Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for your patience. I know the updates haven't been all that quick in coming. Also, I know I haven't been answering reviews. Sorry about that! I'm going to start back up on that with this update. Thanks a lot for sticking with me!

Obi-Wan wakes to shaking. Someone's hand is on his shoulder. That wouldn't be so unusual—he's sharing the bunk with Garen Muln, and it's not so uncommon to wake up in a tangled mess of limbs given the size of the place where they sleep. These beds aren't meant for two. They aren't truly meant for anyone really, considering how they're all lined up in a long room that's lit with harsh, artificial lighting that still manages to somehow not be enough to really see by. Harsh, but not bright. Just hard lighting.

It is Garen who's shaking him, but when he cracks open an eye, he notes that, standing behind Garen, is a page. Ah, so Anakin wants something. It must be later than he thought.

"Yes, I'm up," he mutters, sliding down off the bed. He shoots a quick look at Garen as he stretches, trying to work out the kinks that sleeping on a hard mattress has left. Pitiful. Everyone else endures this every night. "Thank you."

"Sure thing," Garen quips, rolling over onto his back and shooting Obi-Wan a grin. "You're getting old, Obi-Wan—we both know your back couldn't handle a night on the floor."

He just barely manages to avoid rolling his eyes. "We're the same age, as you well know."

"I wear my years better."

If only that were true. In reality, Garen looks older than Obi-Wan, mainly in the lines of his face and the gray streaking his hair—signs that come from time and a body wearing out. It's not surprising: while Obi-Wan was caring for a child, doing his best to make him, against all odds, into a good man, Garen has been doing physical labor. Helping to raise Anakin, Obi-Wan knows, was not an easier job by any means, but he does—at least on nights when Anakin isn't in a temper—live a better physical life. He doesn't usually have to sleep on beds that hurt his back, and the rooms he has are clean—not like this. In some ways, he's very lucky.

As lucky as any Jedi can be anymore.

Reaching down as he climbs out of bed, Obi-Wan scoops his tunic off the floor and pulls it on. It'll do for now, considering all his clothes are either at Satine's or in Anakin's spare room.

"It was just a joke," Garen says a little sadly as Obi-Wan pulls on his tunic.

Goodness, was he that obvious? He should be able to hide his emotions better by now.

"I know," he says once he has his shirt on straight. He even makes the effort to smile, but the movement makes his cheeks ache.

"Do you?"

"I do."

Garen shakes his head. "I wouldn't want to do what you do, you know. At least where I am, no one cares much. But you—every second of every day, you have to think about what you say, about how you say it, about what you can change and what you can't. It's—"

Obi-Wan cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "It's not nearly as bad as it seems."

"Because you think he can change?" he asks, merely watching as Obi-Wan moves to leave.

Yes. That again. Anakin… is not Palpatine. And Obi-Wan can know that and never truly convey it, because in many of his actions, Anakin seems to be little different. Just as ruthless. But Sith—Sith don't love. They don't care. And Anakin does. He always has. And Force help him, Obi-Wan has to believe that's hope.

Even if no one else does believe it.

"Obi-Wan—"

"Thanks for the bed, Garen."

Possession, Garen will say. Control. Obi-Wan has heard it all before. Sith want to possess, to rule, and so what if they protect what they consider to be theirs? But that—it's not Anakin. Not entirely. He does care. He's controlling, and many of his actions are tainted by that, but that's not all he is.

And, Force, it's complicated, because that caring is tainted, but it's there. Obi-Wan—he's sure. He's seen Anakin at his worst, and he's seen him at his best, and his best is striking. It's kind. Caring.

The page doesn't speak as he escorts Obi-Wan out of the quarters. They never do. If Obi-Wan asked a question he might answer, but he's long since learned there's very little point: any answer he gets will be monosyllabic, simply to make it clear that the page has better things to do than talk to a former Jedi. And idle conversation? Entirely out of the question.

He's half tempted to tell his escort that he doesn't particularly need him to do his job. It's not as though he doesn't know his way to Anakin's rooms. This is just protocol, the sort of pointless endeavor Anakin always seems to be engaging in just because.

