Character(s): Dooku/Obi-Wan
Disclaimer: Star Wars and all its characters are property of Lucasfilm Ltd. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: For Noctaval as a holiday gift, in fulfillment with her request. I offer my gratitude to Lady Elaine for her wonderful beta reading.
...
Obi-Wan had to admit that he was trapped in the nicest prison cell he'd ever been kept in. The rectangular room looked more like a fine suite. If the high, polished stone walls were bare and unforgiving, the large, comfortable bed more than made up for it. The air of the room was chill, but the synthesilk sheets were always warm and the water in the white 'fresher came out hot.
In fact, if the room hadn't been surrounded by a sound barricade possessed of enough intensity to make Obi-Wan pass out from the earsplitting shriek, Obi-Wan could easily have been lulled into a false sense of security.
Dooku strode into Obi-Wan's room with the air of a prince returning to his kingdom, black cloak billowing and rancorksin boots clicking on the stone floor. He said nothing as he sat down in a plush chair across from Obi-Wan's bed. Behind him, droids shuffled along, placing covered trays on top of the polished dining table on the other side of the room.
"I trust you are enjoying your stay thus far. I'll have you know that arranging for warm water for your bath on this planet is quite expensive."
Obi-Wan smiled and rubbed the blinking Force-nullification bracelets on his wrists. "I am quite pleased with the accommodations, milord. I only object to the nature of my stay."
Dooku smiled. "That is only natural. Unfortunately, the nature of your visit is solely up to you."
Obi-Wan pointed to a bruise on his cheek. "My reaction to the sound barricade was hardly my choice."
"You chose to attempt escape. That was your choice, young Obi-Wan. Just as it was your choice to refuse my generous offer on Geonosis."
"Yes, it was. I hope you are not laboring under the misimpression that my answer would change in two years."
Dooku stood up and bowed. He gestured for Obi-Wan to join him for dinner at the table, then sat down in one of the high-backed chairs. "Perhaps it will, when I discuss my terms."
Obi-Wan shivered from an internal chill. He did not care for the sinister suggestion hidden in Dooku's smooth baritone. Not for the first time, he wondered what had become of Anakin. He knew better than to ask, however.
"Come, Obi-Wan. Have a seat. Surely you must be hungry by now."
The droids pulled the covers off the trays, revealing a colorful variety of food from across the galaxy. There was a juicy roast neska and steaming jirice. Green and white kilte saladings sat beside candied red lowes, and bowls filled with lii-covered jusgrasoie awaited fine white til crackers to dip inside of them. A droid placed a bowl of kri-onion soup with melted nerf cheese before each chair. The delectable combination of scents wafted towards Obi-Wan, and his stomach predictably growled in hunger.
Dooku's smile widened. "It is not poisoned, Obi-Wan. No harm will befall you if you dine with me."
Obi-Wan bit back a comment about how sitting near Sith Lords ruined his appetite. The comment befitted Anakin better than he. He tentatively approached the table and sat down on the empty chair. The moment he did, one of the droids dropped a white napkin on his lap.
"You see, I'm nothing like that beast you killed on Naboo." Dooku held up an empty glass in the shape of a flower. One of the droids poured a shockingly violet liquid into it. "He knew of nothing beyond murder and vengeance."
"Pretty words and fine meals do not mean that you know anything beyond murder and vengeance either, milord," Obi-Wan said. He spooned up some of his soup as the droid poured him a glass of the same violet liquid.
"A well-made point. I shall drink to that." Dooku raised his glass, then took a sip. "An excellent vintage."
Obi-Wan sipped at the violet wine. It was, indeed, a fine vintage, but too sweet for Obi-Wan's taste. "Have you no rejoinder, then? No more wild conspiracy theories about fellow Sith Lords running the Republic?"
"Oh, no. I never put much stock in you believing me even on Geonosis. You're not the sort of man to believe wild tales without proof—it's a wonder you can remain in such an antiquated religion with such cold logic driving you."
"Faith and logic are not mutually exclusive, unless you have a small mind."
"Exactly my point."
Obi-Wan finished his soup. The droid replaced his empty bowl with another filled with kilte salading. It poured a creamy dressing over it and stood back. Obi-Wan wondered how Dooku had managed to find out Obi-Wan's favorite foods.
"What exactly is it that you want from me, milord? Do you really think I would renounce the Jedi and swear fealty to you simply because you keep me in a comfortable prison and offer me a fine meal after starving me for two days?"
