Italics are flash-forward in time.
TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass
By: Syntyche
chapter seven: delian ani-suru
Anakin.
That was the name he'd been trying to remember. Of course.
It was good, he supposed, that more and more things were starting to come back to him, but he still couldn't help his annoyance. Something important – critical – was skirting the edge of his reach, taunting and teasing him and playing with him as delightedly as if it were the Lady herself.
He shuddered. He'd never thought that he would reach a point when he would actually beg for the Force to take him and spare him further torment and humiliation. It was almost amusing now, he sneered at himself disgustedly, that'd he always imagined somehow that when he was felled, it would be in the name of duty, lightsaber in hand, warrior's battle cry in his throat. Not this.
Not this. Anything but this.
His limbs were twitching and his stomach churned anxiously, and he whispered a furious imprecation at himself for actually wanting to hear her light footsteps draw near. Once, to punish him, she hadn't come at all; the withdrawal had been agonizing. But he had been good. He had. She would come.
She would kill him in the end, and they both knew this. It was only a question of how long he would last. How fervently he hated Qui-Gon for not coming back. His fevered mind told him gleefully that he should have expected his Master to seize the opportunity to be rid of him, and he really didn't blame Qui-Gon at all. Moreover, if he'd failed at being perfect before, there was certainly no way he could come even remotely close now. Tears brimmed on his long lashes as he closed his eyes and leaned his head on one of his bare, dirty arms, bound tightly high above him. He'd fallen so far that perhaps it would be beyond even the compassion of the Council to take him back – and why should they? He was disgraced, discarded … used, dirty, and utterly humiliated. Even if they found it within themselves to be merciful and accept him as he was now, could he ever fit in with the Jedi way of life again?
His Master had abandoned him, left him to die in a filthy, vile manner, alone and unwanted. His vision swam for a moment and he could faintly see the outline of young Anakin, shrouded in dark and in anger, screaming for vengeance against a galaxy that had taken the one he loved. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, willing the image away, but it burned through his foggy mind with a clarity that refused to diminish. The Padawan couldn't keep the streams of tears from streaking down his face … it wasn't supposed to be this way… he had failed. It was his fault, somehow.
It was his fault. He hadn't protected his Master, or Anakin. He couldn't even save himself.
It was his fault. He was responsible.
"You promised," Despite himself and his earlier thoughts of Qui-Gon, his pained whisper slipped through to pierce the empty, frigid night air. "You promised you would come back...
Where are you?"
OOOOOOOOOO
Delian Ani-Suru was full-blooded Corellian by birth, but she hadn't been born on her home planet – a fact she'd bitterly regretted since she'd been old enough to realize what that meant. The human people of Corellia, though lovers of the stars, loved their homesoil even more so and guarded their clans zealously; with near fanaticism they despised any Corelli who strayed long from hearth and home.
Delian's parents had left the wide-open spaces and green, rolling hills and pastures of Corellia for the bright lights and claustrophobia of the city-planet Coruscant, where Delian was born and raised. In her kinsmen's eyes, Delian and her family were outsiders, cautiously accepted but unwelcome and unfit to stand on the world that bore their heritage.
Delian had fallen in love with the simple, uncluttered beauty of Corellia when she had first visited the planet at age fourteen (Corellian, not Standard) to meet her grandparents and receive her Naming. Perceiving but not understanding the wariness that her extended family viewed her and her parents with, Delian tucked it away in the back of her mind as she was given her Name, wondering if she would ever understand the guarded standoffishness of even her beloved grandmother.
Too soon her parents returned with her to Coruscant, but the memory of her homeland stayed with her. Despite her repeated requests, her parents refused to take her back to Corellia; and so, just before her seventeenth birthday, Delian abandoned what she considered worthless schooling and training to stow away on a tourist vessel headed for Corellia.
Stepping onto the land of her heart once again, Delian swore to herself that she would never leave Corellia – until her extended family explained that, as an offworlder, she would never be openly welcomed into her family clan.
