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Notes: ROTS AU.
whimperling: Interesting point about their relationship being the only real sense of home they have left. I hadn't thought of things like that—I like the idea. I do have to disagree on Obi-Wan failing as a father, though. Yes, I think he made mistakes, but considering the circumstances, I think he did the best he could, and the things that ultimately made Anakin fall I don't believe were his fault.
yellow 14: Well, I can answer your question about what comes next with this chapter here.
Random Under the Sun: Haha, that's not hypocritical! I feel like doing that to everyone I ever review for, too. Waiting for the next bit of a story is never fun.
Pronker:Very true. Obi-Wan has always been his safety, but this is one step he's got to take all on his own.
ObiBettina7: Honestly, I'm still trying to figure out how I keep inserting moments of random fluff into this story. It just sort of happens.
anakinpadmekenobi: I always wish we got more of a look at how things went when Anakin first came to the Temple. I bet it was an interesting time. And, yes, Obi-Wan is headed for Utapau in the chapter after this one. So far, this story is 410 pages, and I'm almost done. So, I'd say around there.
Mo Angel: Oh, yes. Obi-Wan and Anakin take on Dooku in this chapter, then Obi-Wan takes a trip to Utapau in the next one. I know that this part is a bit slow—I knew that when I wrote it—but later parts didn't seem quite right without it.
They've been crouching by the door for over three hours now. Though, in actuality, that's not nearly as bad as it sounds: they could potentially be here for a lot longer. Sooner or later, Obi-Wan knows, Dooku is going to want to speak with them. The reasoning doesn't matter. He might desire an extended debrief, or he may simply be curious about how he and Anakin are acting now that Obi-Wan is back. It's hard to tell with Dooku.
And it doesn't matter.
All that matters is that they're ready when he comes.
That's not easy. Cloaking their intentions in the Force in order to prevent Dooku from detecting a warning in the Force, remaining alert when it's so tempting to let focus wander—it takes discipline, and even for a fully trained Jedi, this is one of the ultimate exercises in patience.
The one thing that makes it a little more bearable is that there's no need for silence. They need to be completely without conversation—they don't want Dooku to hear them as he approaches the door, but their voices won't carry that far unless they're careless.
So, they sit, waiting, backs pressed to the wall for hours on end.
"Do you think this actually has a chance of working?" Anakin whispers.
The obvious goal of this plan doesn't have much chance of success. That was never the point. The point lies in what is far less obvious, in what that failure might gain them. Still… "It would be nice if it did."
"That wasn't what I asked."
He rolls his head back against the door and fixes Anakin with his best expressionless stare. "Fine, Anakin, no, I don't think this has a high chance of success. Do you feel better now?"
He shrugs, casually, like what they're about to do isn't one of the craziest things they've ever tried. Though, it's Anakin—the potential for disastrous failure is probably what's making him smile. "Nothing we ever do has a high chance of success."
"Anakin, the main point of this plan isn't the obvious success."
"Well, you never know," he replies simply, like it's just that easy.
Does this boy ever listen? That isn't the main point. "Yes, I suppose."
Anakin is bored—Obi-Wan can pick that up in the way he shifts a little against the wall, shoulder blades rising and falling like he's scratching an itch. It's really nothing more than energetic fidgeting.
Twenty-two and still fidgeting like a youngling. Lovely.
"Don't look at me like that. You're as bored as I am. You just hide it better."
Perhaps, but he's clearly not as good at concealing his thoughts as he is his boredom. Though, apparently Anakin guessed at both… and Obi-Wan is bored.
The sound of someone outside the door indicates that's about to change.
Wonderful timing. It always is when he and Anakin are involved.
"Look sharp," he mutters, chancing a quick sideways glance at Anakin.
Every trace of boredom has slipped off Anakin, rolling away as easily as he usually dispenses his opinions. Already he's back against the wall, pressed tight, tensed and waiting for the moment when the door will slide open. In the space of less than a few seconds, he has gone from playful and almost childish to a man prepared to kill, and to do it with the skill and lethality that his training as a general has given him. Anakin is ready.
Obi-Wan is the same.
And three, two, one… go.
