Chapter Five
It had been three whole days since Anakin had flirted with him, and Obi-Wan wasn't sure whether to be relieved or wary. Perhaps his padawan had taken the (many, many) hints Obi-Wan had given him and stopped; perhaps he was lulling him into a false sense of security while planning a new attack. Anakin wasn't the best strategist, but he did possess a certain amount of unpredictability.
So Obi-Wan was quietly observant as he and Anakin completed the series of raids for blue zone. He took extra note of everything Anakin said, how he behaved, and any other changes in his attitude or habits.
He'd gotten rather accustomed to Anakin's flirting. For weeks now Anakin had been putting innuendoes in every possible place, and even some that Obi-Wan would havedeemed impossible. He'd taken to deliberately walking around their apartment half-dressed or with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist (Obi-Wan had to admit he had no complaints about that). And he'd seized all opportunities to touch his master, whether casually, like a clap on the shoulder, or more intimately, like a possessive hand in the small of the back.
At first Obi-Wan had been alarmed by this assault, and had spent upwards of a week as skittish as a young colt whenever Anakin was nearby – which, given that they were master and padawan, was nearly all the time, and very bad for his nerves. But gradually, as Anakin showed no signs of stopping or even toning down, Obi-Wan had adapted, until it no longer disturbed him. Flirting had, somehow, become a standard part of their interaction.
Not that Obi-Wan missed it now that it was gone. He was glad to think that it might have ceased. That sort of behaviour was just asking for trouble – it tempted fate, or rather the Force. Yes, it would be a good move on Anakin's part if he just gave up flirting with his master altogether.
Obi-Wan had to admit, at this point, that he was doing a spectacularly unsuccessful job of convincing himself that he hadn't enjoyed the attention.
He sighed to himself as he passed through the front doors of the Temple and crossed the hall to the elevators. Of course he'd liked it, on some level. He was in love with Anakin, hopelessly and achingly in love – it made him happy to know that he was loved in return. It was as simple as that. Unfortunately, other things complicated the issue.
"Something on your mind, Master Kenobi?"
Obi-Wan glanced around. Niniane had appeared by his side, evidently wanting to catch the same lift. He'd barely registered the presence of another person near him, let alone identified her. He'd been too occupied thinking about Anakin.
He smiled at her. "Nothing that can't wait. How are you, Niniane?"
"Exceptionally well, thankyou, Obi-Wan. May I call you Obi-Wan?" she added, but he sensed his permission was only a technicality.
"You certainly may, Niniane," he said graciously, and she grinned at him, knowing that he saw through her. "Is there anything in particular responsible for your remarkable state of well-being?"
"Oh, the usual," she said, waving a hand nonchalantly as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. "A successful mission, a quick and painless debriefing, and the knowledge that Xi-Lin is making my favourite meal for dinner tonight, and possibly breakfast tomorrow. He's very good at 'cooking', you know." She winked roguishly at Obi-Wan.
It took him a moment. "…Oh! You and Xi-Lin are…"
"Yes! Since the day before yesterday." Given that Niniane was nearly thirty Galactic standard years old, she was behaving remarkably like a giddy teenage girl. "I'd been dropping hints for quite a while, and was beginning to think he wasn't interested. But it turned out he was just waiting until he passed the trials."
"Well, congratulations," said Obi-Wan, smiling, "both on your union and on Xi-Lin's knighthood." Niniane had always been the distributor of gossip rather than the cause, but it looked like she would at last have something of her own to talk about. Obi-Wan wondered whether this might limit how much she gossiped about other people.
"So, is Anakin good at 'cooking'?"
No such luck.
"He can make a few simple dishes," said Obi-Wan, ignoring Niniane's insinuations and assumptions. He knew that if he denied his interest in Anakin, or Anakin's in him, she would see right through the deception. "But for more complicated meals it's best if he has help."
The elevator slowed to a stop at their floor and the doors slid open. Niniane's eyes were on Obi-Wan as they started down the hall to their respective apartments.
"Qui-Gon Jinn was the first person you 'cooked' with, wasn't he?" she asked. Although she hadn't had much to do with Qui-Gon, being only a young apprentice at the time, one of the gossip pieces about Obi-Wan she'd picked up had concerned his relationship with his master.
"Yes, he taught me a lot," said Obi-Wan, not shortly or angrily, but indicating that it was not a subject he cared to be flippant about.
