Summary: Obi-Wan reflects on his latest mission; Anakin reflects on his poor dietary habits. Contains Obi-Wan/Ventress and spoilers through "Clone Wars 4x22" ("Revenge"). Warning: Poop humor. Title comes from "Safe and Sound," Taylor Swift's contribution to "The Hunger Games" soundtrack.
The War Outside Our Door Keeps Raging On
The ship was small. His orders hadn't been particularly grandiose; in fact, considering the caliber of the opponent, the fact of the matter was that the brouhaha from the Council over his mission had been woefully inadequate. Even Anakin, still off-world with Ahsoka, had missed the opportunity to yowl dramatically in favor of tagging along. At best, then, he'd expected to be returning to Coruscant alone, with the possible probability of toting Darth Maul along in a body bag. He certainly hadn't anticipated sharing the space with an accomplice.
Ventress scowled at him then, and dug her elbow into his back for good measure. "You're staring," she told him, and he realized that, in fact, he had been. Nonetheless, the pressure on his back felt rather nice, and he told her so.
Ventress smirked, eyes glinting, limbs sprawled in a sort of relaxed crouch to hold her upper body away from him. Further down, their legs tangled slightly. "Better this than a snapped neck," she intoned, and he laughed lightly, head craned a bit.
"I'm grateful, of course, for the assistance, and for being able to walk away with my neck firmly unbroken." He paused, and something between them shifted. "Was it for me, then?" he asked, and the assassin's? Former assassin's? - lip curled in a bit of a sneer.
"No." Hands that had been roughly massaging his back stilled. "It was revenge. For Mother Talzin, and my sisters."
"Ah." He knew vaguely of the Night Sisters, in the same way that the Jedi were educated on all manner of organizations, fringe groups, and cults. They tended to remain cloistered away unless provoked, upon which they became incredibly formidable opponents. He did not envy anybody who made the mistake of crossing them. Still, that Ventress claimed allegiance to them was not surprising; for as long as their paths had crossed, the young assassin had always seemed to be looking for a place to belong, a higher purpose to latch onto. The parallels to Anakin were not lost on Obi-Wan; in fact, he rather assumed that that had been part of the attraction. "Will we be dropping you off on Dathomir, then?" he queried lightly.
"No," she said again, and he blinked at the sudden sadness that had crept into her tone. "There is nothing for me there anymore." When Obi-Wan continued to look politely confused, she snapped, "It's been destroyed, Kenobi. Dooku made sure of that," she continued, glowering at Obi-Wan's piteous expression. "There is nobody left."
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, and in spite of herself, Ventress swallowed and bowed her head. Obi-Wan shifted, propping himself on his elbows. "If you have nowhere to go ..." he ventured then, and the end of his proposition hung between them heavily. Finally, Ventress sighed.
"That is not my path, Kenobi." Obi-Wan's hand on her arm surprised her, but she let it be. "Perhaps in another life," she murmured, her voice soft, her gaze far away. Eventually, her eyes swept Obi-Wan's kind, bearded visage. "Besides," she juxtaposed suddenly, "your smelly apprentice would never be able to handle it."
Obi-Wan barked a laugh. "He's not my apprentice anymore," he insisted, and cocked his head. "'Smelly' may be accurate, however. Sometimes," he amended, and Ventress' eyes narrowed smugly. "He's gotten better about that since he's had a Padawan of his own," he explained.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Kenobi." The fact that Ventress' lithe frame was straddling Obi-Wan's seemed to become apparent to them both at roughly the same time. "How's your back?" Ventress asked suddenly, her voice gruff with the attempt to sound careless.
Obi-Wan's eyes twinkled. "Much better." His leg shifted, and Ventress fell forward a little, bracing herself on her hands. "Perhaps sleep is overrated," Obi-Wan intoned huskily, and smiled when Ventress bared her teeth. Then she shifted purposefully on his lap, her breasts bouncing a little. She licked the shell of his ear before hissing something obscene and probably Rattakan in it. The small ship carried them yet unwittingly through space, tuned to autopilot.
"Aaahh, Snips, it's happening again. Help!" Anakin Skywalker's voice was tinged with distress, but Ahsoka Tano only rolled her eyes, staring mutinously at the 'fresher door. "Snips, I need you!" her Master whined, and she sighed.
"I am not going to stand here and read to you anymore. It's gross," she complained, though she brandished a gossip rag picked up at a fueling station on their way back to Coruscant nonetheless. "Plus, I can smell you from here. This whole apartment is like a fart graveyard."
"Ha ha, gross," Anakin snickered, and then let out a cacophony of groans and assorted noises that, eventually, culminated in an essentially useless courtesy flush. "C'mon, Snippers," he gurgled when the latest bout of bowel movement was over. "I'm bored. This is really terrible."
"You should have thought of that before you ate your weight in sliders!"
"Yeah, well, I was hungry, and it was all-you-can-eat. You took advantage of it too, Ahsoka ... though that makes me wonder why you're not doing the same thing right now. Do Togrutas even poop?"
Ahsoka threw up her hands, even though the gesture was lost on the closed 'fresher door. "So I'm going to go back to the Padawan dorms where this isn't happening," she said colloquially, but Anakin cut her off.
"No, no, no, c'mon, please, Snips, stay. Just stay. C'mon. Stay. Please? I uh, I value your company. I couldn't do this without you!"
"Pretty sure you'd find a way," Ahsoka returned sarcastically, but shifted her weight to her other foot and resisted fleeing. Her Master, apparently taking the lack of retreating footsteps as a good sign, let out a satisfied sigh, and then punctuated it by swearing suddenly.
"Kriff. Uh. I'm out of 'fresher flimsy." He paused. "Do you still have that magazine, Ahsoka?"
"I've already read you that eight-page interview with the creator of 'Rogue Jedi' three times. He doesn't talk about what's going to happen in season five!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. That's, um, that's not why I'm asking."
"Master Plo would never subject me to this," Ahsoka sighed, but dutifully slipped the doomed copy of 'Galaxy Weekly' underneath the door, and stomped away just as the sound of the first pages being torn out emanated from her Master's poop prison.