Despair did not walk with Anakin Skywalker this return to the Temple. Though his heart was still heavy with sorrow for those dead on Jabiim, that ache was distant and overlain by joy and satisfaction, for this time he had not returned alone. Last time, Anakin Skywalker had returned without his master; this time, Anakin Skywalker had returned with him.
Anakin Skywalker was vindicated, even if the Council had chosen not to acknowledge it.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was alive, even if the Council had chosen not to try and save him.
Master and Padawan were together once more and the sorrows of the past were slowly receding under the joy of the present. Obi-Wan Kenobi was home, alive and safe. Safe, and soon to be whole. Anakin turned to smile down at his master and caught his breath. A pang of worry stabbed through him.
"Master?"
He just now noticed the suddenly pale and drawn face on the repulsor-stretcher, the closed eyes and utter weariness in the lines of the worn face. It was as if the man had put all his energy into appearing healthy and well as he was welcomed home by his friends and colleagues, only now releasing his grip on the mask he wished to maintain.
"Master?" He reached out and touched Obi-Wan's hand, pale and nearly translucent.
"I'm fine, Anakin, just - very tired." Despite the words, his master didn't open his eyes, but he curled his fingers around the padawan's hand and lightly squeezed in reassurance.
"You slept all the way here." He hadn't meant it to sound like an accusation, but Anakin was afraid it had.
"And I barely slept at all the whole time there; my usual respite was – less restful." Unspoken, both understood that what Obi-Wan referred to was unconsciousness, not sleep. "I used the Force far more than I should have when escaping as well and I'm afraid this exhaustion is the consequence."
But…but the Force is limitless. How can one – you're a Jedi master! Anakin couldn't imagine drawing on the Force to a degree sufficient to wreak havoc on the wielder.
While he was searching for the proper words to respond with, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and sighed. He was obviously trying to send affection and reassurance through the bond, but neither lessened the apprehension of his padawan. "I thought I was the one who tended to worry about things. I'm back, Anakin; let go of your worry."
The two men exchanged long looks, until Anakin swallowed and nodded. Obi-Wan smiled and closed his eyes, seemingly content that for the moment it seemed he was able to offer some comfort to his padawan.
Seemingly, for neither the Force nor the bond seemed to carry more than hints of the Jedi's thoughts or feelings, yet it was not due to anything his master did or did not.
Anakin stayed by his master's side, griping tightly to Obi-Wan's cool hand, until they reached the Healers Ward reception area. He scowled as Healer Neille put out a hand and asked him to wait there, but subsided when Bant came over and with a gentle hand pushed him down into a seat.
"Neille will take good care of Obi, you know that, Anakin. Please wait here."
"Aren't you going to be with him?"
"Shortly, Anakin." Bant's webbed hand gently touched his cheek. "With what happened to him, it's best that Neille and his padawan examine Obi, considering he's my dearest friend. I'll check in on him a bit later."
Before both men were taken into separate exam rooms, Bant leaned over Obi-Wan and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'll be in to see you shortly, okay, Obi? You'll have to stay awake a while longer. I'll be with Alpha, but Neille or I will keep Anakin updated. He has the look of one who is going nowhere until we report just how you are doing."
His eyes flickered to his padawan's face and back to Bant's, gratitude clear in his.
"Thank you – he has seen more than I would like. It upset him badly."
Looking back at his padawan, weariness all too evident in the red-rimmed eyes and slouching posture, Obi-Wan spoke gently but firmly. "Padawan, please rest. You're exhausted from looking after me. I think I'm safe with the healers. Reasonably so."
"So you say now," Neille said dryly, signaling to his waiting padawan to join them.
"Need some help?" Neille noticed that Obi-Wan was having trouble getting undressed; he struggled to get the top over his head, his shoulders protesting the required range of motion. Neille quickly stepped forward and worked Obi-Wan free, first one arm then the other.
The healer had seen more than his share of battle wounds and reacted not at all to the abused body revealed by the shirt's removal, but Obi-Wan could not fail to glimpse the flicker of shock in the eyes of the apprentice, a young Bothan not many years younger than Anakin.
"Strange," Neille murmured, visually examining the Jedi's shoulders and back and seeing no apparent injuries, in such stark comparison to his chest.
"That's one spot she couldn't reach," Obi-Wan tried to make a joke of it, earning him a grunt of agreement from Neille, explaining in as few words as possible. Neille nodded, carefully checking the shoulder joints and neck for tears or sprains as Obi-Wan tried not to wince along with the muscles and ligaments as Neille gently checked their range of motion.
