Chapter Seven: Unexpected Guests
The funeral of Siri Tachi ends, her friends gather with their guest to celebrate her memory and life. The days drag into weeks, and while Obi-Wan grieves for his friend and once lover, the Naberrie-Skywalker home faces an unexpected development…
"...I thought you were a dick."
"Well you certainly liked mine."
That comment made the Jedi surrounding them chuckle, easing in their seats. Roan shook his head at his husband's comment, moving his hand over his and smiling.
The bar around them was quiet this time of night - somewhere in Coco Town, as Master Kenobi had suggested. Ferus had been here a few times, as a young kid. He remembered the owner vaguely. It was a little weird, being so open about his marriage around monks who fucked anyone who was willing.
Well - Anakin probably didn't engage in such activities. The guy looked terrible, and he had a suspicion the one drink of watered-down ale wasn't helping.
"I'm really surprised, Ferus." Aayla Secura, leaning into the wall at the end of the booth, reached over and took Kit Fisto's drink from his hand. "We were hesitant to invite you - Garen was the one who insisted."
"Only so Bant would stop making me feel guilty," Garen grumbled into his sugar fries. "I do apologise Ferus - Jedi funerals are incredibly exclusive."
"Oh I remember that well." Ferus shrugged, taking a drink of his beer. "Master Obi-Wan - you did well on the speech."
Obi-Wan Kenobi, whom had been silently staring into space and nursing a bourbon, only responded when Quinlan nudged him. He jumped, the bourbon splashing onto his hand. Grimacing, he took a wad of napkins offered by Adi Gallia.
Everyone - everyone the Jedi - glanced at each other.
"Obes?" Bant touched his arm, her eye contact never wavering. "Ferus spoke."
"Hmm?"
"Your speech - it was nice. Heartfelt."
Obi-Wan managed a smile, tossing the napkins into the empty trays that once held their food. "Mmm...thank you."
"I heard you're in the war effort Ferus?" Luminara spoke quietly, brushing a bit of sugar from her habit. She didn't react much when Depa reached over and helped her, merely nodding her thanks.
"I am - Roan and I are civilian officers. Mostly based here on Coruscant, though we do have an office we operate out of off-planet."
"Must be nice, not being on the front-lines," Anakin muttered. "Don't have to worry about getting shot at every other -"
"No - I just have to worry about fiances, paying employees, keeping the the electricity on, medical insurance - things you don't have to -"
Anakin stood, nearly upsetting the table. His voice was a growl, silencing the occupants of the table and diner. "Do not assume, Ferus Olin, that I do not understand the responsibilities of life."
He pulled his cloak from the back of his chair, stalking away before anyone could say anything.
Ferus blinked, then glanced at those around the table.
No one was heading after Anakin.
Huh.
That must be new. There was always some chasing after the damn man - usually, the ginger-haired master before him that should have stopped drinking five drinks ago.
"... Luminara?" Aayla smiled a bit when the attention of the table turned to her. "I heard you're teaching at the local college? What's that like?"
"Okay - what are hiding?"
Anakin frowned, pushing himself out from underneath the shuttle he'd been repairing and finding himself staring at boots. He frowned, letting his gaze travel upwards and managing a small smile. "Aayla - what -"
Aayla, wearing a dress and no lekku harness, rolled her eyes. "You've been worse than Obi-Wan these past two weeks -"
"Obi-Wan hasn't been sober - pretty sure I'm better than -"
"You're at the Temple to teach your classes or attend necessary meetings, then you're away."
Anakin rose to a sitting position, staring at his gloves and grimacing at the oil on them. "Look Aayla," he pulled the gloves off carefully, glancing at R2 rolling up and beeping. "We all have our private lives - do I ask about you and Kit?"
