Author's Note: Sorry it took me a while to get this out there, but in my defence, it's quite a long chapter. Once again this chapter is similar to the original chapter 3 in terms of the events it describes (Anakin getting his mechanical hand), but it gives Anakin more agency than he had in the original version and forces him to make choices under pressure. He's also considerably less angry at Obi-Wan meaning they can get together more quickly, though this is still a slow burn romance, so be prepared for angsty pinning on Obi-Wan's part (yes, he's back in this chapter). Please leave a review if you have the time.
Chapter 3: The Surgery
Anakin lay beneath blinding lights, his back propped up and his calves dangling off the end of a medical bed designed for shorter, rounder beings. A thin tube pumped pain killers into his right arm or what was left of it. He winced as a 2-1B surgical droid, coated in Geonosian sand but reprogrammed to serve the Republic, inserted a second syringe into his left shoulder.
"Are you sure you want the surgery?" asked Obi-Wan, leaning over the wide bed. "I can train you to fight one-handed."
"Master," said Anakin, his speech even slower than usual, "you can't make me fight the Sith at a disadvantage." He couldn't tell Obi-Wan the real reason he'd chosen to replace the lost hand. Dooku had stripped him of the ability to kill with ease. He wanted it back. He needed it back. Without it, the intoxicating power that had consumed him on Tatooine would remain a mere memory.
Obi-Wan sighed. "The choice is yours, but I'm not leaving you unconscious for eight hours on a hostile planet. The Separatist cowards who got away will exploit the opportunity. They don't stand a chance against you otherwise. If we get into orbit..."
"There's no time," said an even grimier surgical unit on Anakin's left. "If the damaged nerves degrade any further, he won't be able to control his prosthetic hand." The droid connected a tube which delivered muscle relaxant to the newly placed syringe.
"Could he stay awake for the surgery?" asked Obi-Wan. "That way he could call for help if he needed it."
Anakin clenched his remaining fist. "I'm not going to sit here watching my nerves get yanked." Nor was he going to beg to be rescued.
"It is a gruesome operation," said the calm voice of a battered GH-7 medical analysis unit. The droid hovered beside a rumbling anaesthetic machine, the only unscathed item in the ward. "And I'm afraid we used the last of the local anaesthetic treating your fellow Jedi. The most effective drugs we have aren't strong enough for such intense procedures. He'll be in immense pain if he remains conscious."
"Then I'll guard him," said Obi-Wan, "or I could fetch Padme. She has more fighting prowess than I'd expect from a politician. Would you prefer her, my Padawan?"
Anakin tried to shake his head, but it was too heavy to move. The relaxants were taking effect. "Neither of you can miss the meetings" he said, with a slight mumble. "The Republic can't fight the Separatists without your wisdom. You always tell me to stick to my duties."
"You're my Padawan and the Chosen One. Keeping you alive is my duty."
"I'll be alright. Artoo's guarding the ward."
"You trust a droid with your life?"
"I do. You trust the medical droids, don't you?"
Obi-Wan stroked his chin, then turned to examine the anaesthetic machine. "Can I take a look?" he asked the GH-7 unit. The droid gave a reluctant nod. The Jedi huffed as he swiped and tapped the machine's screen. "That won't do," he said to his Padawan. "They've guessed your weight."
The droids had in fact estimated it by feeding Anakin's latest measurements into an equation that factored in missing limbs. "What else were they to do? Humans are too heavy for their scales."
"But they used data from three months ago and didn't account for the muscle mass you've gained since then." Obi-Wan pinched his Padawan's left bicep.
Anakin smiled as he sank into the bed. "You noticed." His secret exercise regime had paid off. Maybe violence wasn't his only source of power.
"It's hard not to," said Obi-Wan, his voice dripping with lust. He handed control of the anaesthetic machine back to the GH-7 unit. "I recommend recalculating the dose using an initial weight of eighty-three standard kilos."
"As you wish," said the exasperated droid.
Obi-Wan returned to Anakin's side. "This is why we need thinking beings supervising surgeries," he said, in a whisper that underestimated the droids' audio sensors. "Your marvellous body can't be reduced to numbers and formulas."