Finally realizing what the kindness of her parents had prevented them from telling her and too angry and ashamed to return to Coruscant, Delian took to her second love, the stars, becoming an outcast but forsaking the traditional Corellian practice of hiding her Name to prevent further shame to her family.
How she came to Tatooine she didn't say, but possessing the mechanical skills inherent to most of her clan and more than the usual helping of luck, Delian became a mechanic for Dirak Biggs, owner of one of the smaller racing garages near Mos Espa. By her wits, daring, and sheer insanity, Delian progressed from mechanic to racer, and now to part-time owner. She suspected that Dirak's obvious attraction to her had something to do with her swift promotion, but Delian had been too proud to cater to anyone or pay much attention to anything but her racing.
Until now, when she had suddenly been consumed by the inexplicable desire to be close to an out-of-place Jedi Padawan, bending all of her resources to attaining that one thing as she had not done since her longing for Corellia led her to leave Coruscant on a dream.
But now that I have him, Delian Ani-Suru wondered as she and Obi-Wan Kenobi left Watto's shop, what am I going to do with him?
OOOOOOOOOO
Okay, so she really had no reason whatsoever to be strolling the streets of Mos Espa, but there was something delightfully exhilarating about walking around with Obi-Wan Kenobi in tow. And though a little tired and a little worn around the edges, he still looked absolutely gorgeous. Delian couldn't help – and didn't try to hide – her challenging smirk as they sauntered down the street. Well; she sauntered. He simply … moved in that incredible way that reminded her of a graceful predator confidently stalking its prey.
For that reason, she'd decided to slap a pair of binders on him to keep his hands where she could see them. She had no desire to lose control of a situation already precariously balanced in his favor; he made her decidedly flustered and weak in the knees.
She had to wonder if it was because he was a Jedi, because the men she was accustomed to hanging around made Jabba the Hutt seem absolutely gentlemanly by comparison, or simply because he was Obi-Wan Kenobi – she suspected all three, but primarily the third. He was the type you could feel absolutely sheltered by, and though as a Jedi he'd likely dined with queens and princesses from the richest Republic worlds, he'd not treated Delian Ani-Suru of backwater Tatooine as anything less than a lady – even when he'd caught her blatantly ogling.
Kenobi walked alongside her quietly, seemingly content to simply be outside the immediate range of Watto's shop. Delian absently toyed with the transmitter controls secured in her low-slung belt, basking in the glory of out-haggling the Toydarian. She wasn't exactly proud, however, of the thought of "owning" or even "leasing" Kenobi, and the measured glances he occasionally leveled her way weren't doing much to appease her conscience. She'd wanted him … had gotten him … but this wasn't really what she'd had in mind. And she wasn't sure that this particular way of going about it had exactly won his favor, either.
"We'll need to get you a suit," she mused aloud, to break the lengthening silence. Obi-Wan flicked her another steady glance but said nothing. "So I thought we'd look here before heading out to Eisley," she continued, deliberately ignoring the fact that he was basically ignoring her, "that fleahole's a tourist trap – as if this forsaken planet could even hope to cater to anyone but the desperate or those who don't know any better," Delian added as an aside. "We'll definitely get better prices here. You'll need a helmet, too."
"Mmhmm," Obi-Wan murmured vaguely, reaching his bound wrists upward to awkwardly shield his eyes from the glare of the early morning suns. She watched, feeling slightly discomfited about the binders but too proud to remove them now, and quickly redirected her gaze to the vendors lining the dirty road.
"So, which one are you?" he asked bluntly, ginger eyebrow quirking.
"Hm?" Distracted by a particularly loud merchant hawking warm, wonderful-smelling pastries, it took her a moment to place his question. "Oh, me?" She grinned affably. "I don't know any better."
