Drifting

Clone Wars AU, the aftermath of a battle.

Outside, there was only the deep emptiness of space. The last fires of the Resolute had burned out hours ago, the torn-apart pieces of her hull left drifting, twisted and nearly unrecognizable, a stark tomb for thousands of men. Quietly, unhurriedly, the broken remains of the once-great ship floated among the cold stars, desolate and abandoned.

A damaged escape pod drifted along with the debris of the Republic attack cruiser, the burnt wreckage casting the viewport of the pod regularly in shadow, obscuring what little light there remained. Each spell of darkness made Obi-Wan held his breath; he could only exhale, when the ravaged ship parts had passed them by and Anakin's face became visible again.

Even in the dim greyness Anakin's face was too pallid, his messy hair looking almost black against the white of his brow. He was so unnaturally still, so uncharacteristically quiet, it unnerved Obi-Wan, made him strain to listen to his friend's labored breathing, to feel his feeble heartbeat against his palm, to see the open eyes watch him back. He ran his fingers through Anakin's blood-crusted hair, tugging at the sticky strands gently, just like he pulled at the immutable bond that connected them. I'm here. Stay with me.

Anakin blinked, the blue of his eyes dull and clouded. The empty gaze was horribly unfamiliar, until it finally found its focus on Obi-Wan's face. "Master," he rasped, the word torn out of his throat with great difficulty.

"Anakin." Obi-Wan needed all the strength and fortitude he had ever possessed to keep his voice calm and level. "Can you keep talking?"

The young Jedi swallowed and couched up painfully, stubbornly trying to move. Although his efforts were completely futile – Anakin couldn't even lift his head from Obi-Wan's lap not to mention shift his limbs – Obi-Wan pressed his hand more firmly against his friend's chest. "Don't try to move. Just talk to me."

Anakin yielded alarmingly fast, his body going motionless. His cheek felt cold to the touch, colder even than the frigid air of their surroundings. "Whe – re?"

"Still in the pod, I'm afraid," Obi-Wan answered, glancing at the open console panels spilling out wires, the innards of the gutted machine on display – dead and useless. Even with Anakin's halting instructions, he hadn't managed to fix the pod to resemble anything other than a floating tomb.

"Ahsoka?" Anakin's eyes turned from side to side, trying to see the rest of the pod in vain.

"It's just us here, Anakin. But I'm sure she got off the ship and is probably searching for us right now," Obi-Wan lied, his heart twisting painfully with every false word.

Panting, Anakin managed to take hold of Obi-Wan's soiled tunic, his fingers gripping it with surprising force. "I can't…I can't feel her…it's – all empty."

"I'm sure she's alright," Obi-Wan murmured, the ache in his legs, pressed so long against the cold metal floor, suddenly flaring all over his body. He watched as Anakin closed his eyes wearily, not refuting his old Master's hollow words. His fingers continued to clutch at Obi-Wan's tunic like a lifeline.

"Pro – promise me," Anakin demanded, his voice hoarse, as if he had been screaming his throat raw. But all Obi-Wan could remember was the terrible silence of the aftermath. There was no sound in space.

"Anakin…"

"Prom…promise that…she's okay – Master – she has to…be…" Anakin forced his eyes again open, the diluted blue of his gaze begging and pleading, willing his Master to continue to keep the cracking galaxy together. The jagged, broken pieces of their reality were sharp, cutting Obi-Wan to the core, but he kept holding them firmly, so Anakin didn't have to.

"I promise – Ahsoka is in no distress. She's…in a better place than we are." As he spoke, he saw again, through the flash and heat of the explosion, the pitiless image of her small body, sucked out of the gaping hole – so fast, so mercilessly – into black space, before he could do, or even think to do, anything other than grab Anakin tightly and hold onto him.

Every time a shadow fell over the viewport, Obi-Wan was afraid to look, dreading to see her drifting by, lifeless and small, just another discarded thing of the war.

"She –she's…so headstrong and…" For a moment Anakin fell silent, each word a struggle to get out past his bloodied lips. "Fear – less…I never…unders… understood how hard it…it must have been…for you…when I was –." Another moment of silence, the thud of Obi-Wan's heart sounding too loud in his ears. Anakin's mouth pulled upwards, half a grin and half a grimace. "When…I was a padawan. Never knew…it…would be – like – like this."

"And now you understand how much and how often I wanted to either throttle you or lock you up in the Temple," Obi-Wan said, his caustic tone rapidly softening into sad fondness.

"I just…want…her to be – alright." Anakin's admission was ragged, barely audible. His eyes slipped close once again, his fingers slackening, loosening their hold on Obi-Wan's tunic.

"I know," Obi-Wan whispered, taking his padawan's fingers into his own hand and squeezing them as a reminder – I'm here. Stay with me. "That's what I want too." When everything else was stripped and peeled away, that was all he had ever wanted – for Anakin to be fine, alive, long after he himself had perished in some forgotten battlefield or the deep emptiness of space.

Obi-Wan gripped Anakin's cold fingers tighter, listening to his precious, halting breaths. Stay with me. Stay. They would get rescued – both of them.

If not, they would forever drift among the stars with little Ahsoka.