"I've never made it a secret, unlike you with the Senator…" Aayla let her jaw drop a little when he held a hand in defeat and revealed his wedding band. "Oh...wow…"
"It isn't an illicit affair, as your Master so kindly puts it." Anakin reached out a hand and patted R2's dome. He smiled at the forlorn beep he received, and glanced around the Temple hangar. It was quiet this time of evening - just about everyone on day missions had come back, filing into the various cafeterias or into the several restaurants on Coruscant.
A weight felt lifted from his shoulders from telling someone - even if it was a Jedi.
But he trusted Aayla - always had, with anything. She understood. A former slave to a former slave. Noticing how the clones were effectively slaves, realizing the slaver tactics the Jedi used on occasion to keep knights thinking of leaving in line...giving responsibilities like training a padawan…
Much like how slavers encouraged slaves to breed, to keep them in line. To keep responsibilities there.
He sighed, looking at Aayla when she sat down beside him. "Did Obi-Wan send you?"
She snorted. "I'm not sure if he can string a coherent thought together right now - Quinlan is in his rooms right now, swiping all the liquor. Hopefully saving his liver."
"Then - "
"Ever since the Blue Shadow Virus you've looked like you're running on adrenaline stims and caf alone - Senator Amidala doesn't look much better."
Anakin opened his mouth to answer, then closed it and shook his head. "It's... don't really want to talk about it."
A shuttle hummed somewhere near the entrance, and they turned their heads. The hum became a clunk, and a green shuttle chortled onto a platform.
"Maybe you can convince Kit to trade that horrible clunker in," Aayla grumbled while she stood. "Oh Anakin?"
"Yeah?"
She put a hand on his shoulder. "Obi-Wan is more understanding than you give him credit for - talk to him."
"Talk to the emotionally stunted man? Great advice - you should become a motivational speaker."
"I'm serious - he's not all swooshy hair and sage advice - everyone had a past, including him."
Anakin raised his eyebrows, not saying anything while she squeezed his shoulder and strode away. He watched while she approached the shuttle, greeting the Natoloan Council member. It wasn't a surprise to watch Kit swing Aayla in a way that was definitely not Jedi approved, and listening to their laughter.
He stared at his hands, where his wedding band gleamed. He'd only been in the hangar because Padmé had meetings tonight - by the time he wove through traffic, she'd probably be home.
"Come on R2."
"Sir."
"Gregor - can it wait till morning?" Anakin muttered, tugging his boots off in the foyer. He could imagine the feel of his bed already, the comforting breathing of his wife beside him. R2 whirred into the kitchen, chirping gleefully at a startled C-3PO. "I'm exhausted."
"I suppose…" Gregor looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot in the living room. "I'm not sure if you'll like the outcome though…"
"I'll take my chances - any update on Padmé?"
Typho rubbed at his neck, watching the younger man shrug off his cloak. "Okay - felt relatively okay, last I knew."
"Good - she had bit of a migraine this morning - night Gregor."
"Night sir…"
Anakin yawned , nodding to one of the handmaidens - Teckla - while he walked down the hallway. "She asleep?"
"Maybe - I didn't pry."
He bit back a sigh - though the young woman was a saint, Teckla was always hesitant to divulge any information or speak out of turn. With a smile he stepped passed her and into the bedroom.
"Still have a migraine," Padmé grumbled while he shed his tunics and stepped into sleepwear. She rose on her elbow, rubbing at her brow and grimacing. Her curls escaped from its two braids in a few places. "I was supposed to tell you something…"
Anakin managed a smile - the cognitive problems were certainly an adjustment. He slid into bed, rubbing a hand over her hip. "It can wait."
For once he slept peacefully - probably because he was so utterly exhausted by life. Did he sleep for eight or nine hours? Of course not. But it was restful, and when he did rise, the bed was empty and the apartment was alive.
He yawned, glancing at the chrono. 5:30am.
Not bad.
The hallway was quiet - everyone must have been in the kitchen or still sleeping.
Gregor was in the hallway, glancing between the threshold and the hallway. "Sir -" he muttered.