Delian noticed that Kenobi was also aware of the vendor and was doing his best to keep a staid look pasted onto his wan face. The pastries looked fantastic, and the pilot fished into her jumpsuit pocket for a couple of credits, handing them over in exchange for two of the pastries. She bit into hers carefully and was pleasantly surprised to find the center filled with steaming, spicy meat of an origin she didn't care to know, and some local vegetables. It was really quite good. Obi-Wan mumbled something about it being 'damned better than gruel,' but she wasn't sure she wanted him to clarify. He was handling his breakfast a little awkwardly around the binders, but she knew he'd manage all right.
Delian sighed smally. This wasn't at all how she'd wanted things to be with Kenobi, but her pride wouldn't allow her to soften her guard. Determinedly, she slipped farther into her spacer's persona, drawing on years of experience operating under the harsh laws of Tatooine. She could play any game he wanted and win without even trying.
OOOOOOOOOO
Obi-Wan immediately sensed the shift in Delian's behavior. Curious.
He'd been immensely grateful for the meal she'd unexpectedly purchased; it seemed like ages since Shmi's simple breakfast earlier that morning. Apparently, Obi-Wan mused, it doesn't harden in your stomach like Watto's disgusting, unhealthy gruel and keep you from wanting to eat for the rest of the day.
Obi-wan shifted slightly. He was developing a definite feeling that something was wrong, but there was still that persistent headache that clouded his senses. He rattled his chained wrists in irritation, feeling no small amount of humiliation at his current circumstances. He cleared his throat to catch Delian's attention, waiting until she glanced at him inquisitively before requesting quietly, "Listen, I need to use your comm – please?"
Delian shook her head and continued walking, her swagger becoming more pronounced and her voice slowing to almost a drawl. "Sorry, Slim, but I'm not one of the privileged few on this forsaken rock who has one."
"You don't have one?" Obi-Wan repeated incredulously. A thought occurred to him. "What about in the Z-95 Anakin's been talking about? Surely that's equipped with long-range communications equipment?" At her dark look, his sudden enthusiasm faltered. "Or not?"
Her glare could have softened permacrete. "I haven't installed it yet. I might have it ready after the Games…" Delian trailed off, and there was a glint in her eye when she surveyed him again. "Long-range isn't cheap, you know. How would you be able to reimburse me if I found a way to install it more quickly?"
"The Jedi would compensate you appropriately for any expenses incurred on my behalf," Obi-Wan answered dryly.
"Good," Delian conceded with a self-satisfied nod. "On the other hand, you do well, hon', and I just might consider it a fair tradeoff."
"I make no guarantees," Obi-Wan warned honestly, and was surprised when Delian laughed.
"Bullshit," she announced profoundly, gazing ahead as they ambled down the street. Her gaze showed only the slightest hint of the wistfulness that came through in her voice. "You're Jedi. You'll guarantee anything I ask for, whether you can deliver or not – and if you can't, you'll die trying."
"Really?" Obi-Wan sounded almost amused. "You have some interesting ideas about the Jedi."
"Do I?" Delian retorted, her brown eyes narrowing. "You're here, aren't you?"
"I'm here because you … leased me," Obi-Wan pointed out matter-of-factly.
Delian snorted. "Nice try, love. I mean here, genius. On Tatooine, slaving away for Watto? You can't tell me you're undertaking some noble mission for the greater good of the galaxy by destroying a little kid's podracer because you don't know what the hell you're doing and playing with spanners in some forgettable little hellhole where nothing important is ever gonna happen – you couldn't convince me of that if you tried, and I'll just bet you're pretty convincing when you want to be," she eyed him speculatively with a snide leer. "So why are you here, Kenobi?"
"I'm working undercover to locate brassy Corellian women involved in illegal gambling and slave trading," Obi-Wan replied, sounding so damned honest she actually panicked for a moment before allowing a short laugh at her own expense.
"Well, I wouldn't know any," she offered off-handedly. "As for gambling, Kenobi, here it's a way of life. Authorities turn a blind eye to it – if they're not involved themselves, in which case they wouldn't be too eager to prosecute anyway."
