgeous. Amber hair streaked with silver was styled casually, swept back in a careful hold. He swirled a glass of something casually in his hand as he leaned against the counter, expression unreadable. Yellow tone light draped casually across his pale features, highlighting the gentle creep of age along his brow and the corners of his eyes. And his eyes…

Piercing blue. A blue that Anakin didn’t see often where he was from, like that of the ocean as it rushed along the shore. Or so that was what Anakin imagined it was like. He’d only ever seen pictures of the ocean.

But despite the commonality of the man’s appearance, Anakin was drawn to him all the same. It was like he was being pulled by an unseen force toward him, a gentle tugging sensation in the middle of his chest that was impossible to ignore. When he swallowed it felt as if he were swallowing in tandem with the man, and when his heart beat, it pattered to the beat of another.

When the man realized Anakin was looking at him he seemed caught off guard - as if his gentle touch had been discovered without him realizing it. His eyes widened slightly, and Anakin could see a darkness come about his cheeks. He looked away quickly then, eyes darting down to his drink before he called the bartender over and pointed to it.

Anakin continued to stare at the man. To be so noticed was both intriguing and unsettling. He didn’t like being watched; didn’t like being felt like that, his presence known by another. As a slave he was used to being forgotten, shadowed and hidden in the background of every place he went. When people did focus on him it was never for the right reasons.

Yet, Anakin didn’t feel threatened by the man. Just. Noticed. Seen. But before he could approach Watto jabbed him with his elbow. Glancing down, he noticed Watto was holding five drinks between his hands and his belly.

“C’mon, Ani, we’ve got a new partner to meet,” he said as he started flying through the crowd toward the back.

Anakin glanced over at the bar one last time, but the man was gone. Swallowing down his anxieties, he followed Watto into the mass and to his supposed ‘meeting.’

When Anakin found Watto greeting someone in a booth who looked like he knew exactly who Watto was - and wasn’t upset about it - Anakin could hardly contain his surprise.

XXX

Sitting on his cot, Anakin listened to the sound of Watto’s snoring from the room across the narrow hallway. Watto had been too cheap to rent them a room in the hotel, so they returned to the freighter to sleep in the small, cramped quarters. Anakin didn’t mind. The small room and the closed off bunk felt a little like home, save for Watto’s presence and the continuous beep of the transponder in the cockpit.

Home.

Anakin’s chest squeezed a little. He missed his mum. He’d never been apart from her his entire life, and now to be without her soft humming and the sound of her clothes brushing together, Anakin felt horrible. It was embarrassing for a twenty year old to miss his mother the way he did, he knew that. But it was true, and it was raw, and it was almost overwhelming.

Getting out of bed, Anakin put his boots back on and slipped out of the ship and on to the loading dock. Some of the expensive yachts were in use, the sound of music and laughter punctuating the quiet night, but Anakin moved away from them and down toward the forests that surrounded the docks. He’d spotted a path that went into the woods earlier that day, and it had called to him quietly for the rest of the evening.

The path was lit with little lanterns that hung lazily from hooks that dotted the sides of the path, like little Jawas on their way to collect their haul, and Anakin followed them deeper into the woods. His footsteps sounded unfamiliar, no shifting of sands or crunch of broken glass, but rather the soft patter along mulch and moist dirt. Above him the trees towered, their canopy blocking the stars.

For a moment he was suffocated by the scents and sights. The air was thick with moisture and the smell of plant-life, while the canopy above swallowed the stars and the sky, trapping Anakin to the surface of the planet. But a few steady breaths and he was back on the path. He picked up his pace, distancing himself further from Watto and the piece of junk they’d come in on; further from the chains that bound him; further from his duty as a protector for someone who saw him as nothing more than a pet that he got to keep.

And then he started running.

Feet pounding along the dirt, Anakin followed the twists and turns of the path and into the heart of the woods. He could hear the creak of the trees as they swayed gently in the breeze, the sound of the leaves as they tumbled next to each other, the croak of a creature and the songs of insects, all coalescing with the thunder of his heart and the rush of his breath.

Tears spread from the corners of his eyes, and a sob broke from his lips as he finally came to a stop in the middle of a clearing. Gripping his knees, he bent over and caught his breath as the tears continued to fall.

Gods, how he wished he could keep running; free himself and his mother from the shackles they’d been adorned with before either were even born. It made him almost sick with want, his chest squeezing tight, throat closing in, stomach pressing tight against his diaphragm as he sobbed into the humid midnight air. It was so impossibly unfair.

Movement nearby caught Anakin’s attention, and he straightened immediately, his mouth snapping shut. Bracing himself, he turned to confront whatever it was lurking in the dark, when he noticed it was a person.

No, it wasn’t just a person.

It was him.

The man from the bar was now perched on a wide stone bench, one foot falling to the ground while the other remained tucked beneath him. He seemed caught off-guard by Anakin’s presence, but the surprise on his features was quickly swept away the moment they locked eyes. It was replaced with concern, and Anakin brushed his tears away with the palm of his hand, sniffling as he did so. Embarrassment quickly replaced his prior fear, and he stepped back from the man in an attempt to hide his shame in the shadows.

“Sorry,” he said, and swallowed back the tremor in his voice. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“Don’t apologize,” the man said. Anakin didn’t recognize the accent, but knew it was from somewhere far away.

“I didn’t think anyone would be visiting the park at this hour,” Anakin continued, feeling an odd need to defend himself. He hoped that his tears weren’t visible in the low light.

“It’s quite alright,” the man said, this time a little softer, the shock of Anakin’s appearance seemingly slipping away. Standing, the man brushed away invisible dust from the back of his trousers.

A beat passed where they stared at each other. Anakin could feel that persistent tugging again - a gentle ‘thump thump thump’ against his heart that made him want to approach. Instead he ducked his head and looked down at the ground.

“It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who found themselves needing to get away from it all for a few moments,” the man said, catching Anakin’s attention again.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s nice and all. I’m just not used to…” any of it, “the crowds.”

“It can be a lot. Have you been to Zeltros before?”

Looking up from the forest floor, Anakin noted that the man had stepped a little closer - close enough where Anakin could make out his features better in the meager light the pathway lanterns afforded. He was just as handsome as he had been at the bar, with a noble nose and kind eyes. Heat spread across Anakin’s face, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t allowed to admire someone. It was untoward as a slave to want anything, let alone a person above his station.

“No,” he said. He almost admitted he was a slave, but swallowed it down before continuing. “I’m a bodyguard for some low-level business man. He’s never been invited here before, so we’ve never come.”

Watto wasn’t here; Anakin didn’t have to lie about his significance.

“A bodyguard?” The man lifted a brow. “I didn’t expect such a young man to have such a… dangerous profession.”

Anakin raised his chin slightly. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“I’ve no doubt of that.” The man laughed then, a joyful sound that reminded Anakin of the chirp of the birds he’d heard earlier in the day. It made his stomach clench, and the tugging in his heart double. “It’s just not often you meet a protector who can both disarm with his hands as well as with his smile.”

Anakin peered at the man. He was flirting with Anakin, no doubt about that. He’d heard such inane chatter in the bars and on the streets of Tatooine, tossed between eager couples and sex workers to whomever looked gullible. But why was the man flirting with him? What was the catch?

“Have you ever been here before?” Anakin asked, deciding to side-step whatever game the man was trying to pull.

The man nodded, and a sudden shadow came over his features then. Just a quick thing, before it was swept away and his smile returned. “A few times. Always for business, however. This place isn’t really my idea of a good time.”

“What kind of business?”

“Real estate. I have clients that have particular tastes that take me all over the galaxy. But for some reason many of them want to come here.”

“Does it ever work out for them?”

“Not really. Coming for a vacation is different from living here. Besides, it’s exorbitantly expensive, even for the most wealthy. It doesn’t stop them from trying, however, and that only means I still have a job.”

Anakin nodded. “Yeah, I can imagine how expensive it is to live here.”

Anakin really couldn’t. Anywhere that wasn’t his tiny little home on Tatooine seemed expensive, save for maybe the gutter outside.

“I’m Obi-Wan, by the way,” the man said. He took a step forward and held out his hand.

Anakin looked at it and then up at Obi-Wan. The tension between them continued to hum like a chord on a woodwind instrument. It was beginning to cause Anakin some pain. And no small amount of annoyance. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it almost felt like when he used to podrace, his heart and mind tied to the engines like they were extensions of who he was as a person.

But this wasn’t an engine he toyed with in the back of a garage when he was a kid. This was a man who called himself Obi-Wan, who spoke with crisp diction and wore clothes that looked like they could pay for Anakin’s freedom and then some. A man who stared at him through a crowd of people like he was the only one in the room, and who sat in the dark quiet of the woods like he was one of the trees, rooted and ancient and serene.

Anakin took his hand, and for a brief moment everything went silent. His fear, his pain, his loneliness; the persistent ache in the pit of his stomach and the raw longing in his chest for something more; the scattered, fragmented thoughts that cut his hands when he tried to collect them, all of it quieted until there was nothing but peace.

“Anakin,” he pressed out from his tight throat.

Obi-Wan smiled. If he felt the same thing Anakin did, he didn’t show it. But he kept their hands locked even when they should have parted, his palm hot against Anakin’s, strong fingers wrapped tight, the tip of his pointer pressing down on Anakin’s pulse.

“Anakin. It’s a pretty name. Where is it from?”

“Tatooine.”

Finally Obi-Wan dropped their hands. Anakin could still feel his touch, bright and white-hot against his skin. He looked down to make sure he hadn’t actually been scalded, but saw only tanned skin in the light of the lanterns.

“Tatooine?” Obi-Wan furrowed his brows and tapped his chin before nodding. “Outer Rim planet, correct? Lots of sand? Used to be an ocean planet?”

“You forgot about it being the armpit of the Outer Rim.”

“Oh right, how could I forget? I believe it’s on the tourist pamphlet.”

Anakin laughed. “Yeah, exactly.”

Laughing was like releasing a pin in Anakin’s back, which loosened the cord that had been wrapped around his ribs since he’d left Tatooine. Since he’d left his mother. Relief rushed through him, and he held on to the sensation for as long as he could. But just as he was growing comfortable - just as he was feeling himself - something in Obi-Wan’s pocket chirped.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said as he reached into his pocket. He stepped away from Anakin, leaving him bereft of his warmth. Hunching over his commlink, he mumbled something to someone before he turned back around, sliding the commlink back into his pocket. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve got to be heading back.”

Anakin shrugged. “Don’t apologize. It’s not like you meant to meet me here.”

“No, I suppose not. All the same, I was enjoying our conversation.”

“I… me too.”

Obi-Wan stepped closer again. He smelled like the breeze in the woods, foreign to Anakin yet alluring all the same. He was grateful Garo had given him some of the perfumes from the bathhouse, otherwise he’d feel oddly lacking. Normally Anakin didn’t care what he smelled like or how he looked. But normally he wasn’t standing in the middle of the woods on a foreign planet, speaking to a man whose very presence made Anakin feel… something.

“I know you’re busy with your job, but if you’re free tomorrow evening I’d like to take you to the beach. A trip to Zeltros isn’t complete without a visit to one of its many famous beaches.”

The thought of so much water made Anakin’s stomach lurch, but he tried not to show it. “I’ll try.”

“Meet me at the large statue of the Surakkean peacock at say… nine?”

“I’ll try,” Anakin repeated.

He would, even if Watto didn’t allow it. Anakin was good at slipping away from his annoying gaze. Chances were he’d already be drunk and passed out that late in the day.

“I look forward to it.” Obi-Wan sent Anakin a wink before he disappeared down the path, taking the opposite direction Anakin had come from.

Waiting until he was gone, Anakin ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky breath. Instantly he felt Obi-Wan’s absence; the insistent tugging leaving, and instead replaced once again with an unwelcome ache. Sitting down on the bench, Anakin looked at the dark mottled canopy up above. Squinting, he could just make out the stars and planets that dotted the sky.

He wondered if one of them was Tatooine.

He hoped none of them were.

Chapter Text

“—we don’t want to monopolize the market too quickly, do we?”

“Mm, and why not? Competition breeds profit loss.”

“Competition makes for businesses we can slowly buy out when they inevitably fail, creating a second lucrative business - extortion.”

“And laundering.”

“I like the way you think,” the Devaronian said as a slow grin graced his jagged features.

The Palliduvan shrugged and sat back in her booth. “I think you’ll like me a lot more when you hear my other ideas.”

Anakin watched the meeting with tired eyes. Next to him sat a Wookie and a Trandoshan, their eyes equally as glazed over as they saw to their hired duties. When Anakin had first entered they hovered over their bosses like bugs on shit, but as the meeting went on and not much happened, they slowly found their way over to where Anakin had been lounging all morning.

The only thing keeping Anakin from falling asleep was watching Watto flounder in the depths he’d found himself in.

Sitting awkwardly on a small stool next to the booth, Watto’s participation in the conversation was limited to the occasional grunt followed by wide-eyed staring between the group as they discussed various nefarious plans. When he did seem like he wanted to say something, he raised his hand before dropping it back onto his lap when he realized that they weren’t about to stop their discussion on account of him.

He was being ignored, and when he wasn’t he was looked at like some strange bug that had come crawling out from between the booth cushions.

And Anakin was having the time of his life.

Finally, Watto had shut up. Finally, he was being treated as he should be treated back on Tatooine; a nobody, whose views and ideas were worth nothing and meant nothing. He was strictly ugly decoration that took up as little space at the table filled with big egos. He was, effectively, no better than the slaves he ignored during his day-to-day life. He was, effectively, no better than Anakin in the eyes of these people.

