Anakin knew he was going to die; the apparition was going to squeeze the life from him. The ghost of Obi-Wan, if it was he, was going to send Anakin into the same void that Anakin had sent Obi-Wan. The warm comfort of the Force did not await him. Eternal cold awaited; the ultimate hell from a boy from the desert. Had he choice, he would burn in hell – heat, at least, he understood; knew intimately. Far better to writhe, burning, than shiver, eternally freezing. Jedi did not know hell, in any of its incarnations, Jedi only knew the Force.
Proof perhaps that he was not a Jedi, despite all their attempts to mold him into one. They knew, they all knew. On some level, Obi-Wan, too, knew, or had known. Why else had he left him? Why else did he fall to the depths, unless to take the unworthy apprentice's fate? But Death was not pleased, the sacrifice not redeemed. Anakin – it was Anakin it wanted.
His fault. His punishment. His guilt. He had been the one to send Obi-Wan to that icy tomb, and now that same fate was to be his. That was what stole the warmth from him, drew him here to die above where his master slept in eternal cold below. That was why the icy hand reached …
…but the arm that squeezed him had no power to harm him. It was weak and without strength. It was solid like flesh numbed almost to ice. Whiter than snow, colder than death, traced with blood, the hand relinquished its touch almost before the touch registered – for no ghost had power against a Jedi. Anakin's first scream slowly died away, to be replaced by anger.
The ghost had tried to taunt him, make him think his dead master had returned! He would tell the ghost how unwelcome it was, so "go 'way," he screamed. Rebuffed, the apparition now lay sprawled on its stomach, making no further attempt to harm him.It took his blows and his screams – nay, accepted them with a patience that seemed familiar. Its body felt heavy and solid under his hands: wet, cold, and trembling. Certainly no ghost would behave so, no demon so quiescent, no apparition so solid.
"Go 'way, go 'way, go 'way!"
Instead the ghost shuddered and reached out again, trying weakly to push upright – only to fall back to the snow, half knocking the boy over as it fell at his feet. Anakin stared in shock, for the tickle of a breath had brushed past his neck; a hint of warmth and a hint of life. Anakin lowered a hand to the face and gasped as his fingers brushed off snow, to reveal ashen skin traced with blue under the coating.
"You came back, you came back! Master, it's me, Anakin – do you remember me?" he shouted, throwing his arms around the ghost with his master's face and eyes, a ghost who came for him and yet hadn't seemed to recognize him. It was a face that had haunted him awake and asleep for several days now. It was a face that should be flushed with life: it was instead a face that was stiff and white; it was what he had feared he would have to face when the Jedi retrieved his master's body. And face it he knew he would have had to do: stare into the eyes that saw nothing, see the cold blue lips, and the pallor of chilled skin that would never know warmth again.
It would have been his penance, the punishment he deserved. He would have had to face what he had wrought, and now he was facing what he had feared to face. But instead of grief and guilt, the sight brought pain and joy, for it was not the face of one dead, but one still alive.
Eyes that still held a spark of life deep within their depths stared into his, the ghost nodded and an icy finger lifted to brush his cheek before the hand slipped down to lie on Anakin's shoulder. Lying outstretched on his stomach, the ghost weakly turned into the boy's embrace. The padawan just sat, cradling his master within his arms and pressing Obi-Wan's head into his shoulder as one hand gently brushed snow away from his head and shoulders. His poor master, shivering and shaking so badly in his padawan's arms that Anakin wondered if Obi-Wan was half frozen, crying, or both.
It didn't matter, all that mattered was that Anakin was half delirious with joy; he had his master back. He hadn't been left alone and his master had not broken his promise. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or just hold his master close.
Sitting cross-legged in the snow, Anakin hugged his master even tighter to try to share some of his own warmth with him. One hand kept sifting through his master's damp hair as the other held Obi-Wan pressed tight against him.
