Jealousy
Obi-Wan disembarked from the small transport shuttle and suppressed the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. His most recent mission had been a fairly arduous reconnaissance trip to the very edges of Separatist space in an effort to assess which system might be next on the expansion list. He had identified several viable targets and had amassed a great deal of intelligence that he needed to collate and present to the Council and Senate, in order to formulate their own response plans. However, first of all, he needed a long shower, a hot meal and a change of clothes. He hid a yawn behind his hand, and then frowned slightly as a tremor ran through the Force around him, and he turned, seeing a hooded figure crossing the hanger bay towards him.
"Master Obi-Wan," the voice seemed familiar, and Obi-Wan hesitated, trying to place it.
"Yes?" he responded, tiredly, but trying to keep his tone level, "Can I help you?"
"I have been sent to escort you; your presence is urgently requested..."
The Force shuddered, and Obi-Wan's frown deepened.
"Who are you? And who has summoned me?"
"I... you need to come with me, urgently, my Master commands it..."
"Who is your Master?" Obi-Wan took a step forward, trying to peer into the hood of the cloak hiding the figure's face, "Show me your face, Padawan..."
"Oh," the voice changed tone, moving rapidly from coaxing to predatory, "I am no Padawan... though I really should have been. You're coming with me, Master..."
Sensing danger, Obi-Wan's hand reached for his lightsabre, but he was not fast enough. The figure flicked a hand, and something very sharp embedded itself into his neck. With a pained grunt, Obi-Wan slapped a hand to his throat, and then plucked out the object; a tiny, metal dart. He gazed at it in confusion before his eyesight suddenly blurred, and he dropped the dart onto the deck-plates. He staggered, drunkenly, gasping as the hanger bay reeled around him.
"What... what was..." he slurred, his head spinning dizzily, "what the...?"
His eyes suddenly rolled up and his knees folded, and he collapsed into a heap on the deck. The hooded figure chuckled, dryly, before extending his hand. The unconscious Master was lifted by the invisible Force, and quickly moved into a waiting speeder. The figure paused, turning towards one of the security cameras. He waved his hand, obliterating the camera, climbed into the driver's seat, and accelerated out of the hanger bay into the busy traffic of Coruscant.
Obi-Wan let out a small groan as consciousness crept back over him slowly. The first thing he was aware of was that his hands were cuffed together and suspended above his head, arms stretched taut; his feet rested flat on the floor, but only just, ankles similarly bound and chained to a hefty ring bolted to the floor nearby. He ached from head to toe, and from the cramp in his shoulders he had been suspended in that position for at least a few hours. His head throbbed with a kind of hangover from whatever powerful sedative he had been hit with, and his mouth was sandpaper-dry. He stood on tip-toe, trying to ease the pain in his shoulders, blinking his blurry vision into focus.
There was not much to see. Craning his neck around, he realised that he was in a tiny cell; little more than a box. Six feet long with a narrow bunk to his left that held a thin, grimy mattress and nothing else. The cell was approximately three feet wide, with a small toilet in the other corner to his right, and a single, solid metal door. Looking up, he could see a block hanging from the metal ceiling, which held the chain he was suspended from, and a single light panel cast a dim glow to see by. The chain went from his wrists, up to the block and then back down to a hole in the wall, where it disappeared into darkness. It seemed it was up to his captor as to whether Obi-Wan would be left hanging, or permitted enough chain to sit or lie down on the bunk.
His captor... something about the hooded figure's voice had been eerily familiar. Obi-Wan wracked his brain but could not recall anything useful. The figure had clearly been trained in the use of the Force, and had made reference to the fact that he should have been a Padawan... that implied he had, at some point, been at the Temple...
The door slid open, interrupting his musings, and revealing the hooded figure.
"Ah, good... you're awake..."
"Who are you?" Obi-Wan demanded, trying to put some strength into his voice, "What do you want with me?"
"You don't remember me, Master?"
"Showing me your face might aid my recollection..."
Obligingly, the figure slipped down the hood, and Obi-Wan blinked, taking in the scruffy, mid-length black hair, hazel eyes and thin lips leering from beneath a slightly bulbous nose; a human face, and recognition dawned.
