Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?

—William Shakespeare

Chapter Three

This is not one of my days.

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together as he fought his way through another cluster of battle droids. This was becoming tedious. They had thought all droids had been wiped out in the first invasion, yet new intel reported there were still scattered pockets remaining.

Obi-Wan was not known as a pessimist, yet right now he resisted the urge to sigh. He felt tired, so tired. The war was beginning to weigh on them all. He could see it in his troops faces, when reports of a new mission came through, the looks of fear and resignation, the single thought of will I be the one who doesn't come back filling the room.

Sometimes the weight Obi-Wan bore seemed so heavy. It seemed to press down on his shoulders a little more every day and with each passing battle, his world would seem a little darker and each death a little harder. Subconsciously, he was beginning to believe he would not make it through the war. Anakin was the survivor, the reckless one of the two of them, yes, yet he would survive through sheer will alone.

However that time was not now. Right now, Obi-Wan needed to be strong. Strong for his men, strong for Anakin. He hoped—he knew—that one day this war would end and the Jedi could go back to being keepers of the peace. But until then he had a duty, to his men and to the Republic, to be the General they needed him to be.

So he fought on.

Finally, the sound of discharging weapons and blistering explosions stilled. All that remained were the cries of pain from the wounded. Obi-Wan knelt next to one man, his brow creased as he recognized the wounded man would not live for more than a few minutes. The clone knew it as well, acceptance written across his face. "You did well, Lieutenant," Obi-Wan murmured. "May the Force be with you." With that, he helped ease the man's passing into the Force.

Commander Cody strode rigidly up to the General. His face revealed nothing, yet his dark eyes held his pain at the surrounding carnage. But once a soldier, always a soldier—and he and his men had been born into this life. "Sir, we have received news that General Skywalker is pinned down by enemy tanks over the south ridge. Should we send reinforcements?"

Obi-Wan gently closed the eyes of the man in front of him. He often wondered if the other clones ever shivered at the sight of the dead wearing their face. "Yes, gather half of the men you can and head over to his position," he responded, still crouching by the fallen man. "I will leave now. Leave the rest to gather the wounded."

He stood. Now he could hear the sound of fighting half a klick to the south. Gathering the Force around him he sped in the direction of the sounds. A slight smile lifted his lips. Anakin would not like being saved by his former master for once.

Then suddenly a warning, a rippling premonition in the Force . . .

Anakin!

Staggering, Obi-Wan reached out through their bond, feeling for his former padawan's presence, his own heart thumping, fear snaking its way down his spine. Anakin was there, but his presence, usually blindingly bright, was dulled and lethargic. Obi-Wan knew what that meant; most likely his former apprentice was unconscious.

Cresting the hill, Obi-Wan took in the scene before him. Three Separatist tanks lay in various states of ruin while fragments of battle droids cluttered the rest of the field. His eyes locked on the source of his search.

So I was right. The man has a talent for getting himself knocked out.

Already several clones were moving to aid the young Jedi as Obi-Wan swept in. He could sense through their bond that his former apprentice's wounds were not severe, yet he would not be content until he himself conducted a thorough examination.

"Thank you, Captain," he said to the medic as he knelt beside his young friend. "I will take it from here."

It always amazed Obi-Wan how peaceful Anakin looked when he slept—or, he supposed, was knocked out, depending on the situation. During the war, his very presence commanded attention, his demeanor exuded strength and confidence beyond his years. The strain of combat often twisted his face in a fierce scowl or a worried frown, transforming young into old. War did that to a person.

It was only moments like this that Obi-Wan remembered his former apprentice's true age. A boy who had been thrust into his role as Jedi and General too soon, his childhood stripped away from him before he even had the chance to acknowledge its existence. An unexpected feeling of tenderness suddenly surged within Obi-Wan.

Anakin deserved so much better, so much more. Obi-Wan did not know what that was, but he did know he would do anything for this man.