Anakin wasn’t sure if Watto saw it the same way. He’d no doubt make excuses both to himself and to Anakin about how it was all some great plan of his.. But Anakin knew the truth, and he was going to tell everyone about it when he got home.

Eventually the meeting ended, most of those present walking off with each other as they engaged in idle conversation as soon as the doors to the room were opened. There seemed to be a rule on Zeltros: all sorts of business was allowed so long as it remained cordial and limited to the backrooms. The halls, the casinos, the beaches - these were all strictly for pleasure and nothing else.

As soon as the room emptied, Anakin approached Watto. He looked terribly small as he remained sitting on his stool - defeated, almost - but when he turned around and saw Anakin, his trademark grin appeared.

“Ani, I’m starving. Let’s go get some good, eh?” Anakin nodded and followed him out and into the hall. “I think that went well, don’t you?” Watto continued as they weaved through the crowds towards the exit.

“Are you sure? I didn’t see you do much talking.”

“I was merely observing,” Watto said. Anakin rolled his eyes. “You need to get a feel for these sorts of people, Ani. You can’t just barge in with your ideas - even if they are brilliant. I wanted to see where everyone was, you know, in terms of ideas.”

“Okay.”

“It’s common business sense, but I don’t expect you to understand that,” Watto continued as they slipped out into the courtyard.

A giant fountain gushed water from a three-headed fish, while people from all sorts of backgrounds sat on the edge and licked iced lollies and ate fruit out of the hollowed out rinds. Anakin could smell grilled meat thick in the air, and his stomach growled. His breakfast consisted of old ration packs Watto had found in the ship, unfulfilling and supremely stale.

Venturing further into the courtyard, Anakin scanned the area. Zeltros servers weaved between the tables, trays ladened with all sorts of food and drink carefully balanced in their arms. They smiled at the guests, white teeth flashing against dark pink skin.

“We might not get a seat,” Anakin mused.

“There’s always a seat at the bar,” Watto said, slapping Anakin’s arm gently.

“You sure it’s wise to drink while you’re conducting business?”

“As they always say, business is always best mixed with pleasure.”

“I think they say the exact opposite—”

“Anakin?”

Anakin whirled around when he heard his name called out, and was immediately met with Obi-Wan’s handsome face. The tugging in his heart started up again, a gently pulling sensation that made Anakin’s skin tingle and throat tighten. Swallowing down the nervous energy that coursed through his body the second he saw Obi-Wan, he returned his smile.

“Obi-Wan,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

He was wearing a white button up shirt with shorts that showed off his strong calves. His hair shone brightly beneath the light, copper stripes mixing with golden highlights and ripples of silver that spread across his temples. In the sunlight, Anakin could make out the freckles that dotted across his nose and cheeks, and how the corners of his beard also contained the subtle signs of age. Though he looked relaxed and casual, Anakin knew that his shirt probably cost more than he and Watto’s entire attires combined.

He looked damn good.

“You as well. I didn’t think I’d run into you with all this madness, but I can’t say I’m not gladdened by the surprise. I was hoping to catch you in the sunlight.” Though his smile remained soft and amiable, Anakin saw a flash behind his eyes - a sparkle that made Anakin’s stomach flip-flop.

“My hair looks kind of blonde in the sun,” Anakin stuttered out.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I’d describe it as golden myself.”

“Ani?”

Watto’s voice broke through Anakin’s little bubble, like the sound of a Bantha releasing a long, loud fart. Biting the inside of his cheek, Anakin took a steadying breath and turned to Watto. “Watto, this is Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, this is Watto. My boss.”

Obi-Wan extended his hand. Watto’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave Anakin a lingering look before he shook Obi-Wan’s hand. “It’s uh, nice to meet you,” he said. “Ani didn’t tell me he had friends here.”

Anakin sent Obi-Wan a quick look. He hadn’t told Watto he’d wandered off in the middle of the night, only returning to the ship when strips of early morning light carried through the black sky. Technically he wasn’t allowed to leave and go do whatever he wanted. The chip beneath his skin reminded him of that. But Obi-Wan seemed to know, as if he could sense Anakin’s sudden anxiety.

“I ran into Anakin while he was looking for the washroom,” he explained easily. “I still get lost trying to navigate this structure, and I’ve been here more times than I can count.”

Watto seemed to relax then, his attention snapping back to Obi-Wan when he said he’d visited multiple times. His wings flapped faster, and he leaned toward Obi-Wan with a familiar look to his face. Opportunity.

“What is it you do, Obi-Wan?” Watto asked.

“I’m in real estate.”

Watto grinned. “Ey, another businessman I see. Do you sell commercial or residential?”

“Mostly residential. My clientele tend to be businessmen such as yourself.”

Watto’s grin only got bigger. “Yes, yes, a businessman such as myself. You know, I have properties all around the galaxy, but I’ve been thinking about buying something here on Zeltros. I’m getting older, you see, and my weary bones could use a nice tropical climate.”

Anakin rolled his eyes.

“If you’re serious about it, I have a property that I think would be perfect for a man of your taste. I can set up a meeting for you, if you’d like?”

Watto hesitated a moment - a split second but enough for Anakin to see the sudden worry in his eyes, as if he was being sucked into a lie that he wasn’t sure he could get out of. “I… Well, you see, I’m here on important business. I have no real time for any of that. But when I’ve time and am back in the system…”

Obi-Wan smiled kindly. “Of course.”

Anakin didn’t like this. He didn’t like seeing Watto - old, stained, a reminder of Anakin’s life and everything that entailed - speaking with Obi-Wan - new, handsome, a fantasy made manifest who made Anakin feel like someone else. Glancing around the outdoor patio, Anakin noted a seat had opened up in the back corner.

“I think I see a table,” Anakin said suddenly.

Watto whirled around. “Where? I can’t see it, Ani.”

Anakin pointed to the corner. “You can move quicker through the crowd - go grab it.”

“Ay, don’t boss me around,” Watto said, but even as he spoke he started flying away. “I’ll have my assistant contact you,” he said over his shoulder.

“His assistant?” Obi-Wan said, an amused smile on his lips.

“He’s full of shit,” Anakin said. “He can barely afford to keep- I mean, pay me. When he says he’s a businessman, he means he owns some junk shops in Mos Espa and Mos Eislie.”

Obi-Wan touched Anakin’s hand. Anakin jumped, the heat of Obi-Wan’s touch - even brief - sending shockwaves through him. The tugging in his heart practically pulsed, a dragging, gnawing sensation that made him want to jump into Obi-Wan’s heat and take it for himself. If Obi-Wan felt the same sensations he did a good job of hiding it, his head tilting to the side as he inspected Anakin with careful consideration.

“I guess this means he won’t be contacting me?”

“Probably not,” Anakin mumbled.

“A shame, then. I was hoping I’d have another excuse to see you.” Before Anakin could respond, Obi-Wan spoke again. “I guess I’ll have to make due with our meeting tonight. That is, if you can still make it.”

“I will,” Anakin said quickly. Even if I have to spike Watto’s drink so he passes out for the night. “Nine by the peacock statue.”

“Nine by the peacock statue,” Obi-Wan repeated. Anakin felt his hand along the inside of his wrist again - a brief, chaste touch. Their eyes locked, and the pulse between them only increased, like a steady rhythm that neither could pull away from. But just as Anakin was about to fall into it completely, Obi-Wan’s gaze flicked to something behind Anakin, and he snatched his hand away as if he was suddenly reminded where he was.

And who he was with.

“Are you okay?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan looked back at Anakin and nodded. “Of course. I just remembered I’ve somewhere to be. But it was a pleasure seeing you again, and I look forward to our meeting tonight.”

He squeezed Anakin’s arm once before he headed off into the crowd. Following Obi-Wan with his eyes, Anakin watched as he approached a bald, dark skinned man along the edge of the patio. They spoke quickly to one another, the unknown man frowning as Obi-Wan pointed off toward the hotel. Another brief conversation happened, before the unknown man nodded and headed in the direction of the hotel, while Obi-Wan took off in the opposite way.

Waiting until he could no longer see Obi-Wan, Anakin slowly made his way to the table where Watto was sitting. Taking a seat across from him, Anakin slouched in the chair while Watto looked through the datapad menu that had been supplied to him.

“You never told me you had made such a connection,” Watto said as he continued to read.

“You never asked.”

“I knew you were capable of making friends, but friends with money? Ay, Ani, you’ve been holding out on me.”

“Sure.”

Watto frowned and closed the menu. “There are no bugs on the menu. Can you believe that?”

Anakin shrugged. “Sure.”

XXX

‘Ani. The day is done - what say we go have some fun, hm?’

‘Your idea and my idea of fun are completely different things.’

‘Don’t be so sour. C’mon, it’ll be great.’

He’d been lurking near Watto for the last two hours as he sat at a table surrounded by legitimate businessmen, businessmen like Watto, and various hanger-ons as they played round after round of expensive sabaac. Anakin had gone cross-eyed when he saw the amounts Watto was putting down, the tightness in his throat only getting stronger the more Watto lost and the more the rest of the table gained.

Yet Watto persisted, throwing in his lot on every round and never walking away from the table. As he played he ordered drinks from the bar, lowering his capabilities even more. If Anakin was actually employed by Watto he’d have gently guided him away from the table by the first hour. But as he was his slave, Anakin let him throw away his money. After all, it wasn’t ‘his place’ to tell his owner what he could and couldn’t do with his money - even if the chits he tossed down onto the table with each careless throw could secure his and his mother’s freedom.

Watto wasn’t lying when he said he had money. It was just what he did with it - throw it away rather than invest - that made him a terrible businessman.

But as the time rolled by, the drink glasses piled up, and the credits trickled away like the sands along the graveyard shores of Tatooine, Anakin started getting antsy. His promise to meet Obi-Wan at nine hovered in his mind, pulling any time he tried to settle. At first he wasn’t too worried, the night still early and Watto’s liquor consumption still minimal. But seven turned to eight, and eight turned to nine, and nine turned to nine-ten, and nine-fifteen, and nine-thirty…

Obi-Wan had probably left. Yet there was that familiar tugging inside of Anakin - hopeful but subdued - that made him not give up on the idea of having a moment for himself on this bizarre trip. A moment for himself that he desperately wanted.

Eventually there was a small break between games. Sensing an opportunity, Anakin made his move. Slipping through the small crowd that had formed, Anakin knelt next to Watto’s chair.

“Having fun?” he asked.

Watto shrugged. His eyes were glassy, his blue cheeks a darker shade of blue. Anakin had seen him drunker. “I’ve played with better card sharks before. But ay, these lot aren’t too bad.”

“Are we going to be here for much longer?”

Watto’s eyes narrowed and he finally turned to look at Anakin. “I’m just getting into my groove, Ani. Did you see what I just won?”

“Yes, very impressive. But you don’t need me here, do you?”

“Why? You got somewhere more important to be?”

“Yes.”

Watto’s eyes grew sharp beneath the haze of alcohol. “Where?” he asked.

“You said there was a gala tomorrow evening in the main dance hall of the hotel. I thought it would be… important for me to scope the place out. See where any enemies of yours might have an advantage. After all, you are stealing a lot of credits from these fine folk. Some might have a grudge after tonight, and then you’ll really need me as your bodyguard.”

Anakin was surprised by how easily the lie came to him, but at this point he was willing to say or do anything he could, just for the chance to bask in the warmth of Obi-Wan’s gaze.

Watto’s expression remained impassive, eyes once again glassy, before he broke out into a grin, his tusks flashing in the sparkling light. “Eh, I knew it, Ani. I knew if I just gave you a new job and lifted you up from the muck of your little workbench in the shop, you’d become a fine bodyguard. See, I always knew you were capable of greater things, hm?”

Anakin swallowed down his anger and nodded. “Exactly. You asked me to do this job for you, so I’m going to do it.”

Watto patted Anakin’s arm roughly before waving him off. “Go, and then return to the ship. I don’t know when I’ll be done here.”

Without wasting a second, Anakin stood and practically ran through the casino. Narrowly dodging a waitress with a tray full of drinks, he slipped past an entourage of Wookies discussing something loudly with a very lost looking Jawa before slamming open a set of double doors. Taking the steps down to the main pathway as quickly as he could, Anakin ran down the busy pathway toward the statue.

All the while the tugging in his heart pounded away with the beat of it.

Please still be there. Please still be there…

Using his height to his advantage, Anakin slowed as he came into the square and looked over the heads of the others, trying to spot Obi-Wan. The statue loomed large in the centre, illuminated by lights that shone upward at it, giving it an almost comical look of surprise. But there was no one visible beneath it, or, no attractive, older man waiting for his very late date, at least. Pushing his way past a couple, Anakin slowed at the base of the statue.

Obi-Wan wasn’t there.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Anakin balled his hands into tight fists and breathed through his nose. He should have expected this. Nice things just didn’t happen for a guy like him. He was a slave on some shit planet that hadn’t seen rain in centuries, and where the only viable way of making a living was to exploit the guy just beneath you.

He shouldn’t have hoped for more.

And yet he had. He always did.

“You just never learn,” Anakin bit out.

Turning, Anakin started to leave. But as he approached the edges of the courtyard the patter in his body turned into a full rush of excitement, the palms of his hands and the bottom of his feet tingling, his throat constricting, his heart beating wildly in his breast.

Whipping around, Anakin turned to see him.

Obi-Wan was sitting on a bench just on the opposite side of the courtyard. He was looking around the space, seemingly both very interested and casually disinterested - as if he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Following the now familiar tug, Anakin approached Obi-Wan as casually as he could. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he came to a stop in front of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan looked up at him and broke out into the most brilliant of grins, his eyes sparkling with warmth. His expression reminded Anakin a little of his mother and the way she looked at him. When Obi-Wan stood he was quite close to Anakin, his heat mixing with the warm tropical breeze that fluttered through the trees above. They were closer to the ocean where they were, Anakin smelling the salt thick in the air. But beneath it was Obi-Wan’s own scent; a spicy cologne that reminded Anakin of the teas back home.

