For the second instance in twenty-four hours, Obi Wan Kenobi wakes to find himself lying on a strange sofa, in a strange room, inundated with strange feelings, and left to wonder what manner of sorcery has been inflicted upon his unconscious person this time.
He moves to sit up, only to fall back down again at once when tensing his abdominal muscles proves excruciatingly painful. Peering over his chest by raising his neck slightly, he catches sight of what appears to be a tangle of bloody rags strewn across the gleaming marble floor. He is warm, almost uncomfortably so. His face is glossed with sweat. Feeling carefully along his torso with both hands, he finds that all but the innermost of his tunics have been removed. Questing fingers stop just above his navel. Here, about six centimeters in diameter, is the locus of pain.
Drawing a measured breath, he tries again, very slowly this time, to pull himself upright, relying mostly on the strength of his arms. He succeeds about half-way, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. From this position, he can take better stock of himself.
His beige tunic is splattered with dark blood, and there is a neat circular hole burned through the front of it. And beneath that, the livid pink soreness of brand new flesh.
"Master? You're awake!" Suddenly Anakin is there, kneeling beside him, gently brushing the damp hair away from his forehead.
Obi Wan subdues a moan, weakly leaning into Anakin's petting. And all at once it's starting to take over again, that weird, irresistible pull. Whatever this is, this humming auric energy which is generated in the metaphysical space between them, his body seems to crave it now. Perhaps especially when he is injured, as seems to be the immediate case. Warrior-priest of the greatest numinal order in the galaxy though he is, he has never experienced anything quite like this. From what he knows by his studies, it shouldn't be possible for mere physical contact to be healing and nourishing him in this way.
"How do you feel?" Anakin frowns.
Every moment that you're touching me I feel better, though literally true, is a sentence Obi Wan's conscious mind is determined to avoid forming. So instead:
"I'm fine."
"You're hardly fine," Anakin shakes his head. "You very nearly died," he admonishes gravely, though he is nonetheless smiling. "Do you remember what happened? The Chancellor-"
"Yes. Now that you mention it, I do remember."
"Master," he angles his head even closer, fervently half-whispering. "I saved you."
"Indeed. And how did you... hmm... manage that?"
"I don't know, exactly," he says, biting his lip. "I felt it again, that- Well, you know, that compulsion... To touch you, I mean." He blushes, with a sort of uncharacteristic subtlety "I just sort of... held you until you were okay. The bleeding stopped, and then it seemed almost like... as long as I was holding you, you would just keep getting better and better." He looks down, and then back up again. His eyes are lit with both confusion and elation. "And not just you, Master, but... me also. I started to feel better too. More powerful, I mean. Just from holding you." He is rambling now. The hand that has been running through Obi Wan's hair continues its petting, but slower. "Eventually, when it seemed like you were going to be okay, I stopped. Let go of you, I mean. Just- I don't know- To make sure I could. It was... difficult." It is clear as he says this that he is beginning to have the same difficulty again. "And now, here we all are."
"And where exactly is here?"
"The Chancellor's office. We never left. No clue where he is, by the way..."
"Well," Obi Wan sighs, careful not to aggravate the raw new flesh of his middle. "First things first. Help me up, would you?"
"Are you sure you're okay to sit upright?"
"I will be, in a moment," he says vaguely. And though he can't even begin to understand the mechanism behind it, sure enough, Anakin's arms wrapping around him are what make this statement true.
It's like... well, honestly it's not unlike plugging a droid in to charge. Or at least that's the sort of metaphor Anakin would probably use. Whatever invisible changes have taken place within their bodies, they seem to have been... reformatted for this. Whatever this even is. It's not erotic, this overwhelming physical attraction between them, or rather, only in the most obscure possible way. Like the way the attraction between hydrogen atoms is erotic.
"Master," Anakin breathes against him. "Master, I saved you. Just by willing it, I- I stopped you from dying." He plunges eager mental fingers into the winding golden cord, allowing its sweet music to fill him once again, drinking deeply of its seemingly inexhaustible power. It feels even better, now that his master's mind is conscious, and able to commune him more directly, without the veil of dreams.
"Anakin..." Obi Wan mutters, falteringly. "Anakin, please... Too much..."
In their time together, Obi Wan had often shrunk away from his padawan's more intimate mental touches. Whether this was out of duty, or fear, or some combination thereof, he cannot honestly say. Now, the point is rather moot. Anakin is shamelessly caressing him- caressing him inside- and there is really very little he can do about it. He has never been inclined to give or receive this sort of naked affection so readily, and now that it's pouring out of him and into him against his will, he can't help but feel increasingly panicky and trapped. He is far too warm, and Anakin is far too close, and it's all far too intense-
Luckily, Padmé chooses this moment to enter the room, handily breaking the spell by diverting Anakin's attention. She has shed the outer layers of her heavy brocade gown, down to a pale-yellow under-dress with rich ochre embroidery, and matching yellow leggings. Her hair, previously elaborately done-up, now hangs about her shoulders, a mass of buoyant curls.