"Of course not. And I do apologize for that oversight. I've been very busy."
"If I'm such a burden, I'd be happy to go my own way."
"You are kind to offer, but I have it all under control."
Obi-Wan attacked his salading with a fork, acting out his frustration on the hapless vegetables. As soon as he finished, the droid replaced his empty plate with one filled with roast neska covered in its own juices on a bed of jirice. Obi-Wan was no less merciless with this entrée. When he cleaned his plate and looked up, he was a bit mortified to realize Dooku was just accepting the neska course.
Patience was clearly the name of Dooku's game. Obi-Wan sat back and waited, listening to the tinkle of Dooku's silverware. A droid brought the candied lowes and an iced chocolate miade to him when Dooku finished his neska. Obi-Wan picked at the dessert, waiting for Dooku to get to his point.
Dooku dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, though he'd not even spilled a single drop of wine on his fine white goatee. After a moment, he stood up, black eyes glittering like space at Obi-Wan. "Come, Master Kenobi. There is something I would like to show you."
Obi-Wan stood up and followed Dooku to the back wall. Dooku waved his hand, and the wall slid up with a soft hiss to reveal another wall, this one made of transparisteel. Outside of Obi-Wan's room, snowy plains stretched out towards the horizon. Twisted, leafless trees swayed under the pummel of driving snow. Strange shapes and shadows littered the snowy field, and as Obi-Wan studied them, he started to make out the prone forms of clone troopers. There were thousands of them.
Obi-Wan's prison was not so far away from the battlefield where he had collapsed from cold, from exhaustion, from his wounds—wounds that still ached, despite the bacta treatments Dooku's droids had given him. Dooku obviously preferred his pets healthy and comfortable.
"Your former Padawan, only recently liberated from your tutelage, lies out there." Dooku pulled something from his cloak, something that glittered under the lights.
Anakin's lightsaber. Its power cells still glowed.
Obi-Wan's chest tightened, and his throat closed. He reached for the lightsaber, but Dooku snatched it away and hid it back inside of his cloak.
"I'm very sorry. It was unavoidable."
Obi-Wan turned away. "I don't believe you."
"Even without the Force, you can sense the truth in my words, Obi-Wan. I hide nothing."
The truth clung to Dooku's every syllable, but Obi-Wan refused it. No. Anakin was stronger than that. Anakin always landed on his feet, no matter how impossible the situation. He was the Chosen One. If Obi-Wan accepted Anakin's death, then…
"You have nothing to live for, Obi-Wan. Nothing left of your old Master but me."
Something hot and wet slid down Obi-Wan's cheek. His eyes stung, and his vision blurred.
"I'll let you grieve."
There was the sound of booted heels on stone, then the hiss of a door, then nothing.
Nothing but the sound of the galaxy crumbling to dust.
...
Dooku did not return until the next evening. The sound of his booted footsteps announced his entrance. His droids followed him in and set the table as before. Dooku did not sit down this time, instead standing in front of Obi-Wan, blocking Obi-Wan's view of the transparisteel wall.
"The droids informed me that you have not eaten today. That is unacceptable."
Obi-Wan turned away. He stared at the door, his only chance of escape. But the auditory agony of the sound barricade was still fresh in his mind. He could not think, much less walk through that sound.
"You give up so easily? You are not the man I thought you were."
Obi-Wan continued to study the door, looking for weaknesses, sensors, anything he could use. The stone was smooth, with sensors or buttons, just an impossibly thin seam in the wall—Dooku used the Force to enter and exit.
"Or are you plotting something? Hoping that if you collapse from a lack of food, that I will put you under weaker security? You are wrong, Obi-Wan. I can put you on a sustenance drip right here, if need be."
Dooku picked at the synthesilk of the pajamas that Obi-Wan wore. Obi-Wan jerked away, eyeing Dooku warily. Dooku held up a liver-spotted hand. "I am merely ascertaining whether you have bathed. This is what you wore yesterday, when I brought you dinner."
Obi-Wan glared at him and drew back along the bed. The chill of the dark side that clung to Dooku lingered where Dooku had touched his clothes.
"I sense a great amount of pain and anger in you, Obi-Wan. I understand how you feel, but you should not repress it. You will only harm yourself in the long run."
"You mean I should let myself turn to the dark side as you have? No, milord. That will never happen so long as I draw breath."
"And, yet, if you do not, you will perish. Your former apprentice's death will be in vain. And your Republic will be crushed beneath the boot of a truly despicable Sith Lord, a once great society twisted into an empire of darkness. Do you still refuse to help me save it?"