“I knew you would come,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Anakin repeated, not knowing how to handle Obi-Wan’s clear confidence in him. “I know you wanted to see the sunset, but I think we’re past that now.”

The sky was dark now, no pops of colour besides the stars and planets that twinkled above. Obi-Wan glanced up as if to confirm, his neck arching slightly for a brief moment. Anakin openly admired the stretch and pull, before Obi-Wan dropped his head to peg Anakin with his now familiar stare. “No bother. The moon is bright and the ocean doesn’t tuck itself away at night. Come, let’s see what trouble we can find.”

Excitement bubbled up in Anakin, mixing with slight anxiety. He’d never seen so much water in his life. A pool was one thing, but the ocean? He’d always wondered what Tatooine had looked like, before the loss of the oceans and all its life. He had seen the carcasses of the great beasts dotted across the dead sands like ancient monoliths left by other cultures to confuse and terrify. Did these oceans contain the same life?

As they ventured down toward the beach the winds kicked up and the plants changed - large trees with red bark morphing into palm trees that swayed and fluttered in the wind, while tall grasses became scrubby and tougher as the sand swallowed up the pathways. Anakin refrained from voicing his distaste for sand and instead followed Obi-Wan, guided by his careful footsteps and the tug in his heart that told him he was right where he needed to be.

Their hands brushed the entire time they walked.

And then—

“Do you see it?” Obi-Wan asked as they came to a stop on the crest of a dune.

The beach was brightly lit and populated by vacationers, little huts set up with lounge chairs that dotted the sands like birds. But further out there were vast plains of darkness, unending as it spilled out onto the horizon. Peering at the dark sands, Anakin saw brief flashes of white along the pit of black. It was only when he saw the same white dash itself against the sands that Anakin realized what he was looking at were the crests of waves, and that the darkness that spread out beneath the moonlight was the ocean itself.

Vast and uncompromising, terrifying and yet beautiful all the same.

Anakin didn’t know what to say. He’d never been very good with his words even when he wasn’t confronted with the awesome power of the ocean. It was almost unknowable to Anakin; like an alien with no voice to speak to him with, no eyes to see him, no face to recognize. He was both called to it and repelled by it, wanting to get closer but fearing it all the same.

It was much like the tug in Anakin’s heart when he was near Obi-Wan. What it was, he couldn’t explain, only that he wanted to fall into it despite the terror it inspired.

“Come,” Obi-Wan said. He took Anakin’s hand in his own, palm steady against his, grip firm but still tender, and led Anakin down the path and toward the beach.

Anakin eased into walking across the sands, decades of his life spent navigating how to keep his weight from falling too far on to one side or the other. Obi-Wan seemed no-less encumbered by the change, his gate the same - light, almost - as they walked across the dunes. Trusting Obi-Wan to navigate them through the mass of tourists and sunning chairs alike, Anakin stared at the ocean as they approached it. The winds were kicking up the closer they got to the water, and the heavy sound of the waters hitting the shoreline was overwhelmingly loud. The scent of the waters was thick, salt and brine and life that he’d never encountered before all swirling inside him.

And all the while Obi-Wan’s hand rested tight against his own, grounding and secure. Safe.

They stopped just short of touching the water. Anakin watched the ocean for a time longer, admiring the way the light of the moon reflected off the waves and sparkled along the top of the dark water.

Eventually he felt Obi-Wan’s gaze on him, and he turned to it like a flower would toward the sun. “It’s magnificent,” he said.

Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side. The wind had tousled his hair, his usually well-styled locks wind-swept and charming. Anakin swallowed down the tightness in his throat. “Have you never seen the ocean before?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin could have lied. He should have lied. What sort of bodyguard would he be if he’d never experienced all there was in the galaxy? But he didn’t care. There was no hiding his awe.

“No,” he admitted. “Growing up on Tatooine, the most water you’d see would be collected in a moisture barrel or in one of the lakes that managed to survive in the caverns outside the city. And when I’m working there’s no time for leisure.”

“Your boss has never wanted to go to the beach?”

“What use does a Toydarian have for water?”

Obi-Wan chuckled, the sweet sound carrying above the crash of the water. “You’ve got me there.”

It was only when Obi-Wan tugged Anakin’s hand again to lead him further down the beach that Anakin remembered that they were still holding hands. The sensation reminded him a little of being with his mother. He wasn’t sure what that all meant, but didn’t dwell on it and instead followed Obi-Wan.

The sands were more compact when they were wet, allowing them to navigate more comfortably. Their hands remained locked tight together, and feeling bold Anakin gave Obi-Wan’s hand a squeeze. Obi-Wan squeezed back before pulling him toward a secluded bench beneath a set of palm trees. It looked fabricated to be romantic, the rocks just a little too polished and the plant life just a little too neat, but Anakin didn’t mind.

Zeltros was just one of those places where one had to carve out their own authenticity.

Sitting next to Obi-Wan, Anakin pressed his thigh against Obi-Wan’s while Obi-Wan settled their joined hands on his lap. Anakin tore his gaze away from the sight of their joined hands and instead looked back out on to the ocean. It was quieter here, giving Anakin space to think.

With each crest of the waves and the rush of water across the sands, Anakin became a little less afraid of it. It was still overpowering and unknowable, but it was also beautiful. Such raw energy was to be admired. The ocean couldn’t be tamed, it couldn’t be controlled, it couldn’t be owned. No one could make it do what it didn’t want to; it was its own master.

It was free.

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Anakin hadn’t ever been allowed to just exist without something to do, someone to please, something to fix. When he was allowed a rest it was to sleep or take care of his mother, to aid her in the day-to-day that didn’t stop just because they were forced to labour their lives away. Sitting idly was a luxury where Anakin came from, and it was one he rarely got to indulge in.

But there was an added component to the uniqueness of the situation: Obi-Wan.

Anakin still felt the pull in his heart but it was softer now. Content, almost, as if Anakin had finally done what it was asking of him. Sitting next to Obi-Wan, their sides pressed tight together, hands locked in a careful embrace, breathing in tandem as they watched the ocean, Anakin finally felt content in a way like never before.

It was new and exciting and intimate. It was the simple pleasure of being with someone that he liked.

Wrapped up in their own little world, Anakin was startled back into reality when Obi-Wan spoke.

“Anakin?”

Turning to look at him, Anakin tilted his head to the side. Obi-Wan’s hair was still windswept and disheveled, his eyes bright in the moonlight. “Yes?”

“I have a question for you. It might sound… odd at first, but I’d appreciate it if you’d humour me.” Anakin nodded. “Have you ever… felt as if you knew what others were thinking before they said it? Or knew what they were feeling, as if they were your own?”

Anakin tensed and didn’t say anything. When he was a child he’d sensed things before they occurred, like he was dreaming even though he was awake. And he always seemed to know when someone was angry or scared or mad, even when they tried their hardest to hide it or contain it. As he got older and involved in more scraps and fights, he always knew where the next swing was going to come from, where the next hit was going to strike. And he always knew when his mother was hurting; when the ache spread just a little more, the sense of hopelessness and loss became too much to carry.

But he’d shut that part of himself away when he realized that being different on Tatooine was a liability, and being special was a death sentence. There were worse men than Watto who would use his abilities for something else, for something worse. And so he ignored until he could repress, and repressed until the sensations and feelings ceased to exist at all. It had felt a little like closing over an unhealed wound and allowing it to rot and fester.

Sensing Anakin’s discomfort, Obi-Wan squeezed his hand and turned to face him in full, his knee pressing into Anakin’s thigh slightly. “I don’t mean to frighten you, Anakin. I only ask because I know of people who are like that. People who feel the world in ways that are unknowable to most. They walk in a different world, connected to a power that is all around us.”

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek and took a deep breath of salty air. He wanted to believe Obi-Wan when he said that he meant no harm, but it was almost impossible to. He’d worked so hard to build up his walls; to protect himself and his mother from the reality of the universe. He wanted to trust Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan wasn’t some great knight here to rescue him from a world of servitude. He was just a man - a Realtor at that. How could he know all of this? And why should Anakin trust him?

But just as Anakin was about to lie, Obi-Wan spoke again, his voice so soft but still heard over the rush of the waves. “And they can feel the gentle tug in their heart - like the pull of a string - that guides them towards those who would help them. Those who would care for them.”

Obi-Wan dropped Anakin’s hand and raised his to rest against Anakin’s chest. Heart beating rapidly beneath Obi-Wan’s touch, Anakin felt like he was going to pass out as the tugging increased, bouncing and bounding, as if his soul was singing in tandem with Obi-Wan’s. Unable to stop himself, Anakin pushed into the touch, his body seeking more of Obi-Wan’s heat, his strength, his comfort.

“Does it guide them toward their other half?” Anakin asked, desperately, plaintively.

“It guides them to whomever they were meant to be with. In whatever capacity that might be.”

“Do you… do you feel it?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, his other hand coming up to cup the back of Anakin’s head. His grip was firm and warm, fierce in its intention. Anakin gripped Obi-Wan’s wrist and he felt his pulse that was just as frantic and maddening as his own. Just as ready for the moment. Obi-Wan’s breath was hot across Anakin’s lips and cheeks, his perfumes thick in Anakin’s nose, the strength of his body almost overwhelming.

Leaning closer, Anakin closed his eyes and—

A beep from his pocket broke the spell.

Jumping back as if scalded, Anakin scrambled to grab the old commlink in his pocket. There was only one person who would be using it. A part of him wanted to throw it out into the ocean, or break it across the stones nearby. But he couldn’t. Ignoring Obi-Wan’s entire existence, lest he fall head-first into his presence once more, Anakin opened the commlink. Immediately Watto’s foul voice carried through, slurry and punctured by hiccups.

“Ay, Ani. Where are you?”

“I’m still scoping out the area,” he lied.

“Is that wind I hear? Are you at the ocean?”

“No.”

“Ayyy, Ani. Don’t lie to me. I know you, eh? You’re a shit liar. Now get back to the ship. I need you to help me with these damn straps on my pants.”

Anakin clenched his jaw and breathed steadily through his nose. “I’ll be right there.”

“And no dawdling! The girls on the beach aren’t worth it, Ani. They are never worth it.”

Turning off the commlink, Anakin stuffed it back in his pocket. He could only spare Obi-Wan a quick glance before the ache set in, making it almost impossible to breathe. He wanted to touch Obi-Wan, to kiss him, to feel that singing in his heart.

But he couldn’t. It wasn’t allowed. He wasn’t allowed.

“I have to go,” he said quickly. Standing, he stumbled through the sand, suddenly unable to walk properly.

“Anakin!”

“I have to go,” he repeated over his shoulder, more angry this time.

Disappearing into the darkness, Anakin brushed his tears away as he swallowed down his grief.

Chapter Text

Anakin looked down at the folded clothes that lay across his bunk. It was a smartly tailored tunic made from silk and wool, with piping that ran along the sides of the chest and up along the collar. Buttons with more piping rested across the breast, while along the edges of the tunic was draped fabric that resembled a cape or a skirt. Trousers, also smartly tailored, lay folded next to the tunic, along with a neckerchief and a carefully adorned masquerade mask.

Picking up the mask with care, Anakin ran his fingertips along the slopes and curves. The viewpoint was narrow - suffocating almost - yet seductive and mysterious.

Turning, Anakin looked at Watto as he hovered in the hall. “Is this for me?”

Watto shrugged. He looked almost bashful. “It’s a fancy party, and I didn’t want either of us to stick out. It’s purely for business purposes.”

Smiling despite himself, Anakin turned back to the clothes. It must have cost Watto a pretty chit and then some. Anakin had never seen such fine tailoring, let alone worn it. Though there was one pressing question…

“How did you get my measurements?”

“Your mother, of course.” Anakin heard Watto bite into his cigar, voice slightly muffled as he tore away the end and spit it on to the floor of the ship. “She can be helpful when she wants to be.”

She can be helpful when she’s not forced to be…

Dropping the mask back, Anakin sat on the edge of the cot and watched as Watto lit his cigar and took a deep breath. “Did you get yourself something?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m a professional, Ani, and I need to look sharp.” He disappeared then, slipping down the hallway. Anakin heard a bit of crashing around before he reappeared with a box balanced precariously in his hands. Flipping the lid off, he let it clatter down onto the floor before showing off the contents to Anakin. Inside was a similarly tailored suit, only bright red and gold with coattails that fluttered down the back. Next to the suit was a triangle shaped hat with a large blue feather stuck in the ribbon along the cap. “I’m told it’s the latest fashion in Coruscant, eh?”

Anakin looked up to see Watto staring at him with tentative excitement. It was evident he was worried Anakin would think it silly. More importantly, he was worried Anakin would tell him he’d look like a fool in front of his ‘business partners.’ And perhaps it was a bit silly, and perhaps Watto would look a bit of a fool, but he’d been playing the part of the fool the whole weekend without noticing.

Maybe it was the lingering warmth of Obi-Wan’s presence that seemed to follow Anakin wherever he went, but Anakin couldn’t find it in himself to be cruel to Watto - even though he deserved it.

“It looks dignified,” Anakin eventually said.

Watto broke out into his trademark grin, his tusks flashing in the light. “I knew you’d appreciate it, Ani. You’ve always had a good eye, eh? One of the things I like about you.” Putting the box on the cot next to Anakin, Watto fluttered back and sat on the edge of Anakin’s suitcase. It wobbled with his weight a moment before settling. Leaning forward, he pegged Anakin with a stare. “Tonight is supposed to be the night when my associates and I gather to finalize the last of our deals, okay? So at some point I’m going to have to disappear - and I don’t want you following me, got it?”