At least the page leaves him once they reach the door to Anakin's apartments. That's probably more out of self-preservation than anything else, though. Don't enter the belly of the beast if you don't have to. That sort of thing.

Obi-Wan, of course, has to, and, honestly, he does hope that Anakin is in a better mood than he was last night.

"Morning," Anakin greets when Obi-Wan opens the door, slipping inside. Immediately, he's hit by the smell of hotcakes. Normally, that might be inviting, but given what Anakin was supposed to be doing this morning, it's more along the lines of irritating.

"I take it you didn't have breakfast with the Senator?"

Anakin swallows his mouthful. "No, I did. But she likes fruit."

Goodness, Anakin has already been up long enough to have breakfast? Obi-Wan must have slept much later than he'd thought—Anakin is never up before him, and he certainly never has full meals before Obi-Wan has even gotten dressed. "And how did it go?"

Beckoning in the direction of the table, Anakin indicates for him to have a seat. The life in the gesture, however—it's not comforting, because that energy isn't for him. Anakin only gets like this after some sort of confrontation, when the surge of adrenalin hasn't quite dissipated.

Obviously, breakfast did not go well.

Nevertheless, Obi-Wan takes his seat—because why would he turn down a good breakfast?—and waits. There will be a story. There is always a story.

"Could have been worse," Anakin admits finally, taking another small bite.

"But could have been better?"

Anakin shrugs.

Of course it could have been, because nothing can ever be just easy, can it? Wearily, Obi-Wan runs a hand over his beard, hand cupping his chin, just to muffle his sigh. "Anakin, what did you do?"

"Hey, she was the one who tried to stab me."

The hotcake he was reaching for slips out of his grip and falls, graceless, to the floor. "Pardon?"

"No, you heard right."

Yes, then why is Anakin grinning? "Anakin—"

"I find her interesting, at least."

"Because she tried to stab you?"

"She's not boring."

Really? Not boring? As if Obi-Wan thought she was after hearing that. Of course, it's more than a little worrying that Anakin prefers attempted murder to boring. "Anakin—"

"Don't worry. She wasn't trying to kill me. She's not capable, I don't think."

Oh? Well, thank the Force for small miracles.

On matters like that, Obi-Wan does have to concede that Anakin is a rather good judge. He has to be: there are a great number of people who do want to kill him. His life would end unsettlingly quickly if he couldn't discern who those people were.

"In which case, I'm going to assume that you provoked her?"

For a moment, all he receives is a blank stare. But Anakin doesn't do blank well. Not for long. And, yes, right there—his lips twitch guiltily.

"Look, just talk to her, okay. Maybe calm her down?"

"Anakin, she is your wife—"

He nods. "Yes, and she really doesn't like me. I'm the reason someone needs to calm her down. I don't think my continued presence will help." He pauses, eyeing Obi-Wan's felled hotcake accusingly. Just wonderful. Now he's blaming food when it doesn't do as he wants. "You should eat. You need to eat."

Meaning he feels guilty for not letting Obi-Wan finish eating last night. "I am, Anakin. I was just… somewhat sidetracked when you mentioned you were almost impaled."

"No, I saw it coming. Minutes before she did it, actually. I just wanted to prove to her that it wouldn't work."

Obi-Wan doesn't really need any more information than that. Anakin—he's so often like that. Just push, push, push… "Would I be correct in assuming that, because you knew she was even slightly considering something of such a violent nature, you pushed her until she actually tried to follow through with it?"

Anakin's lips twitch again, promising a smile, but he hides it with a well-timed bite of food. "It should make you feel better that I couldn't provoke her into actually trying to kill me."

"Yes," he mutters sourly, "a very comforting notion indeed."

"So you'll talk to her?"

"I didn't say that—"

"If you don't talk to her, I'll have to try, and she's not very receptive to me."

"Fine." In the interest of Padme's mental health, just fine. Because if he says no? Anakin will deliberately go provoke her again, just to irritate Obi-Wan. So he'll go. Because Padme doesn't deserve that.

The smile he gets is genuine; it even reaches Anakin's eyes. "Thank you."