"Helping you will only doom the Republic, not save it. And that would dishonor Anakin's memory."
Dooku bowed his head. "You said that logic and faith can co-exist. I believe that rage and logic can co-exist, as well. You are angry right now, and I understand that pragmatism is difficult in the face of such a great loss. But you must think this through. I felt as angry as you do now when I discovered that Qui-Gon had been murdered."
Obi-Wan clenched his fists around his bed sheets, bunching the soft material beneath in his hands. The sheets tore as Dooku continued to speak.
"That is why I sought out Maul's master. I have tricked him, Obi-Wan. He thinks me his slave, when, in truth, I will be his undoing. If you helped me, we could destroy the Sith and take vengeance for our apprentices'—our children's—deaths."
Obi-Wan so struggled to maintain control over the tone of his voice that it came out flat. "Vengeance is not the path of the Jedi. And if I were to take vengeance, you would be the first I'd kill for Anakin's murder."
"I assure you, young Skywalker's death was not my idea. An explosion from his troops' ion cannon caught him. The Trade Federation ordered the strike, not me."
"A federation that you keep company with."
"Because the Sith Lord that I speak of uses them. I have no choice but to play their game."
"You're not a very convincing liar."
"Am I not?"
Obi-Wan looked away, back at the door. It revealed no new secrets.
"Come. Eat dinner. I will leave you to your thoughts."
Dooku was as good as his word, and they ate dinner in silence that night. The likimi soup tasted cold.
Obi-Wan finally took a shower the next morning, unable to bear his own stink any longer. He set the water as hot as it could go, nearly scalding his flesh off. The pain was nothing compared to the black hole that sucked at his very soul every time he thought of Anakin. He had not even felt this empty when Qui-Gon died. Anakin had been there to fill the void then, ineptly at first, until he became the sun at the center of Obi-Wan's star system.
Now, there was no one. No one but Dooku, his soul frozen by evil, his mouth filled with half-truths and lies.
When Obi-Wan stepped out of the 'fresher, his skin was pink. The cold air of his room startled his heated flesh, making him hyper aware of every movement of the air against his wet flesh. He dried off and then grabbed the clothing that Dooku had left for him: supple black syntheleather trousers and a loose black blouse.
The door opened with a loud hiss before Obi-Wan had even slid on his pants. Dooku marched in and paused. His gaze raked over Obi-Wan's flesh as if attempting to memorize Obi-Wan's shape. Eventually, he moved over to the chair near Obi-Wan's bed, still watching Obi-Wan dress.
Obi-Wan did not alter his pace. He would not give Dooku the satisfaction of seeing him unnerved. The trousers slid on with some difficulty, as they stuck to his still damp legs. The blouse went on like a cloud. There were no shoes, so Obi-Wan stood and stared back at Dooku.
"Qui-Gon always had an unusual knack for finding attractive apprentices," Dooku said, his deep voice strangely casual.
"Mmm. I never met his previous apprentices."
"A blessing, that. You were his best one, his pride and joy. Just as he was mine."
Obi-Wan stared down at his sheets. They were still rumpled from his restless sleep.
"Have you eaten breakfast?"
"Yes, thank you."
Dooku smiled and stood. "Unfailingly polite. You certainly did not learn that from Qui-Gon, who was far too impatient and quick to judge. You are more like me—reserved and cautious."
"I don't think we have much in common at all."
"Oh, but we do. If you look past our choices in life, you will see that we are men of like mind—intelligent and resourceful." Dooku stretched out a hand. "Men of taste and refinement."
Obi-Wan spat on the floor to show how "refined" he was and walked past Dooku to stand by the transparisteel wall. The snow was piled high, and he could no longer see the outlines of the clone troopers' corpses. All that was discernible in the wintry landscape were the tips of tree branches, stretching towards the sky like the fingers of dead gods.
He wondered where Anakin's remains were, if he was one of the countless corpses hidden beneath the snow. Obi-Wan wiped his eyes, trying not to wonder if Anakin had suffered.
Dooku's hand felt cold, even through the soft material of Obi-Wan's blouse. Obi-Wan jumped at the touch, half-turning to find Dooku close, dangerously close.
"It is only human to grieve for those we love. And it is clear that you loved Anakin."
Obi-Wan turned back to the bleak, white view. "I am a Jedi. Humanity only describes my genetic code."
