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Notes: ROTS AU.
ThoseWereTheDays: It's always nice to know someone is enjoying my story. Thanks so much! :)
Maddie Rose: That's very true. Poor Obi-Wan always has a tough time of it.
pronker: What can I say? I very much enjoy Obi-Wan/Anakin h/c, so long as it's not of the slash variety.
ObiBettina7: Very true. His attempts do border on absurd at times.
Estora: That certain exert was a bit of a tribute to the ROTS novelization. It's quite an excellent book. Nice catch on Dooku's intentions, too—that's going to play a huge roll.
REV042175: Thanks! The camaraderie between Obi-Wan and Anakin is always fun to write.
XxRandom NemesisxX: Yup, right now, in fact.
Smoochynose: It's going to be a while before Padme's POV is incorporated, but she'll show up. I promise.
Torli: A little of both, perhaps.
Dooku stares at the hologram before him, taking in every detail of Skywalker's frustrated visage. Handsome face, hair that is worn longish and slightly unkempt, dark eyes. He looks the part of the borderline renegade that he so often insists on playing. How useless. Skywalker has never learned the fine art of controlling emotions so as not to give an opponent an advantage.
Dooku's own face is devoid of emotion, he's sure—something Skywalker doesn't seem capable of—but his inner calm is less stalwart. Kenobi and Skywalker? The poster boys for the war, and two of the most famous Jedi in existence, and they both survive. He's aware of the near miracles they've pulled before, but cheating death in the form of an attack by their own squadron of clones while flying above the atmosphere of a planet is impressive, even by Dooku's standards. Impressive and irritating. It will take extra time—time he didn't want to spend—to rectify this error.
They aren't the only Jedi that survived. Dooku has, in the last hour alone, gained information on more than a dozen others, though none of the other survivors are as prominent. Then, of course, there are others that he hasn't heard from yet, and still more reports of deaths coming from the clones. Nearly all of the Council is dead, Yoda the most important among them. Part of him regrets that—Yoda was his master, after all—but he knows better than anyone that he could not have defeated Yoda individually if it came to that. Geonosis proved that.
No, it is better that he is dead.
Shaking his head, he continues to watch the hologram, analyzing the recent turn of events. This new development doesn't make for an ideal situation, certainly, but Kenobi and Skywalker are only a minor setback. He knows better than anyone that one Jedi—let alone two—can change the course of an entire event, but isn't knowing that the most important thing of all? In knowing their capabilities, he won't underestimate them, and in refusing to do so, he will be equipped to deal with them both. He's bested them before, he can do it again, and this time Yoda won't be there to save the situation.
Dooku doesn't try to stop the small frown that spreads over his face at the thought of his old master. Yoda. He was the Jedi Order's main impediment: at worst, someone who was in power as long as Yoda will be corrupt; at best, he will have become complacent. Yoda didn't allow the Order to change with the times, and as a result, it became stagnant, supporting a corrupt system. His refusal to bend at all has made the Order brittle; his refusal to let it change has kept it from adapting. Inadvertently, that desire to hold fast to tradition also laid a path for Dooku's plans.
It wasn't difficult to gain access to the emergency frequency that the Jedi reserved for situations when no other frequency could be reached. Dooku had once been a Jedi himself, after all. It is slightly amusing to think that the Jedi hadn't switched it even after he'd left the Order: another fine example of a refusal to change. Still, it's not a complete blunder: one has to possess a clearance code to access the frequency. That has been changed since his resignation. However, once he'd entered the Jedi Temple, he had, given his knowledge of other Jedi clearances, been able to sort through the databases until he was able to find the information he needed. In short, no one but a Jedi—or, as in his case, a former Jedi—would have been able to ascertain the clearance code, and, even then, he would have been able to do so only if he had the opportunity to spend a large amount of time unobstructed inside the Jedi Temple.
Thankfully, with the Jedi all lying dead in the hallways and across the galaxy, Dooku had gotten all the time he needed.
Now, several hours later, he is able to identify the location of any Jedi that calls for assistance.
And, conveniently enough, one of those Jedi is Skywalker, with an additional report of Kenobi.
"Is anyone there?" the boy demands, his face twisting with frustration. Goodness, he must have been skilled at pouting when he was a child. The gesture looks slightly out of place on an adult face, and though it is closer to a scowl now, it still strikes Dooku as somewhat childish. Many things about Skywalker do. In some ways, he is mature far beyond his years—war will do that—but in others he is still a spoilt child, told by too many people for too long that he is the Chosen One of prophecy.
