Loyalties
Chapter 4: NightmaresA million thoughts ran through Obi-Wan's head as they went back to the Temple. He knew what he had just done was insane and unfair, but he didn't hear Anakin complaining, so he didn't worry about it. He hated himself for it, but seeing Anakin with that other boy had made him so jealous that he couldn't control himself. There was only one way to keep Anakin with him- satisfy him and give him what he wanted. He knew that he shouldn't, but what else could he do? He couldn't stand seeing Anakin with anyone else, and it drove him insane to be without Anakin. Anakin had become like a drug to him, a drug to which he had become completely and totally addicted. Until he found another drug, there was no way he could let Anakin go. It was that fact that kept repeating itself in his head until he loathed himself with every fibre of his moral being, and he couldn't ignore the hard-on he got now whenever he was close to his Padawan.
Anakin looked at his Master and wondered what he was thinking about. He'd been completely silent on the way back, and the neutral, guarded expression on his face told him nothing. He was frightened and vaguely turned on at the same time, and that further frightened him and turned him on. He decided to break the ice- he couldn't stand the ominous silence anymore.
"M-Master? What's going on?"
"I wish I knew."
"Where are we going?"
"Nowhere."
There was a frightening fervour in Obi-Wan's voice. Anakin looked at him and saw the hood slip back, revealing the bloodshot eyes that he and been hiding from his Padawan. He looked as though he'd been crying. Anakin squinted, trying to get a better look, but his Master hastily pulled the hood back up. They stopped on a landing pad somewhere in the downtown area of Holonet. Anakin, for the first time in his entire life, felt afraid to be sitting so close to his Master. He tried to edge away slightly, but just as he did, he heard his Master laugh, a frightening, unhinged sound. "You're afraid, Ani? Afraid of your old Master?"
Anakin wished fervently that he could get out of the speeder, but the doors were all locked.
"Nowhere to hide now, is there? Nowhere to hide!" yelled Obi-Wan, his voice hoarse and scented of rum. Obi-Wan pulled Anakin into his lap and squeezed his cheeks. He kissed him like that, with his lips puckered like a fish. Anakin tasted his blood in is mouth and remembered it.
Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, and Anakin saw the turmoil raging behind his Master's eyes. Suddenly Obi-Wan looked tired, and much older than he actually was. He turned away from Anakin for a minute, his fingers still twined in Anakin's thick hair. Anakin saw a tear slip down his Master's face and closed his eyes, wishing he knew what to do.
"It's going to be okay, Master." Anakin only wished he could get himself to believe it.
"No, Ani, it's not going to be okay," said his Master quietly. "It hasn't been okay for a long time now, and it won't be okay again for a long time to come."
Anakin stroked his Master's hair. He could hear the truth in Obi-Wan's voice, and it frightened him beyond words. They stayed like that for a long time, with Anakin in his Master's lap, stroking his hair. To the world they were a happy couple. To themselves they were a twisted mess of lust and loyalty. The both of them wondered what they were supposed to do now. The sounds of happy teenagers floated in to them from the outside, putting a false sheen on their silence.
Anakin looked at the chrono-unit in the speeder and saw that it was getting late. "Master, we really should be heading back now," he suggested gently.
Obi-Wan wordlessly pushed him to the other side of the speeder-seat and turned the machine on in the third gear. It was a matter of minutes before they got back to the Temple. The only thing that was different when they arrived home from the day before was the complete silence between the two, and the fact that they decided on separate beds.
Anakin woke up in a cold sweat at the early hours of the morning. He had just had a dream about his mother, and though he could remember nothing about it, a deep terror was awakened in him as he lay there, perfectly still, staring at the tapestries woven onto the ceiling. He was shaking like a leaf, and knew that he would not be getting any more sleep that night. The thought annoyed him, as he had an exam the next day. He rolled over and pictured his Master sleeping peacefully in his mind. Anakin could almost see the fall of his chest as he exhaled, and the slow rise as he inhaled. He stood up. He did what he had always done in his youth when he had nightmares; he crawled in next to his Master and pulled the blankets to his chin, yielding to the beating of his Master's heart to put him to sleep. He hadn't done that since he had been ten years of age, but he was (mostly) confident that Obi-Wan wouldn't mind.