Searching for wounds, his hands ghosted over the still form. "Anakin, can you hear me?" he asked, keeping the worry he felt out of his tone.

Slowly, Anakin shifted and drew open his eyes, wincing at the sunlight filtering through the clouds. "Do you think you could not shout at me?" he whined. He blinked slowly up at Obi-Wan above him, dust coating his hair and lashes. Suddenly he sniggered softly.

Unsure at the sudden change in his friend's behavior, Obi-Wan frowned. Perhaps he was more confused than he originally thought. "Anakin, you were caught in an explosion. Please lie still until I can make sure you are alright."

He rested his hands upon his friend, nudging against their bond in the Force. Their bond ran deep, deeper than most master-padawan bonds, a mutual connection of trust. Anakin allowed him in, assisting in searching and healing.

Always impatient, Anakin shifted his weight as he completed his own cursory scan. "I think I'm okay, Master. Just a few bumps and bruises."

He would say that, Obi-Wan thought, firmly ignored the young Jedi. He pulled the Force around and through them both, checking and rechecking for wounds. Former padawan or not, Anakin was his charge, his responsibility.

Besides, he did not want it to be him who killed the Chosen One and ruined the prophesy . . . He was known for many accomplishments, but he was content to leave that off the list.

As he searched, he hid his conflicting musings of before concerning his forbidden affection that he felt for his friend. Focus on the here and now. He did not want to talk about emotions with his very emotional young friend when he himself did not even know what he felt.

Finally satisfied with Anakin's condition, he gradually withdrew. Standing, he smiled down at the dusty form below him. "Well," he drawled, his eyes twinkling. "While I am usually not grateful for it, I must say thanks to that hard head of yours, I do believe you will be okay."

Still coated in dust and grime, Anakin grinned up at him. "See? I knew you cared about me!"

Immediately, Obi-Wan's heart faltered in his chest. His first thought of does he know? was followed quickly by a second thought of what will the Council think? Disturbed, he attempted to cover his momentary lapse of Jedi reserve in his customary way—reverting to light banter.

"Well, someone needs to be around to make sure Artoo doesn't get into trouble. I do believe that droid of yours has a loose wire somewhere." His voice was light, but he shifted away from his former padawan's searching, confused look.

His tactic failed to work. Obi-Wan could feel Anakin's shock and hesitant delight through their bond as he realized the reason for his former master's hesitation.

"You do!" The words came out as a surprised gasp.

He tried a shift in tactics. "Do what?" he replied blandly, still studiously ignoring Anakin's intense gaze. He was the Negotiator for Force's sake; he could outtalk and outwit any politician. Yet when it came to Anakin—

—maybe you don't want to whispered a small voice inside.

"You do care," Anakin's metallic arm grasped Obi-Wan's shoulder, ceasing his roving search for wounds they both knew did not exist. "You, Obi-Wan Kenobi, care about me."

Despite his heart in his mouth, Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels. "Oh don't be so dramatic Anakin; of course I care about you. One does not train a padawan without some semblance of devotion."

"No," Anakin cut him off. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

Obi-Wan's heart pounded once, painfully. Had he really been so callused, so cold? All those years of friendship and Anakin still did not know the connection he felt with his former apprentice?

"Anakin, I . . .," he began, and stopped.

What could he say? Yes, he loved Anakin. He was beginning to sense a deeper bond, a bond more than just one between master and apprentice, instead a bond between brothers. But it was against the Code. How could he be Anakin's mentor and not follow one of the most important creeds of being a Jedi? How could he ask Anakin to follow the Code when he himself broke it?

No, he could not tell him.

