Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Feedback: If you'd be so kind as to leave some, I'll do my best to reply.
Notes: ROTS AU.
I have a new Star Wars video uploaded on YouTube. It's called "Move Along—Anakin and Obi-Wan" if any of you are interested in looking it up.
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Nat2: Thanks! I'm very glad you're enjoying it, and I'm sorry the updates are bit slow in coming.
Pronker: I always wondered if Anakin compared his mother and Obi-Wan in his mind, and if so, how. I think he had to, since he admitted on a couple of occasions that Obi-Wan was like his father. As you've probably figured out, it's a concept that interests me.
aayla1138: Thanks! I'm glad Anakin's near-death was convincing. He'll have a couple more brushes with it before the end of this story, too.
truthfullies66: Intersting thoughts on whether or not Obi-Wan and Anakin will fall. I won't give away what's going to happen, other to say that you're headed in the right direction.
ThoseWereTheDays: I'm very sad they removed that Episode III scene, too! I liked the idea of them having to make those up: I always pictured them sitting in some tent on a battlefield late at night talking about what signs meant what. Padme will have bigger things to worry about than a scar, though—Anakin isn't done putting himself in jeopardy quite yet.
SpiritedEstel: Thanks! I think Anakin is a very multi-dimensional character with a lot of issues, but who is really, when it counts, a good person. I think a lot of times stuff like his background as a slave and the fact that he held his mother while she died get overlooked, which to me seems like things that really need to be taken into account, since they would definitely influence him heavily.
Estora: Oh, don't worry. I've had that happen too. Actually, I always copy my reviews before I click submit. Haha, sorry that I got to that idea first. It's certainly not exclusive, though—feel free to use it. If it's all in the name of good stories, you'll never see me complaining about my ideas overlapping with those of others. For all I know, you could have come up with it first.
Anakinpadmekenobi: Very true. Attachments are fundamental in both of them.
Dhrachth: Thank you so much for catching that! I really appreciate it. I'll get that edited.
ObiBettina7: Yes, Dooku certainly does know what he's doing. Obi-Wan has, unfortunately, underestimated him.
pronker: That's a big key to Obi-Wan's state of mind. The idea that he's not betraying an active cause is a pretty big rationale for him. Poor guy is only human, after all.
Obi-Wan does not enjoy acquiescing to Dooku's demands. When the location to the base trips off his tongue, every syllable seems to scald his lips until they feel as though they should be burned and blistered. It's not betrayal, but it does mark just how close Dooku pushed him to it. It's a burning reminder of the control this man now holds.
Former base or not, the location Obi-Wan just gave him is still a symbol of just how little power he now has.
Dooku doesn't radiate satisfaction to the degree Obi-Wan had thought he would. The skin of his cheeks pulls slightly in a hint of a smirk, but he doesn't gloat. Instead, he only nods, confirms that, looking at it in retrospect, the location Obi-Wan gave him clearly fits with wartime evidence of where a base should be—Obi-Wan wasn't worried on that count, considering it truly had been a base—and then orders the clone troopers to remove Anakin from the cell.
Moments later, Obi-Wan is left alone with Dooku.
"You know, Master Kenobi," he says almost conversationally once the door closes and Anakin is gone, "I do not appreciate being lied to."
And he does not. That much is clear in his expression—in the nearly imperceptible displeasure written in the tense line of his body. More importantly, it is clear that he knows that Obi-Wan did lie.
Once, on a mission with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan fell headlong into a river. Normally, it wouldn't have been detrimental—he was never averse to getting wet. Jedi are trained for uncomfortable situations. What they can't be trained to survive is the hypothermia that comes from falling into a river on a world where the temperature hovers around freezing. It's cold enough to kill, but not cold enough to freeze the water completely.
One misstep—a slip on an icy bank—had sent him careening down into the water. He still remembers how he felt when he smashed into the river. It stole his breath, and for a few moments he was sure a thousands knives were stabbing him from every direction. All he could feel was cold, and he was so certain that his blood was congealing and freezing. He would sink, and when they found him, he'd be as frozen as the ground he'd wished he were still walking on.
He's getting a similar feeling now. Every bit of circulation seems to stop, and he can almost swear his heart has ceased pumping blood. Dooku can't know he lied. Not yet, because if he does, then Dooku certainly won't be letting Anakin go.
And that leaves only one conceivable option.
"ANAKIN!"
It's not panic. Even now, he keeps his wits, but if there's any chance—any at all—that Anakin can still hear him beyond the doors, he has to try for that alone.
"ANAKIN!"