He closed his eyes and was just starting to drift off when he felt his Master stir. He lay perfectly still as Obi-Wan put his arms around him, in a silent embrace that denied everything that had happened between them only a few hours before. Anakin bit his lip to keep from laughing; apparently Obi-Wan was used to sharing a bed. Maybe he will forgive me after all, thought Anakin, snuggling against his Master's arm. He started a Jedi breathing exercise that was meant to slow his metabolism and put him to sleep. He heard a moan and ignored it; but he couldn't easily ignore what his Master started saying.
"No…Qui-Gon…I didn't do it…" his Master said feverishly. Anakin saw him trying to struggle, as if there was something he had to run from. "It was his fault…his fault, Master…" Anakin's brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Obi-Wan was saying. "I love you, I love you so much, Master…but I'm cold…and your hands can't touch me anymore…" The dead have a stronger hold on the two of us than we realise, mused Anakin. First there was his dream about his mother, now Obi-Wan with Qui-Gon. But his mother wasn't really dead: she just… wasn't there. "Blame him! He's beautiful! Damn that beauty that made me… made me unfaithful."
Unfaithful? But Obi-Wan hadn't had a serious relationship with anyone for years. Who could he possibly be unfaithful to?
"Anakin…Anakin's fault. Not mine."
And with that, he understood. Even after Qui-Gon had been dead for seven years, Obi-Wan still held on to him. Obi-Wan still considered himself Qui-Gon's Padawan, still believed that their relationship was real. A hot fury rose into Anakin's mouth. He gritted his fingers into tight fists and bit his lip hard to stop himself from screaming. He's mine now, he screamed silently. Leave us be, and let my Master have some peace.
Anakin put his arms around his Master, protecting him against the demons in his troubled mind. He wished, and not for the first or last time, that he knew what he was supposed to do.
Anakin yawned sleepily the next morning. Between his own nightmares and his Master's, he hadn't gotten much than an hour and a half of sleep the night before.
"Anakin, is something wrong? You look dead."
"Didn't sleep well."
"Is something wrong?"
Yes, something is wrong, thought Anakin. Us. We're wrong. You holding onto your dead Master's spirit for so long, that's wrong too. And the hate I feel right now, that's probably wrong too! There are so many fucking things that are wrong that I can't even write you list of them!
"No, nothing's wrong, Master," he said, making his voice as steady as he could. If Obi-Wan was going to ignore what had happened the night before, he could too.
Obi-Wan looked at his Padawan's eyes. They were darker than he last remembered. It's just from the lack of sleep, thought Obi-Wan. He's a good kid. Still a good kid.
"Are you sure you want to go to your lessons today? I think you should see Master Yoda. You look sick, Ani."
"No, I'm fine! Don't worry about me so much! I'm not a little kid anymore!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Anakin regretted saying them. He wasn't a child anymore, that was true, but he dearly wished that he were.
Obi-Wan felt those words like a slap across the face. "Very well," he said quietly, standing up and walking away.
Anakin watched his Master leave and cursed quietly in all the languages he knew. He let his head drop to the table and hated himself. "Stupid, stupid Anakin," he told himself. And then, he, too, stood up and went to his first lesson. He felt a strange emptiness starting to grow in himself, and he found that he rather liked that emptiness. It was the only part of him that wasn't in pain.
**
Obi-Wan found himself in the memorial gardens again, and that surprised him. He had originally been on his way to see Master Yoda. Ah well, he thought, as he sat down under the shade of the tree next to Qui-Gon's marking stone. The flowers were just past their prime, and a few of them had started fluttering to the ground. He caught one in his hand, and looked at it carefully. The brown stem, the shrivelled white petals and the fragility of it. He sudden closed his fist and shattered the poor thing, which was now in pieces and slowly floating to the ground. He watched the fragrant white dust sift through his fingers and tears sprang to his eyes, although he couldn't quite explain why.
**
In a different corner of the Temple, a young Padawan named Yavi took the folded piece of paper out of his pocket, wondering what it could be. He read it slowly, amazed by the dark talent that he found there. His lips curved into a smile of delight when he found the signature, scrawled diagonally on the left side of the paper, as was the Calamarian fashion. He could now finally get revenge on the boy who had always been better than him; no matter how hard he tried. Over the seven years he had known Anakin Skywalker he had come to loathe him, and now, he would finally have his revenge. He stood up and decided that Master Pte'rina would like to see this.
Anakin closed his eyes, wondering if he could sleep in class without the teacher noticing. The thought turned into the hazy mist of half-sleep until he felt somebody nudge him hard. He opened his eyes and nodded gratefully at Taro, before picking up his data-pad and starting the exam.