The moment the door opens, he and Anakin are rolling off the wall, out the door and at Dooku. They have no weapons. They have nothing but surprise on their side. The odds are overwhelmingly against them, but all they need is a small break. Just a tiny one.
Obi-Wan gets what he's looking for.
Anakin's fist to Dooku's face sends the man flying back, and though his hand is already on his lightsaber the moment he hits the ground, it's just enough time for Obi-Wan to reach out, grabbing under the pretense of causing harm, but really more for the purpose of slipping the transmitter Anakin built onto the bottom of Dooku's boot, in the gap between the small heel and the flat where it won't be crushed when Dooku walks.
The harm he causes when he twists Dooku's ankle a moment later is only a desirable side effect.
He feels muscles pull under his hands, grinding; he hears Dooku gasp in pain, almost in time with Anakin's grunt as he goes straight for Dooku's throat, hand pinning against his windpipe, holding him down while his other hand pins Dooku's saber hand. For just a moment, Obi-Wan dares to think that maybe—just maybe—they have a chance of physically winning this fight.
The blaster bolt that hits Anakin in the shoulder a moment later changes his mind.
"Anakin!" Too late. Already Dooku has his lightsaber in hand, pushed to Anakin's shoulder, igniting it like it doesn't matter. Without even a second thought.
This time, Anakin's grunt whispers off into a gasp, a nasty sound of shock as Dooku just holds the blade there, lips curled in a snarl. He's letting it burn its way through Anakin's shoulder. The smell—it's horrible, nauseating, and Obi-Wan lunges forward, intending to just do something, but is pushed back when Dooku gives Anakin a harsh shove with the Force, sending him sliding back off the blade and smashing into Obi-Wan, throwing them both to the ground.
There's no blood. The wound is cauterized. Right from the start Obi-Wan knows that, but when his hand goes up to check, he finds that he can almost slide a finger into the wound. His fingers come away blackened, coated with the ash of Anakin's charred skin.
Anyone who had seen less active combat would vomit. As it is, Obi-Wan is tempted.
"I think I'm hurt," Anakin mutters, letting Obi-Wan take his weight. He's blinking slowly, head falling back against Obi-Wan's neck and shoulder as Obi-Wan settles him against his chest, assessing the damage.
"Well-spotted," he answers reflexively, and Anakin just smiles, like he finds the sarcasm comforting.
"Good job, Master."
This isn't worth it. Anakin just took a lightsaber through his shoulder, and Obi-Wan's fingers are blackened from the charred flesh, but Anakin is telling him good job, just because he got a bug on Dooku's shoe. That isn't worth any of this. That's his attachment talking. He knows it is, but there's sweat beading on Anakin's forehead from the pain, and this wound is serious—
"Do you really think I would be so neglectful as to not post a guard at your door?"
Right, there's still Dooku to deal with. And the three clones behind him. Of course.
Looking up, Obi-Wan meets a pair of furious eyes. "One can hope."
He's not hoping now. The pure rage he's seeing there—probably from the fact that they managed to get the upper hand, if only for a moment—does not make him anticipate a peaceful resolution. There is some satisfaction to be had in the bruise rising on Dooku's cheek, but it's not nearly enough to outweigh the other consequences. "You're not this desperate, Kenobi," Dooku says, almost spitting the words. "This is badly planned, a last resort. Pathetic. I expected better."
Good. Hopefully that bug he planted will live up to those expectations. "Sorry to disappoint."
Dooku's lightsaber is still ignited, steady in his hand as he moves forward. The movement is almost fluent, like a deadly kind of dance. Every moment makes Obi-Wan's sense of the Force prickle in warning, because Dooku's eyes are on Anakin.
"I have a job for you," Dooku says simply, sauntering closer. Obi-Wan's gaze falls to the red blade, and he unconsciously grips Anakin a little tighter, cheek pressed against Anakin's temple. He can feel the cold sweat there… and Anakin—he just lies still, breathing shallowly. That's not good, because Anakin never just lies anywhere. He's always moving, always fighting, unless he just can't.
"I rather think I'm a bit occupied right now."
The blade rushes forward, stopping a few inches from Anakin's face. It's not far from Obi-Wan's, either, but it's clear who it's pointed at. The threat is all for Anakin.