"Sorry," said Niniane contritely. They paused outside her apartment door and she hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I was just going to say … I'm happy for you. It's good that you can … 'cook' … with someone else, after all this time."
Obi-Wan had reached his tolerance of her innuendoes and metaphors. "Qui-Gon isn't the reason Anakin and I aren't together," he said flatly, and Niniane's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I'm sorry, but that particular subject is between myself and my apprentice."
"Oh – but the way you two—" With difficulty, Niniane stopped herself. Demurely, she said, "I'm sorry for intruding, Master Kenobi. I apologise if I've upset you."
"I'm not upset," said Obi-Wan, in a gentler voice. "Don't worry about it, Niniane, you weren't intruding. Just … Xi-Lin's probably waiting for you." He took a step backward, concentrating on keeping his features passive.
"Right. Yes, I should probably go." Niniane opened her apartment door. "I'll … see you later then."
"Yes, later."
Obi-Wan waited until the door closed behind her before turning and marching back to the elevator. He called a lift, waited with forced patience until the doors opened, then stepped inside and pressed the number of the floor with rather more strength than was necessary.
Calm through meditation, he said to himself. Release your anxieties into the Force. There is no passion, no tension, only serenity.
But he got off the elevator at the training level anyway.
Considering his level of agitation and the effort he had to expend to keep it under control, Obi-Wan could have been forgiven for not noticing who was nearby when he entered the gymnasium. And it wasn't as if they were even in the same room – there were two walls and a dozen Jedi between them. Nevertheless, both Obi-Wan and Anakin were immediately, instinctively aware of each other's presence, and gravitated towards one another like sharks to molecules of blood in the sea.
Obi-Wan didn't try to act casual as he perused the rack of wooden training sabres. He waited, a relaxed immediacy of patience like an alert feline, loose and ready to respond quicker than instantaneously. His touch was light over the sword hilts, but he was able to slide a sabre from its housing and meet Anakin's downward slash between one half of a heartbeat and the next.
"You almost left it too late, master," Anakin remarked, the wooden blades sliding slowly against one another an inch from each Jedi's nose.
"One day you'll appreciate efficiency over effort," Obi-Wan answered reasonably, and looked into Anakin's glowing blue eyes and felt alive.
The sabres, being made of wood, were unable to make the sort of suitably dramatic tzing that only very, very sharp tempered steel is capable of producing. But, as Anakin and Obi-Wan sprang apart and their swords scraped against each other, the atmosphere supplied it.
"I know you've been practicing since the last time we sparred," Anakin said conversationally. "I'll make sure to give you a proper test."
"As always, your consideration for others is humbling," Obi-Wan replied, knowing his expression was utterly opaque.
Anakin moved like a born predator as they circled onto the mat, his upper body perfectly still while his legs made every step an attack stance and his balance remained aggressively perfect. Obi-Wan knew his padawan's style as well as his own. The boy should have been an ancient hero, or a warrior god. He carried himself like divine wrath personified, exuding adrenaline with each breath, every nerve and sinew designed for battle. He had eyes like the apocalypse and a smile like irresistible adventure.
The opening sequence always played out the same way – Anakin, eager to the point of impatience, would wait only until Obi-Wan was in the middle of a step, when his balance was at its weakest, before pouncing. He'd begun to develop his own fighting style, collected from a number of attack-based forms, and honed and perfected it against Obi-Wan. He always took the initiative, and Obi-Wan always waited for him and fought defensively.
But today was different. Today, Niniane's remarks were hovering in his mind, buzzing around like a bee so he was keyed up, on edge, and his whole body chafed. He remembered sparring with Qui-Gon and 'cooking' afterwards, and although he missed his master like he'd been wounded and would never heal, every part of him ached to be with Anakin. Qui-Gon's warmth had been like gentle summer sunshine, but Anakin's was the white-hot intensity of the star itself. Obi-Wan adored him to the point of pain, but even now he was restrained by the longer love of the Jedi. His confusion and frustration alerted him to the present, to the here-and-now, to Qui-Gon's Living Force, and so he attacked.