Anakin was too sedated and flattered to argue. The surgical droids added two more syringes, one in each of his arms. The anaesthetic flowed into him from the left. On his right the reversal agent was ready to be released after the surgery.
Obi-Wan checked the four tubes, then nodded to the droids. "Padme and I will have some spare time between our meetings," he said to his Padawan. "You won't mind if we use it to check on you, will you?"
"Not at all," said Anakin. Had he not known of Obi-Wan's attraction, he would've minded. He wasn't a helpless child. But if his master were dropping by to admire him, and bringing Padme with him, that was another story.
The droids placed a transparent mask over Anakin's nose and mouth, then instructed him to breath in and count backwards from ten. Nine ... eight ... Obi-Wan's tender smile swam before his eyes … seven...
Anakin awoke to the excruciating pain of the surgical units soldiering artificial nerves to his organic ones. His shrieks startled the GH-7 unit, who flipped a switch on the panel beside the bed. Durasteel clamps sprang from hidden compartments in the mattress, binding Anakin's elbows, waist and thighs. He thrashed against the restraints.
Sparks flew and blood splattered from the interface between his organic arm and the mostly assembled hand. He felt as if he'd closed his eyes seconds ago, but hours must have passed for the droids to have reached this final, most agonising, step of the surgery.
A minute later, the door flung open and Chancellor Palpatine burst into the ward. He strode to the bed, his eyes wide with terror. "Anakin," he said. "I heard your screams from the other end of the hall and came as fast as I could. What's happened?"
Anakin tried to answer, but only managed a suppressed groan.
"The anaesthetic and the relaxants have stopped flowing," said the GH-7 unit.
"There must be blockages in the system," said Palpatine. "Can you remove them?"
"Not easily. The tubes we can access are clear. We'll need to take apart the machine to find whatever's clogging it." The droid glanced at the screen. "And the reversal agent levels are low. I suspect a leaky valve."
That couldn't be right. Single components can fail, but multiple at once? Had Obi-Wan's fears come true? Were the Separatists trying to kill him? It couldn't be. He was alive and more dangerous than he'd be unconscious.
Palpatine frowned. "Could you halt the operation until the machine is repaired?"
The GH-7 unit lowered his head. "It won't do him any good. His nerves are exposed. The best we can do is finish the surgery quickly, so we can shield them and let them heal. We can save time by connecting only his most vital neurons to the new hand. It will be weaker and harder to control, but …"
"No," said Anakin, in a hoarse whisper. "Do it properly. I can't …" His words ended in a wail.
"Are you sure, my boy?" asked Palpatine. "I hate seeing you suffer."
Anakin gave a jerky nod. He wasn't going to let his organic neurons go unused until they withered away. If they did, no upgrade to his new hand could bring back his former strength or his Force powers and he was nothing without them. He couldn't let a moment of weakness impair him for life.
The droid expelled air to imitate a sigh. "If you insist."
A flicker of a smile crossed Palpatine's face. "You'll need this," he said. From the pocket of his robe, he pulled out a ceramic mortar, a pestle and a small packet of yellow and red granules. "It'll numb your pain."
Anakin gulped. "But Chancellor, death sticks are …"
"Illegal? I decide what's illegal."
"But my master ..."
"Do you always do what Obi-Wan says? Come now, my boy, you're more daring than that and you've always wanted to try one."
Anakin had said so four years ago, after Palpatine teased him for being blindly devoted to Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order. He'd never expected the Chancellor to take the comment seriously. He wanted to refuse, but his resolve was no match for the hot Geonosian air that burned his strained nerves.
Palpatine poured the granules into the mortar and ground them into an orange powder. He leaned forward and held the pulverised death stick beneath Anakin's mouth. "Breath in," he said, in a soothing tone his listener couldn't help but obey.
The chalky dust scraped Anakin's nose and throat, filling them with the stench of ash. He bit his lip to mask a cough, then lay back and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the ward was a jumble of vivid greens and blues. Palpatine was a blur and the pain of the surgery, while present, was as distant as if it belonged to someone else.
Anakin found he could speak. "Don't mention this to Obi-Wan."
Palpatine nodded as he tipped the remains of the powder into a second packet and sealed it tight. "Remember, my dear boy, your secrets, from the most trivial to the most damning, are safe with me."