A threat like that is simply too close to reality: feeling the imminent danger—this will be finished with just a slip, easily created by anger—in Dooku's action, Obi-Wan pulls Anakin closer against his chest, shifting his head until it rolls back against Obi-Wan's shoulder, further away from the blade. As carefully as he can, he turns his head until his cheek is pressed against Anakin's face, shielding him from Dooku… and putting himself closer to the blade. If Dooku slips now, it won't be Anakin whom he hits first.
"When you arrived here, you told me you weren't a father," Dooku says slowly. Every word is deliberate, and Obi-Wan feels the hair on the back of his neck and on his arms rise at the malice in the tone. "Prove yourself right. Refuse what I am telling you. Allow me to kill him, and I'll let you walk free."
Anakin presses his face into Obi-Wan's neck a little more firmly. At this point, Obi-Wan doubts he even knows he's doing it. Force, he needs a healer. Now. "That has nothing to do with being a father. No Jedi abandons his partner."
Easily, Dooku smiles, smooth and knowing. "No. Of course not." He pauses, simply watching with dark eyes. "I wish for you to go to Utapau and remove the remaining members of the Separatist council. Eliminate them."
"I'm a Jedi, not an executioner."
One eyebrow arches, and his gaze trails back down to Anakin, sweeping over him as if he's calculating just how much he can hurt him before he delivers the final killing blow. There are, after all, so many ways to cause a man pain.
Already, Obi-Wan knows he's going to lose this.
"You'll learn to be, or I'll demonstrate the proper technique."
He will. He'll kill Anakin. Obi-Wan knows he will. If he does, he'll lose all power over Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan knows that, but Dooku is finally playing his hand. He's risking everything and relying on the belief that Obi-Wan won't play the hand that hehas. He won't sacrifice Anakin.
And he's right: Obi-Wan knows he has to fold.
Because he can't let Dooku kill Anakin… and Dooku knows that.
"Are you still just a Jedi, Master Kenobi?" he asks in a tone laced with mocking. "Not a father?"
He doesn't reply. Instead, he just meets Dooku's gaze and tries not to feel terribly disgusted with himself. He can't let that show… but he knows Dooku sees it. He can almost see his own image reflected in that smug smile and in the way Dooku's eyes are glittering. They both know who's lying right now.
It isn't Dooku.
"He needs a healer," Obi-Wan says softly, finally looking away and raising a hand to gingerly touch Anakin's wound again. He feels so sick. Sick at the sight of the wound. Sick at himself. Sick at the situation.
"He'll get one."
"I want to make sure he's taken care of before I go."
He's sure Dooku is going to say no, just to be spiteful. Yet, somehow, oddly, Dooku pauses, apparently considering, and then finally, after a few moments, gives a small nod. Perhaps it's because he's gotten what he wants. It's possible he just wants to solidify the attachment that's winning him his victory. Obi-Wan doesn't know.
And, uncharacteristically, he doesn't care to analyze it.
"You'll see him tended to. And then you will leave for Utapau."
"Just get him a healer," he snaps, glaring. It's useless. He's already lost. He might as well act like it. It's nothing but posturing to pretend otherwise.
Force, and he accuses Anakin of having pride.
Again, Dooku's face twists in a smirk, but he only nods. Obi-Wan should be pleased that the man is doing what he wants, but he can feel Dooku's intentions, and Obi-Wan knows that this small illusion of power is nothing more than a cruel mockery—a reminder of the real power he no longer has.
Anger ripples along through him, but Obi-Wan looks away and holds Anakin steady until someone takes him, transferring him to a stretcher instead. He sees all of it, watches to make sure Anakin is getting the care he needs, but all he can focus on is the sense that this didn't have to happen—that Dooku has destroyed so much.
And Obi-Wan hasn't stopped him.
Instead, he's clung to the light, like he should, like he's been taught, but there's a nagging feeling inside of him—a persistent itch as he watches Anakin's eyes flutter when a medic injects him with what's probably a mild sedative—that says those beliefs are only an excuse. Maybe he just wasn't strong enough to do what he needed to do in order to stop all of this. He was too concerned with the personal cost to himself.
Worst of all, he can feel his anger clinging to him, anchored in those thoughts, and in his fear for Anakin.