“Aren’t I supposed to be your bodyguard?”

“Normally, but this is supposed to be an exercise in trust, you see? When we gather we come as our individual selves, not as an entourage.”

“Seems… oddly ceremonial for your type of business…”

Watto shrugged and sat back. “It’s civilized, Ani. I know coming from Tatooine you might be unaware of such a thing—”

“You’re also—”

“But we’re on Zeltros now, and here they do things differently.”

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek. Watto couldn’t go one hour without acting like a Bantha’s ass. Taking a deep breath, he let it go before speaking again. “So what do you want me to do?”

Watto grinned. “Have a good time.”

Anakin stared at Watto suspiciously. “What’s the catch?” he asked slowly.

“None!” Watto slipped off the suitcase and grabbed his box of clothes. “Dance, eat, have a good time - if you’re capable of it. Maybe lose that frown for a couple of hours with a nice lady, hm? Finally pop your bristolmelon?”

Anakin glowered. Watto started laughing.

XXX

Anakin had spent most of his life feeling out of his element. Perhaps it was the nature of being a slave, or maybe it was a decidedly Anakin thing. He never knew how to approach people or speak to them; never knew how to hold himself upright without immediately wanted to curl his shoulders and slouch his back; never knew how to school his face so he didn’t look like he was about to lose it in the middle of the market and take a swing at the next person who walked past him. Socializing had never come naturally to him once he was old enough to realize that being ‘yourself’ wasn’t acceptable to most people.

He made due, of course. He learned to not care about what most people said or thought, and to only bother with those who cared as much as he did - maybe even less. The only person he ever tried for was his mother, her soft frown whenever he was too curt with someone enough to make him feel as if he should have attempted to be a little less mean and a little more amenable.

But then came Obi-Wan.

As soon as Anakin entered the ballroom he wanted to leave. People from all walks of the galaxy were congregated in the opulent space, their voices reverberating harshly against the stone vaulted ceilings and skittered off the polished floors. Humanoids and non-humanoid alike had dressed up in gowns with wide skirts and sharply tailored suits, some with lighting and other effects that made them glitter and sparkle as bright as the twin suns on Tatooine. The strong scent of floral perfumes and spiced colognes mixed with grilled meats and sugary cakes and sweets that lined the tables in the dining section, while large vases filled with bright pink flowers added to the kaleidoscope.

Conversations in mixtures of languages and the loud orchestral music squeezed against Anakin’s temples, while the press of other’s bodies all around him made his throat and chest tighten with anxiety. The urge to just run away from it all picked and pulled at his resolve, and for a moment he almost did. He took one, then a second, then a third step back toward the door, ignoring Watto’s grunts of annoyance and the touch of his clawed hand at his elbow.

And then he felt it.

The gentle tugging, comforting and encouraging. It seemed to move along to the music, light and plucky like water droplets hitting the basin of a sink. It swallowed up Anakin’s fears, working away at his anxiety until everything melted away and all that was left was…

Anticipation.

“Ani, you okay?” Watto asked, his voice distant.

Looking through the crowd, Anakin waved Watto off. “I’m fine,” he said.

“You looking for someone?” Watto’s voice drifted closer, and Anakin stumbled back when he turned to find Watto hovering inches from his face. “A lady, maybe?”

“Obi-Wan - the Realtor,” Anakin said.

Watto grinned. “Working on those connections for me, are you? You’re a good kid, Ani. A real team player.”

“I’m not trying to get you his contact for business,” Anakin snapped out. “He and I are friends.”

Or something.

It was as if Watto heard the ‘or something’, his grin only getting bigger. “Looks like maybe you’re going to pop that bristolmelon after all.”

Anakin shoved Watto gently and turned from him. His cheeks were hot, and Watto’s laughter only made it worse. Clenching his jaw, he took a deep breath before resuming his search amongst the crowd. “When is your meeting?”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, hm?” Anakin said nothing to the contrary. Watto let out an exaggerated sigh before he nudged Anakin’s shoulder, dragging his attention back to him. “It’s not for another hour, but since I am a charitable man who cares for you, Ani, I can certainly entertain myself for the next hour or so.”

Anakin raised a brow. Surprise boiled up in him, followed by incredulity. Watto never did anything for anyone if there wasn’t something he could get out of it. “What’s the catch?”

Watto shrugged. “No catch.”

“Watto…”

“Ay, you’re so nosy, Ani. Too nosy, if you ask me.” Taking his cap off, he brushed the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead before he plopped the cap back on. “You’re not the only one with the beating heart of a man. There are many eligible ladies here who would be more than happy to hear about all my uh, businesses across the galaxy.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “You’re right, I was being too nosy.”

Slapping Anakin’s arm gently, Watto sent him another look that could only be described as lecherous. “Have a good time. But stay out of trouble, you hear? I don’t want you breaking something that I’ll have to replace. Like your arm or a vase.”

Anakin felt a sharp tug, and knew Obi-Wan was nearby.

“Okay,” he said quickly, before he nodded to Watto and bravely disappeared into the swell.

Sidestepping round skirts, jumping over massive tails, and avoiding tripping over the small service droids that puttered around the ballroom, Anakin followed the pull of his heart further into the party. Above him the music grew louder, and he realized he was approaching the dance floor. Biting down the swell of anxiety he felt at the mere prospect of dancing, Anakin slipped through a curtain archway and into the great hall.

Whatever he’d encountered in the prior space was ten-fold in the great hall. The vaulted ceilings reached gargantuan proportions, holographic glitter and flecks of paper fluttering from the ceiling, disappearing just before hitting the ground and the people below. The stone floors were polished until one could see their reflection on it, causing the twirling dancers to duplicate as they soared across the dance floor. The music was loud and boisterous, instruments Anakin had never seen let alone heard being deftly played by the musicians on the stage, while professional dancers from Zeltros mixed in amongst the crowd, encouraging them to move along with them.

All around Anakin was a swirling mass of noise and people, overwhelming in all ways.

Yet the tugging in his heart was more powerful. With a boldness he’d not felt since leaving the familiarity of Mos Espa, Anakin followed the tugging through the throngs of people on the sidelines of the floor. As he neared where Obi-Wan was he could start to feel his heart patter away, bright and excited, and he held on to the sensation, knowing that it would soon be gone the moment they left for Tatooine.

He spotted the top of Obi-Wan’s head as he spoke to two other people, their faces shrouded by masks. His copper hair shimmered beautifully beneath the lights, purple and pinks mixed with spots of amber gold. He was wearing a dark blue dress uniform similar to Anakin’s, but with a ceremonial saber attached to his hip that sparkled richly. But tucked beneath the filigree was something more cumbersome, but before Anakin could take a closer look he was stopped by Obi-Wan turning to look at him.

“Hi,” he said over the din.

Obi-Wan turned his head to the side, a soft smile gracing his features. “Hello.”

Anakin realized then that he was wearing a mask, and wondered if maybe Obi-Wan didn’t recognize him. “It’s uh. It’s me, Anakin.”

Laughing, Obi-Wan nodded and patted Anakin’s arm. “I know, Anakin. I’d be a fool not to know.”

“Sorry,” he said as heat spread across his cheeks.

“Don’t apologize.” Obi-Wan fully turned to face him, and Anakin realized that the people Obi-Wan had been speaking to had slipped away into the dense crowd. Anakin couldn’t say he was too upset about that. “I didn’t think you’d be here. Not that I know your employer well, but from our brief meeting he seemed rather… focused on business. His business, to be more accurate, and not what you might like to do.”

“To be honest, this is more his speed than mine,” Anakin said. He leaned in a little closer to be heard over the crowd, and enjoyed how Obi-Wan didn’t move away. He was warm in front of Anakin, smelling of rich colognes that tickled his nose. His eyes sparkled from behind the mask, heating Anakin up further. “He’s got some business matters to finish up at this event. He told me I could do whatever I wanted in the meantime.”

Obi-Wan smirked and tilted his head to the side, catching Anakin’s attention and locking it in. “So… does this mean you’d be willing to dance with me?”

Fear skittered through Anakin then; just a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach. “I’ve… I’ve never danced before,” he confessed. “In fact, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Don’t worry - most of the people here haven’t, either. It’s not exactly a regular occurrence on most planets outside Zeltros or perhaps Canto Bight.”

“You seem at ease.”

“I’ve experience in these environments.”

“Because of where you’re from?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed behind his mask. “If you wish to know where I’m from, you need only to ask, Anakin.”

“Alright. Where are you from?”

“I was born on a small Inner Rim planet, but grew up in Coruscant.”

There were few planets in the galaxy that had a reputation such as Coruscant. Most people, whether they came from a shit hole like Tatooine or a glittering world like Zeltros, knew about Coruscant. To Anakin it sounded excessive and loud and too much, but also thrilling and exciting and exactly the type of place one could get lost in. When he was a kid and had notions of escaping Tatooine, he’d thought Coruscant would be the perfect place to flee to. No one could find him if he didn’t want to be found - not even the Hutts.

Part of the world still fascinated Anakin, but it had lost much of its luster over the years. No matter where Anakin went he would always just be a slave.

“What’s it like living there?” Anakin asked. “You must have one of those penthouse apartments in the upper city.”

“You could say that,” Obi-Wan said. He took Anakin’s elbow and guided him further away from the dance floor and into a slightly more secluded spot. They were still surrounded by others, but they weren’t in danger of being knocked over by a dancing Wookie. “Coruscant is… a world made of contradictions. The upper wards contain the Senate and the Jedi Temple, the Opera house and museums that house our history and our culture through the centuries. The people who walk the streets do so in confidence and safety, their lives ones of privilege. But beneath these wards lives another world: one that is more… complex. Poverty and crime run rampant in the shadows, while misery is allowed to fester in the people made to endure.

“But it’s also home to some of the most amazing foods in the entire galaxy, with some of the most rich and complex cultures one could ever imagine. It’s a cultural mosaic down there, where communities from all across the galaxy come to make something entirely unique to Coruscant and Coruscant alone. We on the upper levels use the backs of this labour - this culture and creativity - in order to maintain the lifestyles that we live. Most on the upper levels don’t ever venture down below to see where the true heartbeat of Coruscant really lies.”

Anakin listened to Obi-Wan’s speech, entrapped by the sound of his voice and the intensity by which he spoke. Love and frustration coated his every word, the contradictions he spoke of coming through clear as day.

“In truth,” Obi-Wan continued, “Coruscant is home. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“I hope to visit one day,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan’s brow raised slightly over the edge of his mask. “Truly? I thought I did a poor job of selling it to you.”

“No, you didn’t. It sounds… fascinating. Rich and deep and complex. Sounds like an easy place to get lost in - for better or worse.”

“It’s true, there is no doubt about that.”

“But if you like it so much, then it has to have something going for it.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “You’re too kind, Anakin.”

Anakin liked that he’d made Obi-Wan smile like that; made his voice lower slightly, become something more sweet like honey. He liked that he could make Obi-Wan blush, little spots of pink peeking out from behind the mask as the heat trailed along the tops of his high cheekbones. He liked that when he stepped closer, Obi-Wan remained just where he was, the pair focused on each other and no one else.

And Anakin liked that this was all for him. Obi-Wan didn’t know that Anakin was technically property, and therefore he wasn’t allowed to just take things for himself. He wasn’t allowed to cherish a person or an item or anything at all, knowing that whatever it was could be stripped from him in an instant. As far as Obi-Wan knew, Anakin was just a bodyguard who was hired for a job and nothing more.

It was an oddly liberating thing to be able to engage in something so simple as flirting with a handsome man in the corner of a ballroom.

And then it came crashing down.

“Tell me about Tatooine?” Obi-Wan asked.

The words of an old beggar rattled through Anakin’s head then, heard by Anakin when he was a boy of six as he stood next to his mother. The man’s milky white eyes had penetrated Anakin’s soul then, his gravely voice still sticking to Anakin’s ribs whenever he thought of the futility of his existence.

‘This is a land of misery and heartache, where the desolate sands drink in the tears and blood of its people and demand more without giving in return. The people are cruel and harsh because they know other ways of surviving; they take what they can and hide away what’s left until others are reduced to begging for scraps. Those born on the planet rarely see any way of escaping its hold. Like the bones of the whales that once called it home; so too will we become rotted and bleached, forever entrapped on the graveyard that is Tatooine.’

As if sensing Anakin’s discomfort, Obi-Wan’s expression changed. The sparkle in his gaze faded and concern flooded his expression. “Anakin, I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay, I—” Anakin tried to turn from Obi-Wan’s gaze, but Obi-Wan caught his chin in a gentle grasp.

“Don’t turn away from me. Please,” Obi-Wan murmured. “A man such as yourself should never feel the need to turn from his grief or any other emotion. Embrace it - show it with pride and honesty. It is no burden to me; I’ll take whatever you will give me.”

The patter in Anakin’s heart flared then, wild and uncontrolled. Only his mother had ever given him permission to exist within himself; to not hide tender emotions, powerful emotions, those that made him both weak and strong.

The heat of Obi-Wan’s hand and the rub of his callused thumb against his chin calmed Anakin. Spurred on by the sensation in his heart, he leaned into the touch, dragging Obi-Wan’s hand up along his jaw so that he was cupping his cheek. He didn’t want to tell Obi-Wan about Tatooine or anything to do with it. He wanted to exist in the here and now. He wanted to feel handsome and free of his shackles in the presence of a man who knew him only for who Anakin wanted to be. Who he should have been all along. Not as a boy or as a slave or as chattel.

Just as Anakin.