Anakin's stomach flipped. Did the Chancellor suspect he was carrying a damning secret? No, Palpatine was clearly referring to the death stick, though revealing his monstrous deeds might ease his paranoia.
The Chancellor put away the drug paraphernalia and leaned in close. The ward's white lights gave his indistinct form an angelic glow. "If there's anything you wish to share," he said, grasping Anakin's face, "don't hesitate."
"There is one thing.'
"Go on."
Before he could stop himself, Anakin had divulged what occurred on Tatooine, surrendering every gruesome detail the Chancellor requested.
"How many did you kill?" asked Palpatine, digging his sweaty fingers into Anakin's cheek.
Anakin's chest constricted. "Too many to count ... a hundred ... maybe more." At least he'd stopped short of a total genocide, though he could always go back if his bloodlust proved as insatiable as he feared.
"A large death toll for a Jedi," said Palpatine, with a long moan, "and one so young too, but don't feel ashamed, my boy. They tortured and murdered someone dear to you. It's natural to want revenge."
"My master won't see it that way."
"What Obi-Wan doesn't know won't hurt him," said Palpatine, unclipping his velvet cloak and letting it fall to the floor. "It can be another of our secrets, provided you grant me one favour." He lowered himself onto the edge of the medical bed and ran his thumb along the patient's jawline until it rested beneath his chin.
"Name it," said Anakin, his words muffled by Palpatine's rough grip.
"Don't mention my visit to anyone, especially not your master. Ever since Dooku told him that Darth Sidious controls the Senate he's distrusted my every move. According to my schedule, I should now be returning to Coruscant. If Obi-Wan finds out I got distracted after my briefings, he'll want me investigated."
Anakin managed a slight nod. "Or worse." Obi-Wan was too gentle to follow through with his jealous threat to murder the Chancellor, but he'd happily turn the Republic against its wise leader. "I'll tell Artoo not to discuss it either." He'd established a strong enough rapport with the astromech droid to command him.
"Good, that reminds me." Palpatine turned to the GH-7 unit. "After I've left, you and your fellow droids will delete any memory files pertaining to my presence here. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Chancellor," said the droid. He glanced at the anaesthetic machine's screen and gave an excited chirp. "It's working. The blockages must have cleared themselves."
"How astounding," said Palpatine. "The Force is with you, my friend." He tilted back the patient's head, then let go, allowing him to breath in the anaesthetic for a second time.
Anakin admired the fuzzy kaleidoscope that would be gone when he woke. Through it he could've sworn he saw the Chancellor hoisting his golden robe.
Two hours later, the afterglow from the death stick was fading, leaving Anakin with only a scratchy throat and the memory of confessing to a massacre. He'd have been worried if he didn't have complete trust in the Chancellor.
He coughed into his left elbow instead of soiling the complex arrangement of motors and sensory wires which now formed his right hand. On a spindly bedside table lay a black rubber glove and Obi-Wan's opened hip flask, filled with water instead of the usual whiskey. Anakin sighed. Did his master have any faith in him?
He raised his mechanical hand and, ignoring the ache in his elbow, channelled the Force to pull the flask toward him. His nerves, both synthetic and natural, throbbed as he caught it but struggled to hold it steady. Water spilled into his lap. He swore loudly as he set the flask down. The bedsheet would dry fast in the warm ward, but without precise control of the Force he was vulnerable.
Two pairs of familiar footsteps echoed through the hallway adjacent to the ward. Anakin knew who they belonged to but was in no mood to chat to anyone. He lay on his side, yanked the bedsheet over himself and lowered his eyelids, allowing a sliver of light through so he could keep an eye on the door. Beyond it, R2 beeped frantically.
"What's wrong with this blasted droid?" said Obi-Wan, in his elegant accent.
R2 must have heard the screams. Or was he also suspicious of the Chancellor? Anakin hadn't had the chance to order his silence. Thankfully, C3PO was too busy with the war meetings to translate for him.
"Did something happen to Anakin?" asked Obi-Wan. R2 beeped louder.
"I'm sure he's alright," said Padme, her delicate voice as recognisable as Obi-Wan's. "I came by with the glove an hour ago and you've visited him ten times since he went under."
