Put Down The Knife (the night is here)
Part of the Effortless As Fire series
Part 3, Section 2
Investigative work isn't exactly Anakin's forte. He's more of a burst in and beat 'em up kind of guy. Of the two of them, Master Qui-Gon had been the real talker. The man could get blood from a stone, and was never afraid to use the Force to resolve a matter.
Anakin has never managed well with delicate application of the Force. Nevertheless, he likes to think he has a natural charm that serves him well in situations like this, and he has Master Qui-Gon's methods to follow in a pinch. He also has plenty of contacts under Coruscant from his swoop bike days, who'll share information for the right price. And Master Qui-Gon's old friends and contacts will often help him out when he really needs it.
Evening is creeping in as Anakin exits the temple, and he hasn't eaten at all today, so food is an obvious first choice. He kills two birds with one stone, and stops by Dex's. Master Qui-Gon had started bringing Anakin here a few years after they'd arrived at the temple. Master Qui-Gon traded stories with the Baselisk, keeping him up to date on their various adventures. Often, Dex would slip Master Qui-Gon a data stick or an interesting looking trinket. Qui-Gon would sometimes return the favour, handing over small, tightly wrapped parcels. Not knowing what was on those data sticks or in those parcels had driven Anakin nuts for a while.
When they weren't gossiping for the sake of it, Dex proved a reliable informant. Dex had given his Master that fateful hint about Kamino, in those last days before Geonosis. Dex seems to have a finger in every pie in the galaxy, and he has more than enough fingers to go around.
Today, Anakin sits with the Baselisk, trading his own gossip over a bowl of salty, fat rich soup. Or at least, he tries to. Dex seems a little tight lipped today. When Anakin drops a hint about Cade Bane, he catches a ripple of Dex's recognition in the Force. But then Dex seems uninclined to share, and puts him off, once, twice, a third time. Finally the Baselisk gives him a hard look.
"Let it go kid. This one ain't for you."
Anakin sighs. "Sorry Dex, I just need some kind of lead."
"Not today Kid, and not from me, neither."
"Come on Dex, not even for me?" Anakin asks, grinning winningly.
Dex claps him on the shoulder and lumbers back to the kitchen, leaving Anakin in a state of confusion.
Are they being watched? Anakin scans the room, but all he sees are the usual Coruscanti denizens: bright dresses, big hair, brocades, and even what looks like another Jedi, obscured beneath a brown hood. But Cad Bane is dangerous, and Anakin forgives Dex for being wary of stirring that kind of trouble. Anakin finishes his soup and pays up, all without catching the smallest hint. At least the soup was pretty good.
The Coruscanti sky turns orange, then red, then violet, as Anakin drifts lower down. The buildings and walkways above him gradually eclipse the sky, until all he can see are dark lengths of durasteel interspersed with palely lit window voids. Eventually, he drops into the undercity, and all he can see is the bottom of the plate.
At a Hutt run cantina, Anakin takes a seat at a chance table. The whole place is full of greasy speed jockeys and gamblers. Even in his customary blacks and browns, Anakin's tabards stand out.
"No Jedi," grunts a pale blue twi'lek with an impressively bulging forehead. After a moment, Anakin recognises him as a rival racer. They've traded parts occasionally. They aren't exactly friendly, but they also aren't unfriendly, which is always a plus. Besides, Meecho owes him a favour for not turning him in for a doctored acceleration unit.
Anakin smirks. "Come on Meecho, you know me."
"Even you, Skywalker, stay out of this."
Anakin can see why - the credits on the table are piling up. Meecho must have got a win in recently, and he's trying to build on his winnings.
A grizzled wolfman eyes Anakin suspiciously, and a weequay fixes him with an outright glare. Jedi aren't exactly popular around a chance table, and that's what he's relying on.
"I'm just here to watch," he grins, cajoling. "It'll make the game more interesting. Come on, try me."
Meecho, the wolfman, and the weequay trade looks.
