Warning: This fic revolves around the heavily implied sexual assault of a minor. There will be nothing graphic or explicitly depicted, but please be aware of the subject matter.
The enclosed private courtyard of the 500 Republic penthouse shimmered in the nighttime, despite false stars of the artificial dark sky overhead radiating no actual light. Authenticity had been sacrificed on the altar of eliminating Coruscant's typical nocturnal traffic. As a remedy, the opulent gardens were instead illuminated by softly pulsing colored glow lamps and strategically placed star-crystals. The various hues of light caught on the gleaming gems and winking metals adorning the throats and fingers of the party's elite attendees, rendering the Coruscant Police officers scattered throughout the remaining guests a dreary and almost menacing presence in comparison.
But Mace's only concern was the fourteen-year-old huddled on the crystalline bench just outside of the sweet blossom bush maze. Anakin's reed-thin form was rendered even smaller and more fragile-looking thanks to the bulky officers flanking him and the towering Shistavanen medic who anxiously lingered a few paces away. A fraction of a second's glimpse into the medic's mind spoke of the source of his concern: he'd already tried to administer aid to Anakin, and Anakin had forcibly shoved him away, like some kind of feral creature too terrified to accept care for its injury and instead doomed itself to bleeding to death.
This knowledge cemented at the forefront of Mace's mind, he approached Anakin slowly but steadily, a wave of determined calm and gentle soothing to the Padawan's devastation and anger.
"Don't tell Obi-Wan," Anakin begged Mace as he drew near to him, and there was a desperation to his voice that threatened to both shatter Mace's heart and turn his stomach.
Refusing to give into the sigh welling up in his lungs, Mace knelt on one knee before him, carefully—exceedingly carefully—lifting up Anakin's head from his hunched shoulders so he could survey the damage.
The inspection had him biting back a curse; Anakin's lip was split apart and freely bleeding, and one of his eyes was already swelling shut. The other gazed at Mace with an unsettling, pleading look that he could never remember witnessing from him before.
But the discovery that truly perturbed Mace was Anakin's torn tunic, ripped to the point that it barely functioned as a garment any longer, and was now held in place by Anakin's arms, wrapped around his chest like he was trying to apply pressure to a gaping wound.
The tear in the fabric easily exposed his collarbone, and revulsion surged within Mace as his eyes landed on the bite mark gouged into Anakin's skin, dripping blood and glaringly prominent, as if another sentient had tried to rip a chunk from his skin. It served as a ghastly companion to the deep imprints of fingers lacing all around Anakin's throat, their furious crimson standing evident against his skin like an accusation to anyone who cared enough to notice.
Anakin's gaze followed Mace's, and he swallowed convulsively, somehow looking both much older and much younger than his fourteen years.
It was a paradox to resolve for another time, because then Anakin simply looked up at him, still with that same pleading expression that rendered Mace ashamed to even be looking at him, and urged him, "Don't tell Obi-Wan," once more.
He could barely utter the words before his voice cracked, and he dissolved into sobs, burying his face in his arms and curling in protectively on himself.
None of that, now, Mace wanted to tell him as Anakin's thin shoulders wracked with emotion, and he reached forth and drew the boy into his arms. None of that, I'm here. I'll protect you.
He wanted to be able to speak the words, to comfort Anakin as he would comfort any of his Jedi. As Master of the Order, it was his duty to protect all of them, from younglings to Padawans to Knights to his fellow Masters.
But he hadn't protected Anakin, so he couldn't speak those words, and he held him all the tighter because of it.
Though he half-expected Anakin to flinch back or push him away, the boy instead leaned in to burrow into Mace's chest in a display of uncharacteristic clinginess, sacrificing all pride in the name of self-preservation, solely so he could have a protector.
And Mace should have protected him from the start. Part of the blame for this situation—this tragedy—rested squarely on his shoulders, and he would never attempt to deny it.
But the remainder of the blame went directly toward the responsible party, the person who had inflicted this violence upon Anakin.