Master Yoda wandered quietly into the memorial gardens, wondering why Obi-Wan would want to be here. He saw his former Padawan curled into a feral position under a tree. He was crying quietly. The ancient Jedi Master worked his way to the tree and stood there, waiting for Obi-Wan to acknowledge his presence. It didn't take long.
"I-I don't know what I am meant to do now, Master."
"Distressed, you are. Know the cause of this, I do not. Help me understand this, you shall, Obi-Wan."
"It's complicated. It starts with me getting drunk…and…"
Master Yoda smiled slightly. "Go on, Obi-Wan. No need to feel embarrassed."
Obi-Wan felt the small Jedi Master send a current of understanding his way. But this is different…how can Yoda possibly understand this? Obi-Wan took in a deep breath. If they expelled him from the Jedi order because of this, so be it. If Yoda couldn't understand, no one could. He started talking, and he kept talking as he poured his aching heart out.
Anakin wondered why Master Pte'Rina had summoned him. He hadn't done anything particularly bad lately that he could remember, but she looked stern and distressed.
"Anakin," she began hesitantly. She stood up and came around her desk to lean against the window. "Anakin," she started again, before sitting down on the seat opposite him. "Anakin, what is this?" she finally said, taking out the small piece of paper. Anakin's heart jumped into his throat. He took the piece of paper, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't what he thought it was. He opened it with shaking fingers as the familiar sentences loomed, tall and black across the white paper. He looked up at his teacher and forced himself not to look scared. "It's just a joke," he said casually. Pte'Rina looked at him, wondering how this innocent boy could have written that…that lustful, angry, morbidly erotic poem.
"I will have to summon Master Yoda, Anakin," she said quietly. Anakin bit back the curse resting on the edge of his tongue. He couldn't afford to make this any worse for himself. He took a deep breath and realised that he had failed yet again. He glared at his teacher under his eyelashes. One day, I will watch her bleed…Anakin took some twisted comfort in the vision of his teacher lying on those carpets with her entrails spilling out, her blood darkening the- "Master Pte'rina? Summon me, do you? A few minutes, you shall have to wait, and than I will come." The holo-vid buzzed and the tiny picture of Yoda disappeared. Anakin closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair, surprised at his train of thought and thankful for his teacher's preoccupation with the holo-vid.
Obi-Wan followed Yoda into the chamber, wondering what Anakin had done this time. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and his robes were dirty and rumpled. His hair was a nightmare. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his robes in a small attempt to look more composed. It made some difference, although it must have seemed to Pte'Rina that both Master and Padawan hadn't slept well in a while.
Considering the subject matter of the poem, that didn't particularly help.
Obi-Wan bowed politely to the female Jedi Master and almost toppled over. He felt a strong hand catch his and turned around to see Anakin, who had a small smile on his face. He quickly smiled at his Padawan and took the seat closest to him. In this room, they had no choice but turn to one another, despite their disagreements.
"Master Yoda, I wish that tjis were on less serious business, and I do apologise for taking you away from your duties," began the short, stout woman.
Master Yoda simply nodded, sensing that there was more to come. "Read this, Master," she added, taking the paper from Anakin and handing it to Yoda. Obi-Wan looked at his Padawan questioningly, but Anakin simply nodded towards the paper.
Master Yoda looked up after a few minutes. His expression was neutral as he looked at Anakin. "Wrote this, did you, youngling?" Anakin nodded slightly. Obi-Wan wished that he knew what was on the paper.
"Master Yoda, Master Pte'Rina, you wouldn't mind if I had a private word with my Padawan?"
"Not at all," replied Yoda, and they stood up and stepped outside. Obi-Wan closed the door, careful not to slam it. First, he grabbed Anakin and pressed his mouth onto his, letting out the fire that had been building in him all morning. "I'm sorry," he whispered into Anakin's mouth. "Sorry for everything."
They kissed again, before Obi-Wan realised that anyone could see them in a public hallway of the Temple. Anakin protested against this, but Obi-Wan was stoic. "Later," he promised, removing his face from Anakin's. It didn't take him long to revert from purring lover to angry Master.
"Fuck, Anakin! What the fuck have you done this time? This better be good, Anakin."
"I wrote a poem."
"You wrote a poem? Why is Master Yoda here if you wrote a poem?"
"I wrote a poem they didn't like. It was about you."
"About me? About me how?"
"About you...About you when you're…About you the way I like to see you," he mumbled, not meeting his Master's eyes.
Obi-Wan rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "We're fucked, Anakin. We are very, very fucked," he said, sounding weary.