“I am sorry, Anakin,” Obi-Wan continued. “I should not have brought it up, knowing what I do know of your home planet. Let me make it up to you. Perhaps a dance is a more welcoming distraction now?”

Anakin laughed softly, letting go of the tension that had swallowed up his body. “You’re trying to make up for your lack of social graces by making me dance?”

“Oh, don’t be so difficult,” Obi-Wan murmured. His hand had strayed further up, fingers catching in Anakin’s curls. Anakin’s eyes fluttered slightly as Obi-Wan massaged the spot behind his ear. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed those long, graceful legs of yours. You’ve the body of a dancer.” He stepped closer - close enough where Anakin could feel his breath against his lips. “I promise I’ll lead you through the steps, teach you the basics, guide you through the twists and turns.”

Anakin’s heart felt like it had lodged itself in his throat. And other places, too.

“I…” he began, but all words and thoughts caught on the tip of his tongue.

“Indulge me?”

“Okay.”

Obi-Wan smiled and dropped his hand from Anakin’s cheek down to his hand. Grasping it, he led Anakin into the centre of the chaos. Immediately Anakin was swept up in the noise and the sights and the sounds - colours swirling around him, laughter and conversation snapping at his attention, bright smiles and flashing canines from pink and blue and green mouths. Lost in the commotion Anakin froze in the centre of the dance floor, his hand tightening around Obi-Wan’s to keep him from leaving him in the mess.

“We’ll start with an easy dance,” Obi-Wan said over the music. As he did so he grabbed Anakin’s wrists, placing his left hand on his shoulder while grasping his right and elevating it. Anakin’s breath caught when Obi-Wan grasped his hip firmly, the heat of his touch felt even through the layers of his formal wear. With a quick pull, Anakin was pressed tight against Obi-Wan, their chests almost flush together. Their eyes locked behind their masks, and Obi-Wan winked. “Remember that tugging sensation you get when we’re together? Like we’re supposed to be together, rather than apart?”

Anakin nodded. “Yes.”

“Trust in it. Ease into it.”

“I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do. You just need to remember how.”

Shifting his stance, Anakin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The tugging was there, as it always was, but there was another layer to it now. Being so close to Obi-Wan, it was as if he wasn’t feeling only his own excitement but Obi-Wan’s as well - like the beat of his heart was matching Anakin’s, ghosting over his own sensations and movements. But it was a shallow sensation.

Anakin knew he could go deeper.

It had taken him years to build up his walls; to pretend that he couldn’t sense when things were going to happen, or what people were truly feeling behind their fake smiles. He learned to ignore it until it became nothing more than a tickle beneath his skin that would turn into an itch every so often. But now he was expected to open himself up to it all - in the middle of a dance floor, no less - and Anakin found it exceedingly difficult.

But he could do it. He had to.

Taking in another deep breath, Anakin followed the tugging sensation, opening himself up to the steady beat. Slowly the music and the noise around him started to slip away the deeper Anakin sank, until all he could hear was the beat of their hearts and the flow of blood through his head. It was rhythmic and pulsing, primal and deep.

And then he felt it, like the waters of the ocean against the shores, steady and deep. It was both calming and powerful, focused and excited. It was the hope of another - bright and true, asking to be let in and be accepted in as well. It was Obi-Wan.

Anakin jumped into his waters, and let himself be swept up in his essence. When he opened his eyes he found he was dancing with Obi-Wan.

They were moving in perfectly synchronized steps, their feet light across the stones as Obi-Wan led him from one corner to the other. Obi-Wan’s hand was firm along his back, guiding him from one movement to the other, but it wasn’t needed. Not when they were so connected.

It felt as if Obi-Wan was a part of Anakin, his thoughts, their movements, their entire being one and the same. They moved as if together they made up an entire whole; as if they were supposed to be like this - a pair, a team, a community of two.

“I can’t believe this,” Anakin said, laughter bubbling out from between his lips as they swept through the ballroom.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan said as they twirled and stepped.

“How do you know how to do this? I mean, you’re just an Estate Agent?”

“I’m not just an Estate Agent, Anakin. And you’re not just a bodyguard…” Anakin’s chest squeezed a little, but Obi-Wan’s presence soothed him. “You’re special, Anakin. You’re connected to this galaxy in a way most cannot even dream of being. It is simply your circumstances that have blinded you - hidden you - from who you truly were meant to be. Who you can be.”

“I don’t understand,” Anakin said.

“You will.” Obi-Wan smiled again, soft and soothing - and a little patronizing - before he swept Anakin into another rush of movement.

The music had changed again, lush and romantic as it swept through the room. The holographic confetti continued to fall down, sparkling as it danced on the top of Obi-Wan’s copper and silver hair before disappearing across his broad shoulders. Anakin could suddenly sense the pheromones that coated Zeltros like the air itself; sweet and pungent as it worked its subtle will on the people in the hall. But Anakin didn’t think it was the pheromones making him feel as he did for Obi-Wan.

He wanted to kiss him, wanted to hold him and be held in return. He wanted to feel his body on top and beneath his own, hot and heavy and stained with sweat. He wanted to taste him across his tongue, feel him deep inside, wanted their heartbeats to intertwine until there was nothing left of their individuality, but all that existed was them as a whole.

Mostly, he wanted to be allowed to love Obi-Wan, and be loved in return.

As if sensing his desires, Obi-Wan slowed their movements and went in to kiss Anakin’s cheek. It was simple and sweet, but it made Anakin’s entire body hum with excitement. When he turned to look at Obi-Wan again, he couldn’t help but marvel once more that a man such as Obi-Wan would even bother with some skinny street kid like Anakin. He couldn’t believe that there was any reason to stop and take a second look, let alone stop at all.

Their movements slowed then, and Anakin realized that the dance floor had cleared, leaving just them. As soon as they stopped the room was drowned out by applause, the other patrons having obviously enjoyed the show. Heat boiled up across Anakin’s cheeks, and he ducked his head in some futile attempt at hiding himself from the eyes of the crowd. Despite knowing that the room was unaware as to his station in life, Anakin couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the prospect of being so seen. Slaves weren’t supposed to be admired like this. It was safer to be ignored.

Obi-Wan, sensing this through their bond, squeezed Anakin’s waist before grabbing his hand and dragging him off the floor and into the safety of the anonymous crowd. Anakin followed him until they stepped out onto a secluded balcony. Dropping Obi-Wan’s hand, Anakin approached the stone railing and looked down. Beneath them was a garden, green leaves and bright flowers spread out like a patchwork blanket. Anakin could smell the wet mulch and perfumed flowers from where they were, thick in the muggy air. He breathed in deep, trying to get as much of it in his soul to take home with him when he was forced to return.

“I didn’t expect an audience,” Obi-Wan said as he came to stand next to Anakin. The sun was setting, the pink skies even brighter, with spots of blue clouds dotted along the horizon.

“Ever danced in front of that many people?” Anakin asked.

“Can’t say I’ve ever danced in front of any audience.”

Leaning against the railing, Anakin turned to admire Obi-Wan. He was prettier than any sunset. “You’ve lived an interesting life,” he said. “Tell me, is everyone from Coruscant as cultured as you are?”

“Oh no, not at all. I’m afraid many of us from the upper levels are terribly dull.”

“You must get bored then.”

Obi-Wan shrugged and turned to Anakin. “Traveling for work keeps me entertained. I get to see the galaxy, meet new people. Flirt with new people.”

He touched Anakin’s wrist then, fingertips pressing against his pulse point. Anakin bit back the urge to ask how many people he flirted with, jealousy creeping through him to heat his gullet. But Obi-Wan felt it, their newfound bond still open to them both.

“I don’t make a habit of this,” Obi-Wan murmured. “In fact, it’s been so long I was worried my intentions might have been too subtle. Or perhaps poorly executed.”

“I’ve never been flirted with in any capacity, so I can’t really critique,” Anakin confessed.

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed from behind his mask. He reached up to trace the back of his knuckles along Anakin’s jaw before cupping the back of his head, catching Anakin’s curls in a firm but still gentle hold. “I can’t imagine how anyone could overlook a man such as yourself. Your boldness, your beauty, your brilliance - it radiates from you like a flame in the dark. The moment I saw you I couldn’t stop myself from being drawn to you - moth to the flame, or lost soul to a safe harbour.”

“Obi-Wan…”

Obi-Wan stepped closer. Their chests brushed, breath hot across each other’s lips. Their noses bumped slightly, and Anakin tried to hold back the whimper that threatened to slip from his lips. With untrained hands he grabbed Obi-Wan’s hips and held on, desperate to feel the shift of his body beneath his touch.

“You felt it too, did you not? The moment we first met - like something finally clicked?” Obi-Wan said. Suddenly there was desperation in his voice, his usual calm, confident energy slipping away.

“Yes,” Anakin said. “I still don’t know what it is.”

“It doesn’t matter; not right now. All that matters is this…”

Obi-Wan kissed him then. It was both soft and firm, trained yet honest. Anakin had never been kissed like this before and didn’t know what to do with his body, but leaned into the embrace all the same, already desperate for more. When Obi-Wan made a move to pull away Anakin only pressed further, his lips parting, giving Obi-Wan permission to deepen it - to take his fill so that Anakin could as well.

Obi-Wan’s tongue slipped across his bottom lip then, just a teasing taste that made Anakin’s gut clench and body hum. Guided by Obi-Wan’s hand, he tilted his head to the side and sighed as Obi-Wan slipped his tongue inside to rub briefly against his own. Tightening his grip on Obi-Wan’s hips, Anakin pressed in further and whimpered when he tasted the sweets on his lips.

“You ate some of those cakes near the door,” Anakin murmured when they broke apart.

Obi-Wan chuckled, low and deep, the sound carrying through Anakin’s body like a punch to the gut. “I’ve a sweet tooth.”

Anakin kissed him again. And again, and again. But his courage soon slipped away, and the reality of what he was doing shuddered through him. Anakin wasn’t entirely inexperienced. He’d run off with other slaves his age when he was a teenager, the group hidden behind closed up shops for the evening with stolen treats and drink from their slaver owner’s homes. One day Anakin had been kissed by a Twi’lek who radiated a confidence that he wished he had. Their touch was soft but… impersonal. Anakin hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he thought he should, and pulled away before things could proceed further.

But this was different. Anakin felt something for Obi-Wan. He wanted all of him - anything he could get. But he was also deeply aware that he didn’t know how to ask for it, and if he did get it, he didn’t know what to do with it. Watto’s jokes about popping his bristolmelon rattled uncomfortably in Anakin’s head, and he held back a frustrated groan.

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I’m fine,” Anakin said. “I just… just need to take a break, if that’s okay. I’m not used to—”

“Shh, you don’t have to explain,” Obi-Wan said. He was still petting Anakin, pressing into the knots at the base of his skull, making Anakin’s knees weak with every deft touch.

“I’m just going to use the washroom.” Stepping back, Anakin righted his suit, pulling at the fabric until it tightened along the back of his neck. “I’ll be back, though, I promise.”

Obi-Wan nodded and leaned casually against the railing. “I’ll be here.”

Unable to resist, Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan’s collar and dragged him in for another brief but intense kiss. “I promise,” he said when they broke away.

Leaving the balcony, Anakin chanced one last glance over his shoulder and grinned at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan returned the grin before waving him off. Hurrying down the hall, Anakin headed in the direction where he thought he’d seen a sign for a toilet earlier. The halls were quiet and darkened, lights from candelabras with fake fire guiding his way.

Turning a corner, Anakin felt another’s presence. But by then it was too late.

A sharp pain blossomed at the back of his skull before the hallway went black.

Chapter Text

Anakin was woken by a splitting headache and the uncomfortable press of durasteel against his back.

Eyes fluttering open, he sucked in a breath when he came face to face with a small rodent. No. Not a rodent - a Chadra-Fan. They squeaked when Anakin woke, their entire body tensing, before they disappeared from Anakin’s field of view in a flurry of golden robes. Closing his eyes again, Anakin winced as pain pulsed through his head, steady and thunderous. Biting back a wave of nausea, he sat up and leaned against the wall.

He could hear the hum and creak of a ship all around him, and smelled familiar motor oil and polished steel with each uneasy breath. Swallowing, he dared to open his eyes again and took in the room.

No. Again Anakin was wrong. Not room - cell.

He and the Chandra-Fan were locked in a small room with bars on one side that looked into another sterile area, a small table and a chair the only bits of furniture in the small space. Off in the corner was a closed door, a red light above it indicating it was currently locked. Fear gripped Anakin’s heart as the severity of his situation kicked in, making the pain in his head even worse.

Taking his hand to the back of his head, he pressed against the swollen knot. Just the briefest touch made him wince, but when he pulled his hand back it was blessedly blood free.

“Were you at the masquerade too?”

Anakin looked at the Chandra-Fan. They were still huddled in the corner, swallowed up by their robes. Black eyes stared at him from behind curled up knees, their nose twitching as they smelled the air. Sitting up a little straighter, Anakin hummed. “Yeah, I was. Were you?”

The Chandra-Fan nodded. “I was with my husband. We were talking when someone stepped on my robes and made me spill my drink all over myself. When I went to clean up, someone came from behind and snatched me. They just picked me right up and stuffed me in a bag. It was humiliating, not to mention terrifying.”

“Could be worse,” Anakin said, “they hit me on the back of my head and knocked me out.”

“I saw them drag you in here. I thought you were dead, but then I smelled your breath as you exhaled.”

“You smelled my breath?”

“Don’t take it personally. We Chadra-Fan can smell better than most species in the galaxy.”

Anakin attempted a smile, but the fear choked most of what he could muster. Closing his eyes, he tried to think beyond the pain. “Did you happen to see who our captures are, or know where they took us?”