"No way, Maru," says Meecho, his lekku twitching irritably.
"Awww, let him stay, Meech. Barchek thinks it might be a bit of fun…" the weequay weedles.
The wolfman makes an affirmative sounding noise.
Meecho snarls, but nods to the dealer, and just like that Anakin becomes another element of the game - someone who might be compelled to tip the game in their favour. The round begins with each player calling out their bets. Anakin makes a show of his reactions, hissing and humming and nodding his head. There's no logic behind it - he's got no idea which way they cube will fall. He's not going to use the Force for ends such as this.
The point is to egg them on, build up their curiosity, and eventually piss them off. Anakin does a few parlour tricks, swirling his straw around his drink, and levitating credits around the table towards whoever wins the round.
The credits mount, and the players grow bolder.
Eventually Barchek the Wolfman grows impatient. He growls and pushes nearly all his credit stack into the table. He lays out coloured cards to place his bet - primary colours: two red, two green, two blue.
"Two sky, no primes," the weequay hisses, placing a stack of cyan, magenta and amber cards on the table.
"Two greens," Meecho grunts, laying out the cards in front of him.
"Dull," Maru says. "You won't beat Barchek with that."
"Three, then," Meecho hisses, adding another card to his hand.
"You so sure about that?" Anakin nudges him.
"I'll take my chances," he replies irritably,
Anakin shrugs, quirking his eyebrows in a way he knows is particularly punchable.
The dealer tosses six chance cubes across the table, two reds, two greens, a blue - Maru spits, definitely losing out. The last cube spins a moment, tipping between green, blue and cyan.
It falls on blue, and the wolfman rumbles, pleased, raking in his credits.
Meecho slams a fist on the table, as Barchek claims a heap of his hard won credits.
"You did that," Meecho hisses, jabbing his finger in Anakin's chest. "Always cheating, Skywalker. First swoop bike, now this."
Anakin laughs. "Come on Meecho, I'm not even playing. I'll give you a hint on the next one, yeah?"
"No, no hint," Meecho replies, standing from the table and grabbing at Anakin's collar. Anakin lets him, knowing that he can stop Meecho before he gets a good punch in, even at a close distance.
The weequay laughs. "Come on Meech, he's having a bad day. Let him lord it over us mere mortals..."
The wolfman barks out a laugh. Slowly, Meecho grins, letting go of Anakin and dusting down his shoulders in a way that isn't exactly friendly, but also isn't outright threatening anymore. Meecho's grin turns into a sneering laugh.
"You Jedi should not be so cocky today, perhaps?"
Here it comes. Anakin helps Meecho back into his seat, posturing with what he hopes looks like false bravado. "Now why would I do that when I still remember last year's Light Night Swoop Final?"
Meecho purples, but forges on. "Ah, you Jedi, very high and mighty… word is you got shown the heel of the boot today, eh?"
Anakin lets go of the twi'lek's shoulders, folding his arms into a defensive posture.
"Word is you don't know what you're talking about," Anakin prompts, glaring perhaps a touch too theatrically.
Meecho falls for it anyway - "Hah - that's not what they're saying down at the-"
The wolfman snarls loudly, drowning out Meecho's sentence. Meecho cuts off with a jump, nearly spilling his drink.
"What Barchek said," the Weequay says darkly, resting his blaster on the table. The dealer looks on uncomfortably. "Can it with the talk, Meech. He's playing you. Get your info elsewhere, Jedi."
Anakin sighs. "Fifty credits could change your mind, though…. right?" he says, plying his words with the Force. He uses Master Qui-Gon's technique - be subtle, and play for something they might already be thinking.
Meecho's eyes sparkle with greed, "I could- oof! What was that for, Barchek?"
The wolfman snarls, apparently not taken in.
