Chapter 4

OBI-WAN KENOBI

The further they walk from the Senator's emergency bay, the more withdrawn Anakin becomes.

His Padawan's normally robust Force presence, wavers in and out like a struggling transmission beacon, its summits vibrating with anxious alarm, its valleys dwindling to eerie muteness.

On one hand, Obi-Wan isn't entirely surprised by this. The abundance of energy required for physical combat, let alone the unfathomable strain to duel a Sith Lord single-handedly, quickly drains even the most efficient Jedi until their Force signatures weaken to a dull flicker. When gifted with the ability to draw on the seemingly inexhaustible Force, knowing and respecting your limits is one of the first and most crucial lessons taught to Initiates and Younglings. What the Force offers, the Force equally demands.

To this day, it was a lesson Anakin still struggled to mind.

Regularly, his Padawan defied (and successfully much to Obi-Wan's constant dismay) his uppermost limits while blatantly challenging what should have been time and time again the bookend of his potential. Several times, Anakin had pushed and stretched so far until he had worn himself down to a very serious and critically threatening Force depletion. One instance in particular had resulted in a multi-day stay under intensive care in the Halls of Healing for his impertinent disregard of restraint.

Upon Anakin's eventual discharge, Obi-Wan was not entirely surprised to see the newly found supercilious confidence his Padawan donned like a new set of clothes. In classic Anakin fashion, the brash young man had inappropriately concluded not that lines drawn in the proverbial sand were not to be crossed, but had surmised that those defining boundaries (at least when it came to him) were more like suggested guidelines. No number of candid discussions had, harsh rebukes served, or gray hairs earned by the Master ever cemented any more humility in the Padawan.

Anakin's limits seemingly, and quite literally, knew none.

Studying the young man walking alongside him as covertly as possible, Obi-Wan senses more than sees the longer depressions in his apprentice's signature taking over; the anticipated, violent vortices giving way to a frighteningly stoic resignation.

On the other hand, an Anakin not trying to power and bluster his way through extreme fatigue and that may in fact be acknowledging a limit had finally been reached is more than just surprising to Obi-Wan – it's downright alarming.

After a decade of daily practice, Obi-Wan has gotten quite good at predicting and weathering Anakin's emotive storms. In some cases, it was all batten down the hatches and ride out the gale winds until they spent themselves. Even still, Anakin always carried a simmering undercurrent of downdraft just waiting for the next situation to stoke his volatile air. In other cases, - more often than not in recent memory - Obi-Wan felt it necessary to summon a larger, fiercer tempest within himself to blow back the building ferocity of Anakin's negative pressure system. It went against everything in Obi-Wan's nature to combat fury with fury. Like a blaster bolt easily parried aside by a lightsaber's blade, patience and guidance and understanding only seemed to glance off the surface of his Padawan.

Yet, after ten years of daily interaction, Obi-Wan has no idea in the galaxy what to do with a reserved Anakin Skywalker. Reserved Anakin is unpredictable, and unpredictable Anakin is an entirely different sort of beast.

By the time they reach his Padawan's room, said apprentice sways dangerously on his feet waiting for the door to slide open, enough so that Obi-Wan throws up an arm to steady his lilting apprentice only to withdraw the motion just as quickly when the young Jedi suddenly rights himself with steely resolve and strides into the room the moment access is granted.

The NR-S3 droid spins on its rotors, its abrupt motion conveying its justified incredulity at finding not one but two of its patients absent without leave from its dominion.

"You should not be out of bed!"

Judging from the reiterated ire, this was not the same droid from before that had tried to waylay their errant mission.

"I've already heard that," Anakin growls. Long, angry strides carry him back to the bed he had been so intent on vacating only moments ago. Falling to the mattress more from surrender than design, Anakin focuses intently on the ceiling, his eyes clearly seeing something beyond the drab, gray panels above him. He swallows hard once, and then shuts them, closing off more than just his sight. As if yanked out of his ethereal grasp, Obi-Wan feels Anakin's signature flare wildly before retreating to a despondent flicker on the periphery of his internal vision.

He knows better than to press in situations like this, but Obi-Wan really can't help himself.

"How are you feeling?"

Anakin cracks open one eye, watching as Obi-Wan gingerly resumes his previously occupied seat.

"About as good as you look, Master."

On the surface, Anakin's words bite caustically, an irascible tone designed to peeve Obi-Wan with its petulance. Underneath, the Force tells a different story. Like an animal downplaying its wounds to the external world, Anakin's outward aggressiveness is meant to hide his inner hurt. Choosing to deflect the intentional jab in his own disarming way, Obi-Wan refuses to rise to the bait.

"I didn't realize the words suave and debonair were even in in your vocabulary."

For just the briefest of moments, Anakin's mouth twitches, failing to hide his amusement. Carefully, he adjusts his shoulders, as if to situate himself more comfortably on the hospital cot. Obi-Wan can practically see the wheels turning at full speed, no doubt in his mind that Anakin is searching for another worthy retort. But his Padawan's storm clouds mellow just a little, his thunderous hue brightening as he leans into the moment of levity, rather than railing against it.

"They aren't. I think the words you were looking for, Master, are scorched and torched."

"Ah, yes," Obi-Wan agrees, as he leans back in his bedside chair, trying to recapture the most comfortable spot even as his upper arm and thigh demand attention. "That rhyme definitely beats crispy and wispy."

Eyes wide, brow contorting to a most bemused look, Anakin cranes his neck against the deep pillow, not even trying to feign disinterest anymore.

"Wispy?"

"You know," Obi-Wan says, swirling his right fingers through the air. His wounded left arm sits out this theatrical display. "Like wisps of smoke?"

Head falling back into the pillow, Anakin scoffs blithely. With markedly less intensity, his eyes return to the ceiling. "Not one of your better ones, Master."

"Perhaps not," Obi-Wan chuckles back.

A comfortable silence drapes over the room. Reveling in the revitalized bond between him and Anakin, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and relaxes his head against the wall. Instantly, the Force gathers around him. With an otherworldly hand, Obi-Wan stretches out tenuously seeking to strengthen the connection now that he has ahold once again. The Force ripples with his concentration as he stands precariously balanced, waiting for the next stepping stone to rebuild the bridge to his apprentice. For all of Obi-Wan's expended patience, Anakin bulldozes his own way through, clearing a path with intent all his own.

"I had him worried for a minute."

Slowly, Obi-Wan returns to the here and now. When he opens his eyes, Anakin searches him with his own gaze, much like the lost, little boy who had turned from Qui-Gon's funeral pyre and sought certainty when surrounded by everything but.

What will happen to me now?

"Dooku," Anakin continues, as if the 'him' needed clarifying. "I could feel his fear. He couldn't hide from me."

While those last words weren't verbatim the reason the Jedi High Council had had qualms over sanctioning Anakin's entry to the Order, they are close enough that Obi-Wan struggles to let the memory completely fall by the wayside. As if mocking him, his return pledge to the little boy at his Master's funeral rings in Obi-Wan's ears.

The Council has granted me permission to train you. You will be a Jedi… I promise.

He can't help the next words that spill from him. They are simultaneously a reflex conditioned to purvey guidance as much as an acknowledgement to that decade old oath.

"That may be so," Obi-Wan agrees. "But you let your pride and overconfidence get the best of you. Twice. Dooku exploited that."

Abruptly, Anakin's face darkens with considerable thunder. Hard-won companionable rapport dies so suddenly that the only two beings witness to its death are the Master and Padawan who sorely needed it to live.

"Noted, Master," Anakin says, scowling. He raises the stump of his right arm in sarcastic toast to Obi-Wan despite the obvious pain it causes him to do so.

The silence that falls between them now is deafening.

Obi-Wan hates these moments when he realizes that somehow yet again, he failed to solve the enigma that is his Padawan. Would it always be this way? One step forward as brothers, only to fall two steps back as adversaries? Were he and Anakin forever bound to be at odds with each other, only briefly finding common ground from which to view the promising potential of what their partnership could be?

A haunting thought of self-doubt creeps in at the edges of Obi-Wan's mind.

Had Qui-Gon ever feel this way about him?

Not for the first time, Obi-Wan finds himself missing his former Master. Qui-Gon's outspokenness and open-mindedness, qualities that used to frustrate him endlessly when he was a Padawan, are exactly what Obi-Wan wishes for. The irony of that lesson is not lost on him. His Master would never have judged another full-fledged Knight seeking advice on how to guide a headstrong Padawan. Obi-Wan's peers, often with their own Padawan troubles, could not relate to his interminable struggle to corral and contain ten years of free spirit and unbridled emotion. From infancy, their apprentices had grown up in the orderly and structured halls of the Jedi Temple; Anakin had cut his teeth in a lawless and feral hole of the Outer Rim. At best, some of his fellow brethren tried to counsel him with their well-meant but ultimately inadequate suggestions. At worst, they flat out refused, wary of the lasting impact their words might have on the training of the Chosen One.

Several times, Obi-Wan had even entertained the notion of approaching members of the Jedi Council for help. If any guiding light could illuminate the path to shaping a Padawan of prophecy, surely the twelve members in that circle with their combined millennia of experience had the ability to offer it?

But then prideful words would float into his memory causing him to hesitate.

Master Yoda, I gave Qui-Gon my word. I will train Anakin… without the approval of the Jedi Council if I must.

Even though, the Council had agreed in the end to allow him to take on Anakin as his apprentice, it seemed to Obi-Wan that to seek their guidance now would be tantamount to an admission of defeat.

Was he just as guilty as his Padawan for letting his pride stand in the way of his own potential ability to train Anakin?

Was it his own failure to let go of a promise made to Qui-Gon that prevented the nebulous connection he and Anakin struggled to find and maintain?

Was it hypocritical of him to ask Anakin to reject attachment so thoroughly when he struggled to rejoice his own mentor's passing into the Force?

Realizing Anakin's angry retreat, Obi-Wan grasps to salvage any line of conversation. In his desperation, he reaches for disaster.

"What happened on Tatooine, Anakin?"

Averting his gaze, Anakin inhales sharply, his chest halting mid-breath in an aggrieved sort of bracing. The swift surge of agony roiling through their Force bond startles Obi-Wan in its magnitude and character. Anakin's physical pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming grief flooding their connection.

As suddenly as Obi-Wan feels the riptide threatening to sink him in its devastating crush, the crippling agony cuts off with astonishing bluntness. Though his eyes remain purposefully closed, Anakin's features affix with severe concentration.

"If you'll excuse me, Master," Anakin says, pointedly ignoring Obi-Wan's question. "I think I need to meditate."

Completely forgotten up until now, the NR-S3 droid, finishing its rounds, titters a warning about either patient leaving the room without express permission once more. Obi-Wan offers it a pleasant acknowledging, "Understood," but Anakin, trying to sell the image of restful and relaxed, makes no move to indicate he had even heard his inorganic caretaker.

Pensively, Obi-Wan studies Anakin's inert form. The slow rise and fall of his Padawan's chest never falters in its deliberate rhythm. Black leather clad shoulders cut a stark silhouette against white sheets. His left hand nesting over his stomach, the long frame sells the picture of peaceful and reposed. To anyone else, it would appear that Anakin had indeed sunk himself into a meditative trance.

But the swirling chaos in the Force bely the stoic surface act. Obi-Wan isn't a fool.

What Anakin was doing wasn't meditation - it was called Force-tethering.

Meditation was for focusing the mind and centering the soul, for releasing anxiety to seek clarity and balance, to surrender oneself over to the will of the Force. Only through this immersion could harmony and thus, a mentally calm and emotionally devoid state be achieved.

While a brilliant mimicry, Force-tethering wasn't a replacement for true meditation.

Rather than centering himself, Anakin was fixating on one presence to seek comfort from his pain. Spiraling tighter and tighter, his tornadic emotions outwardly appear orderly and contained. But a funnel cloud, for all its external structure and beauty, still rages with destruction and disorder within its inner sanctum. At the outset, Anakin's turmoil churns and twists, but the pacifying presence that is Padmé eventually soothes and softens his pandemonium.

Eventually Anakin's body, held just a little too taut to truly be tranquil, relaxes. The clench of his jaw releases. The pinched skin between his brow smooths. The red threads of anger and suffering threatening Anakin's cerulean shift into a rich purple, blending seamlessly with Padmé's blue-violet serenity.

Obi-Wan watches all of this happening right in front of him, and for once, can't find it in himself to care. After all he just learned the hard way that, further guidance and correction right now would only lead to further trouble.

For possibly the first time in ten years of training Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi willfully disengages, turning a blind eye to his Padawan's crutch.

During the rest of the flight to Coruscant, Anakin clings to Padmé's Force presence as if she was a life preserver keeping him afloat in a roiling ocean. A few times, Obi-Wan suspects his Padawan's suffocating exhaustion eventually does pull him under for fitful stretches of sleep before his physical and emotional maiming alternately jolt him back into awareness. Each time he startles awake, Anakin immediately seeks Padmé's sedate signature and reasserts his unyielding mental grip.

Throughout this experience, Obi-Wan stops himself from intervening several times. Every time he opens his mouth to gently redirect, or to not so subtly correct, or to even plead with Anakin to be reasonable, something unnamable holds him back. By the time he's watched the parade of nurse droids recommend blockers and sleep-aids of all strengths and varieties – each and every one of which Anakin at first adamantly refuses and then completely ignores – Obi-Wan is at his wit's end.

Worry finally winning out, Obi-Wan pries into the depth of Anakin's tether. Despite the balm Padmé brings to Anakin's physical and emotional wounds, his Padawan's body betrays the struggle needed to maintain that relief. Rhythmic breathing, previously slow and steady, gives way to a distinctly staccato cadence. Sweat coating his face and darkening his hairline, Anakin's forehead previously smooth with the surreal salve offered by the stronger tether earlier in the flight, now creases and crunches in increasing intervals. With increasing foreboding, he suspects the sustained lapses of Anakin's silence are only somewhat fueled by defiance, but are more likely than not the result of a significant energy drain.

When The Endeavor finally reaches the capital planet's orbital space, the opportune moment for Obi-Wan to call Anakin out his inappropriate "meditation" method has long since passed. Even if Obi-Wan had found the nerve to broach addressing the Force-tether, the flurry of activity coordinating transfer of the injured aboard transports to the necessary medical facilities alone prevents any sort of semblance of conversation between Master and Apprentice. Just when he thought nothing further about the clones could shock him anymore than their initial discovery on Kamino had given him, Obi-Wan was stunned into observational silence for the seemingly hundredth time in two weeks.

It was one thing to appreciate the clone soldiers in action on the battlefield, but the magnificent scope of the system behind the tactical scenes was perhaps even more awe-inspiring.

A triage team consisting of clone medical staff and MD droids moves through the wards like a well-oiled machine, sorting patients for departure based on severity of injury. Dressed in the standard-issue, gray scrubs of the Grand Army of the Republic's interstellar medic, the lead clone takes one look at Anakin's chart and the young man it describes in hourly installments before quickly designating the two Jedi as priority alpha, though Obi-Wan thinks his more dire medical grade is likely bestowed for efficiency's sake rather than based on true medical prognosis. Anakin's deteriorating condition and bleak reports earn them the first shuttle outbound for the Jedi Temple with Obi-Wan trailing along for the ride.

During the short flight to Coruscant's surface, Anakin succumbs to sleep, enough so that Obi-Wan actually manages to catch a little shut-eye himself. The respite is ephemeral. Unfortunately, the transfer from The Endeavor's medsled to the Halls of Healing's hospital cots rouses him back to a premature and ill-tempered awareness.

Cyclone Skywalker roars back into existence at its highest category yet.

"Where's Padmé?"

It isn't just the first question out of his Padawan. It's the only question.

"How's your pain, Padawan Skywalker?"

"Where is Padmé?"

"My Padawan also sustained a direct hit of Force lightening and was thrown hard into a cavern wall."

"Any light-headedness, vision spotting, trouble breathing, spasms…?"

"Where is the Senator from Naboo?"

"Anakin, we need to know what discomforts you're experiencing so that we may…"

"WHERE IS PADMÉ?!"

Obi-Wan winces. Multiple beings turn to stare as Anakin's volume echoes obnoxiously throughout the triage area.

Up until his outburst, the Mon Cal apprentice healer attending them seems unfazed by Anakin's sour attitude and uncooperative rudeness. Several times throughout her composed interview, Obi-Wan had to restrain himself from asking her the secret to her unlimited patience. But the overt belligerence in Anakin's voice and the accompanying ire in Anakin's glare throws the young Jedi so far off her intended path that she has difficulty detouring around his hostility. Nothing is remotely funny about Anakin's heinous behavior, but the wide bulbous eyes and cartilage lips of the Mon Cal cut such the caricature of bewilderment that Obi-Wan is forced to intervene.

"That is enough, Anakin!" Trying not to draw anymore undesirable attention their way, he imbues all the authority and censure as he can muster into his lowered castigation.

At Obi-Wan's rebuke, Anakin drops his death stare, his lap earning itself an unwarranted scowl.

"Please excuse me for a moment," the Mon Cal says. Out of politeness, she dips her head once quickly before disappearing into the throng of beings milling about in the wide hallway.

Turning back to his recalcitrant charge, Obi-Wan finds himself regretting his leniency aboard The Endeavor. Embarrassment spurs him into full lecturer mode.

"What do you think you're accomplishing?" Anakin's eyes lift, disdain simmering in the blue depths. He doesn't speak, waiting for the reprimanding words to be delivered with Obi-Wan's next exhale. "That behavior was inexcusable! When Padawan Reesa returns, you will apologize…"

"There will be no need." A softly-accented, yet imposing voice cuts Obi-Wan's off. "I've sent Padawan Reesa to oversee another patient. She tells me there have been inquiries about Senator Amidala."