"Avo-Ter Hirron," he said, surprise evident in his tone, "what... what is the meaning of this? When the Council learns what you've done... kidnapping me... what is this all for?"
"So, you do remember me," the younger man's face twisted into something that might have been a smile, though the malevolence was clear, "you rejected me, Master, but I'm going to give you a second chance..."
Recollection flashed through Obi-Wan's mind as he stared, disbelieving, at his captor.
"You came to me shortly after Anakin was Knighted," he said, slowly, "you asked... you begged me to take you as a Padawan. You were nineteen years old – too old to become a Padawan and already assigned to the Agricultural Corps... Any initiate not apprenticed by age fourteen is reassigned to another part of the Jedi order, you know that. There was nothing I could do."
"You refused me," spat the former initiate, "you said... you said..."
"The Force wasn't calling me to you," Obi-Wan finished, calmly, "that remains true, Hirron. It was not the will of the Force for me to take you as a Padawan... not every youngling goes on to become a Knight or a Master. If it was the will of the Force for you to serve the order in other ways, you should have accepted it."
"No!" spat Hirron, "No, I saw how you took on that spoiled brat after Qui-Gon died, and you trained him despite what the Council wanted. If you could defy the Council then you could do it for me and train me, too... why him and not me, huh? All I wanted was a Master to teach me the ways of the Force and help me become a powerful Jedi Knight!"
"It was the will of the Force that I train Anakin," Obi-Wan replied, trying to remain calm, "and even then I sensed your desire for power over everything else. Your jealousy, anger and fear have lead you straight to the Dark Side, Avo-Ter Hirron. You will never become a Jedi Knight."
He didn't even see the blow coming, as the man's hand lashed out, back-handing him across the face. He grimaced, tasting blood on his split lip, but he raised his head defiantly, staring back at his captor.
"Release me," Obi-Wan said, firmly, "you will release me, and we will return to the Temple together..."
Avo-Ter Hirron let out a bark of a laugh; "That won't work on me... besides, the Force-inhibitor drugs I've been giving you ought to curtail any attempt at escape until you've agreed to my terms."
"Then perhaps you ought to state your demands so that I can refuse them, and we can get this charade over with."
"Hah! Very well," Avo-Ter placed his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and glowering at his captive, "you will swear that you will not attempt to escape. You will accept me as your Padawan. You will train me in the ways of a Jedi, and you will see to it that the Council guarantees my Knighthood. Failure to agree to my terms will result in punishment until you capitulate, or die. Agree now, and save yourself the pain of my persuasion."
"I will do no such thing, Hirron," Obi-Wan shook his head, "I refuse to train you, and the Council would not entertain any attempt to see you knighted. Even if it costs me my life, you will never become a Jedi Knight; that is my oath to you."
"Aaargh!" Hirron let out a wordless cry of rage as his fist lashed out, cracking a blow across Obi-Wan's left cheek; another swiftly followed to his lower right jaw, then another to the left temple, and then one to his right eye; the suddenness and ferocity of the attack stunned him almost as much as the rage and strength behind the blows, leaving his head hanging, gasping for breath, consciousness reeling, barely hanging on.
A hand grasped his hair, yanking hard, snapping his head up, forcing him to blearily meet Hirron's snarling face.
"You will train me, Master," the younger man spat, angrily, "you'll see. I'll be the greatest Jedi Knight the order has ever seen; even better than your precious Skywalker..."
His head was snapped back down as the hand was snatched away, leaving him gasping, blood from his split lips dripping down the front of his tunic, as he lost the battle for consciousness, and drifted back into darkness.
Obi-Wan found himself jerked into wakefulness with a bucket of icy-cold water to his face. Coughing and spluttering, he blinked the water from his eyes, finding himself confronted once again with a dark-eyed gaze.
"Oh, it's you again," he said, dryly, "I was rather hoping it was room service... these accommodations leave a lot to be desired."
