Chapter 2
After another week, Obi-Wan had had enough of efficient Healer Padawan fussing over him. He was ready to return to his own quarters where he could be alone. But the Healers weren't about to let him out of the Healer's Wing without assurances about his care.
Yes, he repeated for the hundredth time. His Padawan was perfectly capable of taking care of him. They had been doing so for years in places much less hospitable than the Temple. And hadn't Anakin been a part of his convalescence in one way or another since the day he had been brought in? He had had to practically order Anakin out of his room to stop his hovering and distracting emotional swirl.
Finally, the Healers relented and allowed him to be discharged. He didn't mention it to Anakin.
As he prepared himself mentally for his release back into his life, Obi-Wan reflected on how that life might look. And, of course, that life centered around his Padawan. His recovery wasn't going to be swift. Obi-Wan knew that it was only a matter of time before Anakin became frustrated with him. Even more frustrated than he already seemed to be every day since Anakin turned fourteen.
His Padawan was never known for the length of his patience. He demanded everything from everyone around him-no less than he demanded of himself. But Obi-Wan knew that in his present state he had so much less to give his apprentice. Would Anakin even bother to give Obi-Wan some lame excuse before winging off to some exotic place or another with a new, fully functional, Master?
He could barely lift himself from a reclining position, couldn't hold anything in his hands with any kind of strength or surety. If he couldn't train Anakin properly, and couldn't be a proper Jedi Knight himself, then Obi-Wan wasn't sure what he would do. Being a Jedi was all he ever knew, all he wanted out of his life. To serve the Republic with his knowledge, his dispassion, and his lightsaber.
Obi-Wan had always had doubts about himself. He had doubted he was good enough to be Master Jinn's apprentice. He had doubted he was good enough to defeat a Sith on his own. And he had certainly cultivated a whole garden of doubts about being the Master of the Chosen One. But those doubts had always been buried deep down inside Padawan and Knight Kenobi's consciousness. He never discussed them openly.
Now . . . .
All his faults . . . all his weaknesses . . . all his deficiencies were on display for anyone who cared to look his way. And how many would care to look? They would all want to look once-for curiosity and all-but few would look again.
Would Anakin be one of those who looked once and quickly away? Obi-Wan would know soon enough.
Anakin ran from room to room in their quarters, cleaning of all things. Obi-Wan was being released from the Healer's Wing later today, and Anakin was under strict instructions from the Healers to minimize his stress. So he cleaned up what would clearly irritate his neat and tidy Master. Dirty plates, stacks of datapads, piles of droid parts, mounds of clothing-every mess seemed to be larger than the last.
He was so preoccupied with sorting the bits of droid into the proper boxes that he would then stow under his bed that he didn't hear Obi-Wan come in through the door under his own power.
He froze when he heard his Master clear his throat.
Slowly, he turned to face the convalescent, his face burning for so many reasons. He hadn't finished his cleaning. He hadn't escorted Obi-Wan from the Healer's Wing. He was disappointing his Master even though Obi-Wan hadn't asked one thing from him.
The young man knew that his forewarning of Obi-Wan's release was only from those tasked with caring for his Master's burned body. His Master hadn't shared the simple fact of his release with Anakin, confusing and hurting him. The patient refused to ask his Padawan for assistance-didn't even want him in the room with him. Is he afraid I'll disappoint him, he pondered.
Like I seem to be doing right now? Anakin pursed his lips and looked down at the items in his hands. Quickly, he threw them haphazardly into the boxes and took the boxes silently to his room. Is he going to want me out of his life permanently, he wondered as he surveyed the enormous mess still littering his own room.
When he returned to their shared living space, Obi-Wan still stood where he had moments before. But his eyes were sweeping around the room as if searching for something familiar-something which would say home. The only thing he saw that even remotely fit the bill was Anakin. Anakin was home to Obi-Wan no matter where they were. Until he decides to find a new one, he thought dismally.
Anakin stood five paces away, his hands wringing, unable or unwilling to say anything, to initiate conversation with this man who had been his constant companion for a decade.
He almost didn't recognize his Master. All of his hair had been singed off by the fire. His skin was still an angry pink even after the bacta. And since his coughing had been wracking his frame a little less every day by refraining from talking, he hadn't heard Obi-Wan's voice above a small whisper since that day on Geonesis.
"Anakin!" he heard in his mind, echoing through the cave.
But the bright light of his Force signature said Obi-Wan, and Anakin clung to that familiarity as desperately as he had tried to shed the burden that being Obi-Wan's apprentice had felt like before Geonesis. He had wanted Obi-Wan to stop holding him back. He had wanted his Master to believe in him. Now those selfish concerns seemed juvenile and petty-he knew they were. He needed to grow up.