"You're—"

Whatever, Anakin was going to say, he never gets to, because his comlink rings, cutting off his words. Swearing softly under his breath and completely ignoring Obi-Wan's reprimanding gaze, he reaches for it, fingers scrabbling against cloth for a few moments before he finds the place where it's hooked to his belt.

"Skywalker," he greets tersely.

This early in the morning? Before anyone even answers, Obi-Wan knows this won't be good. No one has access to that comlink expect him, Palpatine, and members of the Imperial forces. Moments later, when the controlled tenor of a clone answers, he knows he's been proven right: not good. "Regretting to inform you, My Lord, but there's a small insurrection occurring in the business district."

Anakin stiffens, fingers tightening on the comlink. "And just how large is this small insurrection?"

"A few hundred people, Sir."

A few hundred people. Oh, just lovely.

"I'll be down."

Always. It's what Anakin does. The idea of it makes Obi-Wan want to just close his eyes and sleep, to not think about it—to not consider whom Anakin will kill today. Insurrections are always like that, and he has to admit, he's relieved that it's a fairly small one. If it were larger, Anakin would probably ask—order—him to come. It's not that Obi-Wan entirely objects to that—Force knows, a lot of people want Anakin dead, and it's nice to see that the boy has enough self-preservation skills to want someone trustworthy-someone who, unlike the clones, is loyal to only him rather than him and Palpatine. That's good, and it eases Obi-Wan's mind… but, when he's there, he sees the faces of the people who die. Worst of all, he knows most of them are just casualties of a regime that never should have risen. Sometimes, they are just protesting that regime—that regime where it is a crime to protest at all. More often, the protests have gotten violent. They threaten other citizens.

As always, the protestors pay for their boldness in blood. If the Empire had never risen, it would be a price not required: they would never have protested at all.

Anakin kills the connection and clips the comlink back onto his belt before turning to Obi-Wan. Already he's wearing that hardened expression of someone about to enter an armed conflict, and here, in this comfortable room, it seems entirely out of place. "You'll talk to Padme?"

"If you agree to be cautious. Something about this situation-"

"Just strikes you as wrong?"

Obi-Wan nods. "You don't think-?"

"I do, actually."

Palpatine, then. Just another excuse to tighten his rule, perhaps test Anakin, see how he handles the situation. Likely both. And in that respect, there's… hardly any way to adequately describe how Obi-Wan feels about the fact that Palpatine would sacrifice his own subjects—and his son's well-being, though he's long ago proved that Anakin's best interest is not his priority—just to boost his power, but after all the years he's been privy to this sort of thing, it's ceased to surprise him.

"You want me to come?"

"And give him a ready-made way to kill you and make it look like an accident?" Anakin shakes his head. "No, stay here, talk to my wife. If that doesn't take too long—which I doubt it will, since she doesn't want you dead like she wants me dead—go see Satine. When she asks where you were last night, give her my apologies."

Which is, of course, as close as Anakin will get to actually apologizing to Obi-Wan. That's exactly what it is, though—an indirect apology to him. Satine is merely a convenient go between, a way for Anakin to save face.

Anakin pauses then, face pinched in thought. "You know what? Just go see Satine. I—whatever Palpatine is doing, I don't like it. I'd rather you weren't here for now. I don't want you running into him."

"I can't really object on that count. I don't much fancy a chat."

Still, Anakin seems troubled, though not the sort of troubled that comes with the impending certainty of slaughter. That, for Anakin, has become a job, and while Obi-Wan doesn't like to think on that—not if he doesn't have to—he's learned to recognize the shifts in moods that it causes. This is not it.

"Something else?" he prompts, waiting. Anakin will speak eventually. He always does.

"No detours," Anakin says finally, eyes jerking toward the door, then back to Obi-Wan's face. They seem darker—not nearly as light a blue as they usually are.

"I don't know—"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. And you know that, so far, you've managed not to let me catch you at it. Doesn't mean I don't know about it. I'm telling you, though—not today. Something feels off about today."

Obi-Wan doesn't respond. He's not sure he could push words past the aching dryness in his throat. Someday, probably fairly soon, he's going to have to choose his loyalties. But he won't speak before then.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin prompts, more sternly this time, eyes sharper, more focused. He extracts a promise in the same way he extracts a confession: Obi-Wan has been on the receiving end of both, albeit not in such a painful fashion as he knows others have been.