Dooku snorts lightly with disdain. Chosen One or not, he has no control. Anakin Skywalker is unpredictable, and even amongst the Jedi, he is nothing to strive for. He is not a Sith, not fit to be a Jedi: he is simply an incredibly talented, overly emotional, volatile individual who was mistakenly trained in the Jedi arts. Again, the Council was so blinded by the hope of power—of the idea that this boy could be their Chosen One—that they disregarded what was right in favor of what might bring them gain.
Anakin Skywalker never should have been trained, plain and simple.
"Is anyone there?" Skywalker says again as Dooku watches. He's already addressed the fact that he and Kenobi are stranded and that Kenobi is injured. Foolish boy. He should know better than to divulge information like that if he's not sure who's listening.
Again, Dooku shakes his head. Beyond the raw talent and obvious anger, he's not certain what Sidious ever saw in this boy. Even a Sith must have emotional control, and that is what Skywalker is lacking most. He must give Kenobi fits.
Kenobi. Dooku can't help the spark of interest that ignites within him at the thought of the man. In all honesty, Kenobi is the equivalent of his grandson, the padawan of his padawan. He is all that is left of Dooku's legacy… and, truth be told, Dooku finds that he can never quite shake the interest that he has in him.
He admires Kenobi and that quiet strength he possess. He has a dedication and discipline that few will ever obtain, and he is a true Jedi, made even more intriguing in Dooku's eyes because of one major flaw that most don't see: he loves too much. His promise to train Skywalker? Born from attachment. His continued loyalty to Skywalker? Also attachment. He loved Qui-Gon, and he loves Skywalker. That is, though Kenobi tries hard to hide it, even from himself, a weakness.
Leaning back a little further in his chair, Dooku continues to study the figure in the hologram in front of him. Skywalker is a handsome boy, certainly. Powerful. Talented. Kenobi must be proud... just as Dooku was of Qui-Gon. Every dedicated master feels that particular emotion for a successful apprentice, because no matter what the Order would like to say, an apprentice is a master's child. They raise them, protect them, and care for them. Given the laws on marriage, it is the only legacy they will ever create.
"If you get this message, please send a rescue team," Skywalker says finally, still looking entirely frustrated. "Master Kenobi needs medical attention as soon as possible. Skywalker out."
Yes, he'd spoken of Kenobi's condition already. Some broken bones, a concussion, and various other bumps and bruises—not that it will matter if Dooku decides to do what he's done with all the other Jedi who have made contact.
A simple call will send the clones in that area to Kenobi and Skywalker's position. With just an order, he can finish them.
But, now that he thinks on it, he's not entirely certain that he wants to.
Furrowing his brow, Dooku puts a hand to his chin in thought. It's no good to lie to himself. He knows why he's considering sparing Obi-Wan, and it can be simplified to one thing: his former padawan. Dooku loved Qui-Gon, and he knows that Qui-Gon loved Obi-Wan. He has ordered Kenobi's death once before already, but later, after he'd fled Geonosis, he'd been strangely glad that he hadn't finished the man off. It seemed something of a last favor to Qui-Gon.
And there is something about Kenobi that intrigues him.
Pushing a few buttons, Dooku saves the hologram of Skywalker before putting himself through to the clones in the sector where Kenobi and Skywalker are. Even as he's making contact, he questions the wisdom of his decision. It seems frivolous, an indulgence of emotions that he'd thought long suppressed. But, then, he can afford those emotions now, can't he, so long as he keeps them restrained? He has his victory. What harm can there be in permitting himself a slight allowance?
Kenobi will be nothing. Just a last favor to a man Dooku cared for, and because the dead cannot betray him, surely he can allow himself affection for his deceased padawan? Yes, surely. Perhaps, if things work out as he'd like, Kenobi might even prove himself useful. Dooku has always been interested in him, after all. Before, circumstances had prohibited him from expounding on that, but now—well, now he is in the position to take the time and resources to possibly maneuver Kenobi into a position that will make him of more use. A project, if you will. Not that the galaxy won't be enough of one, but this is something personal. He will enjoy finding out more about this man who has intrigued him for so long, this padawan of his padawan. Nearly family. The last of Dooku's line. Yes, a link most definitely worth exploring further.
"I want Kenobi and Skywalker brought in. Alive."