Dooku tilts his chin back and cracks his neck lightly, feigning boredom. "He will be unable to hear, I assure you." The way he looks at the door—it's so disinterested. Clearly, this was never really about Anakin. "Now, then, perhaps we can honestly discuss things?" he says, disguising his order as a polite question.
How disgustingly civil of him.
They won't politely discuss anything. There's nothing to discuss. Dooku is a murderer and quite possibly the most manipulative man Obi-Wan has ever met. A discussion with him will only lead to madness and evil, and that's not worth exploring in this moment—Obi-Wan would question whether it ever is. He'd question many things about dealing with Dooku, but right now all he knows is that Anakin is walking into immediate danger, and the man in front of him has orchestrated that.
Sheer desperation isn't a pleasant thing. It numbs his mind, pushes him to his baser instincts, and it's a fight to force that panic back. He can't allow that lack of control right now. Unchecked emotion won't help either him or Anakin, and he will not give Dooku the satisfaction of destroying the Jedi discipline Obi-Wan has worked so hard to build.
"Don't pretend to ask," he replies quietly, keeping his voice calm and even. Nothing more. He will face this man like he did before on Geonosis, and this time, he won't fail.
Dooku merely nods. "All right. Then allow me to begin what I suspect will be a rather unpleasant revelation for you: I am fully aware that the location you just gave me is likely not a real base. A good cover, I'll admit—it fits. But you, Master Kenobi, would not give such information unless you'd exhausted every last option. I do admire that, you know."
"Yes, thank you" he replies, ignoring the pain of his wound long enough to raise the top hand he's using to apply pressure in a small wave of feigned agreement. "Your admiration means so much to me, Dooku." It's a good line, though the sarcasm of it is rather ruined by the wince he knows he displays when his leg gives a particularly vicious throb. How lovely that he's got another wound… as though he didn't already have enough from the crash.
Dooku catches the gesture. "Let me have a look at it," he says with a small sigh. His tone is so close to frustration, though Obi-Wan can't quite imagine why, especially since Dooku is wearing the same look Qui-Gon often wore when Obi-Wan failed to grasp a lesson or otherwise inadvertently displeased him.
"I'd prefer not."
Not surprisingly, Dooku pays him no heed: he drops to one knee next to Obi-Wan, taking in the state of his injury. For the moment, the shock is enough to still Obi-Wan. Dooku shouldn't care enough to be doing this. Medics could just as easily be called. There's no reason for a famed Sith to be caring for a prisoner. There is no logic to this. Obi-Wan needs time to think.
He doesn't have it.
All he has now is the situation—he can analyze motives later. For now, he needs to act.
Because this? This is the chance Obi-Wan has wanted.
Over the course of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, Qui-Gon taught him many things, some conventional, some not. One of the skills that was not—one that might seem entirely wrong for an upstanding Jedi—was that of pick pocketing. Obi-Wan knows how to remove an item from someone's person, and he knows how to do it quickly, smoothly, and without detection. It comes in handy when he needs to find out an identity and doesn't want to ask, or when he knows an enemy has a dangerous weapon that he'd rather remove without making his presence known.
In this case, his presence is already known, which will lower the success rate of any attempt he makes, but a quick move could still gain him Dooku's lightsaber, which would give him the upper hand—
He darts his hand foreword, his fingers brushing metal… but never closing.
Rather, something slams into his face, smashing into his cheek so hard that his head snaps back with a sickening crack. The blow is like fire in the pores of his face. It's tolerable—he's had far worse—but it still isn't pleasant and, more importantly, it's a clear notice that he's failed.
Oddly, when Obi-Wan looks back up, there is no trace of rage on Dooku's face. He looks collected—as regal and controlled as ever—almost as though he believes smacking someone across the face would be acceptable behavior at the balls and dinner parties that his aristocratic mannerisms indicate he should be attending.
"You disappoint me," Dooku informs him with a small sigh. "You see, Obi-Wan, you have benefitted from many of the unconventional tactics that your master taught you. However, they work as well as they do because so few people expect them. But, truly," he says, almost with pity, "you should know that such tactics won't work when you attempt to practice them on the man who taught them to the one who taught you."
Right. Well, that's logical. Frankly, it makes so much sense that he'd like to save Dooku the trouble and just hit himself for his own stupidity. After all, Dooku is old—such a vicious extension of the arm can't be good for his bones. Obi-Wan might as well do it for him if he's going to set himself up so obviously anyway.
"Now, shall we try this again, perhaps in a more civilized manner?" Dooku asks with a slightly raised eyebrow.
"Oh, yes," Obi-Wan replies, resisting the urge to lightly touch what he knows is going to be a new bruise on his face. "After all, it would be a real shame if I was too damaged to attend my own padawan's funeral."