"What -" Anakin backpedaled at whom he saw in the kitchen, taking the captain into the hallway. "Why the hell is my father-in-law here?"
Gregar raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Sir, I meant to tell you - he came last night -"
"Last night? But I - "
"You came home late and ignored me - remember?"
"I had conducted three atmosphere flight- procedures with padawans, excuse me for wanting to sleep." Anakin peered back into the kitchen, where his wife was talking to her father. Her gaze flicked upwards, though she barely made eye contact before continuing to speak. Sighing quietly, he stepped back into the hallway.
"Sir, just be nice - "
"Or what? He'll take me to court for marrying his daughter?"
"If you're admitting to coercing my daughter into a marriage, Master Skywalker, please say it a bit louder."
Anakin grimaced at the captain, who clapped him on the back while he passed into the kitchen. He refused to look cowed and managed a smile at his father-in-law - hard to do when he was wearing an oversized Smash Ball t-shirt and sleep pants.
"Ruwee - sorry I missed you last night. No one told me you were coming."
"A surprise visit - even Padmé didn't know." Ruwee sipped at his caf. "I'm sorry you were shocked."
"Mmm - morning Angel," Anakin murmured, bending down to kiss his wife and smiling a bit triumphantly when she touched his jaw before pulling away.
Ruwee didn't say anything, too busy watching the soft smile on his daughter's face - a far cry from the coolness he had seen the past decade whenever they spoke.
"Ruwee?"
He glanced over to where Anakin was fixing a fresh pot of caf, a little peeved that he wasn't addressed as sir -
But what man would address anyone formally in his own...home.
"Hmm?"
"Want anything particular for breakfast?"
"...don't you have servants?"
Anakin glanced at the chrono, then stepped away from the caf maker. "We do - but I do most of the cooking when I'm on planet."
"Really?" Ruwee raised his eyebrows while the Jedi knight - his son-in-law - Anakin - dumped out a pile of pills from an organizer. He swallowed hard when Anakin reached over and pressed the pills into Padmé's hand.
"Thank you - Dad, what were - "
"What the hell are those for?"
"To keep her from dying - " Anakin replied dryly while Padmé spoke.
"Muscle relaxer, migraine preventer, two anti-inflammatories, anti-nausea, heart rate stabilizer, antishstime, immunosuppressant -"
"You take all of those? Every day?"
Padmé gave a sad smile before taking the pills. "These are just the morning pills Daddy."
"... what?"
"I'm making waffles - Padmé, we have everything?"
"We should," she muttered, clearing her throat when she finished swallowing. "That migraine one tastes horrible."
"They changed the dosage right?"
"Mmm hmm - oh Ani, Coruscant Medical commed. Your implant can be replaced anytime this week."
Anakin nodded, slamming down the skillet and using the Force to flick it on while he opened a cupboard to gather ingredients.
"... implant?" Ruwee asked quietly, not quite wanting to know.
"... epilepsy inhibitor." Anakin managed a shrug. "I have Focal Epilepsy and experience all types of seizures associated with the condition. The implant is used because I cannot maintain a pill regime as a Jedi."
"...oh. Of course."
Author's note: mmm. I wrote this chapter in response to two ideas.
One: earlier this March, Dr. Phil said that 100 out of 100 interbodied relationships fail. He claims with his 'expert' that a relationship that involves caregiving, whether there is a carer or the partner is the primary caregiver, fail. Which is absolute bullshit. The rates of separation or divorce for interabled relationships are the same as able-bodied relationships.
That being said…
Two: I do believe, as a disabled person myself, that the spouses/partners/family of people with disabilities need some sort of support system. I've witnessed relatives and partners over the years struggle watching me suffer with my health, and it is difficult for them (albiet on a much lower scale).
Okay. Those are my two cents.
Anakin baby - please let Aayla in.
Obi-Wan - for the love of God, stop drinking your poor liver.
ii Digestive Reader ii