The clone never pauses. If the order seems strange to him, he doesn't question it. "Yes, my Lord."
"Very good."
Obi-Wan wakes to the noise of some variety of bird. There is no sound of speeders outside his window, or of Anakin knocking on his door hoping for some breakfast. Clearly, he is not on Coruscant.
It takes a few moments to remember the previous day's events. Of course, the pain in his body is a vivid enough reminder, though certainly not the type of recall aid that he enjoys. Really, a holovid of his time on this planet would be sufficient, or, better yet, a nice mailcard with a picture featuring the planet's best features.
"You awake, Master?"
He grimaces and scrubs a hand over his forehead. "Regrettably." Anakin is visible in the dim light of the shelter. There are thin rays of sunlight streaking over his face, filtered in from a small opening that Obi-Wan guesses is the part of the doorway that Anakin dared to leave uncovered.
"Hungry? The rations in our ships' emergency packs survived the crash."
"Oh, ration bars? Goodness, you should have woken me sooner." He really should check the sarcasm in his voice but, well, Anakin knows him—knows it's not really directed at him—and he can't find the inclination to do so when his leg is throbbing something awful.
"I'll keep that in mind for next time."
"Don't even joke about that. I'd prefer not to repeat this particular experience."
Anakin hands him an opened ration bar, and Obi-Wan takes a bite, forcing himself to ignore the taste. It's food. He's had far worse. He will probably have far worse at some point in the future.
"Any sign of help?" he asks between mouthfuls.
Anakin shakes his head. "Nothing. I'll go work on the starfighter today."
"And if you can't fix it?"
"When have I ever not been able to get something mechanical to work?" he asks, looking vaguely insulted.
"In the event that this becomes the first time."
"Well, then I hope you like the woods, Master, because we might be here a while. At least until your leg heals and we can walk to the nearest village, anyway."
Force, forbid. He does not enjoy sleeping in the dirt on his cloak with only Anakin's cloak as a blanket. It's true that he's had worse accommodations than this, but that does not mean that he has to like it, nor does it mean that he should endeavor to spend more time than necessary here. That's simply impractical.
"Yes. I suggest you prove your mechanical prowess and fix the fighter."
Anakin grins, teasingly plucking Obi-Wan's empty ration bar wrapper out of his hand. "Not looking forward to a diet of these, huh?" he jokes before crumpling it up and tossing it in the corner of the shelter. He also manages to entirely ignore Obi-Wan's stern glare at the messy habit. That, at least, is the same as when they shared quarters before Anakin was knighted. Though, Anakin still shows up at his apartment often enough around mealtimes that Obi-Wan hasn't yet been able to enjoy the luxury of not having his quarters sullied by a messy former-apprentice.
"No, I—"
A noise outside stops them both.
For most people, a noise shouldn't be a reason for pause. Most likely, it will be nothing. Just an animal, maybe, but they've been in war long enough to know that any noise can be something, and the possibility alone is enough to merit a check. Because if they don't check and it is something? They'll be dead.
Obi-Wan glances over at Anakin, watching as the other man tenses, all playfulness disappearing in the space of a few seconds. Now, as his hand closes over his lightsaber and he silently slides toward the entrance, there is only seriousness in his face. There is no trace of the child Obi-Wan once knew, and also nothing left of the playful man who was sitting beside him moments before. This man is a warrior, prepared to kill if that's what it takes.
This is what the war has formed Anakin into, and even amidst the uneasiness that is raising the hairs on the back of Obi-Wan's neck, he finds that he regrets that.
They exchange no words—there is no need. At some point over their years together, they learned to communicate on pointed looks and gestures alone, and sometimes even on just intuition. Obi-Wan knows what Anakin intends to do, just as Anakin knows what Obi-Wan is thinking.
Obi-Wan's hand goes to his own weapon, but as his fingers slide over the smooth metal, he knows that it will be useless. He can't walk, and one of his arms is too injured to be of any help. If Anakin cannot eliminate the threat, there will be no chance of running or of fighting back—not for Obi-Wan. That feeling of helplessness irritates him almost to the point of anger, and ignoring the pain, he grits his teeth and pushes himself to the right of the doorway, where he'll have a chance to cut down any invader before they get a chance to have a good look at their surroundings. The fact that they'll be mostly blinded by the sudden darkness will also be to his advantage.
Of course, he knows that if there are enough of them to take down Anakin, any effort on his part won't make a difference.