Stroking Anakin's hair, holding him close as he wrapped him in warm encouragement through the Force, Mace allowed his gaze to wander through the crowd, attempting to locate Anakin's attacker. No one stood apparent, but a jewel-laden Zeltron woman stood arguing the captain of the police officers, the bubbly demeanor typical of their race gone in favor of fury and outrage. Her penthouse, from what Mace could gather, and therefore, by her logic, her right to execute Anakin's attacker. The assailant was already in police custody and being escorted for processing, and judging by her belligerence, this development did not satisfy the Zeltron at all.
Privately, Mace could hardly summon any condemnation toward her. A savage, starving part of himself longed to storm to the Coruscant Police Headquarters, seize upon the animal who'd dared lay a hand on one of his Jedi, and inflict a protracted, torturous death on the man.
But there was a reason that part of himself never fully saw the light of day.
In its place, Mace extended himself through the Force, gathering up every positive emotion and sensation he could muster—fortifying courage, healing renewal, blazing strength—and wove them together to wrap around Anakin like a warm, soft blanket.
"You're safe now," Mace reassured the still sobbing boy, who hadn't once lifted his head from where he'd buried it into the rough fabric of Mace's robes. "You're safe." Ever so gently, he trailed a hand along Anakin's scalp and down along his Padawan braid.
It was a cold comfort to Mace, because Anakin should have been safe all along under his care, especially with his own Master away.
But the touch appeared to revitalize Anakin somewhat; he pressed in all the closer, and Mace, in that moment, could do nothing but hold him and let him cry.
A little over fifteen hours later found Mace in the Temple hangar, waiting to meet Obi-Wan upon his return from his mission.
When Anakin had found the strength to move, Mace had ushered him out of 500 Republic, keeping him protectively tucked under his arm the entire time, cloaking the both of them with the Force to escape any unwanted delays or attention. The moment they'd crossed the Temple threshold, a medical team had met them, spiriting Anakin off to the Halls of Healing, where he remained now. Though he was under sedation, Vokara Che had assured Mace he would recover fully. The true need for healing, she'd advised, would be to his spirit. A mind healer had already been carefully selected to evaluate Anakin once he had awoken, and any assessment of his condition would progress from there.
For his part, Mace had filed a cursory report as standards dictated in order to place Anakin's account of events beyond reproach, and then debriefed with Depa as courtesy to his fellow Council members. Then he'd issued an order to suspend all further missions of Padawans serving as protective detail for the Senate without a Knight or a Master to supervise, before embarking on preliminary steps to organize an inquest of potential past incidents. Sickening as it was to consider, he doubted Anakin was the first of their children to be victimized by one of the very Senators he'd been ordered to protect.
He hadn't slept, and the lack of it didn't seem important.
With a heavy heart, Mace steeled himself as he spotted Obi-Wan's mission transport float into the hangar, the sleek cruiser docking with a burst of steam and a whir of hydraulics. Though Mace tried to center himself and allow the Force to cleanse his dread, the effort was useless. There could be no pretending that the attack on Anakin wasn't devastating, nor that the revelation wouldn't wound his Master as well.
At the sight of Obi-Wan striding down the boarding ramp with his old friend Siri, sharing a laugh with her in a rare display of unguarded humor, Mace's will flagged, his stomach lurching even as he drew in a deep inhale, determined to steady himself.
Anakin needed him to keep him composure, to be his advocate, to protect him like he hadn't before, and Obi-Wan would need someone to be strong for him when Mace delivered the grave news.
And beyond that, no Master in the Order was ever expected to bear the burden of their Padawan's recovery alone, whether the Padawan had been injured on a mission or . . . elsewhere, in Anakin's case.
Brutalized by one of the very citizens Anakin had sworn to serve, a dark voice in Mace's mind raged.
Mace quelled it before the calls for vengeance could start, stepping forward beyond the gated vestibule to meet the party, nodding to Obi-Wan, Siri, and her own Padawan.
"Master Tachi, Padawan Olin," he greeted them, concentrating on keeping his voice level. "It gives me joy to see the three of you have returned safely. Please proceed directly to the Council chambers and administer your report. A Councilor will be there to hear your conclusions."
Ki was on duty today, Mace recalled vaguely.
"But I would speak to Master Kenobi in private," he added, nodding at Obi-Wan.