"Why did you choose him?" Hirron's voice was deceptively calm; Obi-Wan did not need his Force-attuned senses active to feel the miasma of jealousy bubbling under the surface, "Anakin Skywalker. Why did you choose him as your apprentice?"
"He is the Chosen One," Obi-Wan replied, flatly, "it was Master Qui-Gon's dying wish that I train the boy, and I felt the Force calling me to obey."
"He was too old," Hirron spat, grabbing Obi-Wan's throat with one hand and squeezing, painfully, "he was never a Temple Youngling. He wasn't taken from his family as a mere baby... he wasn't trained, he wasn't prepared, he was too old, and you still chose him. Why not me? Why didn't anyone choose me?"
"It was not the will of the Force," Obi-Wan gasped out, around the constricting hand at his neck, "your jealousy and rage will be your undoing, Avo-Ter."
"You are wrong, Master," Hirron ground out the title venomously, "they make me strong – stronger than you. You will train me in the ways of the Jedi, you will train me!"
"That won't work on me either," Obi-Wan shook off the attempted mind control with ease, "even without the Force, my mind is strong enough to resist your amateurish attempts to persuade me. You're going to have to do much better than that."
The punch to his gut came with such force it knocked the air from his lungs, stinging tears to his eyes and leaving him gagging and gasping, as he fought to catch his breath. An uppercut to the jaw snapped his head back, almost knocking him back out; head lolling forwards, he gasped and wheezed, blinking away the black sparkles that danced in front of his eyes. When he could finally focus again, he raised his head defiantly, to find Avo-Ter Hirron staring back at his with a cold expression.
"Very well," the failed initiate ground out, gritting his teeth, "clearly I can't persuade you through simple means. Perhaps I need to break your spirit first; let's see how long that defiance lasts in the face of pain..."
From a pouch in his utility belt, Avo-Ter drew out a hypospray, holding it aloft like a weapon, and Obi-Wan eyed it warily.
"This is a rather useful Devaronian invention," Hirron said, conversationally, "once injected, it feels like one's blood is boiling... the effect is agonising, and lasts for several hours. You won't pass out because the stimulant keeps you conscious, and although it is not fatal, you will beg for a swift death. It is a most effective tool for interrogation, but my aims are far simpler. Agree to train me and Knight me, and I will immediately give you the antidote."
Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and shook his head; Hirron sighed.
"Very well..."
There was a cold, sharp sensation at his neck, followed by a loud hiss, and the effect was instantaneous. Fire spread through his veins; without his connection to the Force, he could not release the pain, only endure it. Obi-Wan's head snapped back as he convulsed in pain; he was burning from the inside out; his blood was lava hot and unrelenting as every nerve screamed in agony. He cried out, a wordless howl of agony as he twitched and writhed helplessly, held upright by the chain, tears leaking unbidden from his eyes. Fresh blood welled from his lip as he bit down, hard, trying to contain the pain, but there was no respite from the all-consuming fire; he was convinced that if he looked down, flames would be engulfing his body.
"It's been fifteen seconds, Obi-Wan. Will you accept me as your Padawan?"
"Nuh... nuh... never..."
"Very well. Then I will leave you to your torment."
The cell door closed with a finite bang, as Obi-Wan threw his head back, and screamed.
At some point, the chain had been loosened; as awareness slowly returned, the pain finally ebbing away, Obi-Wan found that he was curled up on the cold metal floor. It was such a relief to the blazing agony of the last few hours, he did not wish to move. At some point his screaming had ceased, his throat raw and hoarse, unable to make any more than pitiful moans and whimpers as he had thrashed and contorted on the floor. Several times Avo-Ter Hirron had come by with the same demand.
"It's been an hour, Obi-Wan. Will you accept me as your Padawan?"
"It's been two hours and fifteen minutes, Obi-Wan. Will you accept me as your Padawan?"
Three and a half hours... five hours... six hours and twenty-three minutes... each time Obi-Wan had managed to stutter out a refusal, overwhelmed with pain. Finally, the fire died down; he still felt hot and flushed, soaked with his own sweat, muscles burning with pain and shaking with fatigue.