It's all wrong, but he's tired, too tired, and so he just walks after the stretcher, trying not to feel. It's better that way. It stops the darkness.
He purposely doesn't think about how it also stops the light.
Dooku understands guilt. It's something that clings unavoidably with the dark side, almost as persistently as anger. Its only redeeming quality is that it can bring strength as effectively as anger can.
It can also tear a man down.
It is his hope that once Kenobi's foundations have been torn away, he can be built back up. Not now, however. Now, he's too mired in that guilt.
Such guilt. Guilt for what has happened to his apprentice, to the part he played, and likely for everything else too, because that's what Kenobi does. He takes everything on his shoulders—makes himself responsible for all that he's involved in. Guilt like that pulls a person apart and leaves them emotionally bare. No one has ever stopped him from doing that to himself, because he is Master Kenobi, and he always seems strong enough. So foolish. No one is that strong. It's only a matter of how well they hide their weakness.
It's a wonder the Jedi have survived this long. They simply can't see. They overlook so much, claim to be clinging to the light, but what they don't notice is that there are so many avenues to the dark side.
Even guilt.
"Master?" Skywalker mumbles, rolling his head to the side as he turns toward the familiar presence he can feel in the Force. "Obi-Wan?" he slurs, blinking unnaturally slowly in what is clearly an effort to fight the effects of the drugs. He's failing—it's clear that he's groggy, and his gaze is unfocused, but he still feels Kenobi's presence in the Force.
Kenobi settles his hand on Anakin's forehead, gently, with a kind of care that's fascinating. It's a strong touch, entirely different from what Skywalker must have known from his mother, but the way the boy turns into it, eyes fluttering closed again, proves that it's just as reassuring.
Skywalker just came out of surgery, the first of what will be more than a few. The lightsaber burned into the muscle of his shoulder, and while it can be repaired, it's going to take more than just some time in a bacta tank. The damage wouldn't have been so extensive if Dooku had pulled the blade out immediately: it was how he left it in, charring flesh, muscle, and a bit of bone that was most serious. Still, Skywalker will use his arm again. It will take time—probably not long enough to suit Dooku—but he'll return to form eventually.
Tucking his hands behind his back, Dooku smiles bitterly. Pity he didn't keep that blade in just a little longer.
"Anakin," Kenobi says quietly, his free hand going to the side of Skywalker's face, titling it back so that when Skywalker forces his eyes open again, he's already positioned to look at Kenobi. "I want you to listen to me, all right?"
A few slow blinks. "Sure," he murmurs.
It's impossible to tell why Kenobi is even bothering, at least beyond the need to simply say what he's thinking. That's the only plausible explanation—Kenobi can't truly expect a response, not when Skywalker is so lost in a haze of drugs. Kenobi has to know that the chances of Skywalker remembering this are slim to none.
"Good. I have to leave. But I'll be back, all right?"
Skywalker's brow furrows, and his lips purse in a small expression of discontent. "Obi-Wan—" Clumsily, he reaches out, fingers colliding with the bed rail, but finally working their way along to Kenobi's wrist. His grip looks weak, but Kenobi isn't trying to shake him off, so it doesn't much matter. "Get Padme?"
He's silenced when Kenobi lays his free hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. His fingers flex, not much, but enough that Skywalker's brow wrinkles and he stops talking. Still, that's interesting. Padme? Amidala? She was on Geonosis. Is Skywalker living a memory?
"Master, you can't go—"
"I'm very proud of you," Kenobi says quietly, leaning over the bed, probably in hopes that Dooku won't catch what he's saying. Dooku does, just barely, but that's hardly the point—the point is that Kenobi is running the risk of being heard at all. Curious that this is so important that it must be said. "You're good, Anakin. You are. Please, don't let that go, all right?"
"Proud of me?" he mutters, finally releasing Kenobi's wrist, though his fingers linger sluggishly.
Kenobi's now-freed hand settles gently on Skywalker's other shoulder, holding him steady and keeping his attention. It's honestly quite a feat that the boy's attention has remained for this long. Yet, somehow, he's keeping his eyes on Kenobi's face. It's clear in his glassy eyes and unfocused stare that he's having trouble processing, but he's trying, and Dooku has to admit that he finds that most interesting.