"Well, that explains why you are having trouble with your shoulders – those muscles lost elasticity immobilized as they were so long. Let's hope you merely pulled them swinging your lightsaber. You shouldn't have been fighting."
"I didn't like the alternatives." Obi-Wan's mouth set in a grim line that Neille respected.
"I'kk here will get your vitals first and then we'll take a look at the rest of you." The healer changed the subject. "Up on the table. We'll do a full visual, then draw the usual fluid and cellular samples and all before we run the scanner over you, do some blood chem and toxin tests. We're also going to have to take some holopics – for documentation. They'll stay sealed in your file as potential evidence."
"My posterior for posterity, why not?" Obi-Wan quipped, earning a grin from Neille and a soft mewl from Padawan I'kkara. He ran his hands through his hair and looked at Neille, suddenly serious and his voice betraying him. "It's been a long time since, well, I've had any reason to make a joke for no reason. Any joking - there - was helping me keep my sanity, reminding me of a life away from there. It's over, isn't it – it's really over? I'm not going to wake up back there, am I?"
"No, Obi-Wan. You're home, you're free now."
"Good. I don't want – to wake up there." He rubbed a hand over his eyes and stared into a memory. "After a while, every time I woke up there, part of me wished I – wouldn't ever wake."
His eyes focused then, and he looked at Neille. "I also didn't want to die, not there, not unless the Force willed it - so I didn't. I did what it asked – I lived. I lived – and, well, here I am."
"Here you are."
"Well." Obi-Wan blew out a deep breath and managed a tiny grin. "Let's finish this so I can get some rest. I'kk, confirm I'm alive, why don't you?"
I'kk looked uncertainly at his master for the Jedi's hands betrayed him, still trembling almost imperceptibly. Neille gave him a moment, before nodding to I'kk to continue with the exam, taking Obi-Wan's pulse, heart rate and blood pressure. Fluid samples of all types were gathered and labeled, ready to be sent to the analyzer.
At one point, I'kk reared back with a soft growl and hiss. It was a soft comment to Neille, but one that Obi-Wan mistook as having another meaning entirely.
"It's okay…I know I'm not a pleasant sight," Obi-Wan commented gently to the padawan, earning him a small smile in return. "I scare me, too."
Neille snorted. "You didn't scare I'kk, but I have no doubt you scared your padawan pretty badly when he got a look at you."
"Anakin?" He couldn't hold the healer's eyes. Scared, no, Anakin hadn't been scared. He had been furious. "I wouldn't say that he was scared, no."
"You tried to hide your condition from him, didn't you?"
"What condition?" That brought Obi-Wan's eyes up, in surprise. "Exhaustion, sore muscles, half-healed wounds - he knew all he needed to at that time. I chose not to reveal, well, what was over and done with. It's not like I was bleeding – at least, I didn't realize that was," he pointed at his leg. "Not until later. I just didn't want to be reminded of everything – to have to talk about what happened."
Somewhat grudgingly, the healer admitted, "The adrenaline rush might initially fool you into thinking you were in better shape than you are – but later? Did you let him help you to clean up? Obi-Wan, that boy is half out of his mind with worry - ."
"Because he saw me! He saw for himself. He walked in on me…," his voice grew strained. "I don't want to talk about it – can we just move on?"
Neille studied the Jedi; then nodded.
"Well then, since you're not bleeding or in need of immediate first aid, we'll start on the full hands-on as well as get you cleaned up a bit," the healer murmured, gesturing to his apprentice to help the Jedi back to a seat on the exam table. "Everything off now; I'kk- hand him a gown. Thanks. Besides the visible blunt trauma and intrusive wounds that we've already seen, anything else we should be aware of?"
"No…I don't think so." Obi-Wan shook his head; he didn't really remember all the details of everything that had been done to him, and if he was honest with himself, didn't care to. He had lived them; remembering them was not necessary. He didn't notice the shiver that ran down his spine, but the quick eye of the healer caught it – and narrowed.
"Okay, swing your legs onto the table and lie back. We'll do all the work; all you have to do is close your eyes and rest. Sorry if we get a bit personal, but every inch of you is getting examined and scanned."
A firm hand on his shoulder guided Obi-Wan backwards. Without that gentle touch, he might have simply fallen backwards and been perfectly happy to do so. Lying down and closing his eyes – sleep – suddenly seemed both a luxury and a necessity. Desperate need had drained his reserves to the point that he seemed merely to exist as exhaustion, and even lying down was almost too much work.