Yet it scared him sometimes, what he knew he was willing to do for his former padawan. Of course, there were some lines he would not cross, but he knew deep down he would come oh so close to them if Anakin's life hung in the balance. It was because of moments like these that he could see why the Jedi forbid attachment. He knew the sheer raw terror one feels when realizing a person they care for might not make it home, and the lengths this being will go to find a way to save them, to bring them back home. And he knew these emotions were not the Jedi way. Selflessness, sacrificing yourself for others—that was what a Jedi did. To take any precaution to insure a person you loved would be safe, at the cost of others—the pure selfishness of it chilled him to the core. And it scared him to see that selfishness inside himself.

Hurt and resentment clouded his first memories of his young padawan. Even now he was ashamed of those feelings. Both disobeyed the Jedi Code, but most importantly both strained his relationship with his new charge. Before he had even gotten to know the young child from Tatooine, Obi-Wan's own master had decided he was worth more than his current padawan. In front of the Council he had turned his back on Obi-Wan, choosing Anakin over him.

Obi-Wan's taking of Anakin as his apprentice had first been a duty to a dying master, a death wish he promised to fulfill. And the young boy, bitter at the death of the Jedi he wanted to be his master, turned his heart away from the young, grieving Jedi, believing Obi-Wan thought of him as only a burden. In those first days each dealt with pain in their own way, and each thought the other would not or could not understand. And in the dark of night, between the set of the moon and the rise of the sun, two minds both had silently wished the same thing: that Obi-Wan had died and Qui-Gon had lived.

Obi-Wan winced. By the Force, he wished he could change those days. How often had we questioned himself after a particularly hard day with Anakin, knowing deep down Qui-Gon would have handled it differently, handled it better? How often had he seen resentment flair in his padawan's eyes as he cautioned restraint, the unspoken words amounting to Qui-Gon would have never been like that slinging their sharped barbs through the air.

Occasionally, his own fears came into bear. Was he a good enough master? Was he right for Anakin? He had been so young, so in pain that first year. But he had been determined not to let Qui-Gon down, determined to honor his last wish, even if it was for another being and not himself. Bitterness was selfish; his thoughts should be of Anakin. So he had released what he could and hid the rest, using the pain to fuel his reckless speech to Yoda as he told him he would take Anakin as his padawan. But had that decision led irrevocable damage to their relationship?

Yet the Force works in mysterious ways. So much had changed since those first hard days as a master and apprentice. The young boy had learned to see behind the stoic mask put on by his new master for what it was; a way to deal with the grief and pain while being the anchor for a child in equal pain. And the young master began to treasure Anakin for who he was and not what he represented—a dying man's last wish.

Their bond became legendary in the Temple, much deeper than most master and padawan bonds. Perhaps it was the nearness in their ages; most knights did not take an apprentice for years after passing the trials. And the too young master and the too old apprentice, well, they were more alike than either wanted to admit.

One glance into Anakin's searching gaze completely broke his resolve. Oh hells, he had already broken so many rules for this man, and how often had he told the other Jedi in the Temple that Anakin was not like them? He was raised with a mother, in a home surrounded by love and attachment. Even though Obi-Wan himself failed to understand the complete effects of such a childhood, he knew it was not something one could easily forget.

And try as he might, he would never be the perfect Jedi master, the mentor he knew he should be. That Jedi would turn to Anakin and lecture about the Code. That Jedi would insist attachments lead to the Dark Side, and were to be avoided at all cost. But troubled as it made him feel, Obi-Wan had seen a goodness in Anakin, a strength born of love that he had never seen in a Jedi before. No, Anakin had already been wounded too much in his short life. Obi-Wan would not—could not—add another. Anakin needed love, just like a human needed air. Without it he withered and twisted into something unrecognizable. Learning that had taken Obi-Wan countless years, years that could never be restored and never changed.

But they were both here, now. Qui-Gon had always told him to focus on the current moment. Qui-Gon had charged him with Anakin, instructed him to be his master. As a master, it was his discretion to do what he thought best for his padawan, former or not.

Obi-Wan turned around and crouched next to Anakin whose eyes never left his face. "Anakin, please listen to me. Don't interrupt, as I know you are prone to do. Just let me say my piece. Can you do that?"