Ten times in eight hours? How pathetic did his master think he was? Then again, he'd been unconscious, and something had happened. It was pity Obi-Wan's excessive concern hadn't helped then.
"Nine times," said Obi-Wan, with a chuckle. "The first time doesn't count. The surgical droids didn't give me a choice."
"What did they want?" asked Padme.
"They didn't have enough sensory wires to construct Anakin's hand according to the specifications. Either the electrostatic fingertips or the motorised knuckles needed to be compromised. With the patient unconscious, the decision fell to his guardian. My Padawan would've wanted a stronger grip, but I favoured his sense of touch instead. He'll need it to handle his lightsabre."
"His lightsabre, Obi-Wan, or yours?"
"Why would he handle my…? Oh, I see. He told you of my offer?"
Anakin's jaw clenched. His master had no right to redesign his body to suit his disgusting ends. He shoved the wet part of the bedsheet between his legs to prevent Obi-Wan from making assumptions.
"Don't worry," said Padme, "We politicians know how to keep secrets."
"Then I'm lucky to have one as a friend," said Obi-Wan, in a sincere tone that implied Padme, at least, would be safe from his jealousy
The door to the hallway opened. Anakin pressed his head into the pillow and breathed deeply, so his visitors wouldn't worry he was dead. Obi-Wan and Padme's blurry figures entered the ward. The door slid shut, obscuring the still chirping astromech droid.
"Anakin's unconscious," said Obi-Wan. "How can that be? Wait, is that ..." His robes brushed the walls as he strode back and forth sniffing the air. "Death stick residue, my Padawan mustn't be fond of his lungs."
Anakin grimaced. He'd have to endure another lecture on the dangers of a substance he didn't intend to keep using. Though he might've felt otherwise if he hadn't lost consciousness in time to miss the intense high promised by the drug. He should've been grateful to the anaesthetic machine for unclogging itself in time to save him from a debilitating addiction, but he was already hooked on something far worse. Even now, he longed for the strength and vitality his fury had brought him in the Tuskan camp.
"He can't have used one," said Padme, "unless he woke up during the surgery." She dashed to the anaesthetic machine. After several loud screen taps, she gasped. "His heart rate spiked three hours ago."
"Oh my," said Obi-Wan. "I'm glad he's resting."
Since Anakin was no longer wired to the machine, Padme couldn't observe his current vitals and discover that he was awake. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan's mind was too clouded by concern to sense it through the Force. Things were going well for once.
"Why did it happen?" asked Padme. "Did the machine malfunction?"
"It's newly built and I checked the set up myself before he went under. It was likely sabotaged, by someone one who wishes to make him suffer without killing them. And I can think of only kind of being who'd want that."
"You mean the Sith?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "They want to fill Anakin's heart with pain and anger, so he'll become one of them. They'll never succeed, but the harder he refuses, the more they'll punish him. We must identify them. Who's been near this ward today?"
"There's no way to know," said Padme, moving back toward Obi-Wan. "The list of potential suspects is hundreds, if not thousands, long. Senators, bureaucrats, Holonet reporters, they've been in and out of medical bay since the fighting ended, showing their support for the injured Jedi." She snorted before continuing. "Interrogating politicians and journalists without cause will turn their systems against the Republic."
"Then we must wait for the Sith to reveal themselves. In the meantime, Anakin will need these." Obi-Wan's face sank as he pulled out the two lightsabres, he and his Padawan had borrowed in the arena. Their previous wielders must've died in the battle.
"Both of them? Don't you need one?"
"I'll build my own once I've fetched a kyber crystal from Illum, but my Padawan doesn't revere lightsabres as I do. He won't want to come."
His master shouldn't have assumed his. While sabres weren't sacred to Anakin, one customised to his temperament and fighting style was worth a trip to an icy planet.
"I wish he'd adsorbed the Order's teachings better," said Obi-Wan.
To make his master rethink these words, Anakin shifted the bedsheet to reveal his muscular shoulders.
Obi-Wan froze. Padme laid a hand on his arm. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," said Obi-Wan, "I'll be fine as long as I don't look at him too closely." He closed his eyes.