Opening his eyes, he watched as she approached him. Her footsteps were soft on the ground, little clicks heard as her nails hit the hard floor. She settled near him, her robes reeking of spilled wine, her nose twitching as if she noticed it just as he did. “They’re a mix of species. I can hear them through the walls of the ship. I think bounty hunters, or maybe slavers. I hope bounty hunters.”

“You got a bounty on you?” Anakin asked blankly.

She shook her head. “No. Do you?”

“No, but I’m already a slave, so I don’t see what good I’d be to them. It’s bad business to steal another person’s slave and try and re-sell them.”

The Chadra-Fan’s expression remained foreign to Anakin, but he swore he could see the furrowing of her brow beneath the heaps of brown fur that adorned her face. “Well I’m certainly not a slave.”

“What are you then?”

“An artist,” she said. She tilted her chin slightly upward and tugged down the collar of her robes slightly. “I am Nylia Telando, galaxy renowned sculptor. I blend machines with the organic to create pieces that both astound and delight.” She sighed then and slumped back into herself. “Of course, none of that means anything when you’re a hostage in a cell. I might as well be a nobody. In fact, it’d probably be better if I was.”

“Well, I’m Anakin Skywalker. I fix spacecraft and machines, but I don’t really blend the organic into my work.”

He took her small hand and shook it, marveling at how her claws barely left a sensation on his palm. “A pleasure, Anakin. It’s nice to have company in this cell.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not very long - maybe an hour before they dragged you in here. And you were only passed out for a few minutes before you woke up.”

Anakin took a deep breath as another shudder of pain swept through him. If he kept his head perfectly still it didn’t hurt as much, but he didn’t much feel like keeping still. The longer he was awake and the more he stared at the bars of their cell, the more the reality of the situation was allowed to take hold. He was taken by slavers for reasons unknown to him, stuck on a ship that might already be light years away from Zeltros, sat next to an artist who seemed like she’d forgotten what hardship was - if she’d ever known it at all.

Closing his eyes, he tried to find Obi-Wan in his heart, but all he felt was the pounding in his skull and the uncomfortable ache in his stomach.

The urge to just give in settled for a moment. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be sold to another person. Maybe they’d live somewhere other than a desert planet laid barren by exploitation for centuries, where the suns didn’t hurt and the people didn’t harm and the world didn’t scar.

But then he thought of his mother; soft, warm, comforting despite how the world she inhabited would try and break her of it.

“What else can you tell me about the people who brought us in?” he asked as he opened his eyes.

“Well, they were all wearing breathing masks with oxygen tanks. I think they were trying to stop from breathing in the pheromones on the planet? It tends to dull one’s sense of blood lust and their desire to take random artists as hostages.”

“Anything else? What are they talking about right now?”

Nylia pressed her ear against the wall closest to them and closed her eyes. A moment passed, before she sat back. “What they’re going to eat for dinner.”

“Figures.”

“You know, if they are slavers, it would make sense why they’d take me - I am, after all, an incredibly talented artist. But why would they want you?” She seemed to startle herself by her own blunt words, her hands coming up to cover her mouth briefly before she stuttered out an apology. “Not that you’re worthless, Anakin. I just have to wonder.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anakin said. “I’m actually wondering about that myself.”

With the room more in focus and the throbbing in his head subsiding somewhat, Anakin found the courage to try and stand. Getting his feet under him, he slipped up the wall carefully, gritting his teeth as it felt like his brain was about to fall out of his nostrils. Taking in another deep breath, he pushed away from the wall and stumbled towards the bars. Grabbing them with his hands, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold metal.

It was oddly soothing.

Settling against the bars, Anakin finally had time to think.

They were in an older model ship - what type exactly Anakin couldn’t say, but the lack of barriers and the use of metal bars for their jail indicated it wasn’t a modern one. He also couldn’t hear the familiar creaks and groans that rattled through a ship when it was moving, the durasteel and metals contracting and shifting as the ship moved through the stars or rumbled on a landing pad. If they were still on Zeltros, that would make an escape easier.

If being the operative word.

“Are we moving?” Anakin asked over his shoulder.

“No,” Nylia said. “But we’re not near any civilization that I know of. I can just make out the sounds beyond the ship, and it’s very quiet.”

Anakin let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. That was good. Very good. If he could get them out of the cell then they could make a break for it, and not end up vacuumed out into space. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to get out of the cell. Standing back, he gripped the bars and gave them a shake. They remained solid and steady.

“I tried that,” Nylia said.

Anakin bit back his retort that she was four times less his size, and instead peered through the bars to look for a lock. Next to the cell on the wall he could see what looked like a card reader with a glowing red light next to it, pulsing slowly with each breath that Anakin took.

“It’s locked with a key,” he said. Pushing himself away from the bars, he ran a hand through his hair and winced when he touched the lump on the back of his skull. Sucking in his groan of pain, he returned his attention to the bars. Thick and heavy, they’d cause a lot of damage if used as a weapon. Or, if someone happened to smash their face against it…

“Anakin?”

“I think I’ve got an idea,” he said. Turning to Nylia, he coaxed her closer. “Think you can make a lot of noise for me?”

“How so, and what for?” she asked warily.

“We need one of the guards to come in here. You can say or do whatever - just make as much noise as possible.”

She righted her robes and nodded. “You’re going to want to cover your ears for this one.”

“I think I can—”

“Trust me,” she said with a sniff. “You do not want to hear what sort of sounds a pissed off Chadra-Fan can make, Human.”

Taking her at her word, Anakin nodded and stepped back from her. Placing his hands over his ears, he watched Nylia as she approached the bars and stuck her snout out between them. She paused a moment, seemingly preparing herself, before she opened her mouth and screamed. The most horrific, high-pitched sound broke out into the small space, piercing Anakin between his brows. Biting back the wave of nausea that swelled up in him once more, he pressed his hands more firmly against his ears and curled in on himself as the sounds continued.

It struck him like a live wire, making his skin itch and his heart beat rapidly, teeth rattling in his skull. It seemed to go on for forever but probably only lasted a few seconds, before someone came running through the door of the room. Immediately Nylia snapped her mouth shut, releasing Anakin from his misery.

“What the kriff are you doing?” the slaver roared as he approached the bars. He appeared to be a human, covered in a mottling of armour that looked to be pulled from his victims. His voice was muffled by the oxygen mask he was wearing, the front of it marred with the painting of a red hand.

“Nothing,” Nylia said quickly, her hands held up in defense as she cowered beneath the man’s shadow.

Realizing this was the best shot he had, Anakin wasted no time and stepped forward. Before the slaver could recognize Anakin’s presence, Anakin reached through the bars and grabbed the man’s jacket with both hands. He smiled when they locked eyes, before he pulled the man toward him forcefully. The man’s face smacked against one of the bars with a heavy crack, but Anakin didn’t give him time to even cry out before he pulled him again, hitting his face against the bars with enough power to knock him out.

Letting go of his jacket, Anakin let him collapse inelegantly against the bars.

“Oh gods,” Nylia said as Anakin dropped to his knees and started feeling around the man for a key. “That sound…”

“I could say the same to you,” Anakin mumbled.

“I did warn you. You Humans are so sensitive to echo-location. I don’t know how you go around this world so easily rendered useless by things such as noise and smells.”

“You can tell me all about the inadequacies of my species later. Help me find a keycard.” Anakin said.

Nylia knelt down next to him and scrambled around the lower half of the man, her small hands searching in the many pockets of his pants. Reaching as far as he could, Anakin slipped his hand down the inside of the man’s jacket on the other side, and grunted when he felt a card in the man’s pocket. Pressing his lips tight together, he slipped the tips of his pointer and middle finger over the sides of the card and gently wiggled it out, before grabbing it in full.

“I think I got it,” he said as he stood. Side-stepping Nylia, Anakin reached through the bars and slipped the card through the reader.

It didn’t open.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Anakin tried again. It still didn’t open.

“Keep looking for a card,” Anakin said.

Nylia started rummaging again, but the little squeaks of worry she let out made Anakin’s heart sink to his stomach. Closing his eyes, he tried again. And again. Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Anakin tried to swallow down his panic. It coiled and wiggled unpleasantly in his stomach, pushing against his gullet until he thought he might not be able to breathe let alone think. He was always a worrier, his mother had told him once. She said it with a soft smile, but he could see the concern in her gaze even then. She too was a worrier, but only about Anakin; about how he was doing, what he would accomplish, if he had enough to eat or enough water to drink.

If he would be okay.

He wasn’t okay now. He was far from okay. Here he was, locked on a slavers’ ship lightyears away from Tatooine with no understanding as to why. The thought of being stolen and not knowing why bothered him perhaps more than the fact that he was probably going to be re-sold on the black market.

But just as his panic threatened to swallow him whole, Anakin felt it.

A little whirring sensation in his chest; similar to the sensation he felt when he was with Obi-Wan, only inorganic, more unknowable and yet… familiar.

“Anakin—”

“Shh,” he hissed out.

Taking in a steady breath, Anakin refocused on the sensation, following it as if he were collecting a piece of string. The more he focused on it, the more pronounced the sensation became - a steady little hum like that of a live wire, mixed with the whiz of electrical sparks and the grinding of a mechanism.

A locking mechanism.

Following it further, Anakin sunk into it until it was all he could feel. Ceasing to exist as a human of flesh and blood, Anakin connected to the sensation as if he were a machine himself; his veins the wires, his heart the electrical centre, his joints the gears. And in the chaos of it all he found the latch.

He pressed on it gently, and heard a click and then a hiss as the door to the cell swung open gently.

When he came back to himself, he heard Nylia’s small paws clapping as she jumped excitedly up and down. “Oh Anakin, look at that! Look at that!”

The sight of the door ajar was perhaps the most beautiful thing Anakin had ever seen. But the joy lasted only a second before Nylia’s face dropped.

“They’re coming,” she said.

“Can you run?”

“Not very far or fast.”

Dropping to his knees, Anakin presented his back to her. “Climb on.”

She did just that, her short legs wrapping around his waist while her clawed hands dug into his shoulders. Wincing, he hooked his arms beneath her legs and stood. He headed to the door of the jail, ignoring the pain in his skull and the ache in his low-back as he carried Nylia’s extra weight. Stepping out into the main hall, Anakin heard the rush of footsteps to the left of them, and immediately started running to the right.

“We’re on a freighter,” Nylia said over his shoulder, her breath stinking of wine and seasoned meat. “We’ll need to get to the loading bay - that’ll be our best bet for escape.”

“Any idea which way?” Anakin asked as he turned a corner and kept running. The sound of their captors thundered through the ship, their shouts and the heft of their armour ricocheting off the walls.

“Down this hall then take a… left.”

“You sure?”

“I can hear the echoes down below.”

Anakin did as she said, running down the halls and taking the first left he could find. Stairs led down, dark save for the lights at the base of the stairs. Trusting his instincts, Anakin took the dark steps, his eyes focused on the light as his feet carried the pair of them down to the depths. It smelled strongly of oil and burnt wiring, and Anakin breathed it in deep. For a moment he wasn’t running for his life but was back at the shop on Tatooine, his mother puttering in the back while he worked on whatever piece of junk Watto had dragged in from the dunes just outside the city walls.

“Right!” Nylia yelled, and Anakin turned quickly.

A double door was at the end, and Anakin swallowed his excitement when he saw the words ‘loading bay’ written above. Hefting Nylia further up his back, he ignored the burning in his legs and arms and instead focused on their imminent freedom.

The doors opened with ease, and the pair stumbled into the brightly light loading bay. Anakin’s grin lasted all of a second before he and Nylia were tackled heavily to the ground.

Nylia fell off of Anakin’s back with a cry, the sound both pitiful and painful as the shriek carried through Anakin’s skull and into his brain. Biting back his own pain, Anakin stumbled upward and swung at his attacker. He hit the slaver, but let out a yell when he realized he’d punched the hide of a Trandoshan. The slaver hissed, her bright yellow eyes locking on to him with glee, and Anakin only had a second to come back to himself before she lunged at him again. He stumbled back and dodged her second attack, before he rushed forward and grabbed her in the middle, tackling her down onto the floor.

The movement stunned the Trandoshan, and Anakin got in another hit before he was dragged off of her by strong hands. Without waiting to see who or what it was that was touching him, Anakin struck out with his elbow, hitting the person in the gut. They let out a deep grunt, and Anakin turned to strike the Human slaver in the face with the heel of his hand. The mask the man was wearing took most of the blow, but Anakin went for the slaver’s eyes instead this time, hitting the vulnerable parts of him before they could figure out what was happening.

Reeling from the pain the man stumbled back, but Anakin didn’t have time to figure out what was going on before more hands were on him. Letting out a roar, he struggled against their grasp before a knee struck him in his side. The pain was instant, air rushing out of his lungs in one great gust, but still he struggled. Another hit, this time across his jaw, making him bite his tongue. The taste of copper flooded his mouth, but he swallowed it and continued to strain against the hands that pushed him further down onto the cold steel floor.

He didn’t stop fighting until the press of a blaster pushed against the back of his head.

“If you’re smart you’ll understand we don’t want you dead,” a voice said from above them. Blinking back his pain, Anakin craned his neck upward to see a Zygerrian flanked by two guards standing on the upper walkway in the loading bay. She smiled behind her clear mask when they locked eyes.

“Of course you’re a Zygerrian,” he hissed out. His side still hurt, every breath making the muscles twitch and his lungs seize. The blaster against the back of his head was removed, and Anakin was pulled into a sitting position by the hands of his captors. He could feel the Trandoshan’s hands on his left arm, claws digging sharply into his skin, her breath laboured and hissing.