Shards of ice broke and melted into icy runnels of water, dripping and sliding from the wet strands of Obi-Wan's hair and eyelashes. Anakin couldn't tell the wash of frozen droplets from his own warm tears, mixing as they did as they splattered and fell. He felt the icy water pool within the folds of his cloak and begin to soak in against his chest, only to suddenly realize he was sitting wrapped in his own cloak and blankets while Obi-Wan had no refuge from the chill but his padawan's arms, and Anakin hurriedly wrapped a fold of the cloak around the trembling shoulders.
"I'm s…sorry," Anakin felt his master, more than heard, mumble into his tunic. "Made you…worry…so proud – of you."
"I'm sorry!" he blurted back, not wanting to hear his master accept any responsibility for what happened, but Obi-Wan only pushed deeper into his embrace. "Don't you – don't you remember?"
Red-rimmed eyes stared at him as Anakin slightly drew back; Obi-Wan slowly shook his head and blinked.
"Falling…dragged you with me…."
It didn't matter, Anakin told himself. Master didn't remember why he fell. He didn't know, and he didn't need to. It would be enough to know he had kept his padawan from dying, when he made that desperate reach and grabbed Anakin's hand. It would be enough to know that he had sacrificed his own life to save his padawan's. It would be enough to know that they were together again.
"Cable – broke?" Phrased as a question, it was a weary statement. Obi-Wan didn't know, or didn't remember, cutting it. He didn't remember saving Anakin; he only remembered falling.
"No…no, Master – you tried to save me, you cut it and you fell and I knew you were dead and you're not, you're not –"
"Shh." Weary, it was still a command. "Anchor…slipping? Yes…remember…needed – save you…didn't see - dragged you with me – almost killed you…sorry. Forgive – me?"
Anakin only pressed tighter against Obi-Wan's chest, ashamed to let Obi-Wan think it was his fault for all that they both had gone through. If his master asked, he would tell the truth, but if he let it go – so too would the padawan. Obi-Wan had more important things to worry about than disciplining his padawan – like getting warm, getting dry, getting medical treatment. It was clear he was in pain, racked with shivers and numb from prolonged cold, and barely coherent.
He was alive, and Anakin wasn't going to let him go. Maybe his master couldn't - wouldn't - hug him, but he could hug his master and that was almost as good as having his master hug him – and then he felt it, the slow unsteady creep of an arm and the hiss of an indrawn breath that accompanied it.
Obi-Wan slowly slid an arm around Anakin, gingerly hugging him back. It hurt desperately. No matter how much it hurt, it was worth it. It might be his only chance to hug Anakin, before the boy again rejected the familiarity.
So there they remained, a boy too happy to cry, sitting on the snow cradling a man too weary and relieved to be ashamed of crying, both content and happy for this moment despite the chill.
Obi-Wan seemed oblivious to the small procession of Jedi, ignited lightsabers in hand, slipping and sliding to their side. Light spilled from the open hatchway behind them, silhouetting them as they hurried in response to Anakin's screams. A huge sigh of relief escaped Anakin as the three Jedi reached them.
"It's Master, he's alive, Master's alive," Anakin babbled as Garen and Mace dropped to the injured man's side. Garen carefully lifted Obi-Wan's shoulders and rolled him into his arms for a quick hug, an apologetic and yet thankful smile crossing his face at the soft cry of pain from the cold bundle in his arms.
"You're awfully alive for a dead man," he breathed into Obi-Wan's ear, and was rewarded with a slight nod and the merest lifting of the corner of his mouth. Garen gently touched the slow tears trickling down the cold cheeks, brushed them away. The pinched look on his face, the rigidity of his skin under Garen's fingertips, the half aware eyes betrayed all too eloquently how close Obi-Wan had come to freezing. Even the dried blood on one side of his head was frozen and flaking. Even a few more hours may have sealed his fate.
"Come my friend, let's get you inside and warmed up, maybe a dose – or two – of painkillers. Force, Obi-Wan - ," he hugged his friend close, trying to blink away tears of joy and relief. "I couldn't imagine life without you. I'm so – blasted – happy to see you." He hugged his friend, again, before standing, lifting Obi-Wan with him and wrapping a supportive arm around him. The Jedi wavered unsteadily, eyes half closed. Mace steadied Obi-Wan with a hand against his back as Anakin clambered to his feet and wrapped his arms around his master's waist as he leaned into his side.
