The journey up from the vault and back through the archives feels eerily rote, like playing the same holovid again in reverse. Except that it's not the same, not really. It is now the middle of the afternoon, and the main library is filled with padawans of varying ages quietly studying. The familiar scene sounds a note of pain in Obi Wan's heart. This, all of this, is fundamentally threatened. But the true nature and extent of the threat remains largely unknown. He can feel the magnitude of the task before him, but he cannot think where to begin. He imagines himself standing before the Council now, trying to explain the situation. What would he even say to them? There are no words for this dread...
He rushed to Anakin's quarters this morning without much of a plan. In his desperation, he had regarded the boy much as one would regard a thermal detonator; The only thing that had seemed to matter was getting to him before it was too late. Now he has Anakin with him, safe and sound and apparently willing to listen to reason, and yet he still doesn't have much of a plan.
This won't do at all, he berates himself. He can't afford this fluttering irresolution, not when the fate of the galaxy hangs in the balance. They must do something! But they have done something, he reminds himself. Something terrifying, something extraordinary, something neither of them understands.
Eventually, they find themselves out on the streets of Coruscant once again, like so many times before. Obi Wan breathes gratefully, absorbing the hum of life around them. His connection to the Force has been subtly altered but, thank the stars, in no way diminished, at least not as far as he can tell. And what's more, all of his physical senses seem bigger, brighter, somehow better. A regulation ten-minute light-rain commences, but only a few cool drops make it through the dense canopy of speeders overhead to gently patter their flushed faces.
Obi Wan feels the world flip like a pancake, and be, again, different. He is hyper-aware of Anakin moving at his side, even as he takes in their surroundings. As they travel together, in tandem, everything is a warm blur. It is not clear who is following whom; perhaps they are following each other.
Though he knows this part of the city-planet like he knows his own name, Obi Wan is beginning to feel increasingly lost. There is a sense of confusion, of rising anxiety, of strange dissociation from himself. He feels excited, desperate, angry at nothing, drawn in a hundred different directions at once. His own thoughts and emotions seem opaque, foreign, random even. What has become of the surety, serenity, and unity of purpose by which he has lived his entire adult life? This volatility is so unlike him-
Because, he realizes suddenly, it isn't him. These are Anakin's feelings. This churning restlessness, this sense of incompleteness, this inability to separate himself from the immediacy of experience- This must be what it feels like to be Anakin Skywalker. The revelation stops Obi Wan in his tracks: This must be what it feels like to be Anakin Skywalker, all the time.
"Master...?" Anakin turns, wondering why they've halted in the middle of the bustling plaza. The muscles of his throat and jaw are quivering, his eyes darting around impatiently. "We have to find Padmé. We have to go-"
Obi Wan closes his eyes against a frisson of panic which does not belong to him. It will not do at all for both of them to be so afraid. He catches his former-padawan by the arm and speaks softly, deliberately, holding the young man's gaze. "Anakin," he says, "Listen." His own voice sounds strange to him. There is a sort of golden echo underneath it, reminiscent of Force-suggestion. He doesn't think it's possible to perform a mind-trick without meaning to. He certainly hopes it isn't, because whatever this is, it doesn't seem like he can turn it off.
"There is no reason to think Senator Amidala is in any immediate danger," he continues. "Right now, we are going to go somewhere, we are going to get something to eat, and we are going to discuss this. We are not going to do anything until after we have discussed this."
Anakin is turning these words over and over, his emotions caught in a confused spiral. He keeps opening his mouth as if to say something, and then closing it again. Obi Wan scrubs at his beard, grasping for his center, desperately trying to think through the sweeping vertigo that threatens to overwhelm him. This thing, this weird unparalleled link between them, it must go both ways. Mustn't it? It only seems logical- Only seems fair.
He tugs at the golden rope, gently but firmly demanding ingress. Just as he is now unable to defend against Anakin, Anakin is equally unable to defend against him. He enters the boy's mind, projecting patience, discipline, equanimity. He offers up all that is within himself. This is what it feels like to be Obi Wan Kenobi.
Anakin is swaying on his feet, breathing shortly, blinking rapidly, and then, all at once, he is still. His gaze lifts in comprehension as he is filled with feelings which are not his own: Feelings of calm, and confidence, and wholeness. As this tiny, jewel-like moment elapses between them, things about his master which have always baffled him are suddenly made clear. Their many years together seem to flash before him in an instant, and he is replaying old conversations in his head, and finally understanding what they were about...
The artificial raindrops running down his face look somewhat cloudy and smell strongly chlorinated. Capital Maintenance should really do something about the formula they've been using. He nods slowly, meeting Obi Wan's pale-grey eyes, and allowing Obi Wan's calm to wash over him, weighing it, sampling it, rolling it around in his heart.
He has been so afraid- Even before the prophetic dreams began, for years really, he has been carrying this tangled red knot of fear around inside him. More and more he had begun to resent his master for demanding too much of him, for refusing to listen to him, for seeming to callously dismiss his feelings. But now he understands: Obi Wan has always cared about him, has always wanted to help, he's just never quite known how. Anakin smiles. Now that they are... connected like this, there can be no further misunderstandings between them. This is good, he thinks. They are on the right path.
Anakin reaches fondly back along the bright cord, showing his intention to cooperate. He allows his excitement to sparkle over it, without shattering the blanket of calm which Obi Wan has thrown over them. There is so much to discuss, now that they are no longer talking past each other. But not here, not in the middle of the street, he realizes. Borrowing his master's coolness and judiciouness, he resolves cooly and judiciously that his master is right: They really ought to go somewhere, and get something to eat.