THREE
Anakin wished he were wet.
This was not something most natives of Tatooine ever wished for, because it did not occur to the majority of them that water was an abundant resource in some parts of the galaxy, and consequently they thought of water only as a rare and precious chemical for drinking. Most of the population had never seen more than cup of water in one concentration, and practically no one had ever actually bathed. Outlanders could find the smell a bit off-putting, but to those who lived there, it was just another aspect of their hard life on Tatooine.
All of this did not conspire to Anakin wishing he were wet. Having grown up on the desert planet, he was all too aware of the sacrilege of contaminating large bodies of water with sweat and dirt. Often, Obi-Wan had to physically force him into the 'fresher for a wash, when the other Jedi at the Temple began to complain about the smell.
Anakin swore that, if he ever got back to the Temple in one piece, he would shower every single day.
Wincing, the young Padawan dragged himself upright, propping himself gingerly against the rough stone wall at his side. He tried to swallow, but his throat was so parched and swollen that the effort was useless. Every muscle in his body was screaming with some kind of complaint; his very skin felt stretched and taut over his bones. He thought he might have a fever, or maybe it was a concussion, or maybe he was suffering some kind of brain damage, because he couldn't seem to focus on anything for very long.
Briefly, Anakin considered reaching for his Master through the training bond, but finally decided that he didn't have the courage for it. After all, it was his own fault he was in this predicament. If it hadn't been for that self-same awe of water, he and his Master would have long fled the planet to call for Republic interference. The two Jedi had been ambushed in a mountain pass by terrorists, and trapped between a steep cliff and a very high, very powerful waterfall. Quickly evaluating the situation, Obi-Wan had backed towards the ledge of the fall, one hand gripping Anakin's shoulder.
"Padawan, on my command I want you to jump into the water," he murmured, just loud enough for fear to grip Anakin. Jump into water? Surely the Force would provide another way, a way less disrespectful?
"Don't move, Jedi," the terrorist leader growled, blaster aimed unwaveringly at Obi-Wan's head. There was a second of absolute stillness, as terrorist and Master stared each other down, before Obi-Wan turned – "Now!" – and leapt over the edge.
If Obi-Wan had just leapt off the Temple, Anakin would have followed without question. There could have been electrical charges jumping back and forth as he fell, or scorching towers of fire, and Anakin would not have hesitated. But in the brief moment when Tatooine instinct and Jedi instinct clashed, it was already too late. The terrorists circled the boy standing paralysed at the edge of the waterfall, and Anakin could only hope that his Master would come for him.
How much time had passed since then, he wasn't entirely sure. The days had blurred together into pain and sleep, and not much difference between the two of them either. Anakin was sure that Obi-Wan would come for him. He had to. His duty as Master demanded that Obi-Wan rescue Anakin, or die trying. Not that Anakin wanted Obi-Wan to die, and now the thought of death was in his head again, whirling around in dizzying spirals.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Anakin focused only on healing the open wounds littering his arms, legs and back. He was all too aware that he was just a Padawan learner – not even a senior Padawan at that – and didn't know anything about the government or the Republic or even the Jedi Order … but the terrorists thought otherwise. They were convinced that just a little more pain would open up the boy, and all the secrets of their enemies would come spilling forth. Just one more cut, one more strike, one more burn, one more torment to add to the mountains of others they had already inflicted.
Anakin hadn't realised he had fallen asleep until someone was shaking him roughly awake. Moaning, he batted the hand away, then abruptly remembered where he was and flinched from the expected slap.
There wasn't one.
Squinting in the light spilling from the door – how odd that the door should be open – Anakin was aware enough to recognise that the man bent over him was not one of the terrorists. He blinked sluggishly, and slowly, the blurred form coalesced into Obi-Wan.
"Master," he breathed, a relieved smile stretching across his face as his eyes slipped closed again of their own volition.
"Anakin! Anakin, wake up!" Obi-Wan ordered, in that tone of voice that brooked no argument. Wearily, Anakin struggled to obey, though why he needed to was beyond him. His Master was here, so all would be well, and he could finally let go. "Padawan, do as you're told. Open your eyes and look at me." Anakin struggled to focus on his mentor; and wasn't it funny that he had never stopped to notice the scar that trailed into Obi-Wan's red hair, like someone had tried to scalp him?
"Master –" Anakin began, meaning to ask about the curious mark, but exhaustion got the better of him and he lapsed into silence.
"Come now, Padawan," Obi-Wan said. He moved efficiently, pulling Anakin's unresisting body onto his lap and tipping a flask to the boy's cracked lips. "Drink up, there's a good boy. You'll need all your strength to get out of here," he cajoled. Almost choking on the juice, Anakin nevertheless smiled. 'Good boy', his Master had said. Had he made his Master proud?
Evidently there was something potent in the innocuous drink, because the pained fuzziness in his head and limbs swiftly vanished, leaving the boy to blink in the blinding light with heightened awareness. He still ached, but the sensation was more acute, and easier to push aside now that it didn't pervade his every thought.