"It's good to see you, Kenobi, though I rather suspect you're even more pleased to see us," Mace said. He almost smiled.
"Let's get you to the ship – Aneil," he acknowledged as his fellow Jedi pulled his comlink from his belt to contact Bant. "Can you walk?"
At Obi-Wan's grimace and weak shake of his head, Mace grabbed Obi-Wan's legs as Garen shifted his hands to grip him under the shoulders. Obi-Wan tried to bite back a weak whimper, and Garen quickly shifted the position of his hand, recognizing the soft protest for what it was. With Master Aneil steadying the injured man on one side, they carried Obi-Wan hurriedly to the ship. Anakin held tightly onto one of Obi-Wan's hands, his face devouring that of his master as he trotted alongside.
As they got closer to the light, Anakin could see how utterly exhausted Obi-Wan was, how pale his skin. The hand he held tightly to was stiff, unable to wrap into Anakin's and so cold that Anakin was tempted to snatch his hand back. He only squeezed harder, trying to send warmth into that rigid hand. Scrapes marked Obi-Wan's face and hands from his falls, dried blood had slid down his face from his nose and a bruise was forming on a cheekbone. His half open eyes glinted strangely in the light as if half the life in them had been taken from them.
For the first time since he had found Obi-Wan, Anakin was worried. His master was back, but he wasn't at all well – and Obi-Wan peered over at him, and his cracked lips parted in a half-smile. He lightly squeezed Anakin's hand before letting himself close his eyes. He had done all that he could, and it had been enough. Now it was time to give himself over to those who could warm and repair him.
Bant was waiting with warm blankets, medicine and warm liquids, giving one quick look at Anakin to check him out before temporarily dismissing him from thought. The padawan was flushed with anxiety and joy, but he was healthy enough to ignore for the moment.
"Bant, it's Master, but he's so cold, help him, please," Anakin begged the healer once he was within earshot.
Bant nodded a bit absently, her full attention focused on Obi-Wan, assessing his condition as well as she could as the little procession neared her. His eyes opened a bit, to reveal a hint of his normal blue-gray orbs under long lashes as he heard his padawan's use of Bant's name; a hint of a smile broke over his face.
"So, Obi, you thought you could drop out of our lives," she greeted Obi-Wan with a quick kiss to his forehead, waiting for his appreciative grin at her quip. It came; just a small twitch of his lips, but it came. As long as Obi-Wan could joke, or respond to one, she knew he would always be okay.
"Don't…recommend that method," he murmured, almost inaudibly.
Bant could see very little as yet, but was everlastingly grateful not to be facing his lifeless eyes. As a healer, she was used to the sight of death, but the thought of facing Obi-Wan's dead and staring eyes had bothered her. She loved Obi's eyes, the way they crinkled with his grin, sparkled with his quips or shone with delight when something pleased him. There was a saying about eyes being the window into the soul, and she was convinced that was why Obi-Wan's eyes were so beautiful to her, for they reflected that which was within.
He gave a small rub of his fingers against Anakin's palm before he withdrew his hand and reached to Bant, red scrapes contrasting to the white of his skin, and entwined his fingers with hers, smiling faintly.
Garen and Mace carried Obi-Wan to the medical cabin and carefully placed him on a bunk. The cabin lights made him close his eyes, so bright they made his eyes water as his surroundings blurred around him.
"Just keep your eyes closed until they adjust – it's not that bright in here," Bant said reassuringly as he blinked several times to try to clear them. Garen and Mace stripped him from his wet clothes – Mace raising an eyebrow at the twisted and red shoulder as Garen winced in shock and dismay at the sight of his friend's battered body - and patted him dry. They slipped him into dry pants, leaving him bare from the waist up for the treatment he so obviously needed. Since Bant indicated she would look at the shoulder next, Garen drew the blanket up to Obi-Wan's neck , one hand lingering on it for a moment as if seeking reassurance that Obi-Wan was really there underneath his hand and under his eyes.