Anakin stared silently at his former master. There was no movement on his face, yet Obi-Wan felt his encouraging nudge to continue through their bond. Obi-Wan licked his lips. Words were his forte, yet in this moment he suddenly found his mind blank and his tongue fixed to the roof of his mouth. He could speak before kings and queens, but with this audience of one his fear made his heart race. So much was at stake; the Jedi, the galaxy, but most importantly, their friendship. It's now or never. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, pulling the air through his lungs a pushing it back out, releasing his fear and following the prompting of the Force. He opened his mouth to begin.

"As you know, I have always tried to teach you to follow the Jedi Code. For me, it was . . . easier, I suppose. I was raised in the Temple, among peers and masters who taught us from childhood the tenets of being a Jedi. Yet from the beginning you were different, and I tried to be understanding. Many times I sensed disdain from other masters for the things I allowed you to do and feel." Slowly, his voice dropped to a whisper.

"But you are special, Anakin," he whispered, almost desperately. "Qui-Gon saw it. And while it took me time, I began to see it too."

He looked down, shame and remorse shadowing his words. "Anakin, I think perhaps I have not been the master you needed me to be. I have failed you. I have let my feelings get in the way of your training. I do . . . care about you, and I fear I have failed you as a master and as a Jedi." His throat closed, cutting off the rest of his words.

Silence. One heartbeat, two, three.

Then in the space between one second to the next, before his mind could even register what was happening, Obi-Wan found himself enveloped in the arms of an elated Anakin Skywalker.

"Master," he breathed, voice choked. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you to say that!"

Obi-Wan, being notably shorter, ended up with his arms pin-wheeling and his nose pressed into Anakin's shoulder. Completely taken by surprise, for a moment he did not move from that position. He was not used to this sort of display—Jedi were reserved, and hugging, well, that did not fall under the description of aloof.

But, he thought, suddenly moved, I would have expected no less from Anakin.

Slowly, hesitantly, Obi-Wan returned the embrace. His own arms wrapped around the one person to whom he had devoted his entire life, the only one whom he would ever call brother.

"You've waited years for me to say I've failed you?" he muttered into Anakin's shoulder. The rough cloth covered the catch in his voice and the tears glistening in his eyes. Thank the Force for small mercies. Humor, irony, but above all contentment colored his words.

Anakin laughed, pulling away from the embrace. "Well, maybe," he teased, his own eyes bright.

Obi-Wan held up his hand. "I have one more thing to say," he said, "and then this whole . . . incident is complete off the record."

Anakin laughed again, too delighted to argue. "Whatever you say, Master."

Taking a deep breath, he followed the prompting in his heart. "I do know one thing; I would be much less of a Jedi, and much less of a man if I had not known you, Anakin. I would not change those years spent with you for anything in the world."

Both men looked at each other, eyes bright, hearts overflowing, the Force burning with joy and serenity, with happiness and peace. Anakin reached out and clasped his friend's wrist. "Neither would I, Master," he breathed. "Neither would I."

Darth Sidious seethed.

Once again, the Jedi had interfered in his plans. Oh, they would never actually stop him. He would eventually succeed, but the fact that he did not yet have complete power enraged him. He never lost control, but fury simmered in his blood.

He had just received word that the Jedi and their clones had retaken Sullust. In the grand scheme of things it did not matter; when the time came to bring about Order 66 all planets—Separatist or Republic alike—would fall under his control. No, it was not the battle that infuriated him. It was the Jedi who thwarted him once again. Kenobi and Skywalker. Both names synonymous now with the heroes of old, whispered beacons of hope upon lips subjugated by the Separatist armies. The Negotiator and The Hero With No Fear, both so powerful, and both destined to fall.