"Don't you see the problem in that? Don't you think Anakin deserved your love? And now deserves your vengeance? These are things that only real men can give, not Jedi. Droids have more compassion than Jedi."
"Compassion defines a Jedi."
"What is compassion without love? An enigma, a puzzle beyond comprehension. You loved Anakin as I loved Qui-Gon. If you let yourself feel that as a human being would, you would be free from these chains that the Jedi have bound your heart in."
"So, instead of giving into my hatred, I should give into my love?"
"Love cannot exist without hatred, just as the Force cannot exist without its dark side." Dooku's hand grew warm on Obi-Wan's back.
"I will not join you, not through love, and not through hatred. You did not know Anakin as I did. He would never forgive me. Anakin would never have given into the dark side, and I can do no less in his honor."
Dooku pressed his lips to Obi-Wan's ear, and his spidery fingers drew up Obi-Wan's blouse to stroke the bare flesh of his back. "You think too highly of those you love. They had their weaknesses, as you do you. You cannot resist me for much longer, Obi-Wan. I can feel your pain beneath my fingertips, coursing through your system with its brothers, hatred and anger."
Obi-Wan turned his face and looked up at Dooku, his lips only a hair's breadth from Dooku's. An insane desire to kiss Dooku flashed through Obi-Wan, coupled with disgust. He ignored it and stared into Dooku's eyes. They were as opaque as Geonosian coal, and offered none of the warmth of Qui-Gon's or Anakin's eyes.
"I think you're right, milord. We are very much alike. We are cold men who struggle with our feelings. The difference between us lies in how one of us lacked the strength to master his own emotions."
Dooku drew back and let Obi-Wan's blouse slip back down to his waist. He walked out of the room without another word, though Obi-Wan could sense Dooku's anger and frustration reaching crescendo.
A wrenching sound pierced the quiet of Obi-Wan's room, ripping and tearing and banging until someone screamed. A lightsaber thrummed, then silence returned.
...
Meditation was an empty gesture now, meaningless without the contact with the Force. Obi-Wan nearly broke a tooth trying to pry off his Force-nullification bracelets, but with no success. He even tried to leave again, managing to find an air vent near the ceiling, but the sound barricade apparently stretched all around his room. The sound drove him into a fetal position, and he could not move or make sense of direction.
Two hours later, a droid pulled him out of the vent and spared him the soul-cutting noise. It took an entire day for him to hear again, and he developed a nosebleeding problem.
Dooku came by for every meal, sometimes speaking, sometimes not. Obi-Wan tried not to listen too much. More convincing than any dulcet-toned half-truth that Dooku spun was the growing pit of anger in Obi-Wan's belly.
Anakin was dead. And Obi-Wan was trapped with no one to offer him comfort but an old man eaten alive by his own sins. Obi-Wan could not even comfort himself with the Force. He stood in a circle of light that grew ever smaller with every passing day.
When Dooku's fingers brushed against his skin now, Obi-Wan no longer shuddered. He merely resigned himself to it until Dooku realized Obi-Wan was not responding and left.
Obi-Wan feared the day when he responded to Dooku's touch.
...
Snow continued to drive against the ground outside, and had the building where Obi-Wan was held not been on a hill, he was sure they would have been snowed in. Obi-Wan felt positively warm in comparison to the icy landscape outside.
His wrists itched. Obi-Wan absently wiggled the bracelets, trying to quell the sensation, when his door slid open. Dooku walked in with his usual entourage. The trays of food laid upon the table failed to interest Obi-Wan, so he remained on his chair, watching the blizzard.
Dooku sat across from him and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. He studied Obi-Wan for a long time before speaking. "You still think of Anakin?"
Obi-Wan sighed. When he did not answer, Dooku stood up and walked around him. He placed his hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders, his fingers surprisingly warm. "I hear that Adi Gallia just fell to General Grievous."
The soft whirr of the droids' servogears and the rasp of Dooku's breathing filled the void in Obi-Wan's thoughts. He closed his eyes and forced himself to recall the beautiful Jedi Master. Adi had been an ageless presence in his life and a constant source of comfort. She had deserved better than to die in this war. So had Anakin.
A shudder of pleasure suddenly coursed through Obi-Wan. It took him a moment to realize Dooku was massaging his shoulders. "Would you like to know how she died?" Dooku asked, the concern in his voice almost sincere.
"No." Obi-Wan took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Warmth spread through his body as Dooku's fingers traveled up to massage his scalp. He tingled from the unique pleasure that only the touch of a fellow human being could produce.