The door slid open again, and he did not even have the strength to lift his head off the floor.
"Ah, I see the drug has finally worn off... now, it's been seven hours and thirteen minutes, Obi-Wan. Will you accept me as your Padawan... or do I have to give you a second dose?"
"A s...second d...dose of D...Devaronian fire s...serum is f...fatal," Obi-Wan croaked out, weakly, "s...so y...you might... might as well d...do it and k...kill me... because I am never going to train you, Avo-Ter Hirron."
"Aargh! Damn you!"
A booted foot kicked him, hard, in the ribs, drawing a breathless cry of pain. A series of kicks followed as Hirron vented his rage and frustration on the helpless Jedi Master; Obi-Wan curled in on himself, trying to protect himself, even as he felt a couple of his ribs breaking under the assault. The attack was vicious, frenzied, and did not stop until Avo-Ter was almost as breathless as his captive. On the floor, curled up, coughing, wheezing and spitting up blood, Obi-Wan turned his bruised face towards his captor, staring up through half-lidded, blackened eyes.
"Is... that... the... best... you... can... do...?"
Avo-Ter Hirron snarled a vicious curse, and a hefty kick to Obi-Wan's temple snapped his head to one side, and sending him tumbling back into blissful, pain-free unconsciousness. Spitting another expletive, Hirron stormed out of the door, slamming it behind him.
When Obi-Wan next dragged his eyes open – as much as possible, that was, given the bruising to his face – he was not even sure he had opened them at all. Then, he realised, it was because the cell was in pitch darkness. He was upright again, suspended from the chain, his broken ribs and battered body throbbing, pulsing with pain at the harsh treatment he was forcing himself to endure. He could feel himself fading in and out of consciousness, and the Force-suppressing drugs in his system made him feel sick and woozy.
After what felt like an eternity of suffering, the door slid open again, silhouetting a dark figure against the dim light of the corridor beyond.
"If you were hoping for rescue, there will be none," the now familiar, taunting voice of his captor filled the tiny cell, "your friends have abandoned you. They don't care. Your precious Anakin is a Jedi Knight now. He no longer needs you. They don't want you. Join me, Master. Train me. We will be the best Master and Padawan team to ever travel the galaxy. I will serve you faithfully. All you have to do is agree to train me and Knight me and obey me..."
"Oh, dear," Obi-Wan whispered, trying to force some strength into the words, despite his ravaged throat and battered body, "you really have gone off the deep end, haven't you...?"
The figure stepped forward, and a crooked finger lifted his chin, forcing him to gaze into Avo-Ter Hirron's hooded eyes.
"I will break you, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he purred, softly, "it may take me a little longer than I had hoped, but I will break your spirit... as easily as I can break your body..."
Avo-Ter Hirron raised his other hand, and made a squeezing gesture. Obi-Wan suddenly found that he could no longer draw breath. Choking, convulsing helplessly, suspended as he was by chains, he felt his vision dimming once more... only to have the pressure released from his throat. Sucking in a desperate gulp of air, Obi-Wan barely suppressed a cry of pain as his broken ribs and battered chest protested the sharp movement, as Avo-Ter Hirron laughed in genuine amusement at his suffering.
"I learned that trick from one of the Nightsisters of Dathomir," Avo-Ter Hirron's grin was evident in his voice, even if Obi-Wan could not see it in the dark, "but this... this is something I figured out for myself..."
The hand came up again, and this time, Obi-Wan felt the same, unrelenting pressure, focussed on his left fore-arm. He gritted his teeth, shaking, trying to pull away, but unable to move thanks to the chains that bound him. The pressure grew and grew, pulling a groan from his split, cracked lips, until the bones could take the pressure no more and there was an audible crack as both radius and ulna snapped. He barely managed a ragged cry at the fresh source of pain slashing through his battered body.
"I can quite literally break every bone in your body, Obi-Wan, but then you would be useless to me... now, will you accept me as your Padawan?"
"Never..."
Rage descended again, and Obi-Wan simply allowed himself to succumb to the torrent of blows rained down upon him.