A look of surprise crossed Anakin's face as Obi-Wan lunged with a driving upwards stab and he was nearly too slow in parrying. He automatically stepped backwards and sideways, but Obi-Wan had been expecting this and met him halfway with a roundhouse sweep. Anakin blocked clumsily, his reactions seeming to stumble and trip over each other as he attempted to turn the next block into a counterattack. Obi-Wan brushed the attempt off without a thought and pressed forward again.
He couldn't have adequately explained why he was acting so out of character. A combination of many things reacted with each other in physical and psychological alchemy, transforming cool, calm Obi-Wan Kenobi into a restless beast. He felt like a werewolf, stirred from rational humanity by the siren call of something more primal and instinctive. Past memories and present dilemmas bubbled and simmered under his skin.
"Keep up, Anakin," he said, as his sabre caught the flying tip of his padawan's braid.
Anakin's eyes narrowed and Obi-Wan could see him shift into a higher gear. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. Each could read every sign in the other's body language and projected thoughts, and the gloves came off. The potential for all-out, no-holds-barred warfare lurked at the core of their sparring every time – it was what gave fighting with Anakin an edge Obi-Wan never attained with any other partner. Now the cloak of restraint and discipline was peeled back, exposing the wild magic beneath, and the werewolf came howling to the surface.
They came together in a flurry of blows, so fast the thought was hardly swifter than the action. They clashed and fought like an intricately choreographed dance, with the speed and fluidity of a well-oiled machine, except that the dance was of war and the oil was blood. Instinct drove them, stormed through their limbs and veined, but was tempered by a core of steel forged through countless hours' training and long familiarity with their opponent. Obi-Wan felt possessed, but by himself.
He and Anakin danced and strode across the floor. The exchange was more even now, a trade in attacks and parries as Anakin recovered ground lost to Obi-Wan's initial assault. Obi-Wan could feel habit prompting him to defend, to let Anakin call the shots and dictate the moves, but fought free of its comforting familiarity and pressed the definitive attack.
The frustration woken in him by Ninane's blithe assumption was controlling his limbs, making him step forward and strike out against his opponent. He could not lose – if he was defeated by Anakin now, he might as well give up on the Jedi Order, succumb to the explosive attraction between them and throw away everything he'd dedicated his life to. He refused to do that – he'd be stronger, he had to be.
Obi-Wan hardly knew how it happened; one moment they were sparring, the next Anakin's hands were empty and his sabre was clattering to the mat six feet away. Obi-Wan's sword was at his padawan's throat.
"You win," Anakin rasped. He was out of breath, his shoulders moving as he gasped in air. Sweat shone on his forehead. A few wisps of hair had come free of his braid and curled as though the air was humid. "Master? You win," he repeated, and Obi-Wan realised he was staring.
He drew back the sabre and tore his eyes away from Anakin. He could feel his pulse in his ears as he crossed the mat and returned the sword to its housing, and in the aftermath of fading adrenaline had to concentrate severely to stop his hands from shaking.
Anakin was asking him questions with his eyes. Obi-Wan hesitated, before averting his gaze and saying, "You need to work on your defence." He left the training hall.
The elevator ride seemed longer than usual, and the corridor stretched until his apartment was half a klick distant. He paced its length mechanically, his legs moving of their own accord; he was unsure whether his mind was numb or overburdened with thoughts.
The apartment was like a home from childhood, one he'd left behind long ago and just returned to. He automatically went to the kitchen and began rummaging in cupboards, distantly considering what to make for dinner. He found he couldn't remember whether he liked spicy Arrakeen stew, but knew for a fact that Anakin rated it as one of his favourites.
When the pot was on the stove, the stew simmering, Obi-Wan sat at the table, hands folded together. He rubbed his thumbs against one another absently, but otherwise was still.
I love Anakin, he thought, and sighed.
I can't love Anakin. It's forbidden by the Code. Love leads to jealousy – hate – the Dark Side. If we consummated it, it would dominate us. I'm committed to the Order; it's who I am. I won't go against the Code. I can't love him…
…But I loved Qui-Gon, and nothing bad came of that. We always did what was necessary; nothing ever came before duty. Maybe … if nothing happens with Anakin … maybe I can control it. I'll have to keep my guard up – no more flirting, no more gossip, no more teasing. I'll defend myself, put up barriers. Keep my distance … away from him … away from Anakin…
The stew boiled over, and Obi-Wan blinked the mist away from his eyes so he could save their dinner. Once more, he noted, he was cooking alone. But that was just how it had to be.