"Hang on Jedi, did you just-" Meecho, now extra purple, unholsters his own blaster and flicks the safety button menacingly. "Get lost, Skywalker. No one's talking on this one, not even with the dough involved…"
Anakin nods his head, scrambling away. "Got it. Well, nice talking to you gentlemen…"
Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. Anakin slinks off, cursing. Why is everyone being so tight lipped? When there's gossip about, usually at least one person will spill to a Jedi. Apparently it's not the same when the Jedi are being targeted.
Something about this job has the entire district on edge. He tries a few more tables but with little luck, running out of patience quickly as every person he talks to seems more and more suspicious. Giving this bar up as a lost cause, Anakin heads back out onto the streets to try elsewhere. Time is ticking. Every moment he wastes down here, can almost feel Bane and the Holocron get further away.
Qui-Gon's lessons: First and last, trust in the Force. Anakin takes a deep breath. The air is fume filled and disgusting, but the action of breathing itself is steadying.
The Force swirls, placidly, stained with rich gold from the thread that links him to Kenobi. It guides him, parting his flickering thoughts like a curtain to show him the path he should take. Somewhere in the undercity he will find the answer. All he needs to do is follow the pull of the Force. As he makes his decision, a strange hue creeps into the Force. A touch of darkness, a half heard, whispered hint that makes Anakin think of Dex's nervous, tight lipped attitude.
Curious, he makes his way to a transit elevator that will take him down into Coruscant's underbelly.
As he goes, he sends a brief message to the Council to inform them that he's continuing the search, then follows the instinct that guides him further down. Eventually Anakin finds himself in front of a garishly lit club pouring thumping music out into the street.
The club is squashed between a burnt out, heavily curtained apartment that he assumes is a spice den, and a crumbling, parasite infested hotel. The sign above the door is a holo of a scantily clad, pink Twi'lek woman. She saucily raises her leg, beckoning with alluring grace. The Force is telling him this is the place, so he pulls up his hood and drifts inside.
The atmosphere is thick with sweet smelling smoke and acrid chemicals. They sting his nose and burn in his throat, leaving him light headed and a little dizzy. The thumping beat of the music is so loud he can feel it in his chest, and it threatens to bring back his headache. Despite the miasma, Anakin feels confident. There's some soothing undercurrent, a pull telling him to sit still here and keep quiet.
Feeling buoyed by his own certainty, Anakin buys a drink, takes a seat at the bar, and waits. For half an hour he hears nothing of interest, but he remains in place, schooling his patience and exercising the trust in the Force Qui-Gon tried so hard to impress upon him. He sips his first drink greedily and buys another to avoid the interest of his fellow patrons, who drain their glasses swiftly and mechanically.
The room is dimly lit, save for a few ultraviolet fluorescents that obscure and obfuscate defining features with their pale light. With his back to the room, Anakin begins to feel exposed. The air tastes and smells foul, and as the night draws on the music becomes deafening. He sits with dwindling patience while the Force insists that he is where he needs to be.
Half way down his third glass, the Force flickers, and a hooded stranger slides in between Anakin and the seat next to him. The stranger flags the bartender with a nod. The brown cloak and pale tunics suggest Jedi, but Anakin is certain that's not the case. Anakin turns to watch the stranger, poised to take advantage of whatever the Force presents.
The bartender approaches, and the stranger orders drinks.
Anakin recognises Kenobi's voice before he sees his face. Anakin's heart jumps and stomach leaps with something between anxiety and anticipation. Then he turns to look at Anakin, drawing back his hood just enough to let a little of the sickly lighting pierce the shadows.
Kenobi's eyes are pale and straw coloured under the fluorescents. The light saps his hair and beard of colour, and they seem almost black in contrast with his washed out skin. His lips are soft, and when he grins at Anakin, his back teeth flash sharply.
Anakin flinches, a whole body startle, and grasps for his saber.
Kenobi grabs his wrist before he can draw, and at the same time accepts two smoking, blue drinks from the bartender with a murmured thanks. He never for a moment betrays their muted scuffling beneath the bar top. Anakin yanks at his wrist, but Kenobi's grip is iron, supernaturally strong.