“You’re familiar with my culture, are you?” the Zygerrian said, her fur brow rising in interest.

“You’re notorious among my people,” Anakin said. He took a deep breath and tried not to show his pain. “You come to my planet and take your pick among the slaves for trade or sale; the old you use as cheap labour that is easily expendable. And the pretty ones are used for your pleasure; to adorn the halls of your palaces and bedrooms.”

“Let me guess…” The Zygerrian said, her clawed finger tapping the outside of her mask. “You’re from… Nar Kreeta? Kessel?”

“Tatooine.”

“Oh, yes. I see it now.” She leaned against the railing. “You’ve got that look about you, now that you mention it. Beautiful bronzed skin and a handsome face, ruined by your hungry, desperate eyes.”

Anakin heard a squeak behind him, and turned his head to see Nylia still pinned to the floor by a man twice her size. Before he could ask if she was okay, he was struck across the cheek before a clawed hand grabbed his hair and wrenched his neck back up so he was forced to look at the Zygerrian.

“You know slavery is illegal on Zeltros,” he hissed out.

“I know,” she said. She looked at her claws idly, an air of perfected boredom on her features. “Normally I wouldn’t come here; mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea. But when my client came to me with their request, I just couldn’t say no. To the challenge or the money.”

“How much they ask for Nylia?”

The Zygerrian quirked a brow and looked over at Nylia as she lay limp on the floor. “The artist? Oh no, she wasn’t part of the contract. I wanted her for myself. Think of her more as a small gift with purchase, if you will.”

“Then… I’m the one your client wanted?” Anakin asked, confused.

She broke out into laughter, a hissing, high pitched sound that was almost more irritating than Nylia’s screams. It made Anakin’s cheeks burn with humiliation, but he refused to look away even as she continued her laughter. Wiping a finger under her eye, she sniffed back her tears and composed herself. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweet one. You were never the prize - you were simply the bait.”

Anakin stared at her as the words sunk in. The bait? Bait for who? Watto wouldn’t mount a cavalry charge to come and save him, and why anyone would want Watto in the first place seemed completely ridiculous. Especially because Anakin was fairly certain that if the price was high enough, Watto would gladly sell himself.

“The bait?” he repeated. “Bait for who?”

“For me.”

The air shifted then as a familiar voice resounded about the room. With all the pain pulsing through his body, Anakin almost missed the tug of a familiar soul deep in his chest. He watched as a shadow slipped across the floor, and when the hand in his hair relaxed slightly he turned his head to gaze upon Obi-Wan. He stood with his hands casually draped at his side, legs spread slightly in a strong stance, his chin raised high as he looked up at the slaver with what could only be described as cool indifference.

“For him,” the Zygerrian said with a mean grin. “The Jedi.”

Jedi.

The word hung in the air like the approach of a sandstorm, heavy and taught. It whispered through Anakin’s body, shaking loose the final piece of the puzzle. Suddenly everything made sense; the manner in which Obi-Wan carried himself, how he spoke and what he knew. The way in which he could reach into Anakin and pluck what he needed from him, discovering secrets not even Anakin knew he had. The way in which he could connect with Anakin like nobody else could.

And the way in which he made Anakin feel; like he was a part of something, like he meant something. Like he was someone special not because of what he could offer, but because of who he was.

The tremor in his heart palpated quickly, easing some of the aches in Anakin’s bruised body. Obi-Wan was here. The questions, the confessions, the answers could all wait until they were somewhere safer. All that mattered was that Obi-Wan was here.

Shifting slightly, Anakin let out a gentle gasp as he was once again held in place by rough hands. Obi-Wan spared Anakin a quick glance, his expression softening for just a split second before he turned his attention back to the slaver.

“I’ll admit,” the Zygerrian began, “I didn’t expect a Jedi to take a slave as a concubine. But then again, I didn’t think you had a pecker in which to fuck with. I thought they chopped them off once you got old enough.”

If Obi-Wan was surprised by the reveal that Anakin was a slave, he didn’t show it. Instead he stepped slightly to the side where Nylia was still playing dead. The slaver on top of her continued to press into her back with his knee, quelling any potential escape.

“He’s not my slave, nor is he a concubine,” Obi-Wan said.

“And yet you dote on him, follow him around like a love-sick pup, kiss him in the darkness of the night. And you followed him into a very obvious trap,” said the Zygerrian.

“I know you come from a world where love is twisted by ownership, but where I come from affection is freely given to those one cares for. Anakin is a person first and foremost, bound to no one but himself when it comes to whom he loves. As am I.” Obi-Wan took another subtle step, and Anakin could feel a small tremor in their bond. Anticipation. “Anakin and I care for each other because we want to. It’s a pity you know nothing of this.”

The Zygerrian’s face twisted, but just as Anakin thought she was going to give in to her rage, she took a deep breath and softened her expression. “They told me you were a chatty, manipulative Jedi.”

“Ah yes, this mysterious ‘they’. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who wants to buy me?”

“You’ll learn soon enough.”

“At least tell me how much I fetch on the market.”

“Enough credits to buy a large island on this forsaken pleasure planet and then some.”

Obi-Wan seemed unimpressed. “Truly? I thought they’d give you enough to buy at least half the planet. After all, it’s not easy capturing a Jedi.”

“Yet here you are: one Jedi against an entire ship filled with slavers and bounty hunters.” The Zygerrian looked down at her polished claws before brushing them idly against the lapel of her shirt. Turning back to Obi-Wan, she shrugged. “You look caught to me.”

Obi-Wan smiled. It was a lean smile; smug almost. Anakin liked how it made Obi-Wan look - roguish and slightly dangerous. The flutter in his chest increased even more, exciting and daring. It made Anakin almost feel lightheaded, though it might have also been the head wound. Or the gut wound.

“Oh, darling… you don’t think I came here all alone, do you?” Obi-Wan practically purred.

As if on cue the doors to the loading bay blasted open. Smoke and bits of metal shrapnel spread throughout the room, followed by the heavy footsteps of a multitude of people. Immediately blaster bolts flew through the smoke and between the crates, followed by the screams and shouts of many. In the chaos the slavers holding on to Anakin dropped him. Wasting no time, Anakin stumbled upward and ran toward Nylia and her captor. Through the smoke Anakin could see the flash of lightsabers, bright blue and green and purple, brilliant and bright.

But he didn’t have time to marvel. Instead he ran at the slaver that was still holding Nylia to the floor. Anakin narrowly dodged a bolt before he shrugged his shoulders and tackled the man. They fought on the floor, Anakin grabbing at the blaster before he struck the man firmly with the heel of his hand, knocking the man’s head back onto the floor. He let out an angered roar, but before he could retaliate Anakin grabbed the blaster and struck him again in the face with the butt of it.

He fell back, breath ragged, eyes bleary. Leaping off of the man, Anakin scrambled back to where Nylia was still lying on the ground, her small hands covering her ears as the chaos of the battle continued to ring out around them. Anakin wanted to help where he could - he wanted to fight and be bold and brave like Obi-Wan was - but instead he picked up Nylia and carried her to a corner of the room where he thought it would be safer.

Kneeling on the floor, he hugged Nylia close to himself as the fighting continued behind him. More shouts happened, followed by the whiz of blaster bolts and the unfamiliar hum of the lightsabers. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Obi-Wan in the haze of the smoke. He moved with a fluidity that Anakin had never seen in a person before. It was as if his body was made of water, flowing from one state to another with no thought, no hesitation, just pure instinct. He deflected blaster bolts and slipped between them as if avoiding them like leaves falling from a tree, seemingly sensing them before they were even released from the barrel.

As he moved he approached different targets, disarming them with a subtle flick of his wrist, causing the blasters to fly from their hands before he struck them carefully, rendering them immobile but never killing any of them. The other Jedi moved with much the same efficiency, but Anakin only had eyes for Obi-Wan.

But just as Anakin started to enjoy the show, it stopped.

The air cleared as if parted by the Jedi themselves, and all that was left were the fallen bodies of the slavers, the Zeltros police standing over them, and the Jedi taking stock of their efforts with disinterested eyes.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” one of the Jedi said as he approached Obi-Wan. He was familiar to Anakin, and Anakin realized he saw the pair speaking at the outdoor restaurant.

“That didn’t go as smoothly as I think we’d all hoped, but then again, I didn’t expect them to play their hand quite so suddenly,” Obi-Wan said as he adjusted his suit. “I should apologize for allowing them to see me with Anakin. He… he was never meant to be a part of this.”

The other Jedi’s brows furrowed slightly. “You know my thoughts on the matter, but what’s done is done. Let us just hope that we have gathered enough evidence to present to the Council.”

Another voice from high above them spoke out, joyful and bright. “We got what we came for, at least. And mostly in one piece!”

Anakin glanced up to see a Nautolan Jedi with the captured Zygerrian slaver next to him, her arms pulled back behind her with stuncuffs tightly wrapped around her wrists. Other than some singed fur, she seemed no worse for wear.

“Are we safe?” Nylia asked, her small voice barely heard above the commotion.

Finally looking away from the scene, Anakin pulled away from Nylia slightly. Other than the obvious terror on her face, she seemed more or less intact. “We’re safe,” he said. Standing, he held his hand out for her and helped her up. She stayed close to Anakin, her small form pressed against his side as they remained hidden in the corner.

Anakin felt like he’d been hit repeatedly by a Bantha - which, he supposed, wasn’t too far off the mark. His head pounded, his jaw ached, his side twisted and seized with each laboured breath. But adrenalin still coursed through him, freeing his muscles until he could take enough steps out into the open to catch the attention of the Jedi.

Immediately Obi-Wan was in his space, cupping his jaws and staring at him with a mix of concern and appreciation. His touch was soft and warm as he stroked his hair and touched the bruise on the side of his jaw. “I’m sorry, Anakin. I didn’t think you’d get wrapped up in all of this.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Obi-Wan said. He touched the back of Anakin’s head, causing Anakin to wince. “Look at what they’ve done to you…”

Anakin leaned into him, his eyes fluttering closed as he was pulled into a firm hug. All the adrenalin that had kept him going slipped from his body then, and he let out a quiet sob as the reality of what had just happened sunk in.

Nylia remained where she was, and Anakin dropped his arm to pull her into the hug.

XXX

“Ani! Ani, my boy! What have they done to you!”

Anakin waved off Watto’s attention, wincing when tried to grab his face. “I’m fine,” he said, and slapped Watto’s hand away when he tried to poke his bandaged side. “Stop trying to touch me.”

“I saw the emergency lights, and when they told me that there was an incident involving a kidnapped slave I knew it had to be you. I know my Ani well, I said to my colleagues. That boy can’t stay out of trouble!”

Anakin sent Watto a blank stare. “Tell me the truth, Watto.”

Watto rolled his eyes. “Come on, Ani, you know—”

“The truth.”

“They scanned your chip on the back of your neck and called me to tell me you’d been found.”

He’d been taken to an ambulance by the Zeltros emergency responders, poked and prodded within an inch of his life, had bacta gel and who knew what else slathered over his wounds before they were bandaged, and told to sit in the ambulance until he was given the all-clear. But as soon as the responders left to deal with the others, Anakin slipped out and found himself a seat on a bench a few steps away from the chaos.

He thought the bench was far enough where he could blend in with the darkness, but clearly not.

“Yeah, well, your property is a little worse for wear.”

“What happened?” Watto asked. “Who do I need to talk to to set this right, hm?”

“You mean who do you need to sue for property damage?”

“Ay, Ani, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re under my protection, and that means making sure you’re okay.”

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek. The medics had pumped him so full of painkillers he couldn’t even feel the sting. “You’re going to have to speak to the Jedi if you want to know who did this.”

“Jedi?” Watto’s eyebrows raised slightly. “The Jedi are involved?”

“Yeah, and a whole lot of local police. So have fun explaining to your colleagues why you were seen speaking to the cops and a bunch of Jedi.”

Watto’s expression changed from fake bravado to something a little more concerned. He looked over both his shoulders, as if trying to spot a ‘friend’ lurking in the crowd of observers. “Mm, maybe we should keep this on the down low then, eh?”

“Sure.”

“I… I should probably go. You can get back to the ship alright, yeah?”

“Yeah, I can.”

“And uh, if they ask you to pay for the medical treatment you received, give them a fake name and number. We’re out of here tomorrow anyways.” Watto slapped Anakin’s shoulder roughly before he fluttered off into the swell.

Taking in a deep breath, Anakin held it in for as long as he could before slowly exhaling. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. In fact he’d not felt this tired since he was a kid and had just finished a podrace. Only for some reason, this event felt more dangerous than any of the races he’d done. Maybe it was the fact that he was older, or maybe it was how he wasn’t in control like he was when he was in a podracer.

Either way, Anakin felt like shit.

“Anakin?”

Glancing upward, Anakin saw Nylia and Obi-Wan approaching. He relaxed under their gaze, and made room on the bench. Obi-Wan sat down, but Nylia stayed standing. She’d been patched up much like Anakin, cotton swabs pressed in her ears to try and mitigate some of the sounds of the sirens and voices. Anakin suspected it wasn’t helping much. Leaning against Obi-Wan slightly, Anakin smiled at her.

“We made it,” he said.

“We did,” she agreed. “And almost entirely because of you. I’d hate to think of where I’d be now if you hadn’t been trapped with me.”

“You’d have gotten yourself out. You’re clever and resourceful.”

“No, I wouldn’t have. But thanks for saying so.” She took a step forward and reached out for Anakin’s hand. He took it. Her paw fit gently in Anakin’s own larger hand, almost entirely swallowed up. “Thank you, Anakin. For everything you did for me. If you need anything - and I mean anything - please let me know.” Anakin tried to look away, but she held his gaze. “I have the means to return the favour, Anakin. I can help you.”