Obi-Wan nodded. "And slave trading?" He watched Delian's fingers automatically feel for the transmitter from Watto that she had clipped to her belt. She had so far handled the transmitter as if it scorched her simply to touch it, and his brow furrowed. "Do you, umm, keep any slaves yourself?"
"Hell, no!" Delian appeared shocked by his question. "I don't believe in slavery."
Obi-Wan bit his lip, amused. "Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly and jerking his manacled hands enough to again rattle the chain that bound them together.
"That's different," Delian defended. "I'm just … borrowing you … for awhile."
"It's not different," he disagreed, shaking his head. The long braid he wore jostled loose to brush against his cheek as they walked; he brought his manacled wrists up to flick the braid back behind his ear with some difficulty. "It's not different at all."
Delian ignored him, choosing to continue their earlier line of conversation. "You're not undercover," she pointed out. "If you were undercover to infiltrate the Tatooine crime syndicate, the kid wouldn't have known you were a Jedi, and you wouldn't have been so quick to say that the Jedi would pay your bills, either."
"True," Obi-Wan agreed, allowing the conversation shift.
"So … No Jedi I've ever met in his right mind would voluntarily subject himself to this hellhole as slave. So why are you here, Kenobi?"
"I'm not in my right mind?" Obi-Wan guessed, his brow furrowing in mock confusion, but secretly wondering if that was indeed the case.
"I'd believe that," Delian scoffed, "but that's not it, either."
Obi-Wan snagged on something she'd said. "Have you met many Jedi?" he asked curiously.
"What?" Delian was momentarily thrown off by his taking over the questioning, and his gall irritated her. "A few," she answered shortly.
"Really?" Obi-Wan's eyebrow flicked upward. That was interesting. "How?"
"It's not important." She waved a hand airily.
"I'd like to know," he pressed. He offered a small smile. "I'd like to know where you've gotten all these ideas about the Jedi."
Delian stared at him for a long time as they walked. Finally, with a defiant tilt to her chin, she admitted, "I'm a Jedi reject, babe. The Force abandoned me a long time ago."
Obi-Wan was startled, his forehead automatically wrinkling as he thought about her bold statement. "The Force doesn't abandon people, Delian," he disagreed, daring to use her first name. "It – "
"Drop it, Kenobi," she interjected. "It abandoned me."
Obi-Wan fell silent, pondering this new revelation.
"Come on," she said tiredly, and just a touch angrily.
"Delian," he started hesitantly.
"Drop it, Kenobi," she repeated roughly.
"Delian, I'm sorry," he tried again.
"Damn it, just let it go!" she snapped with a snarl, ducking into a doorway suddenly and reaching out to snag his arm when he would have continued on.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out various types of flightsuits and gear made to fit several of the prominent species on Tatooine. Keeping a wary watch on the Corellian as she prowled through the racks of merchandise, Obi-Wan pondered Delian's words. A Jedi reject? Delian?
Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to drop his head into his hands and meditate for a damned long time. He wished again for Qui-Gon's presence – at this point, he'd even submit willingly to Yoda. The tiny Master's garbled sentences were far easier to understand than everything that was going on now. And he couldn't shake the feeling that this was all wrong somehow.
He reached out careful mental fingers for his Master, searching vainly for the warm presence that had never been so hard to find – again he bumped into that cloying, fuzzy numbness. What was going on? Why couldn't he think? And why didn't the Force respond to his repeated pleas?
Despite himself, Obi-Wan heard Delian's earlier words echo in his mind. A Jedi reject. This time Obi-Wan gave in and dropped his head into his open palms. The chain on the manacles jingled softly, grating into any hopes he might have had about imagining he were somewhere else.
Quickly Obi-Wan banished the thought from his mind. He had not been rejected. Qui-Gon wouldn't leave him here any longer than was necessary to complete their objective. Now was not the time to be second-guessing his connection with the Force, his mind was simply unclear and he was tired. And he couldn't get rid of the terrible headaches. Those were the things that were obstructing his attempts at meditation, nothing more.
As soon as he could, he would find time to clear his mind and focus.
OOOOOOOOOO