"Better now?" a rumbling voice murmured. Anakin hardly dared to breathe as he realised that he was sat in his Master's lap, tucked against his chest like a toddler, and probably had been for some time, judging by the blood stains that had soaked into Obi-Wan's tunic. He felt his face flush with embarrassment, and attempted to crawl away. "Well, clearly you can move by yourself. We need to be going, my young Padawan," Obi-Wan said, in such a careless tone of voice that Anakin could almost believe they were just setting off for a transport.
Though the mysterious juice had worked miracles on his pain, the fatigue ran much deeper, so that Anakin found he could barely force himself to stand. The wall came to his rescue as he slumped when the room spun nauseatingly.
"I don't – don't think I can, Master," Anakin gasped. Sweat beaded on his brow just from this small exertion. Obi-Wan paused, eyeing his young charge critically with a lip bitten in indecision, before he moved forward.
"You can, Padawan, and you will," he commanded firmly, wrapping one arm around Anakin's shoulders, the other gripping his lightsaber. Knowing that arguing would be fruitless, Anakin gripped Obi-Wan's waist with all the strength he could muster and prepared himself for an exhausting journey. "Anakin, listen to me carefully. Our transport is hiding behind hills half a kilometre north of here. Can you tell me which way is north?"
"Sun – sunrise," Anakin panted. The planet, for reasons unknown to the natives, rotated vertically rather than horizontally, causing the suns to rise in the north and set in the south – an oddity that had greatly amused Anakin when he had first arrived.
"Good. You must get to the ship no matter what. Walk, crawl, skip, hop, whatever it takes, you must not stop until you board that ship. Do you understand me?" Anakin nodded jerkily. "Alright."
They shuffled to the door, where Obi-Wan checked that the coast was clear. Surprisingly, it was still dark – the light that had so blinded Anakin was actually from a spotlight centred to illuminate the prisoners' cells. His own two guards lay in heaps either side of the exit, and Anakin wondered just how badly he had been injured if he hadn't heard the work of a lightsaber outside his very door.
No words passed between them as they moved through the compound, the Master using the Force to cloak their presence, the Padawan using it just to stay conscious. The first sun was just rising when they left the terrorist base, and they could see the silhouetted hills. The sight filled Anakin with resolve – he had a target to aim for now, and he would not fail his Master.
A blaster shot fired at them, missing by scant inches, and Obi-Wan abruptly released his firm hold on Anakin. The boy fell to the floor jarringly. He could hear the lightsaber humming with power as it deflected the next shots. "Anakin, go!" Obi-Wan shouted. He tried, he truly did, and managed to stumble a few metres before his legs gave out again. His Master was backing away from the advancing terrorists, blue blade a blur of motion. Anakin crawled forward, feeling the fuzziness return to his body as the potent juice dissipated. A hand clamped onto his arm, dragging him half up and half forward. Obi-Wan's lightsaber still blocked every shot that came near them, but as they edged up the hill, the terrorists backed off. They knew they had lost their prisoner.
The transport was old, patched and pockmarked, but Anakin had never seen anything so beautiful. "Take off!" Obi-Wan yelled, heaving Anakin aboard. The cold metal bit at his skin, but the young Padawan had no energy left now. He was utterly spent, and would gladly have stayed where he was for all eternity so long as he could sleep. Distantly, he heard Obi-Wan clip his lightsaber away.
"Oh no you don't," came the voice, and Anakin felt himself being hefted into strong arms. A part of him was mortified that he was being carried, by his Master of all people, but for the most part, Anakin was preoccupied with the new wave of agony that the action brought. Before he could stop himself, he screamed, flinching from Obi-Wan's touch; and now that he had started screaming he couldn't seem to stop, didn't want to stop. All the pain of his torture focused itself into that one sound, and he screamed as he never had before. Hot tears scorched his cheeks, and he belatedly realised that he was being prevented from thrashing around by his Master's vice-like bear hug.
At last, his voice hoarse with abuse, Anakin subsided. He could hear a voice murmuring softly in his ear, like his mother used to do when he was sick, and knew for sure that he was dreaming. In that frame of mind, it didn't matter that he was being carried again, or that someone was gently removing his tattered tunic, or that he was being urged to sip from another flask. It was water this time, blessed water, and Anakin took as much as he could.
As tired as he was, Anakin couldn't ignore the pain of his wounds being cleaned and covered with bacta strips. He opened his bleary eyes, catching the attention of Obi-Wan. "Ah, still here?" he said with a small smile. "I think you've managed to deafen me quite thoroughly, though please, feel free to test the assumption." A few more tears slipped free of Anakin's control.
"I'm sorry, Master," he murmured. He must have been dreaming when his Master had said those two precious words, 'Good boy'. Perhaps sleep would take away the pain, though he doubted it.
"Rest now, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, "You've had a busy day."