Immediately, Obi-Wan's face shifted to an array of exhaustion, exasperation, and frustration, but if Mace hadn't known him for years as a child and witnessed him transition to adulthood, he never would have caught any of it. All was gone by the time Mace had exchanged parting bows with Olin and Tachi, replaced by a practiced expression of meticulous neutrality.
"Is all well with Anakin?" he asked in a voice to match, doubtlessly also perfected over the years.
"We have been given cause for concern regarding your Padawan," Mace replied, choosing his words carefully. "Please, walk with me."
Obi-Wan fell into step beside him, and together, they exited the hangar. When Mace glanced over at him to continue his explanation; a pang struck him with ferocious intensity, rendering him momentarily speechless. How many times had he conversed with Obi-Wan while striding through the Temple halls, unable to squeeze conversations at any other point in the day into his schedule? And on how many of those occasions had Anakin trailed after them, his attention constantly drifting to a passing classmate or droid?
But Obi-Wan caught his gaze and spoke first, the beginnings of a sincere if sheepish apology already in his voice. "I hope Anakin wasn't causing any headaches during my time off-world. Believe me," he added, his eyes wandering away and the barest touch of annoyance entering his tone, "I'm very familiar with his penchant for stealing away during the night to explore Coruscant's lower levels. I've told him a dozen times of the danger, but—"
As though afraid he'd said too much, Obi-Wan cut himself off abruptly, his sea green gaze snapping back to Mace.
"I suppose I ought not to worry about what he might have done until I've actually heard what he did," he said, and Mace had the impression he was deliberately trying for a lighter tone. "And then I can decide if he can accompany me on my next mission, or if he's confined to the Temple and limited to Senatorial duties just as he was on this occasion."
A creeping sense of illness swept through Mace's entire being. How to tell him that Anakin would have been safe with him if only Obi-Wan had brought him along? How to explain that this tragedy had begun in a Senate office, where Anakin or any one of their children should have been safe? He could barely meet Obi-Wan's gaze as they turned a corner and drew to a halt.
Coppery brows pinching in a frown, Obi-Wan noted their location and looked back at Mace. "The Halls of Healing? Is Anakin injured?" Subdued panic trickled through cracks in his mental shields, fissures Mace hadn't noticed until now.
Before Mace could respond, Anakin's desperate, tear-filled plea resounded in Mace's head: Don't tell Obi-Wan.
But he had a duty to Anakin, and a duty to Obi-Wan as well. He would not fail them again.
Summoning all his courage, calm, and compassion, Mace stepped forward and placed a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, squeezing gently as sorrow slowly dawned on the younger man's face.
"Anakin is resting safely," Mace told him quietly as the doors retracted to allow them entry. "But I grieve to tell you that in the course of his duties to the Senate, crimes were inflicted upon him."
A forthright man who valued utmost honesty, Mace didn't often regret his words, but at this moment, he truly did. The effect of his explanation on Obi-Wan was like seeing the sun on a glorious, serene afternoon suddenly snuffed out of the sky. For a moment, Obi-Wan turned away like he could somehow escape the truth if he refused to recognize it, disown reality and its harshness and find a kinder substitute.
But then he turned back, a specific horror and regret searing in his eyes.
Mace recognized it instantly: guilt. Awful, oppressive, and threatening to be all-consuming.
"Tell me," Obi-Wan commanded, his voice raw.
Just as Anakin's had been the previous night.
Don't tell Obi-Wan.
And, with the colors of Anakin's face flashing through his mind, remembering his red blood, the purple bruising around his swollen eye, and the fingermarks on his neck with the imprints of teeth just beside them, Mace told him.
Author's Note: This was originally written for the Jedi June prompt of "duty." I wanted to write a fic that showed Mace's softer side but also demonstrated one of the more brutal areas of what it means to be responsible for all of the Jedi, and I really like the idea of him being there to comfort Anakin when Obi-Wan was off on a mission.
I'm thinking of writing a sequel fic that focuses on Obi-Wan's struggling with the fallout of what happened and delves into his worries about Anakin, but please let me know if there's anything else you'd like to see explored in a follow-up.