Skywalker . . . Sidious allowed himself a small glower of triumph at the thought of the young man. He would be his greatest accomplishment. To destroy the Jedi and take their Chosen One at the same time? He cackled at the thought of it. Oh, revenge would be sweet.

Yet one obstacle stood in his way: Kenobi. With Kenobi's complete devotion to the Force, and Anakin's complete devotion to his former master, Sidious knew that one connection could bring an end to all his plans. Every time the two Jedi were sent on a mission, he gleefully waited for the report that Kenobi's pitiful life had been ended. Yet time and again the Jedi master surprised him, surviving ordeals most people could not. And each time Skywalker wallowed in his master's light, shackling himself completely to the fool and his pathetic light side. Ironic, how much the boy hated slavery, yet willingly and blindly followed his former master's every command.

An angry light gleamed in his eyes as he thought of the two Jedi. He had noticed a troubling change in the pair's relationship recently. Kenobi—despite being a mindless devotee to the light and to the so-called Code the Jedi followed—actually seemed to care for Skywalker. And where before Skywalker chaffed and fought against his former master and his teachings, now . . . he seemed to want his mentor's guidance.

That would not do. Sidious knew when the time came for Skywalker to be his there could be no thread of connection to the light to pull him back.

It was time.

He would get rid of Kenobi. If the stubborn man refused to die the normal way, no matter. He would make him die, one way or another. Skywalker was his, and no mindless servant to the light would keep Anakin from his true destiny. Skywalker was almost ripe for the picking. He didn't know it, but his footsteps traced precarious steps along the edge of an abyss already. Only one more event, one small push in the right direction would cause him to tumble. Then he would truly be ready to be Sidious' apprentice. Once his anchor to the light was gone, he would fall.

Sidious activated the comlink in his hand, his hateful eyes fully hidden beneath his black hood. Jahut Malus had killed for the Separatists before, and Sidious needed to use him once more. Usually, he considered bounty hunters beneath him. They were not servants of the dark side; they only catered to the highest bidder. Money was their master, and it lorded over them with an unforgiving hand. Nevertheless, they had their uses.

Malus, however, was different. A Force sensitive, he had been overlooked by the Jedi years before. Perhaps his connection failed to meet the Jedi standards, or perhaps they sensed darkness within him. Whatever the reason, he had been left behind to a life of destitution and suffering. Bitterness at a life lost, he turned instead to the opposite of what the Jedi stood for, vowing to exact revenge. Never having any formal training, the man utilized his limited Force skills in taking bounties. He prided himself in the fact he never lost one. Ruthless and efficient, his specialty consisted of killing the ones he thought responsible for the failings in his life—the Jedi.

The recipient of the comlink call responded almost immediately. The wavering blue hologram could not hide the cruel depths in the human bounty hunter's eyes. "My lord," he tipped his head, his rough voice grating through the link. "I am honored to be contacted by you." His wary eyes stared through space and time, narrowing as they sensed the possibilities that Sidious signified.

"I have one name for you," Sidious snarled. "Obi-Wan Kenobi. Kill him and I will make sure you will never need to look for bounties again."

The figure in the hologram nodded tersely, his arms folding over his armored chest. "It will be done, my lord," he stated matter-of-factly. "However, I do know of Kenobi's . . . reputation, as well as the reputation of his friend, Skywalker. Where one is, the other usually is too."

Sidious growled. "I will make sure Skywalker is preoccupied while you carry out your job. He will not get in your way. Kenobi will be yours for the taking."

The hologram nodded briefly. "Of course, my lord." Fleetingly, Malus' stoic veneer broke and pure malice flashed across his face. "Killing Jedi is always a pleasure."

"Just make sure you follow through," Sidious sneered and severed the connection.

Yes, Malus truly hated the Jedi—he should know. They shared that one small trait. To truly hate is an art one learns with time and Sidious, well, at the moment he had all the time in the galaxy.

Yes, Kenobi would die and Skywalker would be his.

The Jedi would fall. He had foreseen it.