"I'm fine, Garen," he whispered as the hand slowly withdrew. Garen nodded dubiously as he drew back to allow Bant room to work. Obi-Wan was always "fine," in his own mind, in the presence of healers and Garen had always half wondered if it was because Obi-Wan trusted them implicitly to heal or fix any injury, or if he merely downplayed his pain or illnesses in some misguided attempt to reassure his companions.
It felt so good, to be dry and if not yet warm, warmer, that Obi-Wan didn't protest the indignity of being unclothed and re-clothed by others in the least, luxuriating in the feel of a soft bed beneath him and warm blankets drawn over him. He lay quietly as Bant checked his temperature and other vital signs, though he stirred restlessly when a slight shift in position put pressure on his injured shoulder.
"You're darn lucky, you know," Bant teased him with a wink, as she worked over him.
"Not – luck," he murmured back, squinting to see that Garen and Bant were grinning as he gave the expected response. "Stubbornness…skill…training…."
"Whatever you call it – Obi, you should really be dead, you know," Bant said, suddenly sober. "A concussion, that shoulder I'm looking at next – I don't know how you kept your balance or your wits about you, let alone find the strength to get yourself out of that crevasse…"
"Too stubborn to die," he said softly. Too stubborn, too determined, and too beholden to a promise. His eyes flickered over Bant's shoulder to his padawan. Garen had thrown a dry blanket around the boy's shoulder and stood behind him with his hands on Anakin's shoulders, but neither of them were paying any attention to the other, both were intent on watching Bant's ministrations. Mace had slipped out sometime previous.
Anakin looked positively haggard, despite the happiness that shone from him, and Obi-Wan wondered just what kind of shape the boy had been in when found. Surely he didn't look like that just from worry, did he? He knew he would have to talk with the boy when he could and find out just what had happened to him, why Anakin was shouting, "I hate you," and what had been behind his attempts to protect himself from something he hadn't at first recognized as his master.
Obi-Wan shifted slightly to catch Anakin's eyes, but the movement sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder and he squeezed his eyes shut until the pain lessened. By then, Bant was through with his head and ready to turn her attention there. A look of relief crossed his face when Bant folded the blanket down to work on his chest and shoulders. His shoulder might hurt worse, at first, but when Bant was finished, the infernal scream the shoulder insisted on sending would be banished, or at least under his control. Pain release had been next to impossible for several days now. All the hypos had done was take the edge off, but even that had been of immense help to his focus.
As with all Jedi, he had had first aid training and as a field Jedi, had sometimes been one of the first to respond to injuries – his own, his master's, or other unfortunate beings. He twisted his head to the side and knew immediately from the look of his shoulder that it was in bad shape indeed. No wonder it hurt as blasted bad as it did. From the look on Bant's face, the healer knew just how bad, and how painful, it was, too.
Gentle fingers assessed the injury, and Bant looked at him with a frown. "That really has to hurt, Obi. I doubt even you were able to release the pain into the Force entirely."
He managed to snort. "Didn't. Hypos, Bant. Hard to access…Force…head hurt." His teeth were beginning to chatter with his chest exposed. The air in the cabin was warm; he was not.
"Stars above, Kenobi, you're one banged up Jedi," Garen shook his head as he watched Bant immobilize the shoulder, by far the most serious injury. One side of Obi-Wan's chest was bruised, the color in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin elsewhere.
"Ice is hard;" a wry grin accompanied the halting words. Garen winced in sympathy.
"They're not broken," Bant reassured him, checking his ribs before looking at the other shoulder. "That shoulder is going to need surgery once we get back to the Temple. This arm is just wrenched, it will be okay in a few days if you rest it."
"Rest, elevate, compress, ice – I managed the last one," he said, attempting to bring some humor to the situation.