He nearly dozed off despite the hands carefully probing for hidden wounds, torn muscles or broken bones and ligaments, listening to the padawan's low murmur as he first cleansed an area then inventoried the wounds hidden by grime.
The healer watched both I'kk's nimble digits and the scanner's display pad, tapping in notes as the scanner displayed its findings, calibrated to display in layers of several cells each. The deep scans went into the databank where Neille and a surgeon would both review the results together.
Though a few wounds were infected, none of the infections looked to be too severe and the infections remained largely localized. Fading bruises and scars of partially healed wounds displayed in different colors, creating a visual map to be combined into a three dimensional hologram. The information steadily accumulated bespoke weeks of ill treatment, and visual inspection revealed raw skin which betrayed the Jedi's inability to perform even basic personal hygiene.
The story of the Jedi's captivity was visibly written all over his physical body, but the scanner revealed the damage was somewhat more than just what could be seen externally. It was silent on Obi-Wan's weakened Force presence, a dim spot in the Force to anyone Force-sensitive.
Neille's eyes fell on the loosely clasped hands lying by Obi-Wan's side, and he bent over to look closer. Several fingers were clearly broken and poorly healed; the fingers bent and misshapen.
"You should have seen his." Obi-Wan's voice startled Neille. "I bit it down to the bone. Didn't make any difference; I still had to swallow them."
"I - see."
"Not the fingers, the grubs."
"Of course."
Just as quickly, Obi-Wan fell silent again, content to lie there as the healers continued their survey. The low murmur of voices was a mere background distraction as the Jedi submitted to the lengthy and detailed examination and he came close to dozing off.
Every so often, they would have to ask him a question and he would answer without thought: - vibroblade - a lightsaber – oh, a knee - numbly answering their questions with little reaction until a seemingly innocent question penetrated the fog. Somehow he was upright on the exam table, struggling to be free, blindly protesting until the healer's soothing words reached him and he realized where he was.
"I'm…I'm sorry," Obi-Wan shivered suddenly, not even aware why he apologized or why he was shivering, only vaguely aware that his reaction had caused Padawan I'kkara's fur to ripple in swirling waves of distress, for a Bothan's fur reacted to emotional states much as a human's face might with a frown, smile, or twitch. Padawan I'kkara was horrified that because of what was deliberately inflicted; cruel blow by cruel blow, a normally serene Jedi master couldn't easily control a surge of panic and fear.
Being a Jedi master meant one could do what was not easy, and so Obi-Wan fought his way back to control with deep breaths and clenched fists until taut muscles relaxed, giving Padawan I'kkara a glimpse of just an accomplished Jedi could do.
His own apprentice had reacted violently to seeing the evidence of his weeks of mistreatment; Obi-Wan was grateful that Padawan I'kkara's reactions – flared whiskers and whirling fur - was far more restrained. He feared losing emotional control as he had with Anakin should he be forced to speak of it. That near panic and fear on Riflor, on the ship as well, had been next to impossible to wrestle into submission, one reason he had tried to find peace in the void of sleep, finding nightmares instead.
"I don't know what came over me. I don't understand why now – it's behind me."
"I'm sure the mind healers have a big fancy name for it," Neille soothed, touching the Jedi's forehead and sending a calming wave of Force into him. "You're no longer focused on surviving, so your mind is probably just now reacting to your ordeal. Do you need a moment before we go on? I'kk and I will soon be done and you can rest until the test results come back."
Rest. Obi-Wan craved rest, needed rest. The exhaustion was bone deep, weighing down his limbs and muddying his mind. He had used every bit of Force he could access in his escape, and the toll on his body and mind was tremendous. He knew that, the healers knew that – yet, somehow, he felt weak and helpless at a time he wanted to be strong.
Anakin needed him, for one thing. The strain of Jabiim still showed clearly in his eyes. His padawan needed his master's guidance, and Obi-Wan was not strong enough to provide that which was needed.
His friends, who had worried about him for far too long, still worried for him. He wished he could remove that worry by being the Obi-Wan they remembered and hoped so desperately to become again – but he wasn't.
Not yet.
He needed to be who he had been – but knew he never would be. "All experiences change us," he had said more than once. He would never be the same Obi-Wan who left for Jabiim, just as the Obi-Wan who returned from Naboo was not the same one who had gone there. Each time he had lost a part of himself; each time, he had found something within himself he hadn't been aware of.
When he was whole again, he would find who he now was – and hope any change was for the better. He had friends and colleagues who would help him, if he allowed them.
