Luke cried.
Great timing. Obi-Wan yanked the sleeve down on his still-bleeding arm and went to find the boy.
A light brush against the boy's mind told him Luke wanted to be hold. He, like most babies, found warm flesh to be a more appealing bead than a crib.
Obi-Wan picked Luke up. He walked around the house, humming half-forgotten lullaby the way a child-raising article suggested.
Obi-Wan felt a small smile in his lips as Luke calmed down to sleep again. The boy grew up so fast. He had heard this phrase said by many parents. He thought he understood it, being a Master to Anakin. Yet this felt different. Anakin had been nine when he became Obi-Wan's padawan, he was more like a younger brother, or a friend. Luke was a baby-a small, fragile life-in his care, not the Jedi's. He could felt it, love mingled with pride and fondness in his heart if he dared to have it acknowledged.
This was the moment Obi-Wan knew he was to be the boy's father, not a Master or some sort of relative.
The revelation was heavy. Obi-Wan sat down on a couch. Luke-his son-unconsciously snuggled against his chest. Quiet peace enveloped them both. He soaked in it.
Obi-Wan shifted into a more comfortable position. His hand brushed a stray strand from the boy's brow. Blond hair was tainted brownish red, as was Luke's forehead.
The same red was on his fingertips, trailing down from the hem of his robe.
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan whispered to the sleeping child, even when he knew Luke couldn't hear him. Wet cloth wiped away bloodstain on the boy's face. Obi-Wan's heart burnt with self-hatred.
Ghosts joined Obi-Wan. Demons talked, but ghosts didn't. They showed. They liked to surprise him. One moment he was reading on a datapad. The next, words would disappear.
Yellow eyes. Blue lightsabers. Dark robes. Molten lava. Amputated body. They became his reality. He was back on Mustafar. Tatooine never happened. Luke was nothing more than a faint dream. Obi-Wan gasped for breath. The air came to his lungs harsh and shallow. It smelt like charred flesh and sulphur. He felt the smooth durasteel surface of the hilt. The ground was blistering even with his boots. He wondered how agonizing it was for Anakin. He thought he knew the answer. His heart burnt with the very same fire. It burnt with Anakin.
Eternity passed, maybe it just felt that way. Obi-Wan found himself on his knees, white knuckles gripped toilet bowl. Nothing came out save for acidic fluid. He wiped his mouth and shivered. He tucked his knees to his chest. His tailbone dug into the hard floor. It hurt but he didn't care. It hurt more as he rocked himself. He still didn't care. Every pain was easier to bear than the one in his heart. No tear came. He didn't expect it to.
Another eternity passed before Obi-Wan managed to get on his feet again. He took a quick shower. Sonic felt too harsh on his skin, or maybe not. It could be his hand that scrubbed himself raw. Before him was a mirror as his digits found collarbones, feeling his ribs, lingering between the space between each of them. They passed down the concave plane to cover each of his hipbones. Only then was he satisfied. It was a routine. It came naturally, like his heart beating or his lungs taking the air in and out.
A sigh passed his lips as he dressed. He never knew if it came out of relief or regret. Strong facade slipped over and he faced the universe again.
Before Padmé (and he) went to Mustafar, she had given him access to an untraceable account with enough fund to buy a planet.
"Take it," Padmé had pressed the account chip into his palm.
"But-"
"Take it. Just in case. You can return it to me later." He remembered giving in with a sigh at her insistence.
Now, he was grateful. He didn't think he could manage a job and a task of raising a child at the same time. Luke was an easy child. He cried when he needed something and stopped when his needs were met. It was simple when he needed food, sleep or to change a diaper. But when Luke needed love, Obi-Wan didn't know how to give it. He was a Jedi all his life. Jedi didn't love, didn't have attachment. At least they didn't show them. They would be buried in the depth of the soul, the Force the only one who knew of their existence.
Sometimes, a hug, even a simple pat was too much. His body would freeze as if paralyzed and draw back as if shocked. It made him felt so much like an inadequate parent.
Luke was playing with his toys. A stuffed bantha was in his chubby hand, other ones in the herd strewn around the toddler. His gaze came up from the bantha and met Obi-Wan's. A frown marred his tiny brow.
"Da. You sad." Luke tottled past his toys on the play mat and climbed up to sit on Obi-Wan's lap. He wiggled around, his hands found Obi-Wan's face, stretching it into a smile.
"Here. Better." Luke clapped his hands, satisfied with his handiwork. His expression was almost smug as he went back to his bantha.
"Brat," Obi-Wan mumbled under his breath. The smile stayed.
It unnerved Obi-Wan how well Luke could sense him in the Force despite his shield. The ability was astounding for a child his age. And it would grow, Obi-Wan was certain. That was dangerous. He didn't want to consider the possibility that the boy would feel what he himself did. He didn't want Luke to feel that, to have self-hatred an eternal fire in his heart, to have demons occupy his mind and become a part of it.
Obi-Wan wouldn't let that happen. He could teach Luke to build his shield. No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't teach Luke the way of the Force when he himself couldn't stand touching it.
He made his decision. He stopped brushing against Luke's mind. He stopped responding to Luke's mental greeting. He stopped the warm glow travelling back and forth in their fledgling bond. He stopped using the Force altogether.
Obi-Wan missed Luke. He missed his radiant light in the Force. But Luke's safety came first. It didn't matter how much it cost him.
Luke's memory of the Force would fade to childhood fantasy.