"If you can't bring the ice pack to the Jedi, you bring the Jedi to the ice pack," Bant agreed with a smile. "Let's see what that cold did to your extremities."
Bant turned her attention to Obi-Wan's fingers and toes, checking the color, rigidity of the skin and degree of numbness. The skin was intensely cold to her touch, waxy and pale, but with a minor degree of difficulty she could flex them and already the skin was beginning to show a healthy pink tinge. Finally, the healer straightened up and patted Obi-Wan as she tucked the covers around her friend.
"Warm, Obi?"
"Almost," he gave a crooked smile up at her, and indeed the color was beginning to return to his face, to leave him pale but no longer unnaturally so. "Happy."
"Me, too, Obi, me, too," Bant agreed, softly stroking Obi-Wan's cheek with one hand. "I didn't want to lose you, my friend, but I was sure I had. Anakin was heartbroken, and truth to tell – so was I. It was hard to face losing you."
"Ah, wasn't lost," Obi-Wan flashed a mischievous grin and settled back more firmly in his bunk with a soft sigh of pleasure. "Knew where I was."
"Well, we didn't!" Bant exclaimed, wiping her eyes and blinking. "We were sure we would be searching for your body today, you joker." With a firm hand, she pushed Obi-Wan back down when he tried to sit up with an apology on his lips. "Listen, I'd rather listen to you joking than not listen to you at all – it's okay, Obi. I'm going to get some fluids into you with this IV, this drip has a sedative in it and some painkillers, so you'll be asleep shortly. By morning you should be in shape to tell us all about your adventure."
Obi-Wan nodded weakly as he felt Bant insert a needle in his arm and then his eyes suddenly snapped open as he thought of his padawan. How could he have forgotten about him – again - for by Anakin's words and actions out there on the snow, the boy had been suffering more than he had thought he would be. Obi-Wan felt terrible, his padawan needed him and here he was ready to let himself sleep.
Anakin stood off to the side, shivering and alone, until he felt Obi-Wan's eyes on him. His master's lips were still blue and his teeth still chattered; he could barely speak but somehow his wish for Anakin to come to his side got communicated. To give the reunited master and padawan a private moment, the others left the room, but Bant stopped first and whispered into Anakin's ear.
"Talk to him when he wakes up, now's not the time. He should hear what happened from you. Buck up, kiddo, the worst thing he'll do to you is give you about a year's worth of lectures in one go before he forgives you, okay?"
Anakin nodded, glad that Bant was not going to tell on him. He had already made up his mind – he wouldn't lie, but he was not going to volunteer the information, either. He had been punished enough already by suffering for two days under the belief that his master was dead.
His early years as a slave had taught him that to admit to error brought punishment, that evading the truth by keeping silent kept one out of trouble if blame could not be reliably affixed. Anakin had grown so skilled at appearing innocent of wrong-doing that Watto did the Toydarian equivalent of throwing up his hands in frustration when things were undone or broken, contenting himself with berating the boy. Unlike many other slave owners, Watto had been fair enough in his own crude way. Without proof of wrongdoing, he refrained from physical punishment.
By now, silence for Anakin was an automatic reflex to avoid taking responsibility if he could avoid it for anything that could have negative consequences.
He needed his master to get well soon; to focus on recovery and wipe the haunting memory of loss and grief from his padawan's mind by becoming once more the young man with few weaknesses and many strengths that Anakin had come to utterly rely on. When Obi-Wan was well, his padawan was well.
More than that, he didn't want Obi-Wan upset with him, to utter his disapproval in those soft tones and chiding words he had learned to dread. Anakin hated those times, deserved or not. He craved praise and approval; wilted under reproach or grew defensive. His master was not lavish with praise or compliments, and his frown of disappointment when Anakin did not try or did not listen bothered his padawan more than he liked to admit: he wanted Obi-Wan's unqualified approval. He had to admit his master was even-handed and fair: he did express approval or satisfaction when Anakin worked hard or accomplished something, but his praise was always earned, never freely given without reason.