Anakin's wrist burns, and he vividly thinks of Li-Sha Daahn, who spent her last moments with her wrist pressed to Kenobi's soft lips and whiskered jaw. He finally jerks his wrist out of Kenobi's grasp - or at least Kenobi lets him go - and reaches for his saber again.
Kenobi thrusts a drink into his hand instead. "Don't," he says amiably. "You want to talk to me." Kenobi gestures to an empty table at the centre of a curving booth. "Let's sit down somewhere private, hmm?"
Anakin follows the dragon, scowling, but helplessly ensnared nevertheless.
He can't avoid the fact that this is the meeting the Force ordained. As he goes, he reminds himself to stay wary. It doesn't pay to look too eager.
"I'm in the middle of an investigation," he snarls, as Kenobi deposits him in a high backed booth, complete with torn seats and a sticky plasteel table.
He crowds in next to Anakin, trapping him against the wall of the booth. Anakin scoots away as best he can, and finds himself braced between sticky synth leather and Kenobi's thigh. Unwilling to drive away what might be his only lead, but all too conscious of the danger Kenobi presents, Anakin sits still, gripping his glass too tightly.
He can't let Felucia happen again. He has to remember, Kenobi really is dangerous, in both the physical and mental sense. There will be no exchanges this time. Not when he knows how deadly they can be. The last time he did this, he had no idea what Kenobi was capable of.
Kenobi settles, elegant and comfortable despite his surroundings, tugging his hood a little further forward. Their thighs chafe together beneath the table, fabric on fabric. Anakin can feel the heat radiating off him. Kenobi leans in close to Anakin, ducking their heads together so they can hear one another through the music. When he speaks, his voice buzzes in Anakin's ear, sending prickling shivers down his spine.
"Your investigation. Yes, I heard. Cad Bane and the 'Holocron Heist', hmm? Terrible business, the Council must be beside themselves..."
Up close, he can smell Kenobi through the haze of the club - a strange mix of hot metal, human skin and ozone, layered with something sweet and pleasant. The effect is hypnotic, and Anakin find himself drawn in.
"So you do know about that."
"Of course," says Kenobi. He rests his elbow on the table, fingers curling around his glass, trailing through the condensation. His hands are square and elegant, the palms and finger pads calloused. Anakin distinctly remembers the feel of them against his jaw, and at the memory a gluey, molten feeling spreads through his stomach.
"Right," says Anakin, forcing himself back to the present. "So it was a Separatist plot. And for some reason you want to share that with me?"
Kenobi drapes his other arm over the back of the booth, curling in close so Anakin can catch sight of the glimmer in his eyes.
"Oh yes. It was well planned, well funded. You'll never catch Bane in time." Kenobi tugs his beard in a gesture chillingly reminiscent of Qui-Gon, which at least serves to bring Anakin out of his dazed arousal. "Not without the right intel."
"No kidding. That's why I'm here - "
Kenobi laughs, and Anakin grits his teeth.
"Here? Good grief. What ever did you hope to find?" Kenobi tilts his head, letting in just enough light to let Anakin see him raise his eyebrows.
Anakin squints irritably at him, his patience waning. The lights shimmer across Kenobi's sharp teeth, and Anakin remembers what exactly it is he's dealing with.
"Why don't you tell me," Anakin hisses
Before Kenobi can reply, Anakin's comm whistles. Anakin claps a hand over it to muffle the sound. Kenobi takes Anakin's distraction as an opportunity to shuffle closer, their legs and sides pressed together as they huddle conspiratorially. Anakin sighs and answers his comm.
"Skywalker, report," Master Windu barks, before Anakin even has the opportunity to greet him.
Anakin has been gone for hours, and he still has nothing useful to report. Kenobi is dropping hints - if only Windu had waited a few more minutes, Anakin might have some actually useful intel. Stupidly, he glances up at Kenobi in askance - to see his reaction, to see something. If he would only share the smallest snippet of useful information...