As Anakin slips out the doorway into the woods, Obi-Wan leans against the dirt wall, listening so hard that suddenly everything sounds loud. Every breath he takes seems to shake the walls around him, and the noise of dirt scrapping off the sides of the entryway as Anakin exits rings in his ears as if the whole shelter were falling.
When it comes, the sound of a lightsaber igniting, followed by shots, seems like the loudest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard. Every time he hears those things at the start of a battle, they always do. More death. More destruction. Perhaps this time it will be his own.
There are cries from outside—not Anakin's—but still familiar enough that Obi-Wan knows them. Clones. They've been found, then. Now, the question becomes how many are here, and are reinforcements far away? The later bit of information will make a difference if by some chance he and Anakin get the opportunity—no matter how unlikely—to flee the scene. They won't be able to move quickly, and the only way they'll have a chance is if the reinforcements are far off.
There a more shots, the hum of a lightsaber, and then a gasp of pain that Obi-Wan knows well. It cuts straight to his heart, more effectively than any lightsaber could, and he strains, listening, desperate to hear the sound of a lightsaber again. There's nothing. He knows Anakin is down, and if he could, he would disregard all reason and push himself up and out of this hole and do something. What, he doesn't know, but just about anything would be better than sitting here, just waiting for them to find him.
Instead, he hears a muffled gasp of pain—Anakin's—and then a clone's voice. "Stand down, General. We have orders for your capture. Alive. Other than that, the state of health isn't specified: that is entirely up to you."
That voice—it's chilling. For years now he and Anakin have fought beside those men. They were brothers in arms. Obi-Wan trusted them. He trusted them with his life. He thought they trusted him with theirs. Did they? Was any of it real? Honestly, that may be the worst part of betrayal: it taints all the good memories until they cut as deeply as bad ones.
To know that they betrayed him hurts more than he cares to admit.
A stream of Huttesse swears spill from Anakin's mouth. Still, no sound of a lightsaber, which Obi-Wan takes to mean that Anakin has been disarmed.
"Where is General Kenobi?"
"Dead," Anakin snaps quickly, his voice sounding appropriately choked, but controlled, as if Anakin is fighting down his emotions. It sounds convincing, but these clones know them. This isn't like fooling an enemy who has no experience with them. They've slept in barracks with these men. They've been in the trenches with them. These men know their tricks. They know their mannerisms. They know them.
"Search the shelter," he hears the clone command.
Instinctively, Obi-Wan braces himself against the wall, ignoring the feeling of dirt smudging over his skin and into his pores and hair. He likely won't be able to take out any more than one or two of the clones, but in the event that Anakin finds a way to take down the rest, even that would help. Still, he doesn't relish the idea of cutting down men who have been his comrades. It feels so wrong, so entirely wrong. They are his brothers. His friends. Or, at least, they were.
But, sometimes, war and survival call for things that no one wants to do.
The first clone falls quickly, his head rolling away into the shelter in a manner that, at the beginning of the war, would have turned Obi-Wan's stomach. It doesn't anymore. He's seen too much death, and he understands the necessity.
Unfortunately, the clones figure out his position rather quickly, and the second one comes in ready, blaster pointed straight at him. That doesn't matter—those blasters will be set on stun if what the clones told Anakin is true. If not, well, then this will be his end, and so he takes the swing anyway. Even if the gun is not on stun, he'd rather do that then sit here passively and let them find him. He doesn't fear the possible results as much as some would: a blaster shot to a major organ is a fairly quick way to die.
He kills the clone just as he fires. The stun bolt hits Obi-Wan straight in the chest, and he slams backward into the wall, his broken bones jostling and sending waves of agony through him. It hurts so much, and if he could move, he'd cry out, but he can't, can't at all, and all he can do is suffer silently, desperately hoping that Anakin can find a way to escape from this mess.
Before he blacks out, he at least has the time to feel pleased that he went down fighting.
That's something, at least.
Anakin has seldom wanted to kill a being as much as he wants to kill Commander Cody when he sends men down into the shelter after Obi-Wan. This man owes his entire career—his life, many times over—to the person he is now betraying.
He's not thinking when he lunges forward, slamming his elbow into the face of one of the two clones holding him. They should never have removed their helmets, and Anakin hopes it hurts—hopes it breaks his nose and shoves it up into his brain. Even now that he's been disarmed and Cody is holding his lightsaber, he's prepared to tear these clones apart with his bare hands if that is what it takes.