—
Obi-Wan...
There was a voice in the darkness. It was oh, so familiar, and so comforting, it almost made him weep.
Obi-Wan... where are you?
"Ah...An...Anakin..."
He was curled up on the floor once more; he lacked the strength to crawl, let alone stand. He could not even bring himself to try to reach the bunk to lie down, in an effort to alleviate even a modicum of the all-consuming pain that engulfed him. But, in the midst of that, he could feel... something. A slight tingle... the Force was reaching out to him; perhaps the Force suppressants were wearing off, perhaps Avo-Ter had forgotten a dose, but either way, it was there, and Obi-Wan reached out for it. His training bond with Anakin had started to lessen with the boy's recent Knighting, and he was already talking about taking on a Padawan of his own; but they were still linked, and Obi-Wan felt that they always would be, somehow.
Anakin...
Master! Master, where are you?
I... I don't know... it's so cold... so dark...
I can feel you, Master. You're close... I will find you, I promise, I will find you, Obi-Wan. Hang in there, I'm coming... I'm coming for you!
Too... too late, Anakin... he's here...
The hiss of a hypospray at his neck, and the familiar comfort of the Force and Anakin's mental connection were ripped away as the suppressant drug coursed through his system. He was vaguely aware of someone kneeling down beside him, but he made no effort to move, concentrating only on trying to keep his breathing as deep and even as possible, despite broken, cracked ribs and what felt like extensive internal injuries.
"I can take your pain away, you know," Avo-Ter Hirron said, conversationally, "take me as a Padawan and I'll heal you."
"I'd... rather... die."
"You're a stubborn bastard, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Why? Why not train me? I've shown you I'm intelligent enough to trap you, strong enough to hurt you, wise enough to hide you, and I've demonstrated how powerful I am in the Force. I just want you to train me, like you did the Skywalker brat, is that so much to ask?"
Obi-Wan declined to dignify that with a response, groaning and shivering in shock, exhaustion, and pain. A bone-deep cold was settling into his very core, even though he could feel the sweat soaking his tunic. He knew, deep down, that he was dying, his body giving up the battle to live in the face of his injuries and torment.
"I'm dying, Hirron," he rasped out, slowly, "so; either finish the job, or release me, because I will never agree to train you. No Jedi will."
"Then perhaps I should find a new Master," a voice hissed in his ear, "one who will appreciate my... darker talents."
"Ah, yes... you'd make a wonderful Sith apprentice," Obi-Wan whispered, his eyes already drifting closed, "and the Jedi have a very good track record at killing Sith..."
The laughter from beside him was deep and unpleasant.
"You can barely draw breath, Jedi Master Kenobi," sneered Hirron, "you are clearly no match for me... in fact; now I think about it, I don't understand why I even wanted you to train me in the first place. I have bested you, Obi-Wan. Clearly, I am already a Master... hah, it seems you have taught me something: my true place in this galaxy... thank you, Master; I think our lessons are concluded."
In the darkness, the figure moved, standing, pacing in the tight confines of the small cell.
"Now," Avo-Ter muttered, half to himself, half to his captive, "how best to finish you off... your end should be fitting and a testament to my ascension to the rank of Master... choking the life out of you with the Force might be fun, but... ah, of course! Every Master needs a lightsabre... and I was never permitted to make one of my own, so I shall inherit yours, how appropriate! I shall sever your head from your body with your former blade, claim my lightsabre and the rank of Master, as I succeed you and inherit your position!"
"You're insane..."
"I am a Jedi Master, and you will treat me with the respect I deserve!"
There was movement, a metallic rattle, and then the chains went taut, yanking Obi-Wan cruelly upright as he let out a wordless cry of pain, his body snapping up to standing but unable to support his own weight, dangling like a fish on a hook, his broken arm screaming in tandem with his ribs and other injuries. He was left hanging there, wavering in and out of consciousness, for an interminable amount of time. The door remained open, an inviting means of escape, but it might as well have been a million miles away... he could do nothing to free himself from the chains and flee his imprisonment.