Kenobi grins. Before Anakin can answer, he snakes his arm around Anakin's shoulders, pulling his head closer so he can whisper to him. Anakin turns his ear to Kenobi's head.
"Say nothing to him of our meeting, and I'll tell you Bane's next move."
This is exactly the lead he needs, from the worst possible source. He doesn't have time. Every second is precious. He needs to get intel back to the Council. He jerks his head in agreement. Kenobi squeezes his shoulder encouragingly.
"Uh, one moment, Master," Anakin stammers into his comm.
Anakin turns the mic off, and meets Kenobi's eyes, expectant. Kenobi takes him by the chin, turning his head so he can once more whisper in his ear. "Good boy," the dragon hisses. Anakin swallows. He wants to punch Kenobi, but he stays quiet, buying speed with his compliance. "Bane will pursue Master Bolla Ropal. He wishes to obtain the Kyber Crystal he carries."
Kenobi leans back to give Anakin space, their eyes locked together. Anakin feels the urge to give something substantial back down to his guts. He tears his gaze away before Kenobi can work any of his hazy Force suggestions on him. Cooly, Kenobi gestures at Anakin's comm. Anakin nods, and repeats the information back to Windu.
"This is troubling," says Windu. "Return to the temple immediately."
"I'll be there shortly, Master." The comm goes mute. Anakin stares at it blankly.
Kenobi's arm is still around his shoulders. He slips it down Anakin's arm, fingers spread wide. It feels like a vise grip, proprietary, holding him in place where he's tucked in to Kenobi's side. Anakin squirms, too hot and sticky in his many layered robes. He takes a swig of his drink. It doesn't help - his head is already muzzy with alcohol. If nothing else, he needs to be a little less drunk now.
"Well done," Kenobi purrs, somewhere between a Master praising a student for good form, and an owner praising a pet for good behaviour. Anakin prickles, and Kenobi smirks.
Anakin blows out a deep breath, trying to centre himself. No doubt Kenobi knows more than he's letting on - with a little luck and the will of the Force, Anakin might get it out of him. He braces himself, trying to work out how to get through this without giving more of himself than he really should.
Kenobi huffs, back to flashing his toothy grin. His fingers rub loose circles into Anakin's bruised arms, somewhere between painful and gentling.
"Really, now Anakin. Relax. There's no need for hostility on either of our parts. We have the same objective."
"So, you want to tell me what that objective is?" Anakin asks, and because he really wants an answer to that question, he forces himself to relax, slumping against the dragon's side. Kenobi raises his eyebrows.
"Come on, Anakin. You can do better than that. Try and use at least a little subtlety." He chuckles and reaches down to pat Anakin's knee. His hand is damp with condensation from his glass, leaving a dark mark on Anakin's leggings.
Anakin is vividly reminded of the contrast between the grim, implacable soldier-Kenobi on the footage the Council showed him, and his provocative playfulness on Felucia.
Suddenly furious, Anakin jerks away, all pretense of relaxation lost. "No, you listen up - this is serious! If it wasn't, I wouldn't even be talking to you right now!"
Kenobi yanks him back, his arm still curled around Anakin's shoulders.
"Temper, Anakin. What would your Master think, hmm?" Kenobi grins, the expression on his face more than a little nasty.
Anakin shoves him away, pressing tight into the wall of the booth and suddenly very cold. "Don't you talk to me about my Master."
A mercurial, sorrowful expression flutters across the dragon's face. Kenobi shutters it away almost immediately, but Anakin is certain he caught a hint of something like regret.
"I suppose that would be for the best," Kenobi agrees soberly, rubbing his hands together and shifting to allow Anakin space.
Anakin deflates. "And don't treat me like a youngling, you can't just-"
Something in Kenobi's face makes Anakin pause.
Kenobi grimaces. "Ah, yes. The younglings."
Anakin sits up sharply "What younglings?"
"What do you - oh. Of course, you wouldn't have encountered Bolla Ropal. You would have been too old. He is the keeper of the kyber crystal that holds the list of Force sensitive younglings, and that is Cad Bane's next objective."