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed a little in thought. His lips opened as if to say something, but then he seemed to think better of it. His mouth closed softly, and he started to move, slowly, with obvious difficulty, toward his bedroom. He was looking forward to sleeping in a more personal space than a hospital bed.
Anakin was at a complete loss for the actions and words that a grown-up would use. It was a strange condition for him to feel so unsure. He watched Obi-Wan shuffle across the low carpet toward his bedroom. The consternation which strangled Anakin at the sight was something he was going to have to start accepting and controlling if he was going to make things up to his Master.
He tried two or three times to take a step toward Obi-Wan, to move from his spot where he just wished the floor would open up and swallow him. But he didn't have the control yet.
After Obi-Wan shut the door of his bedroom quietly, Anakin allowed himself to resume breathing. He hung his head and covered his eyes. With an exasperated sound, he went back to his cleaning.
Obi-Wan stood in his bedroom. He just stood. I should lie down, he thought. But I'm not sure-how. He had needed help to get out of bed, to get dressed, to do so many things these days.
Anakin probably thought he had walked all the way home unassisted, but the truth was that Obi-Wan had sent the Healer Padawan away at their front door, assuring her that his Padawan was perfectly capable of helping him from there. It had taken him minutes just to get down the passageway and into the common room. Luckily, Anakin's noisy collecting had drowned out any noise he had made.
It had also served to give Obi-Wan time to straighten himself and appear to be the Jedi Knight that he was. He knew that he wasn't completely recovered, but he also knew that he would be eventually. And the Healers had thought that being in his own quarters would cheer him up. But that's where Anakin was . . . .
He hated being weak in front of Anakin, but better him than anyone else. The parameters of their relationship ensured that Anakin would not make him the object of ridicule throughout the Order. Anakin didn't talk about what went on between them under normal circumstances.
This discretion seemed to Obi-Wan to be counterintuitive to Anakin's vast mood swings and mercurial behavior. But still, he knew that the reserve was as solid as Anakin's control over said mood swings was tenuous. He wouldn't be the one to ever betray the sanctity of their training bond.
Obi-Wan walked, or shuffled, around his bedroom looking at the few small possessions of sentimental value he had. When he came to the small mirror on his modest dresser, he stopped in shock. He hadn't been given a choice to see himself in the Healer's Ward. They had kept him bandaged and salved and in bed as long as possible.
Now he saw why they had avoided that particular treatment. Obi-Wan reached a trembling hand up to touch his face. His beard gone. His eyebrows gone. His bald head. But the lack of hair wasn't the most disturbing thing. The scars on his skin were. They were everywhere.
He looked like his skin had melted-and it had, really. He was lucky to be alive. And to have so little internal damage. His lungs and throat had borne the brunt of the assault through his panicked gasping of the smoke from his enflamed body. He ran a hand across the scars to feel them.
They were soft. He was surprised. He imagined that they would be hard, dry, unforgiving. As he continued to explore them, he parted his outer tunics to see how they progressed down his torso. Long lines and small swirls interspersed with puckers and bumps. Altogether, he was a canvas of abstract figures from head to toes.
After a few minutes, he was also exhausted. He dropped his the thick tunics onto the floor but retained a thin covering, heedless to the mess he couldn't clean anyway. Approaching his bed, he leaned forward with his arms outstretched to try to cushion his weight and use all four limbs to lower himself gently. But his body was not in a mood to cooperate.
With a loud thud and a whispered curse, Obi-Wan fell, half on the floor, half on his bed. Before he could collect himself and try to flop more up onto his intended destination, he felt strong, warm hands under his arms.
"Master," Anakin said softly. "Let me-."
Obi-Wan was mortified. He allowed Anakin to help him up onto the bed from his halfway position, but before his apprentice started to roll him over or arrange him like a doll or a corpse, he said, "Thank you, Padawan. I'm fine now," dismissing him.
Anakin heard the dismissal, but he was unsure. Should he really leave his injured Master to fend for himself?
"Are you sure, Master?" he ventured.
"Yes!" Obi-Wan said as loudly as he could, his voice gravelly and broken. He waved a hand toward the door, indicating his impatience to be alone. Anakin left without another word.
Obi-Wan sighed into his bedcovering. He did need help, but he didn't want to have to need it. Not from his apprentice. Not from anyone. If Anakin had to help him all the time, then just who was the Master here anyway?
A Jedi was self-assured, self-possessed, and self-reliant. A Jedi provided help to those in need-a Jedi did not need. It was unconscionable to be so weak and helpless, even after an injury as severe as his was.
A Jedi was a guardian of the Republic-of civilization itself.
