Sorry about the slow update. I've been trying to finish my other Clone Wars fanfiction: My Brother's Keeper. All the while, simultaneously working on one about Obi-Wan and Satine, and my first fic about Rex! Anyway, hope you like it! :D

If he doesn't want to talk to me, fine, but he doesn't have to act like I'm not even here.

Anakin had spent nearly the entire walk to their quarters burning holes in Obi-Wan's back and silently ranting to himself.

Hello? I'm a hurting human being and I'm here too, in case you haven't noticed.

The minute they set foot in the familiar room, his Master made a break for the kitchen. It wasn't long before Anakin heard the light clink of cups and the age-old clank of the tea kettle.

Tea. Anakin nearly scoffed aloud. Of course, that's the first thing he does.

He knew they needed to talk, to give voice to the swirling thoughts that were clogging their minds.

But Obi-Wan seemed more content to stay silent and brew his tea.

Anakin huffed. It's up to me then. Again. Another huff, louder this time, though still not enough to catch his former Master's attention. Well, it's now or never.

With more hesitation than he would have liked, he followed his friend into the kitchen, leaning casually against the edge of the counter.

His heart clenched a little when he noticed two cups sitting side by side near the stovetop.

"You know I still don't like tea," he commented, trying to keep all traces of irritation and concern out of his voice.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Obi-Wan's face. "And yet, for some odd reason, you always drink it."

That's because you made it for me. "Hey, I'm thirsty."

"Well, don't overdo it with the sugar this time."

"Is there even any left from last time?"

"Honestly? I wouldn't count on it."

And for a moment, things almost felt normal again. Except for the small fact that their banter felt hollow, shallow.

Like they were both trying to compensate for something that had dissolved back on Zygerria. For the chasm that had continued to widen, widen since Kadavo.

Silence settled over the two, more suffocating than ever before.

And Anakin could hardly stand it.

"Obi-Wan, listen—"

"Anakin…"

"No!" His voice came out sharper than he'd intended, but there was no backing down now. "No. You can't dance around this anymore."

"I'm not—"

"You are. And it's driving me insane!" As if to emphasize—though if he was honest, the action stemmed more from a need to do something with his hands—he mimicked an explosion with his metal hand.

And it might have just been a trick if the ear, but he could've sworn he heard Obi-Wan mutter, "That makes two of us, then."

Anakin blinked. Okay. That's a new one.

"Then let's talk about it. Come on," he cajoled. "Just me and you."

Obi-Wan went back to his tea preparations. "There's nothing to talk about."

"There's everything to talk about! You need to tell me how I can help you. How I can really help you. Not just a 'I'm fine, Anakin,' or 'just a cup of tea would be nice, thank you.' I mean truly. How can I—"

"You can't."

Anakin froze as Obi-Wan's dull eyes fell upon him. He hadn't expected that sort of answer. His comeback to an I'm fine was all set and ready to go, but this?

For a single, pain-filled moment, Anakin spluttered. When he finally found his voice, Obi-Wan had already beat him to it.

"So, let's just forget it, all right?"

"Forget it?" How can you forget something like Kadavo? Like Zygerria?

Against his own will, he shuddered, and while it was only a slight movement, he was sure Obi-Wan noticed.

"Fine. You want to pretend you can just push it all out of your mind like that?" He snapped his fingers. Hard. Obi-Wan winced a bit, but Anakin wasn't done. "Okay. Fine. We can do that. I can pretend. That's what I've been doing for the better part of ten years, so I think I'm used to now. Pretending you're fine, making believe everything is just peachy when it's not. But you can't push away the fact that you're hurting. I know you are. I know you, Obi-Wan. And this isn't you. Come on, there has to be something I can do to help you—at least one thing."

Curling his arms around his chest in his signature defense move, Obi-Wan shook his head. "There isn't."

"There has to be!"

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there isn't one thing you can do to help me. Not one thing."

Anakin's blood was boiling now, bubbling hot and angry beneath the surface of his skin. "Oh yeah? Well, there seemed to be plenty Qui-Gon could do to help. And even Cody! Cody! I saw you talking to him on the return trip from Kadavo. When I came around, you both stopped. I'm not an idiot, Obi-Wan, and I don't like being treated like one."

"Qui-Gon is my Master," Obi-Wan replied evenly, taking a small step back from Anakin; not even bothering to correct his sentence to the past tense.

"And I'm your Padawan! Your brother! If anyone can help you, it's me."

"You're the last person who could ever—"

No. No! Don't finish that statement if you know what's good for you!

"How do you know? You aren't even giving me a chance!"

Obi-Wan shivered and went to turn back to his tea kettle, but Anakin wasn't having any of it.

He reached out to place a restraining hand on his stubborn friend's arm. "Obi-Wan!"

In an instant, Obi-Wan shuddered, more violently this time, and yanked his arm well out of Anakin's reach.

Stunned motionless, Anakin simply stared at his Master. "Obi-Wan…?"

"I…" For the briefest of moments, his Master seemed lost, a sickened glint swimming across his eyes. Then, it was gone almost before Anakin could comprehend it. "I'm done talking about this, Anakin. I'm done—"

The kettle chose that second to scream bloody murder, a loud and sudden indication that the water was now fit for tea. Kriffing kettle—

Anakin nearly staggered against the bolt of fear and anxiety that shot through the Force. Nanoseconds later, it was gone. Tamed and controlled by whoever had just…

Obi-Wan?

Fixing his gaze on his former Master, Anakin studied him—truly studied him. His face, his neck, his eyes, his smile, or lack thereof. Everything about him was wayoff. He seemed uncertain, almost jittery.

And Obi-Wan is always certain.

And the fear.