Dooku glances up at him, his face unreadable. Or, perhaps not—there's some sort of satisfaction lingering there. "You say that as though you don't care."
"Of course I care." He cares too much, and the excess vehemence in those words shows it. "But I am a Jedi—"
"Yes," Dooku agrees, pushing Obi-Wan's hands away as he leans over to inspect the wound. Briefly, Obi-Wan entertains the option of reaching for the lightsaber again, or even physically assaulting Dooku, but he dismisses the notion. He's injured. He'll fail. There's no sense making his situation worse than it already is. "But in this one respect, you're a poor one… and that should be commended, not condemned."
Once, when he was still an initiate, Obi-Wan might have rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, subpar performance should always be praised."
How interesting that Dooku seems almost entertained by his sarcasm, especially given that he'd told Obi-Wan previously to make an effort to suppress that particular part of his personality. He'll have to note that apparently Dooku doesn't mean everything that he says—that bit of information could be useful later.
"That sarcasm is not a trait you learned from your master. You're very unlike him in that respect: he was always far more blunt."
"I enjoy things that require more thought," Obi-Wan counters, trying his best to ignore the beginnings of pain that he feels when Dooku lightly touches at the wound, assessing the seriousness of it. How absurd that he's sitting here on a cold floor, leg stretched out in front of him as the very person who gave him the wound in the first place begins preparation to fix it.
"Yes, from what I've seen and what Qui-Gon told me, you were always far more fond of the Unifying Force than you were of the Living. You preferred to search further, instead of concentrating on what was right in front of you. Another difference."
"Qui-Gon and I weren't all that much alike."
There's no reason why he should be telling Dooku this. It's not his right to know, but some part of Obi-Wan urges him to keep talking, to try to play on any shred of a connection they might have. Surely capitalizing on their mutual affection for a long-dead man can't hurt? It makes perfect sense to use the means given to him in order to try to transfer any leniency Dooku might have given Qui-Gon to himself instead. Right now, it's about all he can think to do to help Anakin, and for that he will swallow his pride and speak civilly.
"And," he continues, darting a quick look up toward Dooku's face, "from what I've seen and heard, you weren't, either."
Dooku's hands pause over the wound, though only momentarily. A moment later, they're delving into his pocket and removing a bacta patch, which he unwraps with a dexterity far greater than a man his age should possess. "You heard correctly. We did have one large similarity, however: we both possessed a propensity to question the methodology around us."
"You mean to question the decisions of the Jedi."
Dooku makes a sound that is a little throatier than a low chuckle. "If you like."
Like? Oh, no, he doesn't like, just as he doesn't like letting Dooku tear the hole in his leggings a little more until he can press the bacta patch over the wound. His touch is gentle, and Obi-Wan can't help letting his gaze skitter back down, watching those hands smooth the healing patch onto his leg. He wouldn't have expected healing to be one of Dooku's skills. If he had to guess, he would have assumed that his touch would be harsh and rough, jarring the wound, but it's almost the opposite: his hands, which though they are beginning to spot with age, are elegant and steady; he's careful, and he causes no unnecessary pain.
"Though I very much doubt you want to hear this, Master Kenobi, the truth is that you and I are far more alike than Qui-Gon and I ever were."
Why, yes, Obi-Wan is certainly inclined toward the mass-murder of millions. He dabbles in the dark side occasionally, as well. And employing Dark Jedi minions? It's one of his favorite pastimes.
No, he and Dooku couldn't be more different. They are nothing alike.
This time, Dooku's chuckle is undeniable, and Obi-Wan is certain he can see a smile lurking behind his beard. There's no warmth in the expression, and certainly no comfort, because Obi-Wan has seen him smile like that at the very moment he's about to win a fight and end a life. "An affinity for the Unifying Force? Mannerisms of gentility that speak of a more civilized and formal bent? A desire to succeed? A bent toward negotiation? An attachment to the children we raised? Obi-Wan, I think you delude yourself."
He doesn't. Dooku is the one who deludes himself in thinking that they could ever be alike where it counts. Outward superficial similarities are one thing, but when it comes to morals and core beliefs, they couldn't be more different.
He wants Dooku to know that. It shouldn't matter—he shouldn't feel this need to validate himself and deny Dooku's accusations, but he does. That feeling—it's a craving he can't quite let go of, and the irritation burns up through him until he gives in and narrows his eyes, laying his palms against his thighs and clenching his fingers in against his legs. Control. He has to keep control.