A movement on the periphery of his vision forced him to try to raise his head. He was damned if he was going to die without facing his executioner. A tall figure loomed in the doorway, silhouetted by the light beyond. There was an ominous hum as a bright blue lightsabre activated, the bright light making Obi-Wan wince, trying not to pull away instinctively after so long in the darkness.
"Well?" he rasped, painfully, trying not to let his voice tremble with pain, "What are you waiting for? Just do it. Get it over with. Kill me. It won't matter. The Jedi will find you, and they will destroy you."
The figure stepped forwards into the darkness of the cell. The lightsabre hummed loudly, and then swung in a sweeping arc; Obi-Wan could not help but close his eyes as the bright blue plasma accelerated towards his head...
...There was a loud clinking sound as the chain was severed, and he found himself falling, unable to support himself. However, he did not hit the floor this time; a strong, supportive pair of arms enveloped him, and Obi-Wan was suddenly clutched in an embrace. It was warm, and tender, and so caring, as someone's arm hooked around his back, with a hand clutching his left shoulder; their other arm wrapped around his front, cradling him supportively and protectively against their chest. Barely conscious, Obi-Wan reached out with his right hand, fingers bloodied and shaking, gripping a muscular bicep. He stayed like that for a long moment, trembling uncontrollably in those strong, safe arms.
"...Anakin..." he breathed, at long last, in recognition, "you... you found me..."
"I'm here, Obi-Wan," Anakin's voice was a low-pitched murmur in the darkness, "Where is he? Who did this to you?"
"His name... Avo-Ter... Hirron... a failed initiate... grown powerful in the Dark Side through jealousy and hatred."
"Of you?"
"No... of you."
Anakin's grip on him tightened ever so slightly, and Obi-Wan could not help the moan of pain that escaped his lips; the grip instantly loosened with a mumbled apology, but he shook his head, dismissing it immediately.
"I'm going to get you out of here, Obi-Wan," Anakin promised, even as he used his lightsabre to cut away the chains around the Master's ankles, "I've got a speeder waiting outside, you'll be safe now, I promise..."
"Tut tut, Padawan," sneered a third voice, from the doorway, "you shouldn't make promises you can't keep, boy. Your Master should have taught you that."
"I am no longer a Padawan, failed initiate," Anakin snarled, cradling Obi-Wan with a fierce protectiveness, "and you will pay for what you've done to him."
"I'm not just going to let you leave with my favourite plaything, Jedi. Give him back to me. I'll make him scream for you, if you ask me nicely..."
Anakin's protective embrace tightened as he instinctively held Obi-Wan a little closer, feeling the tremors of pain and weakness running through the Jedi Master, as he growled; "I won't let you touch him again! Don't you dare touch him!"
"See, this just proves my point," Avo-Ter Hirron swung his stolen lightsabre with casual irreverence, "you were a bad choice for a Padawan and Obi-Wan was just a lousy Master. You still never learned the strength to be gleaned from your rage, Skywalker. Wouldn't you like me to teach you?"
Anakin bit back a retort, as he tried to let go of his anger, watching the careless spin of the weapon in Hirron's hands; "That lightsabre is not yours. I will have it back... now."
"You'll have to take it from my cold, dead fingers, oh mighty Chosen One."
"Fine by me!"
Anakin gently lowered Obi-Wan to the ground, even as Avo-Ter sprang forwards. Obi-Wan tried to keep track of the brief, brutal sparring match, but it was just a blur of blue light and dark shadows. He did not need to watch, however, to know the outcome. A failed initiate was no match for the Chosen One, a Jedi Knight and a disciple of the light. Anakin deactivated his lightsabre as his opponent was cut down beneath his expert strike, retrieving the fallen foe's weapon from lax, unresponsive fingers.
"Obi-Wan," Anakin's voice was soft and gentle once more, "Obi-Wan, can you hear me?"
The deactivated lightsabre was pressed into his right hand and he closed his fingers around it, gripping the shaft and savouring the familiarity of it in his hand, even if he could not hear the crystal inside singing to him through the Force as he normally did. Fumbling, he clipped it to his belt, as his trembling increased.