"And that's why he wanted the holocron… so he can read the crystal?" Kenobi nods. "But he'll need a Jedi-" Anakin gapes. "Wait. Is that what you're after from me? No way. I'm not going to open that Holocron. Not for you, not for anyone. Absolutely not."
"Please." Kenobi rolls his eyes. "If I wanted to, I'd open it myself. But Bane has his methods." Kenobi sighs grimly. "Once he has the list, it will be a small matter to identify suitable younglings, and kidnap them. They will be taken by the Sith, and trained as their servants."
While Anakin mulls this terrible thought over, Kenobi drains his glass. Anakin follows suit. How many is that? Definitely enough to make the world seem a little hotter and wilder than usual. Kenobi's arm is creeping back around his shoulders. They huddle together in their little booth, approaching something like companionable. Anakin carefully steadies himself, drawing his limbs in tight to his body. He keeps getting distracted, Kenobi is altogether too alluring. It must be a dragon thing.
Think, Anakin reminds himself, and trust in the Force. Reaching for the Force this close to Kenobi is probably a bad idea. But the way Kenobi is talking - there's got to be some reason he's doing this. He's effectively sabotaging his own Master's plans.
"The younglings. You don't want that for them. You don't want them to suffer that way?"
Kenobi stiffens, his lips pursing. "You can let go of any misapprehension that I am motivated by anything other than self interest."
"What?"
Kenobi sighs. His mouth is curled in that knife-like smirk, and his eyes seem oddly flat, not unlike his blank murderous expression from the holorecords.
"A dragon is the true servant of the Sith. I cannot permit any more rivals... these younglings. They would be powerful indeed, trained from birth-"
"But you're a dragon- "
"And so might they be, given the necessary influence. The Sith will use the list to identify younglings who were once like me - potentials, who might never manifest should they remain in the light. They will take those younglings, train them in the ways of the dark side. They will fall, without ever knowing the touch of the light. They would surpass me easily. I simply cannot allow it."
Kenobi turns away. Anakin sighs, scrubbing his hands through his hair.
"There's one thing I don't understand here. What do you get out of coming to me? Why not go to someone else?"
"Why am I helping you?"
Anakin shrugs. "Yeah."
Kenobi grins and knocks their knees together cajolingly, and pushes their glasses into the middle of the table.
"If I fail to retrieve the younglings in time, perhaps you and the Order will - you are sufficiently motivated to, after all."
"Right," says Anakin. That makes sense - Kenobi wants these kids out of his hair. He's having to sneak around behind his Master's back. It makes sense that he'd bring in people who want to help, and there's no one who gains more from this than the Jedi. And no better cover - of course the Jedi will pursue the younglings. There's no question of it. No hiring bounty hunters or calling in favours. No messy evidence trails.
Just one meeting in the heart of Coruscant to set the Order on the right track.
Anakin doesn't know why he feels disappointed. It's not like Kenobi ever gave him reason to believe he's any better than that. He is what he is.
Kenobi detaches himself from Anakin and slips out of the booth. Then he turns, offering a hand. Perhaps it's the drink, or the strange, companionable mood that's crept over them, but Anakin accepts.
They struggle together through the writhing crowd on the dance floor, and then finally out onto the streets. Under the shimmering pink light of the holo sign, their eyes meet. Then, without a word, Kenobi steps out into the night.
Watching the way the dragon navigates the narrow alleyways and bustling corridors, Anakin wonders if Qui-Gon Jinn ever guided the young Obi-Wan Kenobi through Coruscant's underbelly, the way he had guided Anakin.
Notes: Thanks for reading! You can read more about Star Wars dragons on the "Dragonverse" tag over on astalitha dot tumblr dot com, where I welcome questions and comments, and post snippets of future works.
The previous work in this series is And The Moon It Fell Down. Set ten years in the past, during and after the battle of Naboo, and focusing on Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan.