Midway through his third furious circuit around the transport's passageways, Anakin halted abruptly, shoving his tunics, cloak, and boots onto an already cluttered storage shelf. He shivered, his skin prickling from an overhead draft as the ship's life support systems cycled on. Rolling his eyes, he realized he'd not even bothered to stop for a change of clothing, much less a shower.
Anakin pressed his fingers to his temples, unable to quiet the throbbing behind his eyes, and he had little faith in the capsules he had scrounged out from the bottom of a forgotten pouch in his utility belt. His head ached miserably, as it often had in recent months; he assumed the blow to his scalp was the culprit this time. He scowled. Fighting with Obi-Wan hadn't done him any favors, either.
Obi-Wan. Anakin sighed and rubbed at his eyes, exhausted. It wasn't just the common battle fatigue he could sense permeating the aura of the troops on the ship; this far into the war, he was used to fighting relentless battles with droid armies and fierce Separatist rebels for days, weeks, months on end. He leaned into a hatchway, absently using the Force to lift and rotate the capsules. Staring through them, he scowled again, knowing it was the emotional battle he'd just endured with Obi-Wan—the anger, frustration, and insult they had hurled at each other—that had left him drained.
And baffled. He thought back over recent months, wondering just when things with his Master had become so complicated, when suddenly doing his duty was somehow wrong, when saving someone's life without a second thought had become selfish and unjustified. It was what he did, what he had always done, and he had thought—had believed—that Obi-Wan felt the same way.
Anakin wondered how he had mistaken Obi-Wan's duty to him for something more than it really was.
Snapping his hand closed around the vial, Anakin pushed himself up out of the hatchway. None of it mattered, because he knew he would never stop protecting his Master; he had staunchly told Obi-Wan as much. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. He didn't care if it was wrong, he didn't care if putting his Master's life before his own violated the Code, he didn't care if the Council busted him down to Initiate, as long as he was there to make sure his Master made it through this war. That was his kriffing duty, bestowed on him by the Force the very day Obi-Wan took him as his apprentice, and no one, not even Obi-Wan Kenobi, would persuade him otherwise.
Gnawing on his lip, he continued down the dim corridor on his way toward Obi-Wan's quarters. Obi-Wan may not need him, but Anakin, to his continuing shame, needed to be with Obi-Wan, just as he did after every mission. No one understood, not even the clones who fought and died by his side, the toll each battle, each death, took on him. How it was wearing him down, how he felt the Force being siphoned out of his soul, how isolated and alone he felt under the weight of his responsibilities to his men and to the Republic.
But Obi-Wan knew. He had always known, ever since they'd stood side-by-side at Qui-Gon's pyre, and he'd gently led a horrified, shell-shocked boy away from disapproving eyes, allowing him the simple comfort of a shoulder to cry on. When Anakin grew older, even as he preached detachment and sternly encouraged his Padawan to find respite in meditation, Obi-Wan had never turned him away, always ready to share the burden with him. With the advent of war and their unwilling complicity in the deaths of millions, it had become an unspoken ritual between them; they meditated, watched an unmemorable holo, or choked down a tasteless meal. Other times, Anakin simply watched his Master clean his boots or mend a tunic, taking comfort in the mundane until it lulled him into a dreamless sleep.
After he'd stalked around the ship to no avail, Anakin had to grudgingly admit to himself that he'd find no rest, no relief,after another day spent trafficking in the twin arts of death and destruction. Not on his own. As hurt and embarrassed as he still was by his childish misreading of their partnership and his subsequent inability to rein in his volatile temper, he was determined to swallow his pride and apologize—not for the first time—for his recklessness, for his insubordination, for every last one of his stupid emotions. He would do anything, everything, he needed to do, to keep Obi-Wan close. To keep him safe. Even if it meant having to accept that when his Master had cut his braid, he had also cut Anakin loose.
Shuffling up to Obi-Wan's quarters, Anakin sighed nervously, and chimed the door, pausing only long enough to palm it open before walking in. "Master?" he called out hesitantly. "Obi-Wan? Can we...I mean, may I—"
Obi-Wan stood in the small space between his bunk and the sink, his leggings hanging loose about his waist, frowning as he looked down and regarded his hip suspiciously. Clenching his jaw, he sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth and slid his hand down his left hipbone, between the fabric and his skin, slowly prying the two apart. With a low "nnughhh," he removed his hand, muttering one of Anakin's favorite Huttese curses to himself when he saw the wet crimson stain on his fingers.
Anakin's hand went slack, plummeting the vial of pain meds in his hand to the floor, scattering capsules everywhere. He immediately rushed to Obi-Wan's side and clutched his Master's shoulders, concern etching itself in deep lines across his forehead. "You're—you're hurt," Anakin's voice wavered, his eyes flicking rapidly between the bloodstained leggings and Obi-Wan's face. "Why... Why didn't you comm me?"
Startled by the commotion, Obi-Wan jerked his head up and glared, forcibly wresting himself from Anakin's hold. "I'm...fine," he gritted out, refusing to meet his partner's worried eyes. "And do forgive me, but I was under the distinct impression that I was on my own now," he bit back, swiping at a dirty lock of hair that fallen into his eyes, leaving a light streak of blood above his brow.
Anakin paled, rapidly shaking his head in protest. "Master, I didn't mean...I would never—"
"Oh, no, I do believe you made that quite clear." With one hand modestly holding his leggings closed, the other in a white-knuckled grip on the sink, Obi-Wan tried to move around Anakin, clenching his jaw tighter as each step jarred his already-injured knee. "If you please, I would appreciate some privacy here."
"Master, stop. Stop. Let me take a look." Anakin stood firm, bringing his hands to Obi-Wan's waist to halt him. "It's a lot of blood, you could have embedded shrapnel, a nicked artery, a—"
"Kriff!" Obi-Wan swore, batting the younger man's hands away, finding himself trapped against the cold metal edge of the sink. "I said I'm fine, Anakin. It's nothing. Why are you even here? Just...go." He gave Anakin's bedraggled appearance a disparaging once-over. "Really. Go find a 'fresher." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You need a shower."
Anakin furiously grabbed Obi-Wan's hand and turned it over, smearing blood onto his fingers. "I'm not going anywhere. Look at your hand," he demanded, yanking it up between their faces. "Nothing? My bantha's ass it's nothing. You're bleeding!"
Squatting down on his heels, Anakin quickly wiped his hand on his pants, then reached up, hesitantly resting his hands on the stained edges of the waistband. Feeling the dampness seeping through under his fingers, he raised his eyes, unable to mask his distress. "You need to have this taken care of. Just let me see."
"Please, ah, just let me, ah—" Obi-Wan said gruffly, halfheartedly slapping at Anakin's hands again, only to have his slapped away in return. "It's nothing, none of your concern, Anakin. I'll...I'll take care of it later. I...I need to contact the Council, make sure they got the data—"
His hands never easing their grip, Anakin stood and determinedly steered his Master back toward the bunk with a frustrated growl. "When will you understand that you are my concern? Forget the Council! Obi-Wan, you're bleeding. Cody will make sure they got the data. Let me help you," he implored, begging Obi-Wan with his eyes as much as his words. "Please."
"If you must," Obi-Wan acquiesced, sitting down with an annoyed groan and leaning back on his elbows. He bared his teeth when Anakin pulled back the fabric that had re-adhered to his skin. "In the name of—do take care, Anakin, I'm not one of your droids!"
"Sorry, Master," Anakin winced in apology, taking greater care to slow his movements. "As if I could ever confuse you with a droid." Reaching for some dressings, he flashed Obi-Wan a sarcastic smile and began cautiously blotting away the blood. "You know, even Threepio knows to run a self-diagnostic when he—" Anakin trailed off, a deep furrow marking his brows as the magnitude of the injury grew with each successive press of the gauze.
Obi-Wan huffed with indignation. "If you are inferring in any way at all that I am in some way similar to that officious protocol droid of yours, I swear—" Taking the cue from Anakin's sudden silence, he craned his neck to get a better look, catching the younger man's troubled expression. "That bad?"
"Yes," Anakin growled, fixing Obi-Wan with a dirty, knowing look. He scrutinized the area closely, then exhaled with some measure of relief. "And no. Looks like you caught some sonic shrapnel."
Obi-Wan's hip and upper thigh were peppered with tiny red welts, evidence of an inaudible sonic concussion blast, a weapon designed specifically to inflict considerable damage on living beings without the use of conventional projectiles that could damage droids and other war matériel. Although remarkably painful and unnervingly bloody, sonic shrapnel wounds were common on the Outer Rim worlds. If not treated properly, sepsis could take hold in less than a day; they had lost nearly a squadron of troopers on Saleucami in the early days of the war, prior to the discovery of the exotic bota derivative that would seal and heal the miniature puncture wounds immediately.
"Oh, is that all?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I told you," he chided Anakin between short, pained breaths, "it's nothing." He struggled to sit up, pressing his hands against the bunk for leverage.
"Stang. You are the most stubborn..." Anakin took hold of his shoulders, pushing him back. "It'll be nothing once you get some bota on it. You think I don't know how much each breath is making it burn like a supernova right now? Look at you, you can hardly get a word out," he admonished with a disapproving frown. Twisting back, he gestured with his chin at the small oval of marks on his left shoulder blade. "Ryloth was weeks ago, and it still stings in the 'fresher sometimes." He scanned the room. "Where's your kitbag?"
"Over there, by the door." Obi-Wan's mouth drew down in regret, recalling the fever Anakin had succumbed to after refusing treatment. "You...you've never said anything...I had no idea the effects had lingered like that. I am sorry, Anakin. If only we'd had more bota then..." It was yet another example of Anakin putting himself at risk without regard to the possible consequences. He had been fortunate. Obi-Wan didn't believe in luck—but he also didn't want to know when luck stopped believing in Anakin Skywalker. "It..it really is hardly...noticeable...at all," he insisted, trying to control the hitch in his voice that came with each intake of breath.
Anakin shrugged it off matter-of-factly. "It was my choice not to use any, I knew the risks. We were able to save a lot more of our men by rationing it before we reached that Rimsoo." He brushed over his shoulder absently while using the Force to call over the kitbag. He rifled through it, grinning in triumph when he produced a small ampule of the salve.
"Good thing Barriss had us stock up on this stuff when we docked with that medical frigate near Drongar," Anakin rambled on, eager to move the subject away from Ryloth, yet another mission he was sure Obi-Wan would use to point out his former Padawan's 'foolish and unnecessary' actions, regardless of the outcome. The last thing Anakin wanted was another fight, not right on the heels of the last one. He felt guilty enough that his outburst had left a wounded Obi-Wan alone to tend to himself. "We've got plenty—although I didn't think we'd be needing it so soon. At least yours'll heal up quickly."
"Yes, well...I'll be sure to put in my endless thanks to the esteemed Healers for yet again predicting our insatiable need to continually sustain bodily harm." Obi-Wan lay back with a muffled grunt, folding his arms to rest beneath his head. "If I didn't loathe them so much, I might feel inclined to be in their debt." He turned his chin toward Anakin, eyes narrowing. "You need not mention that to Barriss, yes?"
Wandering over to the sink to wash his hands, Anakin snickered. "Are you kidding me? We're in enough trouble as it is for the last time we were in there, when you demanded Bed Seven instead of Nine because of—what was it, oh yeah—a supposedly-clanking heater, then you tore into that apprentice for not bringing you chocolate pudding, and then you begged me to sneak you out twelve hours early." He shook his head, slow and deliberate. "Nope, not gonna tell. We need first dibs on supplies too much." No one knew better than Anakin just how much truth there was in Obi-Wan's sarcasm—and his own. Their successes on the battlefield never came without a price; only by the blessing of the Force had they made it this far without cashing in all their credits.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Oh, honestly. You make it sound so dramatic. What is so outlandish about wanting a quiet room to convalesce in? And really, you know how perfectly awful that sludge that passes for vanilla is—I don't know why they even bother if they're not going to use authentic Ithorian vanilla." He folded his arms across his chest with a huff. "And if I am not mistaken, it was your idea that we alleviate ourselves of the Healers Ward. Something about a podrace, hmm?" He looked pointedly down his nose at Anakin, smirking.
Despite their ordeal with the Healers and his claimed distaste for the sport, Obi-Wan remembered fondly how they had shared a comfortable, relaxing evening together—Anakin had even managed to finagle Dex into delivering a pack of sliders and two containers of chocolate ice cream to celebrate their homecoming. It seemed like a very long time ago, that camaraderie, that closeness.
He missed it. With their near-celebrity status as the 'go-to' Jedi team and that disorienting, jarring tension that now lay frustratingly unresolved between them, he wasn't certain anymore that they would—or could—return to it. A tendril of anxiety flared with the realization, and Obi-Wan fisted his concealed hands tightly to suppress it, leaving him with an unsettling whisper of loss in its retreat.
"You only say you don't like podracing, but we both know the truth," Anakin chuckled in concession, rolling the bota ampule between his palms. Growing somber, he twisted the stopper off, tapping some out into his hand. "How...how did you miss this? I don't remember any Shylerans holstering sonic blasters." He warmed a dollop on his palm, and biting his lip in concentration, used just the tips of two fingers to paint long strokes of bota across the affected area.
Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, the initial touch igniting a burn across the sensitive skin. "N-neither do I," he tried to recall, struggling to keep his body from tensing at the continuous contact and pressure. "Wh-when, again, does this stuff start to help?" he complained, warily following the long fingers continuing their passage over his hip. Exhaling deeply, Obi-Wan felt the sudden welcome presence of the Force beckoning to him, enveloping him with its warmth, willing him to surrender to its healing currents. With an inaudible sigh, he closed his eyes, accepting rather than resisting, channeling the warmth through him, allowing him to melt with the pain. Obi-Wan blinked open his eyes, finding Anakin doing the same, his normally bright blue eyes darkened and unfocused.
"Better?" he asked his Master softly, blinking a few more times and giving his head a quick shake to clear his vision. Almost without thought, Anakin had reached out to Obi-Wan through the Force and merged their Force-signatures, lending Obi-Wan his strength, his very Life-Force, to smooth away the jagged edges of pain that flared in the Force. It wasn't exactly a technique the Jedi sanctioned—merging with another signature was considered reckless and dangerous, often rendering the donor disoriented within the Force, unable to fully disengage their signature from another. But not Anakin.
The first time, on Ando Prime, had been an accident. Never one to admit to any kind of illness, Obi-Wan had been struggling through negotiations despite a case of Corellian Flu (never mind that he had forced his young Padawan to report to the Healers for a panel of inoculations prior to their departure). After a coughing fit that threatened to halt the proceedings, Obi-Wan had privately pleaded with Anakin to fetch him a drink—anything—as quickly as possible. Anakin had found a tea vendor just outside of the meeting hall, and rushed back to his Master, assured that the hot drink—tea was Obi-Wan's favorite—would help him feel better, unaware that the Andoans infused their tea with hoi broth.
When Obi-Wan collapsed, choking and convulsing from his allergic reaction, Anakin, feeling helpless and afraid, had pleaded with the Force to help him, to help Obi-Wan. And somehow, it had. Given his Master's ability to court danger even in the most benign of circumstances, there had been other instances since Ando Prime, some so minute and fleeting that Anakin was hardly aware that he'd done it. But there had also been times, like on Rattatak, when he'd found his Master beaten and near death at the hands of Ventress, that Anakin felt like he couldn't possibly give enough of himself to save Obi-Wan. Losing himself in the Force—in Obi-Wan's Force-Signature—wasn't disorienting. It was like finding peace. It was like home.
"You didn't have to do that," Obi-Wan grumbled irritably, looking away. He hated to be vulnerable like this, to have Anakin see him like this, ensnared by his body's limitations. He hated having to need Anakin's assistance, whether it was to save him on the battlefield or to save him in the aftermath. It alarmed him, how familiar Anakin's Force-signature had become, how he had readily opened himself to it—to Anakin—without hesitation, how easy it had become for the two of them to blend into one, taking and giving in equal parts. By all rights, he knew it should have felt invasive, wrong, violating. Disheartened and confused, he released a pent up breath. It felt like none of those things. It was comfortable, it was soothing, it was...welcome. He turned to Anakin, nodding grudgingly. "But...yes. Thank you."
Anakin acknowledged him with a sheepish smile before returning his attention to the bota. "So, uh, if it wasn't the Shylerans using the sonics, where did it come from?"
"I d-don't know. P-perhaps the droids have a new t-toy," Obi-Wan stammered, continuing to watch Anakin painstakingly work the salve down to his thigh, smoothing it in delicate circles over the indentations. When the younger man's hand hesitated, then slid a little further into his leggings, bota-warmed fingers probing for any further injury, Obi-Wan rolled his gaze to ceiling, swallowing hard a couple of times before trusting himself to speak. "I-I was rather...preoccupied, I suppose," came his strangled confession.
"Preoccupied? Master Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi was preoccupied?"Anakin couldn't resist teasing, dipping his fingers back into his hand for more bota, the barest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Is that even possible?"
Obi-Wan let out a derisive "harrumph," then winced regrettably from the strain it caused. "I am hardly perfect, Anakin," he professed with deep humility, once more daring a glance down at his caregiver, watching as he finished up with a final brush to one of the deeper wells. As the anesthetic properties of the bota took hold, he released a long breath, briefly allowing himself to indulge in the lull of tranquil restoration the derivative had provided.
Bracing a hand against the edge of the bunk, Obi-Wan gingerly sat up with a wary sidelong glance at his partner. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought," he tossed right back with a straight face. "You've clearly become delusional."
Anakin wiped his hands on a towel and stuck out his tongue in response. "Very funny. I see your sense of humor is as damaged as ever, Master." He tossed the towel and empty ampule into the receptacle next to the sink.
"Indeed." With a wry grunt, Obi-Wan swung his legs wearily over the side of the bunk and set his still-booted feet on the floor. "There wasn't time to catalog all of their weaponry, Anakin; we were cornered by droidekas behind us, Cody had reported mortar batteries ahead of our position..." Frowning, he brushed at the mud that had dried and sullied the light blanket covering the bunk. "When I saw the line of battle droids encircle you..."
Obi-Wan's hand came up and covered his mouth, rubbing thoughtfully over his chin out of long habit. "When I saw that, all I knew was..." he hesitated and stared at the floor, willing himself to forget what could have happened had he not pulled Anakin out of there in time. He wasn't comfortable revisiting this with Anakin, not when he'd already failed so spectacularly to make the younger man understand why his—their—actions had been wrong, culminating in angry shouted accusations and further, hurtful estrangement. "All I knew was that we needed to get out of there," he finished quietly.
Anakin's hands began to shake of their own volition and quickly he locked them into angry fists at his sides, backing away from the bunk. "Y-you mean, you were preoccupied because of—because of me." He turned, suddenly slamming both fists hard against the quarters' storage lockers. Pressing his forehead to the locker, Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, breaths quick and shallow as his fingers dragged down the metal with a piercing squeal. "You were too busy having to save us—save me—from the mess I'd made of the mission," he concluded flatly, grinding his forehead against the locker.
Obi-Wan pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly. "Anakin, that is not what I said. It was very chaotic—it was a battle, for Sith's sake." He closed his eyes briefly and scratched behind his ear before continuing. "I wasn't my primary concern—completing the mission, getting out of there—was. When we got onboard, you...you were in obvious need of treatment, far more so than I. You were bleeding and that took precedence over any discomfort I may have felt."
Anakin barked out a mirthless laugh and dragged himself around to lean heavily against the locker, banging his head back on the metal, hard. "Discomfort? Your hip had been flayed open and you chose to ignore it!" he seethed.
"I did not choose any such thing, Anakin." Obi-Wan rubbed at his eyes impatiently, scowling as he lifted back his leggings to take a quick visual inventory of his body's most recent acquisition. It wasn't the pain that bothered him, nor any kind of personal vanity; it was recognizing his failure, recognizing the danger his distraction had brought to both of them. "And I have not been 'flayed'. It is a minor dermal trauma that I simply did not take notice of until after the fact. As the senior Jedi on this mission, it is my duty to triage—"
Anakin jerked his head up off the locker and held out a defiant hand, eyes flashing angrily. "Don't! Don't you lecture me again about duty, Obi-Wan, not after— " Mouth open and ready to unleash all of his anger and frustration, the words all but died on his lips when the corner of his eye caught the ugly purple-black slug bruise on Obi-Wan's chest. His eyes drew down of their own volition over the scorched and reddened blaster burn on Obi-Wan's shoulder, the bloodstained leggings that partially concealed the sonic damage, the cuts and scrapes and smudges and dirt...
Anakin blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the sudden burn of tears as he fully absorbed the totality of the damage done to Obi-Wan on Shylera. Damage that could have been avoided. Should have been avoided, had his Master not been forced to extricate them after Anakin had failed to do his duty—both to the mission, but more importantly, to Obi-Wan.
He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, smearing dirty streaks of ionized particulate over his reddened cheekbones. "All I had was a cut, Master. But you—" he choked on the words, his attention drawn to the mess of bloodied dressings strewn about the floor. Hand shaking unsteadily, Anakin lifted an accusing finger, pointing erratically at Obi-Wan's injuries. "L-look what I've done to you!" Flooded by overwhelming guilt and shame, he broke into a restless, agitated prowl about the cramped space near the end of the bunk.
"What?" Obi-Wan gaped in disbelief, then narrowed his eyes darkly, trying get a lock on Anakin's panicked eyes. "Separatists and sonic blasters did...this," he said sternly, gesturing impatiently over his torso. "Anakin, look at me. Please." Pressing a hand to his hip, he cautiously inched his way down the length of the bunk. Obi-Wan held out an imploring hand, determined to diffuse the roil of dark emotions threatening to overtake the other man. "Anakin, look at me. Do not take this on yourself. Anakin..."
Head down, eyes screwed shut, Anakin shook his head obstinately. "It's my fault, all my fault..." he muttered, relentlessly pacing back and forth, clenching and flexing his hands.
Pushing himself up with a grimace, Obi-Wan shuffled forward, reaching out to grab hold of a flailing arm. "Calm down, Anakin," he cajoled gently. "Please, you need to sit—" He twisted awkwardly, doubling over in a litany of curses when the toe of his boot snagged the edge of the blanket. "For the love of—kriff!"
Anakin felt the warning in the Force and jerked his head up, eyes wide. "Obi-Wan!" Concern overtaking his anger in the fraction of an instant it took him to rush to his Master's aid, he caught Obi-Wan by the shoulders, steadying him. "Why are you up? You shouldn't be up yet!"
When Obi-Wan answered with nothing but another growled Huttese curse, Anakin canted his head down, frowning as he took in his pale, pain-stricken face. "I didn't even think you knew that one," he marveled under his breath as he carefully maneuvered himself to Obi-Wan's side. Even with the knowledge that his Master's use of such a filthy slur revealed just how much pain he was suffering, Anakin couldn't help the quick smile that touched his lips. His Master had listened to him at some point over the years.
"Here, lean on me," he offered, and being mindful of the blaster burn, looped Obi-Wan's arm around his neck while hooking his own arm back behind his Master, drawing them close. "Just what in the name of the Force were you doing, anyway? You know the bota's barely set," Anakin chastised through gritted teeth, slowly guiding them back toward the bunk. "Now sit down and let it set, for kark's sake!"
With an infuriated glare, Obi-Wan dug his fingers into Anakin's shoulder and grudgingly allowed the other man to help him down onto the blanket. "Then do not..." he wheezed, panting through each pained breath, "make me...come after you."
Anakin ignored him and thrust out an open hand, calling over another gauze pack with a hard smack against his palm. "You've probably started bleeding again," he scolded in return, reaching out to part back Obi-Wan's leggings. "Better let me—"
"No."
Obi-Wan's Jedi reflexes seized his hand, holding him at arm's length. Anakin looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise, and tried to pull away. "Master, you have to let me—"
Obi-Wan tightened his grip, refusing to relinquish his hold on him. "No."
Beginning to fidget, Anakin tried again, glaring at the other man impatiently. "Master, come on—"
Obi-Wan's eyes were fierce when they bore right back into Anakin's, mirroring the cold intensity in his voice. "Not until you sit down." When Anakin slanted his eyes away, Obi-Wan jerked his hand in warning. "Not until you sit down," he repeated slowly, lifting an eyebrow in challenge.
Taking a deep breath, Anakin groaned and reluctantly sank onto the bunk next to his Master. "Okay, okay, I'm sitting," he grumbled. He looked expectantly at Obi-Wan and then shifted his gaze to their firmly clasped hands. "Now can I check it?"
Obi-Wan gave a single nod, lightly squeezing Anakin's fingers before opening his hand. Steeling himself, he leaned back just enough so that Anakin could make a quick perusal of the area. Hearing a sigh, he smiled tightly and grasped Anakin's shoulder to pull himself back up. "Satisfactory, I presume?"
"Yes." Anakin bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees, taking fistfuls of curls in each hand. "Master, I...I never meant...I would never..." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the chorus of mocking voices that sang of his guilt, his fear, his shame. Obi-Wan had been hurt because of him. Obi-Wan had been hurt, even though Anakin had done what he felt was right, what he felt his duty was. He trusted Obi-Wan with his life, he always would; to look at his Master now, it was little wonder why Obi-Wan didn't want to trust Anakin with his.
"You're right, you shouldn't trust me, or have to rely on me to protect you. I'm not—" his voice caught in his throat and he coughed, "not very reliable." Anakin rocked against his knees, fingers twisting and pulling at his hair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I'm sorry about...Obi-Wan, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
Ignoring the protest of his hip, Obi-Wan twisted abruptly and stilled Anakin, yanking a hand out of his hair. He grasped Anakin's chin with his fingers, forcing him to look at his Master. "No. No." Obi-Wan growled fiercely, lifting Anakin's chin with a sharp jerk. "Stop this. This is not your fault. You did what you felt was right, and you...you saved my life." Voice softening, Obi-wan smiled gently, dropping his hand to Anakin's shoulder. "You always save me."
Anakin lowered his eyes, fingers shakily tracing the bruise on Obi-Wan's chest. "B-but you still got hurt," he whispered miserably.
Obi-Wan spared a glance to Anakin's hairline. "As did you. Because you were saving me, yet again." With a sigh, he stopped Anakin's hand on his chest, wrapping a calloused hand around his partner's. "You cannot keep doing this. You cannot take this...this...responsibility for me on yourself. It is too much." He gently squeezed Anakin's hand and looking away, he whispered, "For both of us."
Anakin took a long breath and pulled his hand from Obi-Wan's, wiping both palms repeatedly over his thighs. "But you're my Master, Obi-Wan. My Master. I made a promise. To you, to myself, to the Force, to be there to protect you." He tilted his chin up, exhaling loudly. "And I wasn't. Not at Jabiim, not at Zigoola, and on Shylera... How could I just...turn my back on you, put a datachip ahead of your life?Abandoning you didn't feel...right, to me, Master." He hung his head shamefully and flopped back against the wall of the bunk. "It will never feel right," he mumbled disconsolately, crossing his arms and slouching. "I know it makes me a worthless Jedi, I know."
Obi-Wan sighed, folding his hands in his lap. "It does not make you worthless; it makes you, well...you." He looked back over his shoulder at his partner, smiling tiredly. "As I am here, and not so much worse for the wear, I suppose at this point it would be completely disingenuous for me to wish you had felt otherwise." Digging his fingers into the blanket, Obi-Wan cautious pushed himself back across the bunk, settling himself with a quiet grunt against the wall next to Anakin.
"But, Anakin...that is..." Obi-Wan paused, cleared his throat, and avoiding Anakin's eyes, brought one leg in to pull through the laces on his boot. "It's attachment, you know it is. It is not a luxury Jedi are afforded. I...I know that has often been of little comfort to you, and this war has put a strain on us all, but it remains a fundamental principle we as Jedi live by." A principle, Obi-Wan knew, he no more lived by than Anakin did; it was one of Obi-Wan's heaviest burdens, a struggle compounded by the lingering insecurities of youth and the sudden loss of his own Master. He could understand Anakin's struggle, but he could not understand how comfortable Anakin seemed with it, how natural and right it obviously felt to Anakin to embrace, rather than reject, those attachments that called to him. Obi-Wan winced, straining as he tried repeatedly to bend and reach the sole of his boot.
Anakin nodded his silent agreement; there was nothing new in Obi-Wan's lecture, nothing Anakin didn't already know nor hadn't castigated himself a thousand times over for feeling. He knewin his head it was wrong, just as he knew in his heart it was right, and the only way he would ever be.
"Huh?" he asked distractedly, dragging his attention back to his Master when a sharp elbow caught an already-tender spot in his side. "Ugh. You're going to open that bota..." he warned under his breath, and shaking his head, reached over to yank Obi-Wan's boot off by the heel himself. Carelessly, he tossed it toward the door, scowling at the unexpectedly loud thud and the dark mark it left on the durasteel.
"I could have done that myself," Obi-Wan scowled in turn. "And kindly do not throw my things about; I happen to like that pair as they are the only ones that have yet to leak." With a casual wave of his hand, he uncharacteristically called on the Force to right his boot and set it next to the door, catching the look of astonished judgment on Anakin's face. "Oh, what? Like you never."
Mildly affronted, Anakin pointed at the door in protest. "Never like that!"
Obi-Wan barked out a laugh. "I most certainly beg to differ. If I had a credit for every time you've used the Force for menial tasks—really, Anakin, brushing your teeth?—I could retire and—"
"Retire? You, Master Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi, 'The Negotiator,' retire?" Anakin threw back his head and howled. "And then do what? Sit around all day in hover chairs with Organa, sipping fancy Alderaanian ales while Twi-leks rub your feet, talking about...about...whatever it is Boring, I mean Bail, Organa talks about?" Anakin snorted, leaning over to bump Obi-Wan with his shoulder. "Come on. You'd never retire," he grinned knowingly. "If you did, how else would you get yourself into situations that require me to come to your rescue, huh? Sounds pretty boring to me."
"Shoulder, please," Obi-Wan grimaced, awarding Anakin with another elbow to the side as he pushed Anakin away from his blaster burn. "And it's Senator Organa, Anakin. Senator," Obi-Wan corrected, his amusement coloring his admonishment. "And honestly, hover chairs and Twi-lek podiatric massages? He's a respected Senator, not a Hutt!" Obi-Wan couldn't help but laugh. "Leave it to you to make a mockery of a more...genteel...lifestyle. There's nothing wrong with the way Bail lives—regular hot water, decadent cuisine, shimmersilk bedding, aged Corellian brandy served in glasses instead of a locally and questionably fermented grain slurped out of a canteen, a lack of exploding mortar shells, no surge of adrenaline from the constant peril, the absence of imminent death... Irritatingly, you have several valid points." He frowned at Anakin, then held up his hands, laughing his concession. "All right, all right, it is not for me, you're right." The smile dimmed on Obi-Wan's face and he regarded Anakin soberly. "And not for the first time, either. What you said earlier, in the medbay, when we were...before you..."
"Before I...before I left?" Anakin offered quietly, his eyes reflecting a deep remorse as he recalled the words they had exchanged. He had said so much. Too much. Too many things he had never meant to say, and too many things he had never wanted Obi-Wan to know.
"Ah...well, yes." Seeing the hurt in Anakin's eyes, Obi-Wan shifted his gaze away uncomfortably, unconsciously pressing his fingertips to his hip. "What you said then, about coming to my rescue. You were right, Anakin."
"Master, I—" Anakin interrupted quickly, afraid of where this was going, wanting to apologize, to say he didn't mean it, that he could never mean it, but Obi-Wan held up a hand to halt him.
"I'm admitting you were right about something, and you're interrupting?" Obi-Wan chided drily, quirking his eyebrow. Resting his head against the wall, he turned, offering an easy smile that belied the sheer effort it took for him to outright lie to Anakin, to lie to himself. A lie to make them both believe in something neither of them wanted, but that Obi-Wan had to believe was the right thing, if not for him, than at least for Anakin.
"Yes, you were right. I...I think it is accurate to say that I seem to have developed a reckless dependence on sensational last minute rescues. But I assure you, Anakin, you will no longer find yourself having to charge halfway across the galaxy just because I fell into a nest of gundarks or some other humiliating horror. After all, one would assume that a Jedi Master should have the means to avoid such scenarios, don't you think?" With a halfhearted chuckle, he gave Anakin's thigh a firm pat and attempted to start in on his other boot.
"So you see," he continued quickly, knowing that if he stopped to allow Anakin to respond he'd lose whatever conviction he'd managed to cobble together for this staged performance of an upstanding Master Jedi, "you won't have to worry about bailing out your old Master anymore, as it should be. I promise you, I shall endeavor to comport myself in a manner befitting a Jedi Master, and should I find myself in any further...predicaments, I will make no presumption of assistance and gauge my actions accordingly," he smiled with false cheer, sparing a glance at Anakin. Unable to keep up the pretense, Obi-Wan ducked his head and fixed his attention on his boot, fumbling clumsily at the laces. "Just...just think of the bacta we'll save," he joked lamely, the words drying up in the air between them.
Anakin took a long blink, nodding dully. "Uh, yeah. The bacta. That's...that'll be great." He sat immobile, staring at nothing, numbed by the arrival of an eventuality he had so long feared: Obi-Wan was really cutting him loose, ending their partnership. Despite his Master's earlier assertions, Anakin knew with a heavy certainty that he had caused this, that his reckless behavior, his awful words and uncontrollable emotions, had finally driven what little trust Obi-Wan had in him, what little obligation his Master felt for him, away completely. So disappointed and put off by Anakin's inability to shed his attachments, Obi-Wan would sooner risk his own safety than continue in a partnership that burdened him with a commitment he no longer wanted from Anakin, and had never intended nor wanted to give to Anakin in return.
Anakin shivered in the cool air and drew his knees up, frowning as he toyed with a frayed hole in his leggings. His ineptitude may have cost him Obi-Wan's trust, but he refused to allow it to cost him Obi-Wan."About before...what I said in the medbay...I...let my emotions...I didn't mean..." Wrapping his arms around his knees, Anakin hugged them to his chest. "Master, I will always have your back, even if...even if you don't feel...I mean...I don't expect..." Resting his cheek on his knees, he turned to Obi-Wan and smiled bravely, trying to mask the hurt in his heart, the lies on his tongue. "It's okay. You're a true Jedi, Obi-Wan. I understand."
Obi-Wan felt time slow and warp, felt the boot slip from his hand and roll unceremoniously off the edge of the bunk, felt his breath knocked from him, as though he'd been hammered by the unforgiving kickback of a concussion rifle. You're a true Jedi, Obi-Wan.
Anakin's words had touched a cord deep within him, one that in an instant twisted and transformed the intended compliment into a damning criticism of what had become his identity, of what and who he had aspired to be his entire life. He was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, but he wasn't sure what that meant anymore. Melida/Daan, he thought, had been his crisis of faith, his time to question his identity and to firmly recommit himself to this path, to being a true Jedi. He thought it was behind him, the self-doubt and insecurities, but Anakin's words had shaken him, and he felt like an imposter, a shape-shifter draped in Jedi robes, unsure of who he was, who he was supposed to be. All that he had done, all that he would ever do for the sake of duty and in the name of the Jedi...it seemed somehow meaningless now, a Pyrrhic victory of the soul, if being a true Jedi meant not having Anakin at his side. Obi-Wan didn't know anymore how to be the Jedi he was expected to be, and still have Anakin in his life. But what kind of a Jedi would he be, without him?
Obi-Wan stared across the room, unblinking, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. "I don't think that you do," he countered flatly.
"Hey, no, really, I do. I get it." Anakin tilted his head back as he spoke, trying to pull himself together enough to swallow his emotions, to accept what he could and could not have from Obi-Wan, as long as he was safe. He nudged Obi-Wan with his shoulder, gently this time. "But don't think you can get rid of me so easily. Just because you say so doesn't mean I'm going to listen, you know," he added, as blithely and cavalierly as he could muster. "It's just the way I am. I say...I do...stupid things, I know, because of my attachments, because I can't control my kriffing emotions. But you..." Anakin blinked hard several times, then turned to Obi-Wan with a lopsided smile. "When I was a kid, I wanted so much to grow up to be just like you, to not have any of that," he said softly, wistfully. "I wish I had."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes in torment. "That," he choked out brokenly, "is so patently untrue." He turned, slowly dragging his eyes up to meet Anakin's, frowning at the unshed tears he found him trying so hard to blink away. "I am nothing more than a fraud, Anakin." Obi-Wan's hand shook as he brought it up to cup Anakin's jaw, his eyes darting over the younger man's face, from the bacta residue at his hairline, down over the scar that crossed his eye, to the particulate that had left a charcoal shimmer on his cheek. Solemnly, he brushed at the crystals with the backs of his fingers and sighed, casting his eyes downward. "I've done you such a disservice."
Anakin reflexively leaned into the touch, his hand coming up to rest over Obi-Wan's, tapping at his wrist until his Master looked at him. "What are you talking about? I'm the fraud here, remember? Reckless, defiant, full of emotions and attachments—not really Jedi material. You, on the other hand—"
"—am a fraud." Obi-Wan stilled his hand on Anakin's cheek, turning it just enough to grasp a couple of Anakin's fingers. "And a coward. For not being able to...able to... Anakin, I...I have...and I shouldn't..." He swallowed thickly, letting Anakin's fingers slip away. He watched as his hand drifted back to the nape of Anakin's neck, tangling his fingers in the warm matte of curls there. "I have att—" Obi-Wan choked and cleared his throat, unable to give voice to the word, even though he knew Anakin deserved the truth.
Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan took a shuddering breath, drawing Anakin's forehead to rest against his, noses grazing alongside the other. "When you said before...why you came for me...that you think I don't...don't...what I didn't say, what I couldn't say..." he whispered haltingly, breath hot and frantic against Anakin's ear. He tightened his fingers possessively in Anakin's hair, holding him close. "You are important to me, Anakin, more than you could ever know. I...I could not live with myself should any harm come to you. Do not ever doubt that."