"I'll be okay, I'll get past this," he answered wearily. "Just do what you need to do and ask what you must."
With a pat on his arm, Neille nodded to I'kk to resume. Every fluid possible was drawn out of him for analysis; the healers ran tests and scans until Obi-Wan began to feel like a lab rhyt.
All their poking and prodding, sticking probes in practically each nook and cranny was uncannily similar to his treatment by Ventress, albeit far more gentle and without pain. More than once he had to be told to relax, that it wouldn't hurt.
It didn't hurt, that was true, not physically, but he felt pain all the same. Phantom pain: the stab of memories and the lash of various and sundry instruments of pain. Pain that was receding from memory, slowly, ever so slowly under the gentle words and gentle touches, the concern of friends and colleagues, the care of the healers.
They asked as few questions as possible, which he appreciated. The wounds spoke for themselves; they seemed to know he didn't have the words as yet and only asked him what they needed.
The Force seemed elusive, even here, even in the heart of the Temple. It would be a while before his connection strengthened; he had pulled on it almost to excess while escaping, ultimately pushing himself far too deep into pure exhaustion. As much as he would prefer not to admit it, he had just about collapsed onto the gravstretcher there in the hangar.
As I'kk left with the various samples and scanner notes, Bant stuck her head in the doorway with a whispered, "Hi, Obi." Obi-Wan turned his head and offered her a weary smile, noting how her own smile didn't quite hide a certain sadness and horror.
"I promised Anakin I'd peek in on you and report back to him."
"Tell him that Neille and I'kk are taking good care of me and that I want him to rest and stop worrying. Now, what about Alpha? What kind of shape is he in?"
"Not bad, considering, and a perfect patient, too - he just lay there with his arms crossed saying nothing, not grumbling like a certain Jedi I know. We're just waiting for some test results on him. Like all clones, he's got the constitution of a bantha. I suspect a bacta bath, rest and food and he'll be on his feet in next to no time."
"That's good." Obi-Wan closed his eyes. The energy that had sustained him upon his arrival was long gone.
Bant crossed over to him and touched his cheek. "I'm not used to seeing you so quiet on an exam table, let alone letting my teasing about your 'grumbling' go without challenge."
A tired shrug of his shoulders was all he could manage.
"You are one heck of a scruffy mess, Obi, you know that, but still a wonderful sight to behold. We – or least I – was sure once that I'd never see you again, my friend."
The barely concealed tremor in her voice brought home how hard it was to be left behind; how hard to find the strength to go on. He had learned that lesson years ago; it was the last lesson for Padawan Kenobi and the first for Knight Kenobi.
"Had I allowed myself doubts, I might have thought the same, but I am here." He brushed away a tear slowly sliding down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Bant. I know it had to be hard, not knowing, in some ways it was probably harder than being there – I at least could try to fight back."
A headshake of denial interrupted him, but Obi-Wan would not give her a chance to object. "You, Siri, Anakin – it would have been easier on all of you to believe me dead. I know – you've helped Anakin, you and Siri both – thank you."
"He was in pretty bad shape, he took your disappearance hard," Bant acknowledged. "Siri and I did what we could to help him – they both knew you were alive and suffering when no one else believed. I, too, was sure for so long that you were dead - Garen, too. Anakin was really hurting, Obi – make sure you acknowledge that when you feel better."
"I will," he promised. "Now, why don't you go tell my padawan I survived Neille's poking and prodding and he is to go get a meal and some rest – in his own bed, not one of those horrible seats in the reception area."
"In a moment, I see Neille wants me to help with a few scans since I'kk hasn't come back yet."
After several scans, Neille looked up at Bant and nodded to the door with an understanding look. Under normal circumstances -if she was not tied up with other patients –she would keep Obi-Wan company and explain the procedures to him and what the tests were meant to reveal, so he was surprised to see her go so suddenly.
This time she left, after a tight squeeze on his hand, with a quiet, "I'll be back, Obi, okay?"
"Bant?"
"Let her go," Neille said softly, looking after her then down at Obi-Wan. "She's just a bit upset at what she saw, I think. She was wise to leave you to me and take Alpha instead."
Shortly after they moved him to a bed in one of the rooms – a luxury to lie tucked within crisp sheets – while the healers conferred on diagnoses and treatment, an IV line run into his hand to raise his fluid levels and several blankets covering his all too thin frame. He shivered anyway.
He couldn't help wondering what all the fuss was about, considering he had both escaped and fought his way clear twice. Why didn't they just patch him up and send him to his quarters to rest? He was just about to doze off when the door opened. He opened his eyes and looked up as Bant tiptoed in to check on him, brushing a hand across her eyes.