"Yes, Anakin."
Skywalker swallows. "Shouldn't be."
Kenobi's fingers tighten for just a moment, and he leans a bit further over the bed. "I didn't say I was proud of everything you'd done. I said I was proud of you."
"I—" he pauses, his nose twitching mildly as he scrunches up his face, "my head hurts, Master. Don't say stuff like that when I can't think right. Just tell me how 'm wonderful… and… 'splain later."
Yes. That sounds like Skywalker. Dooku finds the presumption disgusting, but then, he finds most things about Skywalker to be irritating. It's not the same with Kenobi: a shadow of a smile casts over his face, and he sighs, though there's nothing frustrated about it. It's almost… fond. "Humble as always," he replies quietly. Then, slowly, he brings one hand up to lightly pat Anakin's cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the cheekbone. "Try to sleep this off."
Skywalker doesn't make any move to shake off the touch. "Be here when I wake up?"
"I doubt I'll be back yet."
"I—what?" He looks as though he finds it entirely unbelievable that Kenobi won't be there. Goodness, this boy is spoilt. Jedi don't expect things like that. They shouldn't need it. "Master—I—won't you be back?"
"I'm going to come back, Anakin. I promise."
And just like that, Skywalker believes it. His eyes flutter closed, and he nods against Kenobi's palm, as though it's truly that simple. He doesn't ask for proof. Dooku would. No matter how close the person was to him, he would want more than just simply their word. But Skywalker accepts what Kenobi says without any of that. Just a simple nod.
Kenobi doesn't pull back from the bed until it's obvious that Skywalker is asleep. Then, even when he does, he goes about it slowly, hand slipping away and over Skywalker's shoulder, fingers catching on the bandage there, as though he's trying to lodge everything about the scene in his memory. It's understated, so Kenobi, and oddly touching. It's affection that isn't overt, and a kind of trust that's binding.
Dooku understands none of it… and he's a bit surprised to realize that he wishes he did.
As quickly as it comes, he pushes the desire away. It has no place here. That kind of maudlin thinking will only make him weak.
"If you're quite finished," he says coldly as Kenobi turns to face him, "there is a ship waiting for you in the hangar."
Kenobi shoulders twitch back, the only indication that he's even considering defiance. Though, Dooku suspects it's nothing more than wistful thinking. Skywalker is too much a reminder of what he has to lose. "I need to get my things."
"You'll have them brought to you." Not because he believes Kenobi can do anything if he returns to his apartment, but merely because he knows it will irritate Kenobi to have someone else pack for him.
Obviously, it does, though the nearly unnoticeable tightening under Kenobi's eyes is the only indication. "Fine." He turns then, moving toward the door. There's a sense of need in him, of a desire to look back at the man in the bed, but he checks it, and if Dooku wasn't so attuned to his mood, he'd wonder if it was truly there at all.
But he doesn't wonder. He knows it is.
"Master Kenobi."
Kenobi pauses just in front of the doorway, feet planted a shoulder width apart, like he's preparing for a blow. "Yes?"
"You will remove all of them. I want them eliminated."
Oh, Kenobi doesn't like that. The pain and discomfort—the sheer conflict—is boiling just under the surface in the aura he's exuding, even in his physicality: under his tunic, it's possible to see the bunching of his muscles, seizing up into a maze of stress. Dooku watches the play of the cloth speculatively, wondering just how far he can push.
But this isn't truly about that.
Kenobi has a job to do.
Dooku needs to insure that he'll do it.
"Do you understand?"
A soft breath that Dooku isn't sure even truly occurred, and then, "Yes."
"Good."
The door does not shut harder than it needs to. Kenobi does not storm out. There are no angry words. He simply leaves… and Dooku is left behind, watching, smiling, but not feeling any emotion driving that smile. He should be happy. With any luck, he'll push Kenobi directly into a position he thought he wanted him in. He's one step closer to making Kenobi a man like himself.
And he has no reason not to want that. He should not feel any hesitation at that prospect. He should not feel an odd itch that feels suspiciously like regret for what he's about to destroy.
But he is a master of his emotions, and he locks them away almost before they begin.
Kenobi will join him, regardless of how either of them truly feels about that prospect.