Anakin squinted his eyes slightly and a guess started to form in his mind. His Master never cursed, only when- "Have you been drinking again, Master?" he asked accusingly.
"Yes," came the small, sad reply. "I can't stop myself anymore, Anakin," said his Master in a resigned voice. That scared Anakin more than he thought anything ever could; Obi-Wan had just given up.
Anakin closed his eyes and felt the anger simmer in him. "What are you going to do, drink until you're dead?"
Obi-Wan looked up at Anakin with bloodshot, tired eyes. "That was the initial plan," he whispered, sliding to the ground.
A tear slipped down the Padawan's chin. "No, Master," he said, falling to his knees and putting his arms around his Master's tired shoulders. "We have to go in, Master. We have to."
Wordlessly Obi-Wan stood up and walked into the small chamber, with his head bent. Anakin quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and followed his Master in. They listened to every single minute of the long speech, wondering what had happened. Then, when they were finally allowed leave, they left together, both silent, both broken.
"Strongest Jedi of the Temple, they are," observed Yoda. "Only they could break one another." Master Pte'Rina looked out the window, watching the traffic speed by.
When they got back to their own quarters they stood at the door. Anakin watched his Master and let the tears fall freely down his face, sobbing quietly. Obi-Wan laughed. "Well, that wasn't so bad. It could have been much worse. What are you crying about?"
Anakin found nothing he could say, so he simply stood there, waiting. Obi-Wan stripped down. "Get me some fresh robes, would you?" he asked cheerfully, reaching for his towel. Anakin suddenly noticed something on his arm. Obi-Wan saw him looking and quickly covered it with the towel. "Where are those robes, Ani? Come on, hop to it."
Anakin grabbed his arm and pulled it up. He saw the pale lines of old scars crisscrossing in elaborate designs over the veins and his breath caught in is mouth. All of the lines were faded, save for one, which was the dark burgundy of a fresh wound. He dropped his Master's arm as if it were an evil thing and looked at his Master, horror clearly printed on his face. How could I not have noticed these before? he wondered, terrified. He looked up at his Master with the face of a kid who just realised that the galaxy was not as pretty as it seemed.
"So I'm a cutter. I like hurting myself. I like seeing the blood spill. It's art, Anakin. Symmetry. What's wrong with that? It's not a big deal."
"Yes it is! You want to die! More than that, you invite death to yourself, like a guest to a tea party! A sick, twisted tea-party!"
"I'm already dead, Anakin. My soul died when Qui-Gon did. The rest of me is still around for you, though."
"Shut up! Why don't you shut up! You know I love you, why can't you accept it? Instead, you try to kill yourself! What the hell! I love you, I love you so much, and that makes you want to commit suicide? How the hell can you say you love me? Hypocrite! Liar!" Anakin yelled, eyes blazing.
Obi-Wan found himself at a loss for words. He pulled his Padawan into his arms and rested his chin on Anakin's head. He felt a tear run down his face, and another, and yet another, into Anakin's hair. "Shh, Anakin. It's not like that," he said soothingly. He used the small blade hidden inhis hand to cut off a lock of his Padawan's hair. He played with it, admiring the way light seemed to shimmer in it, but tucked it away quickly when he felt his Padawan stir. Anakin pulled away from him and turned away. "Go take that shower, Master. Here are your robes." Obi-Wan left, the blade still hidden in his palm.
The shower was hot, but Obi-Wan sat just out of reach of the water and bit into the only visible scar on his arm with the sharp stiletto-knife. He felt the metal's cold, hard kiss and watched the blood run down over his arm, drip onto the pale blue tiles. He did it, over and over again, always carefully following a pattern, a design. It was beautiful-the bead of blood, perfect, round, honest. The blood pooled around his feet as it ran down his arm and knee, hot and bright, a stark contrast to the golden skin and pale, cold tiles.
Anakin wondered what was taking Obi-Wan so long, so he decided to pull him out. He needed to talk to his Master, and was not about to wait for him. He opened the door, mildly surprised to find that it wasn't locked, and stepped inside.
He saw his Master sitting there, sitting in a puddle of blood with his eyes rolled back into his head. "Master!" he cried, rushing over to pick him up. Obi-Wan smiled hazily at him, murmuring something about angels and evil. Anakin picked his Master up and with a wet cloth wiped away all of the blood, dressing his Master in his sleep-clothes. He wrapped gauze around the arm up to the elbow, making sure that none of his salty tears landed in the fresh wounds. His Master kept mumbling nonsense about Qui-Gon and some about Anakin. This worried Anakin, who checked his Master's head to confirm what he had already guessed; Obi-Wan was running a fever. Anakin didn't want to take him to the healers, because they would find out about the cutting, so instead he called Mace Windu, who he trusted.