"Kriffing hell, Obi-Wan... what did that bastard do to you?"
Obi-Wan tried to shake his head, but it was all becoming too much. The pounding in his head and throughout his tortured body matched the weak thumping of his heart in his aching chest. There was a ringing in his ears, and everything felt very distant... even the pain seemed to be ebbing away.
"Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan! Stay with me, please! Don't give up on me now..."
Those strong arms were there again; a left arm across his back, gripping his left shoulder, a right arm scooping beneath his knees, lifting him into a cradle-hold, as Anakin held him close to his chest. Obi-Wan's broken left arm was draped limply over his stomach, his right arm awkwardly hung over Anakin's elbow, as his head slumped into the young Jedi's strong shoulder.
"I've got you, Master," his former apprentice whispered, "you're safe now, I promise..."
Obi-Wan needed no further reassurance; with a pained groan, he willingly surrendered to the beckoning call of oblivion.
His next return to the waking world was slow and confusing. He would not have been surprised to wake up in the Halls of Healing, with its rigid, unforgiving medical beds, harsh lighting, anti-septic smells, beeping of machinery and the hovering attentiveness of the Master Healers. However, he slowly became aware of the fragrant smell of incense; there was no loud beeping or cold sterility. He was in a warm room, lying on a mattress, a lightweight sheet drawn up over his chest and tucked under his arms, which lay comfortably by his sides, atop the sheets. He could feel the tight bindings of bandages wrapped around his otherwise bare chest and left arm, supportive but not constricting. His head was cushioned on a soft pillow, and he was vaguely aware of something cool and damp being pressed to his forehead, dabbing his brow, and he groaned aloud at the soothing touch.
"Master? Uh, Master, I think he's waking up!"
There was movement, then, and another presence entered the room – Obi-Wan realised, through befuddled senses, that he was aware of the Force once more; it was singing to him. He called upon it and drew it into himself, using its strength to fuel his own, finally gathering enough power to force his eyes open.
"Obi-Wan?"
There was a hand gripping his left bicep, very gently, mindful of the bandages and the dully-aching, half-healed broken limb.
Obi-Wan blinked the blurry figure into focus, and managed to gasp in recognition; "Anakin?"
"I'm here, Obi-Wan – and you're gonna be fine."
"How... how long...?"
"You were in the bacta tank for two days," Anakin winced, visibly, "when you came out you were still in pretty rough shape; the Force suppressors really did a number on your immune system, but once your fever came down a bit, the Healers agreed to let me bring you back to our quarters. We thought you'd be more comfortable recovering here..."
"We...?" Obi-Wan glanced around and there, half-hiding behind his tall apprentice, was a young Togruta girl, eyeing him with a mixture of awe and wariness; he offered her a small, encouraging smile, "well... hello there! Come out... don't be shy."
The girl obediently stepped forward, her bright blue eyes shining as she beamed at the warmth in his tone, despite the roughness of his hoarse throat.
"Hello, Master," she smiled back, a little shyly.
"Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, I'd like you to meet Ahsoka Tano... my Padawan."
"Your Padawan? Well...! It is a pleasure to meet you, Grandpadawan," Obi-Wan's smile grew wider, even as he tried to fight back against the gnawing fatigue and pounding headache that assailed him, "you... you could not ask for a better Master, Ahsoka... Anakin... I'm... I'm so proud of you..."
A tremor passed through him, and Anakin gently pushed him back down onto the pillows, even as he grinned at his Master's words; "She's a snippy little thing when she wants to be, but I think she'll do our lineage proud, Master. Now, you need to rest... you're still feverish and your wounds are not yet fully healed. Just sleep, and let us take care of you..."
Unable to resist, Obi-Wan murmured sleepy thanks, before drifting into a peaceful slumber, feeling safe at last in the care of his lineage... his family.
Author's Note: slight AU towards the end there, as I know that's not how Ahsoka joined the family, but ah… call it artistic licence. My thanks as ever to my wonderful reviewers, you make it all worthwhile and I appreciate you taking the effort to leave your comments, thank you so much!