"A..ni," was about all Obi-Wan could get out before a yawn interrupted him. Warmth had begun to steal through his body and he was relaxing into its comfort: it and sedatives conspired against continuing wakefulness, but he pressed a still-icy palm against his padawan's face, trying to smile through another yawn. "A…ni."
Anakin didn't begrudge him the use of that name, not at all, though he had once made it clear that he would not respond to that diminutive. Any word from his master warmed his heart, even if his master's touch chilled him.
"You said you would hold on!" Anakin accused, sniffling as he pressed his face into his mentor's sore shoulder. Obi-Wan went rigid with pain, but didn't shift away. His padawan needed him more than he needed relief and soon the painkillers would kick in.
"Did hang on. For – for you," he breathed, fighting the pain. "Should have – died, but – made a promise. Kept me – going, when…should have – have died." He was fighting to stay awake but Obi-Wan was finding it more and more difficult to speak or keep his eyes open.
"Uh, huh," Anakin contradicted him, knowing he would be able to get by with it this time. He wanted to know how Obi-Wan had survived, but his master was barely able to get his words out – they were coming slower and slower, slurring and halting in their delivery. That could come later, what was important now was to sit by his master's side and bask in his presence and tell him how much he had come to mean to him, so he clambered up on the bunk and kneeled by Obi-Wan's side, peering uncertainly at him.
"I'm still here, Padawan." One hand slowly slid out from under the covers and patted his padawan's hand. To Obi-Wan's surprise, Anakin sniffled and dropped to his side, laying his head against his master's chest.
"I really missed you, Master. It hurt – so bad, thinking you were dead. I waited and waited for you to come, but you never did. I kept hoping and hoping, yet I was so afraid that you'd left me. Don't ever leave me, please."
The plea brought a pang to his heart, and a memory of thinking those same thoughts as he held a dying man, sitting on a cold floor in Naboo: Don't die, Master, don't die. He had not voiced the thoughts; tried to stifle his tears, but a lone one that had escaped to slide down his cheek had spoken for him, just as Qui-Gon's brush of that tear from his face had done the same in return. If his master's last words had been only of another, his last act had been a loving gesture to his padawan; a recognition of the ties that had bound them forever together.
His master had been taken from him; he had not left his padawan. It had seemed so, at first, after what transpired in the Council chambers, but Qui-Gon had been taken from him prematurely, before he could ever get a chance to explain his words and actions to his padawan. If nothing else, Obi-Wan had come to understand that his master had never meant to have him feel abandoned. No matter the hurt that his dying words had been only of Anakin, a hurt that would always remain, the request that he be the one to train Anakin itself was itself as much proof of his regard as the finger across his cheek.
A life of a Jedi was fraught with danger, its longevity never certain, but then, the life of no being ever kept to a schedule. He might die tomorrow, he might die before Anakin's knighting, or he might die some impossibly far off date in the future. However, whenever, the Force chose to bring him home, he knew one thing: he would not just leave his padawan.
"Won't leave you…ever. Taken, perhaps…won't leave." He brushed a finger alongside Anakin's cheek, wiping the tear away.
"I need you, Master. You can't die, not ever."
A weary smile crossed Obi-Wan's face as the sedatives slowly took affect. "Must. Every being dies and rejoins the Force. Someday I will, too….peacefully I hope…alone in my bed…even older than Master Yoda."
"I don't want you to die ever, especially alone. Not alone…I'll be there with you, Master," Anakin promised. "Not for years and years yet, but I won't let you die alone."
A chill swept through Obi-Wan and he shivered. It would take a while before he felt truly warm inside but this small boy at his side was doing his best to help warm his master by both his words and his physical presence. He needed to offer something in return, something to take the fear of loss and abandonment that underlay his words and turn them from despair into hope.
"Not death…rebirth," Obi-Wan slid into sleep as Anakin snuggled up to him, where he soon fell asleep with his head on his master's heart and Obi-Wan's arm curled around his shoulder. There they were found, in the same position, still together, in the morning.
Nearly thirty five years later, both were proved right.
-the end-