"Anakin, what's wrong? You look like hell."
"It's Obi-Wan. He's running a fever, and I don't know what to do. I don't want to call the healers because I don't want any rumours around the temple. So I called you."
"Rumours?"
"Later!"
Mace Windu rested his hand on Obi-Wan's head for a minute before looking up at Anakin. "It's bad, but it could be worse. He'll be fine as long as he gets the treatment in time. I have the tonic in my quarters-I'll be right back." He turned around and ran out the open doors steadily, with the smooth, feline grace of a duellist.
Anakin looked at his Master and mumbled feeble words of encouragement. He paused in his frantic pacing around the room when he heard his master scream out his name. "What is it, Master?" he asked anxiously, taking one of his Master's cold, sweaty hands in his own. His Master seemed to quiet down at his touch, but he kept mumbling incoherent half-thoughts. From what Anakin could put together, he was telling his Master that it wasn't his fault- something about tainted love- and over and over, apologies, stupid, useless apologies to a rotting corpse.
He bit his cheek to keep the anger from simmering to the surface. He couldn't have Mace Windu seeing him like that. He took a deep breath and vowed to himself that he would stop his Master's agony before this was over, one way or another. He put his hand on Obi-Wan's head. "Don't worry, Master. I'll take care of everything," he whispered, "Everything." He grit his teeth and hated the man who had done this.
"Here it is. Move over, Anakin." Anakin complied, and Mace let about half of the vial of dark green liquid trickle down Obi-Wan's throat. "He'll be fine, Anakin. Don't worry," said Mace softly, sitting down on the end of the sleep-couch. His brow furrowed as he looked up at Anakin, who hadn't moved. "Now- what do you mean, rumours? It's just a bad fever."
"Well, no, but you know how the apprentice healers can be…they might say something…you know," said Anakin lamely, wishing he had thought of a more convincing lie. Mace knew that he was lying, but let him be for the moment. The poor kid is traumatised, he figured. Not really thinking straight.
He stood up and gave Anakin a small bow, which Anakin retuned. "I'm glad I could be of assistance, but I must leave now. I'm guessing you can take care of your Master?"
Anakin nodded. Mace gave him a half-smile and left, and Anakin suddenly realised that he was still standing up. He looked at his Master, who already had some of the colour coming back to his cheeks. He took out his Master's arm from the delicate material of the nightshirt and looked at the white gauze as if it were some sort of enemy. What did I do to push him so far? Does he want to get away from me that badly? Anakin looked at his Master with cloudy eyes, and finally let the tears drop onto the clean white gauze, and though it may have been only a figment of his troubled mind, he thought he could see the gauze darken where his tears fell. "You're going mad, Anakin," he said hoarsely, walking back to his own room and collapsing onto his bed. He would have pondered the point for longer, but sheer exhaustion forced him into a dark dream world where he could find no answers.
Anakin awoke at the break of dawn with sweat on his brow. He looked at his Master, and felt an irrational sense of relief that he was still there. He went to sit by his master's side and heard once more some cryptic remark about Qui-Gon. The anger from the night before bubbled up even stronger in him and he moved away from Obi-Wan quickly, afraid that he might hurt him. He lay back down on his bed and thought calm, rational thoughts about the whole situation. Well, he tried.
He couldn't calm down. What gave this dead man the right to hurt his Master like this? He shouldn't have that power. He won't have that power, Anakin told himself. I should have that power. A dark plan began to form in his head. No, Anakin, that is wrong, said the more Jedi half of himself. But why not? He deserves it, said his other half, and he found himself believing this more and more until the small voice of reason faded into the back, an annoying insect's buzz that no one paid any mind to.
He stood up quietly and picked up his lightsaber from under his sleep-couch, and set out the door, a slow, purposeful stride in his feet matching the smirk of victory on his face. It's all going to be over, he told himself. He had promised Obi-Wan that he would take care of the situation, and he would. His fingers tightened on the deactivated lightsaber and his smile grew wider.
It was time to end his Master's pain. Forever end his Master's pain.
His grip tightened on the lightsaber imperceptibly. "Forever," he whispered, his voice harsh in his own ears.
Angry Anakin + Lightsaber= Not good.