A blaster held to his head makes him reconsider that.
"General, don't make us hurt you," Cody says seriously, as if he really cares.
Anakin resists the urge to spit in his face. He's better than that. He is. "You just tried to kill us."
"We had orders, Sir."
"From whom?"
"That's classified."
"General Kenobi is your commanding officer. I am also your superior. I just asked you a question. Protocol demands that you answer it."
Cody simply shakes his head and glances over to where another clone has gone down into the shelter and is now pulling Obi-Wan's body out. He's not dead, Anakin knows—he would have felt their bond snap—but the sight of him limp and silent is enough to bring to mind his nightmares, and that shakes him. He hates it when Obi-Wan is still like that, as though he'll never move again, just like his mother.
"You aren't anymore, Sir. No Jedi is."
"What are you talking about?"
"We don't take orders from you anymore. I'm sorry."
"Five Corellian Hells you are!" Anakin shouts, lunging at him again. They can shoot him in the head if they like. At least it will irritate whoever apparently wants them brought in alive.
Instead, he takes the butt of a blaster to the skull.
He hits the ground heavily, just barely able to get his hands under him. His vision blurs, and he has to blink rapidly to keep his sight somewhat normal. He will not do a face plant in the dirt. He has his dignity to maintain.
From Anakin's place on the ground, he can see Cody's boots appear in his line of sight. "We can stun you if we have to, Sir, but we'd prefer if you just come with us quietly."
Frankly, if it were just himself, Anakin would prefer to keep fighting… but it's not just his own life. Obi-Wan is injured, and there's a nagging sense inside of him that feels the need to at least watch and complain loudly if Obi-Wan doesn't get the care he needs. They likely won't listen to him, but as Obi-Wan has often told him, his whining can make him a great nuisance when he wants it to.
"Fine," he mumbles, face twisting in a scowl.
He lets them put a pair of binders on him, securing his hands behind his back. Thankfully, they appear to have brought a medical capsule with them, and as Anakin watches, a medic does a quick scan of Obi-Wan before several clones hoist him up and inside it.
"He's got a broken arm and leg, two broken ribs, and a concussion," Anakin tells them sourly. "He better at least get treatment."
"We've been authorized to give it, Sir," Cody replies, inclining his head toward the clones who loaded Obi-Wan into the capsule. "General Kenobi will receive good care."
"According to you, he's not your general anymore."
"That's true, Sir."
True? What's true? Well, what's true is that Anakin would like nothing more than to give Cody matching injuries. That desire is certainly a turnabout, given that until about a day ago, he's always thought of the clones as friends—as individuals. Now, they're appearing more and more similar to droids, programmed to do a job. They take orders without question. They don't feel loyalty. All they're made for is war.
He can't understand it. All the time they've spent together, the stories they've shared, the numerous occasions when the Jedi have saved the lives of clones, and they take an order to kill their generals without a second thought.
He suddenly feels a lot less badly about all the clones who have died in this war.
Fixing Cody with a hard stare, Anakin begins walking when the clones beside him pull him forward. "Someday," he murmurs, his voice low and threatening, "I hope that you feel what it's like to have your men turn on you."
"It is nothing personal, Sir. Just duty."
"Yes, and that man you just tried to kill always upheld what he considered to be a duty to protect you if possible. Only a coward wouldn't return the favor."
Anakin stops briefly in front of Cody, ignoring the continued pressure on his arms. Right now, he can hardly contain what he feels. He wants to do something—anything—to show how furious he is. But there is nothing he can do. The only action he is capable of taking is to stare Cody straight in the face and make him look into the eyes of one of the men he tried to kill.
It's not enough.
"We had orders," Cody says simply, meeting his stare. There is no remorse there. None at all.
"Yeah, I bet you did."
Then, he walks on. There is nothing he can do for now, and like the good strategist he is, he begins to regroup, and mentally starts to prepare for the moment when he'll have his chance. He will be ready when that moment arrives. These clones will not walk free after all the damage they have caused.
Anakin won't let them.
In the back of his mind, there is a niggling of conscience, of the idea that these are not the thoughts of a Jedi. A Jedi does not seek revenge… but he is not the Jedi he should be, and his entire being screams for retribution. He can't believe that such a desire is of the dark side. It is justice that needs to be given, and nothing more.
The danger comes in the fact that Anakin craves the right to personally be the one to administer that justice.