Mostly, this is an early Valentine's Day present for patientalien.
Summary: Darth Maul takes and Anakin gives: An Obi-Wan introspective during and after the events of "The Lawless" (5x16). Spoilers for season five. Warning for non-graphic Maul/Obi-Wan non-con. Implied Obi-Wan/Satine, Obi-Wan/Anakin friendship(ping). Rated a soft "M" to be on the safe side. Title taken from "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" from Les Miserables.
Don't Ask Me What Your Sacrifice Was For
"I will cause you pain," Maul hisses in his ear, and Obi-Wan gags on the gloved fingers that been forcibly shoved into his mouth. His arms are sore and dangle uselessly above his head; he'll have bruises in a few days from where his face keeps connecting with the craggy wall to which he is tethered. Rather, he'll acquire them if he survives the next few days.
He wonders if he truly wants to at this point.
"I will hurt you like you have hurt me," Maul seethes. Obi-Wan says nothing, even as he is stripped of yet more of his dignity and his clothing, even as those same rough digits open him, only to be replaced with something blunter. Pain sears, claws rake overworked flesh, and dig, and tear, and Obi-Wan winces, but he does not speak. There is nothing for it, he knows. Maul will never forgive him for not finishing the job he started, and Obi-Wan has no intention of revealing how much Maul has taken from him already.
He vacillates sharply as his lower half is suddenly crushed against the jagged rock wall, and Maul's visage in his peripheral vision expresses his delight. "You are a fool, Kenobi," he rasps, and Obi-Wan wheezes. "You speak of self-control, but I felt your anger when we first fought all those years ago. It was deep, and raw," Maul grins, grabbing him by the throat then and thrusting his head back. "It was all-consuming. You may have won then, Kenobi, but not because of any great measure of control. You beat me because you were angry. You won because you wanted me to die; and I will keep you alive," Maul spits, snapping his hips, spending himself with a groan, smiling against Obi-Wan's cheek as the smaller man gurgles, "because I want you to live with that."
The wrist manacles keep Obi-Wan standing even when his knees buckle. The dank room seems larger now, and eerily silent, leaving him nothing but his thoughts. It's a fitting prison.
He's rescued eventually, sooner than expected. Satine's sister's face has the same bone structure, though there's a rebelliousness to her that runs counter to Satine's stoic strength. They share the grief of missed moments, of time whittled away on ideological differences, and when Bo-Katan's lips brush his cheek, there is no passion in it, only bittersweet finality.
The journey home gives him entirely too much time to think. He should strategize, he thinks, put the pieces of this latest mission in order for the inevitable upcoming meeting with the Council, meditate and center himself. He should, but he doesn't.
The Council report is half dedicated to ensuring that a proper amount of Republic attention will now be paid to Mandalore, given that it is no longer a neutral system, and half about Obi-Wan being reprimanded for going there in the first place at all. Were the Jedi not embroiled in a war, the punishment for disobeying orders would have been far more severe; still, even as Obi-Wan bows in a contrite show of gratitude and takes his leave, his focus is absentminded, at best.
Going back to his private quarters means facing Anakin, but Obi-Wan has no interest in contemplating an alternative at this point. Wearily, he pushes open the door; Anakin, in rare stasis, surveys him from the sitting area. His expression is unreadable, but his acknowledgment of the other man is swift: "Did you have fun taking my ship on a joyride, Master? Maybe next time, you can leave a note on the cooling unit door. You refilled the fuel tank afterwards, I hope."
Obi-Wan blinks wearily. "The fuel tank is unfortunately unable to be refilled. It exploded. The entire ship did, actually." He gestures vaguely at Anakin. "I'm sorry. I'm sure the Council will requisition you a new one soon."
Anakin stands and crosses the short distance between them, and places bracing hands on his former Master's shoulders. "I am glad you're safe," he declares, the sturdiness of his grip belying his feelings on the matter of Obi-Wan's returning home in one piece. "And how was the rest of your mission?" he adds, eyes briefly roving over his Master's most superficial abrasions, his newest battle scars, and Obi-Wan shuffles a little before answering.
"Mandalore is soon to be under Republic control. Death Watch will likely not disband altogether, but it will do what it must to take care of Darth Maul, including giving up its neutrality."
"Wait, Maul's still alive?" Realization slowly darkens Anakin's features; his grip on Obi-Wan's shoulders becomes slightly more desperate. "How does the Duchess feel about all of this?"
Obi-Wan's breath shudders as he releases it slowly. "It was not her decision to make." When his former Padawan begins to protest this, Obi-Wan drops his gaze. "Satine is dead, Anakin." His voice is nary a whisper now. "Maul killed her."
"Master." Anakin's face - not to mention, his Force signature - is an open book. Still, it's different from all of the times when his emotions practically choked everyone in the vicinity with their intensity. Anakin does not expect him to explain himself, to say the right things. On his face and in the Force, there is only understanding. While sorrow for Obi-Wan's loss still radiates palpably from him, it is a measured response, one concerned primarily with compassion for his Master, rather than revenge or self-pity. It is a simple, steady, yet peaceful feeling, and Obi-Wan begins to siphon strength from it, begins to crave it even, tethering himself to Anakin's steady anchor, and then makes himself pull away, because he can, because Maul was wrong about all of it, he thinks vehemently, and it's the most impassioned feeling he's had in days. Anakin would allow him to take whatever he needed, of course, even more than that, but he doesn't want to put either of them in that position. He won't, he tells himself calmly, and squashes down everything else anew.
Anakin expresses remorse for Obi-Wan's flinching away, but does not fight the resistance. Instead, he holds out his flesh hand. "Master, would you like to come meditate with me?" he asks, and it's a gesture so obviously crafted for the other man that Obi-Wan cannot help but scoff.
"I don't think you've meditated properly since I used to send you to your room as a Padawan to do it as punishment, Anakin."
Anakin smiles, pleased that Obi-Wan is not so far gone as to be unable to provide some good-natured ribbing at his former apprentice's expense. "Yeah, I never had much use for it. Too much sitting and not doing anything. I used to tinker with 'droid parts when you grounded me."
"I figured as much."
Anakin grins. "But my offer still stands," he says, his hand still proffered.
Obi-Wan squares his shoulders, and then twines his fingers around Anakin's, squeezing them in silent thanks. "And so it does," he says, and allows Anakin to lead the way.