"And if you do?"
"My hand will reach for his cheek and his warmth will make me want more. I'll stroke his hair, rub his back, kiss his neck if I can reach it without waking him. I won't be able to stop myself." Obi-Wan sniffed as if on the verge of tears, then set the sabres down on the bedside table and backed away, exhaling to steady himself.
Anakin grinned into the pillow. He'd never expected to have such power over his master.
"It's okay," said Padme. "He has that effect on me too. Before they brought us into the arena, I told him I loved him. He'll expect me to ..."
"Marry you?"
"Yes, he suggested it the first night we were on Naboo together. How did you know?"
"I had a hunch. Anakin trusts traditional institutions and fears losing those he's close to. He won't risk falling too deeply in love without a legally binding commitment."
"Is that why you offered to marry him?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "If he returns my feelings our love will live in the Force, not in Coruscant's civil archives. But I'll do what it takes to make him happy."
"Even if that means letting him be with me?"
"As long as you care for him, fulfil his needs and don't ask him to leave the Order, you have my blessing. I'll guard your secret as I do my own."
"Not very well then." They both laughed.
Anakin snorted. He didn't need anyone's permission to marry Padme and his master wouldn't be so quick to grant it without a hidden motive.
"But you must consider," said Obi-Wan, "whether it's in Anakin's interests to marry someone he has little in common with. As the war progresses, he'll suffer burdens only a fellow Jedi can understand. He'll lie awake at night, tormented by memories of his comrades dropping dead and entire planets catching fire. I commend your empathy, but without the aid of the Force or the ability to share harrowing experiences of your own, there will be nothing you can do for him. He may even grow to resent your privilege"
Resent Padme? In his master's dreams.
"I'll support him however I can, Obi-Wan. You may understand him in ways I can't, but he loves me, not you and you can't make him marry his teacher."
"I won't be that for long. The Council agreed to let Anakin face the trails two weeks from now, by then I hope he'll see me differently."
That wasn't going to happen, but Anakin was willing to let him try. He'd rather Obi-Wan delay his marriage than reveal it to the Jedi Council.
Padme sniggered. "He's loved me for ten years. A couple of weeks won't change anything. He'll choose me no matter what you do."
"Then he'll be yours." Obi-Wan extended his hand.
Padme took it and they exchanged a firm shake. "Another deal well struck. It's no wonder your reputation as a negotiator is growing. The Republic will be glad I convinced Anakin to help me rescue you."
Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. "You had to convince him? That's not like him." He brought a trembling hand to his mouth. "I hope I haven't tarnished our friendship."
"It's not you. Something terrible occurred on Tatooine. It made him think he'd failed as a Jedi. When we travelled here, I promised not to disclose the details."
Anakin's teeth clenched. What if Obi-Wan pressured Padme into revealing what he'd done following his mother's death? What if his master turned him into the Council, or worse the press? He couldn't let that happen. He'd slash his defenceless targets to pieces and frame the Separatists. His prosthetic hand reached for the closest lightsabre.
"Then I won't ask," said Obi-Wan. "He'll tell me when he's ready."
Anakin pulled back his arm. It had happened again. A few seconds more and his closest friends would be dead. Padme and Palpatine knew of his murderous tendencies, but their words hadn't quelled them. He needed to accompany Obi-Wan to a Crystal Cave, preferably the warmer one on Dantooine, so he could confess his wrongdoings and seek his help in private. If anyone had the answer it'd be him.
After promising to return to the ward following their last meetings, Obi-Wan and Padme left Anakin in peace. His eyes fluttered shut and he pictured his master stroking his back, dampening his rage with each touch, until he collapsed against him in gratitude. His groin tingled at the thought.
I know I'm taking some creative liberties with the way that Anakin gets his mechanical hand (in Legends, I believe he gets it on Coruscant and the process is a lot less tricky, the Disney canon is neutral on the topic), but I think it makes for an interesting story. I also took some creative liberties with the way that death sticks work. From what I've heard, illegal drugs usually aren't that fast acting in real life and there isn't much information about death sticks in the Star Wars canon (apart from Obi-Wan not liking them, LOL), but again it makes the story more interesting. Hope you're all enjoying it. :)