"I don't know—"

Strange how that denial makes the muscles of Anakin's face twist in a sort of amusement. "You're such a liar," he says almost fondly, shaking his head and laughing. Though the look deteriorates into a glower a few moments later, it was there. What prompts it has always has been there, this strange sort of mix of amusement and admiration that he regards Obi-Wan's evasiveness with. "But I'm still telling you: don't do it. And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. Just don't do it, and I won't ask you about what you didn't do."

Fair enough. The not asking part, at least. There is still a very good chance that he may end up doing exactly what Anakin is warning him against, though. Chances like these—they're very few now. It's true that the resistance in the Outer Rim is growing, that Master Yoda has, rumor says, organized the Jedi that managed to escape the purges, but it's still not enough to make opportunities commonplace. If he is called tonight, he will go, and Force help him, Anakin may decide that he's not too good to take a punishment like every other former Jedi after all—though, Obi-Wan doubts it, given the situation in which Anakin first found in—but even if that happens, it will be worth it.

Finally, just as he's about to slip out the door, Anakin's face cracks back into a lazy, self-satisfied smile. "Don't look so worried, Obi-Wan. Whatever Palpatine is doing, he won't kill me." The smile turns darker, edgier. "Mom did, after all, make sure he didn't get the biological heir that he wanted. He's stuck with me. We all know it. Might as well make use of it."

Yes, that's all true, but the price had been so high. Too high, and Obi-Wan can remember dragging Anakin away that night, holding him, rocking Anakin as the boy choked out sobs, covered in blood. Can anyone really blame him for wanting Palpatine to die for that?

"Doesn't mean he's not playing a game with you. He toys with what he hates, Anakin, and we both know he hates you for not being what he wanted."

Yes, for that and for being a remnant of the master that left him scared and disfigured, severely weakened in power. Mortal, and at a rate far more accelerated that it might have been had Plaugus gone in his sleep like Palpatine intended.

Anakin nods. "I'll be careful."

"Thank you. And, Anakin?"

He pauses at the door, back to Obi-Wan. "Hmm?"

"If this is a setup of Palpatine's, I would ask you to remember that you're killing people who have been manipulated into doing his bidding."

"It's still a rebellion, Obi-Wan. Those who aren't a part of it—peaceful citizens—are threatened by it."

"Anakin—"

"I won't kill if I think it's unnecessary. That's the best you'll get. Now, I'll see you tomorrow?"

He leaves when he gets Obi-Wan's nod of confirmation, letting the doors shut behind him with the same finality as his words. Won't kill unnecessarily. What is that? So often, it's different for him and Anakin. Always in the definitions. It can't be helped, though, not with the games he and Anakin play. Definitions are so very important to that game, to telling the truth while still lying, to evading, and to manipulating the other into a desired action. They couldn't exist any other way, not unless Obi-Wan wants to mindlessly do what Anakin tells him, and neither of them really wants that.

Necessity, however, is not always correlated to enjoyment—oh, what he wouldn't do for a straightforward interaction.

Perhaps it really is time to go see Satine. That's long overdue, actually. At times, it's easy to believe that his wife keeps him sane. And really, that thought—how can it not make him wonder whether he would have been a good Jedi? Too often, he finds himself attached to people, and for a good long time, he tried to fight that. Only, the Order is dead, and he doesn't have the same responsibilities a Jedi would have. If he had those responsibilities, it would be necessary, but that way of life collapsed years ago: when Qui-Gon died, he knew with absolute certainty that it was over. He would never be a Jedi.

But he is not a Jedi, he thinks as he heads for the door. A Jedi would not be going to see his wife. A Jedi would not be permitted to have raised a child in the way he raised Anakin. Padawans are not the same: if he had cared for Anakin in the way he cares for him now, he would not have been a proper master.

Yet, he cannot really see himself being different. Jedi or not, he cannot imagine having no attachments. If the Order had survived, could he really have been a proper Jedi?

But he is not a Jedi, so he goes home to his wife, letting the doors close behind him, just a surely as life closed down on his chance to be anything but what he is right now.

So final.