"Padmé!" Anakin turns to her excitedly, "Look who's up!"
"I'm so glad you're alright, Obi Wan," she says, barely meeting his eyes. Her face is pale and grim.
"Darling, what's wrong?" Anakin frowns.
"There's something you both to need to see." She glides across the room, one hand on her swollen belly, and lowers herself onto the sofa beside Obi Wan, tossing her hair over one shoulder with a concise turn of her elegant head. Anakin remains kneeling on the floor, gazing fondly up at the two of them. Reaching for the controls under the arm of the sofa, Padmé flips on the HoloNet, causing a translucent image of the hideously misshapen Chancellor to spring to life from a projector on the adjacent tea table.
"...remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated. Any collaborators will suffer the same fate. These have been trying times, but we have passed the test. The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been..."
"Oh, Stars." Obi Wan shakes his bleary head against his sweating palms. "Is this... a live feed?"
"It is."
"But surely-! The Senate won't stand for this!"
"Oh, yes," she sneers. "I'm sure my colleagues' thunderous applause is meant in protest!" She looks bitterly at the pontificating Chancellor, but her gaze seems to pass through the hologram insensibly. "And there's more. It gets worse."
"How could it be worse?"
"Bail commed me. It's the clone troopers," she sighs, pressing an anguished hand to her temple. "They've... they've somehow been made to turn against the Jedi. He says-" She swallows, her voice beginning to waver. "He says they're being sent... to k-kill you. All of you."
With this, Anakin is on his feet, angrily pacing the room. "It's my fault," he growls. "I let him go!"
"Don't be absurd," says Obi Wan, perhaps a bit more irritably than he means to.
"I had my lightsaber at his throat! I should have- ended him right then and there. But I- I lost focus. I let him draw me into his little game."
"Castigating yourself won't solve-"
"It won't happen again," Anakin seethes. "Next time I'll destroy him!"
"Let's try to take things as they come," says Obi Wan, conveying calm across their bond, at least to the extent that he can muster any in himself. "It could take weeks for clones to track down all the Jedi. They are spread out across the galaxy, and-"
Anakin turns sharply on his heel. "The temple, Master! Who is at the temple?"
"I don't know..."
"This was his plan!" Anakin cries, anxiously dragging both hands through his stringy, unwashed hair. "To gain my... allegiance. To draw the rest of the Jedi away from Coruscant. To leave the temple undefended."
Horror flashes between them, like a cold, darting knife.
The younglings.
"Master," says Anakin soberly. "Can you walk?"
"Yes, I think so."
He takes a hesitant step towards the sofa, before hooking his hands under his master's arms and helping to pull him to his feet. He reaches out experimentally as he does so, still learning the terms of their new bond, and begins deliberately pouring strength into Obi Wan's body. "We have to go," he says. "There's no time to waste."
"Indeed." Obi Wan closes his eyes for a moment, allowing the strange, bright energy to wash over him, soothing the pain in his belly and clearing his head, as Anakin pulls his master's arm around his neck to support him standing.
"Padmé," Anakin looks to his wife fervently. "Where can we take you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she says, rising from the sofa adroitly. "I'm coming along."
"What-? No-! We have to get you somewhere safe!"
"Nowhere is safe with that monster in charge!"
He is blinking too much, beginning to panic. "Padmé," he begs, "you can't. They're coming after us not you!"
"You think I won't be a target?" she smiles, bitterly. "I'm sure the Chancellor has plans for his political enemies as well as his religious ones. Even if my security team remains loyal to me, and that is an if-" she points a brisk finger at him, "they aren't prepared to face the clone army! Much less an adversary who can use the Force! I might as well stay with you."
"We- We'll get you off-planet," he insists. "There are any number of places for you to hide!"
"And just... abandon the Republic in its hour of need?" She draws herself up fiercely, diminutive though she is beside him. "Who do you think I am?"
"Well you can't- You're not- coming into battle with us!" He releases Obi Wan and moves towards her, his voice rapidly escalating. This is the stage of an Anakin-fit in which he loses control of his tone. "I- I forbid it!"
"Ani," she says, evenly, not because he deserves her patience right now, but because it is her job to be the patient one. "You can't do that. You can't just give me orders."
He looks around, helplessly. "Master, tell her-!"
"She is right," says Obi Wan, pensively rubbing his beard. "Her life may be at risk either way. Only she can choose precisely how to risk it."
"I don't believe this!" Anakin throws up his hands. "Are you two actually ganging up on me?"
Padmé smiles a distant, weary smile, throwing her slender arms about her husband's broad shoulders. "You know, now I wish you'd told Obi Wan about us a long time ago," she says, cooly. Standing on tiptoes, she presses a somewhat condescending little kiss to his forehead. "I could've used the help."