"What excuse have you healers come up with to keep me here, this time? Bant, does it take all those tests to decide I merely need to sleep for about a week?"
"Oh, Obi," she whispered, but her smile was tremulous. She sat down by his side and gazed at him. "It's not so simple – nothing we can't fix, but some stuff needs fixing. Neille and the surgeon will be in to talk to you shortly – but you're going to be okay, even if physically exhausted for some time."
"Of course I will; I'll be up and trying to keep my padawan in line in a day or so, right?"
"No, Obi. Several days, minimum. Neille and the surgeon can tell you more."
"Humph…you missed me so you just want to keep me here where you can keep an eye on me," he teased.
A tear gathered in her great silver eyes, and Obi-Wan looked at her startled. "Hey, I'll be fine – you said so yourself; what's really the matter?" He grabbed her hand and hung on, not sure with his reduced Force sensitivities what bothered his best friend. "You've seen plenty worse than me, I'm sure, I know I have – injuries I rather wish I hadn't. Sure, I'm not the most magnificent specimen of humankind at the moment, though I've never claimed to be even at my best. I leave that to Garen."
Bant half-smiled.
Garen was good-looking and knew it. He had charm to match, but lacked the conceit that so often went with the two traits: he was loyal and steadfast, a good friend and one that could be relied upon in the direst of circumstances.
"You're far from the worst injured I've seen, true, but it's different when it's your best friend, and then – Alpha, right? – told me some of what happened, and how much worse it was for you. And now you're back, and I can see for myself how you look and imagine what Ventress did to you to make you look like this…."
"Bant, it's okay, I'll be okay," Obi-Wan consoled her. He pushed himself as upright as he could get and gathered her in his arms, laying his head on hers and just holding her as she held him tight, strangely eased by the sweet and salty tang he associated with her as it wafted up his nostrils.
I, at least, survived, he wanted to say. He couldn't. So many hadn't, but he couldn't voice the words when so many had lost theirs – he couldn't diminish their lives. Twenty-seven Jedi; thousands of clones, had not survived Jabiim, let alone other battlefields.
He bore the weight of their deaths upon his shoulders, those under his command who had died there on Jabiim and in prior battles, as well as those who had died before him in that citadel of suffering on Rattatak. Someday, he or someone he directed in his stead would find a way to release all the remnants of suffering into the Force, should it be possible, even if it meant dismantling that place piece by piece or assembling a blast of Force to scour the walls, the floors and the very air itself clean.
"I'm home, I'm safe and I'm alive. It's over," he said instead, waiting until Bant looked at him and nodded in agreement. "Here I thought you'd all be good Jedi and release me, and first Siri, now you - well, it would have been a lot easier on you if you had but I admit it feels nice to have been missed."
"Garen was sure you were dead as I was at first – oh, he and Reeft probably don't know. Obi – we've got to let them know. Neither is at the Temple."
Together they drafted a simple text message: Safe – Obi-Wan is alive, home, and safe. The Council would modify it to read: He who was dead is alive, home and safe. Coded appropriately, it would get the message across without breaking the official silence on Obi-Wan Kenobi's return from the dead.
As Bant left to get Council approval to transmit the message, Obi-Wan settled back with a half-smile on his face, imagining both Jedi's reactions to the news. He hadn't really had much of a chance to think of how his supposed death, then resurrection, had affected his friends, and hearing of their worry and grief touched him deeply. He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight with unshed tears, wondering at this yet another unusual emotional reaction, so unlike him.
Yet emotions had been part of what had kept him strong for so long. Thoughts of his friends, his padawan, not just his duty, had helped him keep his focus for as long as he had managed – before the mask.
The mask. His throat tightened even more as he remembered how twisted his thoughts had become, how he had fought so desperately to hang onto the good – to the light – only to keep falling, deeper and deeper into darkness. Somehow he had defeated the mask – but how remained elusive, tantalizing, just out of reach.
He clenched his hands into fists as he took deep breaths, trying to breathe out the panic and fear that flooded him just at the thought of that hideous thing. Shame, shame for what he had thought and what he had wished to do and shame for what he had so nearly become. When was he going to finally fight free? He wasn't free – not yet. He only thought he had freed himself from it. Until he knew how, perhaps he never would be free.
A single tear escaped his eye as he fought for calm and finally found enough of the Force to soothe his troubled mind. In time, his eyes closed and he slept, too tired even to dream.