A small exhale steals it way past his lips—thank the Force that no venomous words spill out with it. "It's Master Kenobi," he says instead, so quietly that he's certain Dooku has to strain to catch it.
The mercurial shift in Dooku is disconcerting. Displeasure springs up in him, yes, but it's something beyond that—something colder. He'd been trying for familiarity, and while the reasons are quite beyond Obi-Wan at the moment, he's aware that his rebuff of that familiarity sparked this change. That's fine… only, it's not, because Anakin's continued existence depends on Dooku's word.
And right now Obi-Wan is staring into the face of the man who ordered their execution on Geonosis.
"If that is what you desire."
"What I desire, Dooku, is to have Anakin set free and for the galaxy to be returned to a state where democracy reigns."
His words at least cause some movement: Dooku gets gracefully to his feet, though the look on his face, as though he's smelling some particularly distasteful, ruins the fluid effect. "Your fear for Skywalker's life, while touching—and also entirely against Jedi ideals—is unwarranted. I do not intend to kill him."
"Splendid… but you'll have to forgive my skepticism."
"Is it so inconceivable that I have other uses for Skywalker?"
"Such as?"
"Such as leading me directly to the information you undoubtedly somehow gave him."
What?
He can't know. He can't. That's… not possible.
But it is. Obi-Wan knows it is, because it's the truth, and that's undeniable.
That knowledge is like a punch to the gut, and he visibly jerks back, the room spinning. Oh, Anakin, he thinks, I'm sorry. He should have known. Dooku is smart, has the benefit of years of experience, and clearly is playing upon the way Obi-Wan thinks—playing on his trust and faith in his former apprentice.
Worst of all, he's succeeding.
"I didn't give him any information," Obi-Wan breathes, placing a hand on either side of his legs and forcing himself up. The wound on his leg burns as though someone has pushed a hot iron into it, but he successfully clambers to his knees. It hurts, very much, but he's got to get up, got to—
"You lie," Dooku says disinterestedly, as though the dishonesty bores him. It shouldn't. It's more or less what his entire life has become.
But, yes, Obi-Wan does lie, and he'll keep at it. Dooku can't win this. Obi-Wan won't let him, no matter how much pain is building in his leg, or how the sweat is beading on his forehead from the exertion of trying to move with a deep blaster wound. It's only physical. He's a Jedi. He can push beyond that.
But, as his body tells him a moment later when he tries to rise, he can only push so far.
With a harsh gasp of pain, he sinks back down to his knees, and then back to the floor. The wound shouldn't be so bad. He's been shot before. Why can't he move beyond it now?
Dooku seems to anticipate the question, "The shot hit a muscle. You'll need time in a bacta tank before you can walk again. I wouldn't advise trying anything before that."
He can't. He's back down on the ground, on his hands and knees, and the only thing he can do is glance up at Dooku from under his sweaty bangs and curse his inability to do anything more. "What are you going to do to him?"
He needs to know… because he can't stop Dooku from doing it.
"Not kill him, if that's what you're asking. But, Master Kenobi, your padawan has a very long way to fall. Pride will do that: the higher up you are, the more the landing hurts."
That's true, and Anakin… he has pride. Obi-Wan knows that, but there's so much more to Anakin than that—so much potential. All that can't be wasted, and the idea alone makes his fingers curl, pressing into the floor until he feels the skin under his nails tearing from the pressure.
"I want to see him."
"You'll get him back, and relatively in one piece. But, for now, you'll have to wait."
What can he possibly say to that? No? It's not as though he's in the position to argue. Instead, he settles for the only thing he's got left: an essentially powerless refutation. "You may think you've won this, Dooku, but every plan has a weakness."
"Oh? And should I surmise that you intend to find it?"
"Count on it."
He merely nods. "I'll look forward to it. After all, what is a victory if you don't defeat a worthy opponent?" He stares for a moment longer, his gaze lingering and searching, but Obi-Wan holds it, refusing to look away. "Don't bother to fight the clones that come for you later. We both know you need the medical care. Denying that will gain you nothing."
Dooku has always had a flair for the dramatic, but the way he turns on his heal, swirling his cape around his ankles like a miniature maelstrom is entirely superfluous, and Obi-Wan would smirk if his mind wasn't so preoccupied with thoughts of his former padawan's welfare. Flashy gestures have never impressed him. Dooku has never impressed him.
Upon Dooku's exit, the metal door slides shut with a startling finality: the noise echoes around the room, ringing in Obi-Wan ears from all directions. It's not pleasant, but nothing about this situation is, and for the time being there's nothing he can do about it.
Sighing, he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes.
Darkness is more pleasant than the way the walls almost seem to close in on him.