Dooku leaned over to whisper in Obi-Wan's ear, bringing the sweet smell of cologne with him. "If you gave into me, Obi-Wan, I could give you the chance to save the Jedi Order. No more need suffer in this war, if only you would help me."
Obi-Wan lacked the energy to argue with Dooku, so he remained still and silent. Dooku's fingers withdrew, and Obi-Wan felt cold again.
Silence hung in the air between them for a long moment. When Obi-Wan could bear it no longer, he walked over to the dining table and sat down for lunch.
"I think the blizzard will stop tomorrow," Dooku said, as he sat across from Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan tried to focus more on the delicate hariu pie placed before him and less on the curve of Dooku's fingers around the stem of his wineglass.
...
Sleep did not come to Obi-Wan, though he had laid on his bed hours ago. Obi-Wan slipped in and out of consciousness, not asleep, but not awake, either. There were no dreams, only strands of loose thoughts and orphaned emotions that peered at him through the veil, then scampered off back to the shadows of his memories.
The sound barricade went off again, but this time, Obi-Wan's nose did not drip warm blood. Pain did not stab through his head and drive him to the floor.
After a moment, Obi-Wan realized that was because the sound barricade had not gone off at all. An alarm had gone off, the sound dulled by his thick walls. Obi-Wan sat up in his bed.
The door slid open, and Obi-Wan drew back as a tall figure stood silhouetted from the light in the hall, a red lightsaber burning in its hand. Something had gone wrong, and Dooku was going to kill him. Obi-Wan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
The figure stepped in, and Obi-Wan gasped. Anakin stood before him, bruised, bloody, his clothing torn, but grinning like a mad tillincat. "You're all right. I knew you would be."
It took every ounce of Jedi training that Obi-Wan possessed not to fling himself at Anakin. Relief broke over him, somehow managing to erase the past few weeks in Dooku's prison. His hands shook, so he hid them in the cold sheets. "Anakin…"
"C'mon, let's get out of here. Won't be long before Dooku and ten billion droids, give or take a million, show up." Anakin reached out with his free hand and pulled Obi-Wan up. "And he's not going to be happy that I stole his lightsaber."
Obi-Wan stumbled to his feet and eyed the door warily. "There's a sound barricade…"
"Don't worry, I already put it out of commission from the outside. Let's go."
Obi-Wan gratefully followed Anakin out, his universe piecing itself back together with every step he took, Anakin's hand solid and real around his.
Obi-Wan wanted to ask Anakin how he had survived, how he had broken into the complex, but the questions seemed unimportant when Anakin dragged him out into the freezing cold. Snow crunched painfully beneath Obi-Wan's bare feet, and by the time they reached the small droid starfighter that Anakin had stolen, Obi-Wan could barely move. Anakin said nothing as he gently lifted Obi-Wan up and strapped him into the back.
"Did he hurt you?" Anakin demanded, his fingers probing Obi-Wan's flesh, clearly checking for injuries.
Obi-Wan thought of the despair he had been drowning in, of the dark side closing in around him, of Dooku's long fingers. "No. I'm fine."
Anakin looked suspicious, but hopped into the pilot's seat in front of Obi-Wan. "Hang on tight. This thing is Jawa-rigged, and it's going to be a bumpy ride."
Battle droids poured out onto the snowy plains like angry insects from their nest, blaster bolts firing. The starship rocked under fire, whining in protest. Anakin quickly lowered the canopy before they lost their heads.
Anakin yanked the ship into the air, straight upwards, flinging Obi-Wan back. The roll of the ship as Anakin dodged enemy fire thrust Obi-Wan against the canopy. He caught a glimpse of Dooku down below. The Sith Lord stood in the middle of the swarm of droids, seemingly staring directly at Obi-Wan despite their growing distance. The wind set his cape aflutter, though the rest of him seemed as still as a statue.
Dooku's expression was inexplicably sad.
"We're not as similar as you pretended, Count," Obi-Wan whispered. "I still have Anakin. And my soul."
"What was that?" Anakin asked as they rocketed through the air. Soon Dooku was no more than a black speck on snow. In a few heartbeats, Dooku was gone, swallowed by an impossibly large snowy field, then a contienent.
"Just happy that you're alive," Obi-Wan said, and rested a hand on Anakin's shoulder.
Anakin smirked back at him. "So am I, Master. So am I."
Their ship streaked into airless void, and they jumped into hyperspace, putting infinity between them and Dooku's frozen planet.