Though it had disappeared all-too-quickly, Anakin had no doubt that the spike had come from—

"Obi-Wan?"

It's like he was afraid of me… or… or something.

Something he refuses to tell me about.

"I'm—"

"Fine?" Anakin could have cut the tension with a well-charged vibroblade.

Then, Obi-Wan lifted his gaze, meeting Anakin's eyes for the first time since entering their quarters. "Sorry."

Anakin blinked. What?

He must have given voice to the bewildered thought because Obi-Wan continued:

"I'm sorry, Anakin." He took a shaky breath, silencing the shrieking kettle with what he would normally tell Anakin was an 'improper use of the Force.' Anakin felt it wasn't the time to point out this particular bit of hypocrisy. "I'm sorry, I can't… You never should have gone on that mission. Neither should Ahsoka… I should have… You…"

Obi-Wan swallowed.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin could barely hear his own voice over the din in his head.

"It was no place for any of us, and I'm sorry."

"It's not your—"

"But it is," Obi-Wan pressed. "And I'm sorry."

Would you just quit saying that already? Anakin screamed internally, rapidly blinking away his rising emotions.

"I'm sorry…" Here, Obi-Wan's voice cracked. "If I ever… ever discounted your experience as a child. What you went through…" He shook his head. "I'll never understand it or be able to relate on any sort of level. But if I ever made you feel… if I ever invalidated the trauma you endured as a…" Another painful swallow. "As a…"

Anakin felt a set of nails dig mercilessly into his palm. A slave.

"Anyway. Anyway, I'm sorry. For everything. And I hope you might…" Now Obi-Wan was blinking at a speed that rivaled Anakin. "Might one day forgi—"

Anakin's arms were around Obi-Wan in seconds, holding tightly to his one constant in life, in war.

"I'm sorry," he whispered through a throat clogged with emotion. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Anakin…" Obi-Wan's voice was soft and soothing, a tone Anakin had never been able to achieve himself, no matter how hard he'd tried. There was just something about Obi-Wan that made him comforting. He had it down—the voice, the touch, the Force feeling, all of it.

And what do I have? Nothing. I can't even comfort my own Master, for crying out loud! He has to be the one to comfort me!

"I'm sorry I couldn't—" Anakin choked back a sob. Stop it! Stop it! But he'd never been able to dam his emotions once the flood began. "I couldn't protect you. Or Ahsoka and Rex. I could protect any of you and-and-and…" He sucked in a breath, reveling in the gentle strokes of Obi-Wan's hand against his back. "And I should've been faster, should've prevented you and Rex from being sent away to Kadavo. I should have rescued you sooner. I should've been there to save you."

"You're not invincible, Anakin," Obi-Wan finally replied, his tone dancing on the very edge of calm now. "None of us are."

"But I'm the Chosen One! I should have—"

"The Chosen One isn't supposed to be magical. Nowhere in the prophecy does it say that the Chosen One is responsible for keeping his friends out of danger, or controlling every aspect of the Clone Wars in order to save his loved ones from potential harm."

Anakin silently cursed his lips for quivering. "But—"

"No buts, Anakin. I mean it. You can't save everyone. You have to let people make their own choices. Rex and I made our choice. I made my choice…"

"No one chooses to become a slave, Obi-Wan."

Silence. No witty comeback or helpful lecture. Nothing.

Nothing. Come on, Obi-Wan…

"I'm sorry, Anakin."

"Would you just quit it already?" Anakin exclaimed, muffling his cry in Obi-Wan's shoulder. "It's not your fault! Do you hear? It's not—"

"It's not your fault, either, Anakin." Obi-Wan's voice was thick with uncharacteristic emotion. "None of it."

"But I—"

"No, Anakin." When Obi-Wan pried himself out of Anakin's clutches, the younger felt an immense wave of loss wash over him. Though only a momentary feeling, it was still hard to shake. "Now, I believe our tea is ready…"

Drying his eyes, Anakin nodded, willingly compliant for once in his life. The conversation felt as though it had been cut short—there was still so much to say. But he didn't know how to get it back on track and he was too emotionally drained to even try.

As Obi-Wan prepared their cups, Anakin idled about the kitchen, trying to make himself useful and failing miserably.

"Grab the sugar, will you?" Obi-Wan asked, flashing a tight smile.

Leave it to Obi-Wan to make you feel important.

Doing as he was told, Anakin snatched up the sugar jar and was about to take it to the table when the front door swished open.

And Obi-Wan jumped at the unexpected sound. Anakin was at his side in seconds.

"You two look as though you've seen a ghost." Master Qui-Gon's voice was steady, soothing, yet Anakin could still feel Obi-Wan struggling to suppress his anxiety.

"Maybe we have…" he returned softly.

Qui-Gon simply hummed and Obi-Wan returned to his tea, pouring it with decreasingly trembling hands.

"Well," Qui-Gon continued after a few lingering moments of silence, "if you two aren't doing anything of importance—"

"We're not," Anakin helpfully interjected, earning an 'I was speaking' glare from the older Jedi Master. Thoroughly reprimanded, he pursed his lips.

"I have something I'd like to show you both."

"Is it—" Obi-Wan began, but Anakin, having learned nothing about interrupting, cut in.

"We'll be right there."

Ignoring the look Obi-Wan gave him, Anakin quickly grabbed a covered mug, filled it just over halfway with tea, and slapped on the lid. Then, he thrust it into his confused Master's hand.

"Here. Now you can have your tea and go with Qui-Gon." I'm way ahead of you, Master. There's no way out of this one.

Resigned, Obi-Wan followed Anakin out with a sigh.

Qui-Gon grinned.

And if Anakin knew Qui-Gon—and he sure hoped he did—there was some sort of healing waiting at the end of whatever he wanted them to see.