Anakin wasn’t entirely certain what she meant, and didn’t want to ask. He was content to live in his state of delirious stupor for now. Instead he nodded and smiled weakly at her. “Thank you, Nylia.”

She stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. When they broke away, she turned to Obi-Wan. “Take care of this one, Jedi. There aren’t many in the galaxy who are even half as brave as he is.”

“I will,” Obi-Wan said.

She nodded and disappeared around an emergency vehicle, leaving Anakin alone with Obi-Wan.

Taking in another deep breath, Anakin rested his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and linked their hands together. There was so much to say, and yet Anakin found he didn’t know what to ask first. The reality of Obi-Wan’s position along with Anakin’s own made it seem like a chasm had been carved between them. Obi-Wan was a Jedi - a protector of the galaxy, a man who lived for everyone but himself, who upheld principles and rules that kept the galaxy working as it should. And Anakin was just some slave from a backward planet, whose desires and dreams were repressed and hidden away, and whose life was beholden to the whims of another.

It was foolish to think that he could have had anything just for himself. And yet despite himself, Anakin had allowed himself to hope.

“So… you’re not not in real estate,” Anakin finally said.

“No, I’m not.”

“What were you doing here?”

“The local government had asked us to help track down an illegal slaver ring that had appeared on Zeltros,” Obi-Wan explained. “Zeltros has always relied on the natural pheromones of the planet to keep people placid and well-behaved, but you saw for yourself that the slavers found a work-around. Unable to figure out how to catch them, let alone act against them, they came to us for help.”

“And you were undercover?”

“I wasn’t the only one. We tried to make ourselves appealing to the slavers by pretending to have various careers that might appeal to them. We had fake artists, politicians, athletes - one of us even pretended to be a slaver themselves, to see if they could infiltrate their operations and undermine it from the inside. Turns out we needn’t have gone through all the trouble, when what they really wanted was a Jedi all along.”

“Funny that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Obi-Wan finally said. “I put you in needless danger, and what’s more, you didn’t even know you were in any trouble to begin with.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t honest with you, either,” he said.

“No, I suppose you weren’t. Though I did know that you were - are - living under different circumstances than you’d been letting on.”

Anakin supposed he should have been flattered that the slavers had kidnapped him under the assumption that Obi-Wan cared enough about him to stage a rescue. What’s more, he should have been flattered that Obi-Wan did care enough to stage a rescue. But flattery would come later, when he didn’t ache with the possibility that this fairytale he’d found himself in was coming to a close.

Anakin raised his head and looked at Obi-Wan. “It was nice, though, wasn’t it?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side. “What was nice?”

“To live in the lie? If only for a little while?”

Obi-Wan’s lips twisted in a sad sort of smile, and he leaned in so that their foreheads were touching. Closing his eyes, Anakin nuzzled in closer and breathed Obi-Wan in. “It’s not a lie if the feelings are true, Anakin. Just because we are different people with different circumstances, doesn’t mean that I don’t… I don’t care for you. Deeply so.”

“That spark between us… the tugging in my heart when you’re around. That’s all real.”

“Entirely so.” Obi-Wan cupped Anakin’s cheek and pet him with the pad of his thumb. He pulled away slightly, just enough so they could look at each other. His blue eyes swam with warmth, sparkles of something else twinkling in the deep depths. “I’ve cared for many people in my life, Anakin, and loved just a short few. But never have I felt so… in tune with another person like I am with you. Never have I felt so assured and yet frightened. Peaceful and yet excited. When I’m with you, Anakin, it’s as if I can finally rest. It is as if… I’m home.”

Anakin tried to hold back his tears, but they came anyway. They slipped down his cheeks and caught at the edges of his jaw, before dropping on to the front of his now stained and torn suit. It had been such a lovely suit, too, given in a moment of uncharacteristic generosity. He had no idea where he’d wear it again, but it felt such a shame to have it be so ruined.

Everything was so ruined.

“Can we just live in the lie for a little longer?” Anakin begged.

Obi-Wan kissed him.

Chapter Text

Shmi stood in the kitchen of her home.

The shelves were now bare, old cups with chips on the rims and preserves in worn jars no longer adorning them. The table they’d eaten breakfast at for decades was also gone, as were the chairs, the nicks and chunks of missing wood hidden away in some storage container. Artwork made by both trained hands and those of her small, adoring son were also gone, remembered only by a select few who were allowed to enter the Skywalker’s hallowed place.

Decades of one family’s life had been lived and shared in this small house. The stone walls had heard every spark of laughter and wail of grief, every long conversation and silent night. It had sheltered them, given them rest and privacy where the rest of the world would take it from them. It had been adorned with their life once.

But no longer.

It was time to move on.

“Mum?” Shmi turned to look at Anakin, her expression softening when she saw him. Anakin’s chest squeezed slightly. He knew this wasn’t easy for her, and yet she followed him all the same. “You ready to go?”

She righted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and nodded. “I was just saying goodbye,” she said as she approached.

Wrapping his arm over her shoulder, he gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head before they stepped out into the sandy courtyard. Watto was near the exit to the apartment block, his little wings fluttering madly beneath the sun. When he saw the pair his expression changed from idle boredom to something akin to humility. Anakin knew it was all just for show - he didn’t care that they were leaving. He cared that he had no more cheap labour to exploit.

“You got the last payment?” Anakin said as they stopped across from him.

Watto nodded. “Your artist friend was never late.”

“Of course she wasn’t. She’s a professional. Unlike some I know.”

Watto’s expression twisted into anger for a moment, but he brushed it away once more with his feigned deference. Anakin waited for the manipulation to begin, and wasn’t surprised when Watto leapt right into it. “You know, even though you’ve bought your freedom, that doesn’t mean you have to leave, eh? You both have done such good work at the shop, and I thought we had a sort of uh, partnership! Some loyalty toward each other. It’d be a shame to lose you outright, ‘s all I’m saying. You could continue to work for me - only I’d pay you, of course.”

“You just don’t understand, do you?” Shmi said. “You only had us because you owned us. There was no loyalty to you; no camaraderie. You kept me as property, and when my child was born you took him as your own, too. The only kindness you showed me was when you said that you would keep my son when he grew to be ‘more expensive to feed’, rather than selling him off to do manual labour in the local mines. I owe you nothing, Watto. Anakin owes you nothing. So take your money and go hire someone else.”

She led Anakin away then, her hand on his elbow as she strode away from their old home. Her chin was held high, but Anakin saw the strain in her features - little pulls at the corners of her mouth and a tension in her neck that told Anakin this wasn’t easy for her. Freedom had just been a dream for them both; something to chase after, to hope for, to aspire to. But it had always just been that - a dream to keep them warm in the coldness of the desert night.

But now it was a reality. They were free people; allowed to do what they wanted, when they wanted, for as long as they wanted to. The weight of oppression had been lifted from the backs of their necks - they now needed only to run.

“You’ll never be one of them, Ani!” Watto called after them. “They’ll never accept you!”

Anakin took his mother’s hand and squeezed it tight. She squeezed back.

XXX

Sitting on the front porch of their new home, Anakin looked out at the rolling fields of green. The grass moved gently in the early evening breeze, the tips of the blades shining like spears of gold as the sun set along the horizon. Above him a large blba tree swayed slightly in the wind, the wood groaning every so often when a particularly strong gust snatched at its branches and pushed into its wide trunk.

Taking in a deep breath of the fresh air, Anakin held it in his chest before letting it go through his parted lips.

Dantooine hadn’t been their first pick, nor their second, or even their third. At first they’d thought of Coruscant, his mother wanting him to be as close to the centre of the galaxy as possible. But when he’d shown her images of the planet she’d recoiled slightly, the line between her brows deepening further when he explained that there was no natural greenery, no rivers, no life but that which was carved out by its citizens. Naboo was then considered, but the wealth disparity reminded them too much of Tatooine, just more lovely and gilded. Alderaan was too expensive, neither having the means and both unwilling to accept any more help.

And then they learned of Dantooine.

The vast prairie grasses and regal trees appealed to Shmi; the ancient Jedi history to Anakin. It was in the Outer Rim, developed but still rural, the people made from the same cloth, the soil rich with possibility. They rented a small house on the outskirts of a lazy little town in need of a mechanic, using what little money they’d saved doing odd jobs that Watto never knew about. When they landed and stepped off the ship, Anakin finally let out a breath he’d been holding since he was a child, and wept with his mother as they stood on the steps of their new home looking out at the impossibly wide horizon.

One week into their new life, and Anakin still found it hard to look away from that horizon.

Anakin heard soft footsteps behind him, and he gratefully accepted the tea his mother passed him. The cup was hot against the palms of his hands, the steam releasing spicy scents that filled him with old memories. Scooting over on the steps, he thanked his mother as she sat down beside him.

“You’ve been out here for an hour - I thought you might be getting cold,” she said. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her legs tucked up against her chest. She’d taken longer to acclimate to the new climate, constantly complaining of the cold even when the locals were walking around with bare shoulders and legs.

“Thanks,” he said, and took a small sip. They’d brought the tea with them from Tatooine. It was one of the few things from the gods’ forsaken planet that was worthwhile bringing.

They sat in silence until the sun was almost gone along the horizon, and the grasses were painted a dark blue and silver that shimmered beneath the moonlight.

“When is he coming?” Shmi asked.

“Next week.”

“Are you excited to see him again?”

Anakin hid his grin behind the rim of his mug. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And he’ll… he’ll teach you all there is to know about yourself? About what you are? Who you are?”

Anakin could hear the hesitation in his mother’s voice. She’d never admit to it, but she was worried about what it all could mean for him. For them. So much change in such short a time, after decades of stagnation; of familiar servitude; of knowing one’s place in the world. And now, as she was just settling in - as she was just sorting out where she fit - a man would be coming to her door in order to ask for her son.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Anakin reminded her. “I’m too old to start my training. Watto wasn’t wrong when he said that I’ll never be one of them - not truly. But I need to know about the Force and about my powers, mum. I need to know who I am, what I was made for, who I could have become. And who I will become.”

“I know,” she said. She turned to Anakin and smiled tightly. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“This is what’s best for me.”

She cupped his cheek and patted it gently. “Trust in your instincts, love. They’ve never led you astray.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but Anakin knew that in this instance it was. Ever since he’d left Zeltros he could still feel Obi-Wan deep inside, his presence like a shadow that matched his heartbeat. It was as if he could still feel Obi-Wan nearby; his heat, his weight, the press of his lips against his own; the rumble of his voice, the gurgle of his stomach, the brush of his clothes; the scent of his perfumes, of the shampoos in his hair, and the musk of his body. It haunted Anakin’s every waking and dreaming moment, snatching away what little respite he managed to obtain the last few months.

But soon they would be reunited. Soon, Anakin could know peace.

“I can’t wait for you to meet Obi-Wan,” he said.

“Neither can I,” she said as she dropped her hand. “I don’t know what’s more surprising: you bringing a Jedi home, or you bringing someone - anyone - home.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and knocked their shoulders together. “You should get a job as a comedian. I’m sure the local pub would be more than happy to let you roast their customers.”

“Now now, we only just arrived. We don’t want to make enemies just yet.”

“True.” He sniffed in the cold air and took another sip of his tea. It had cooled, and he drank the rest in two full mouthfuls. “You should get back inside.”

“You’re not coming?”

Anakin shook his head. “I think I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.”

“Alright. But don’t be too late.” She stood and kissed the top of his head before disappearing back into the house.

Letting out a deep sigh, Anakin closed his eyes and followed the gentle pulse of his bond with Obi-Wan. It hummed gently like the buzzing of a radio in the background of his shop, comforting and familiar.

XXX

He was working on a shelf for his mother in the backyard when he felt it.

It was bold and strong; persistent and bright, like the sparkle of electricity emanating from the end of a live-wire. Both maddening and soothing, it pulled at Anakin, trying to get him to move - to run, not walk toward the source of his joy. Toward his destiny.

Dropping his tools, Anakin ran around the side of the house and up around to the front. And there, stood beneath the yellow sunlight and framed by the tall grasses that feathered the prairie landscape, was Obi-Wan.

He was dressed in the robes of his order, cream and brown coloured cotton wrapped and bundled up around his broad frame. The colour of the sunlight made his copper hair shine even more brightly, his pale skin freckled and graced with lines that deepened when he smiled. He was carrying a small suitcase, worn along the edges and stuck with a variety of stickers that told of journeys had and stories to tell, but when he saw Anakin he dropped it to the ground and ran.

Immediately Anakin was caught up in Obi-Wan’s presence, strong arms wrapping tightly around him as Obi-Wan peppered him with kisses - his cheeks, his eyelids, the top of his brow, before he kissed Anakin on the lips - once, twice, and then a third for good measure. Their bond sung out in joy; fluttering, falling, twirling, and tugging sensations running through their bodies, making it difficult to breath, to think, to exist beyond the thrill of the moment.

“I missed you,” Anakin said.

He smiled when Obi-Wan cupped his cheeks and held him as if to admire him. Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled beneath the sunlight. Anakin realized that this was the first time he’d seen Obi-Wan in true sunlight - gold and orange replacing the pink light from Zeltros. He much preferred this sort of light on Obi-Wan, the silver in his hair more true, the reds and golds more bold.

“You look well,” Obi-Wan said, admiration evident in his expression. “You look happy.”

“I am. Happy, I mean. Now that you’re here.”

“Are you ready to begin your training, Anakin?”

Anakin grinned and nodded. “I’m ready, Obi-Wan. For whatever you can give me.”

“I can give you the galaxy and more,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin kissed Obi-Wan, and for one brief, brilliant, blinding moment, their souls were at peace.