"Senator Amidala is under my protection. I was asking for an update given that I hadn't heard anything further since we found her onboard The Endeavor," Anakin says. Despite the professional tone and use of titles, the light that erupts across Anakin's weary features is damning.

"Asking?" Vokara Che raises one manicured eyebrow. "Demanding was the report I got." Obi-Wan watches Anakin's face seethe with calculated neutrality, neither confirming nor denying what the Master Healer had been told. "What I can tell you is that the Senator has been discharged to our care, and is resting comfortably in a private room just down the hall. Her handmaiden and guard have arrived to take her home after my final evaluation..."

"Can I see her?" Anakin interrupts boldly.

"No, you may not," Vokara Che says, her crisp tone brooking no room for argument. "She is resting as I said, and as you both should be." At this, she casts her reproving gaze over Obi-Wan and Anakin. "I am ordering submersion therapy for you two immediately. You have neglected treatment long enough and I won't hear of any further delays."

Her cool eyes scanning between her wards, she pauses, as if waiting for their continued arguments. Anakin wisely chooses not to press, at least for now. Obi-Wan shifts gears once again, offering not noncompliance but leaning into the logistics of recovery.

"After the bacta tank, what else is Anakin facing?"

Vokara Che's harsh stature tempers with the lack of further rebellion. "Synth-grafting, additional submersion, and prosthetic attachment." She looks at Anakin with a softer eye. "Your road ahead is a long one, Padawan Skywalker."

"A prosthetic?" Anakin sits upright, the mattress creaking with his movement. "What about clone technology? I'd much rather my own limb than a droid construction."

Vokara Che glares at Anakin, though Obi-Wan knows the threatening look will have absolutely no impact on his apprentice. If withering looks were enough to keep Anakin Skywalker in line, Obi-Wan would have the most obedient Padawan in the galaxy.

"Unfortunately, a clone replacement for your arm is no longer an option," she lectures, bending down to further inspect his injury. She pokes and prods with maybe a little more force then necessary as she continues her grave examination. "The elbow joint is completely obliterated. The delay in care has compromised the tissues to the point where they can't be salvaged. Clone attachment would require the arm to be removed at the shoulder joint which can be done at a later time, but still doesn't negate the fact that growing a mature limb will take several years. To preserve the site, no appendage of any variety can be attached until the clone replacement is ready. I can check with the High Council, but I seriously doubt that they or you will find one-armed existence manageable in the interim."

A knot in Obi-Wan's stomach uncoils. The prognosis was about as much as he had assumed and feared. Judging from the dismay painted across Anakin's face, his Padawan had never contemplated an organic for inorganic exchange. His apprentice's brewing gale winds instantly stagnate, leaving a large void in the living Force.

Satisfied with her brusque appraisal and enlightenment, Vokara Che stands fully, pulling a data pad from her inner robes. "Now, let's get to it, shall we?"

As if on cue, another Healer apprentice rolls another bed next to Anakin's. A pair of fresh robes, one set in the more typical, lighter beige for the Jedi, the other set the conspicuous rich brown and black preferred by his Padawan, beckon from their perch on top of the folded sheets.

"Master," the Mirialan boy says, "Captain Typho is looking for you."

Mention of Padmé's security captain snaps Anakin out of his depressing doldrums, unsuppressed hope reawakening in his eyes. Thankfully, Master Che is already moving down the hallway to attend to her prestigious patient before she sees the buoyancy that could threaten her jurisdiction once again.

Anakin turns his sanguinity on his own Master. Before he consciously makes the decision, Obi-Wan already knows the negotiation he is about to undertake.

"Anakin," he starts appeasingly. If it's possible for Anakin's ear to perk up, Obi-Wan swears that they do. "If you promise me you will get into a bacta bath, I will go check in on Padmé myself."

The youthful ten-year-old glows back at him.

"Yes, Master." Anakin's voice positively dances.

"Very well," Obi-Wans agrees. He tries not to dwell on the wary resignation settling in his bones, or the faint relief seeping into his soul at the return of Anakin's light. "Let me get dressed so I don't frighten her with my scorched and torched appearance."

Whether Anakin's grin is from the recalled joke or the re-established if circuitous connection to the Senator, Obi-Wan doesn't know. Perhaps against his better judgement, Obi-Wan tries once again not reflect on the liberties he may be allowing.

Despite his promise to Vokara Che to rest, Obi-Wan had sought out Yoda, once Anakin had been securely submerged in a bacta tank. No longer willing to let his pride, or arrogance, or attachment get in the way, he had ignored the continued protests of his upper arm and thigh marching himself straight to the diminutive Jedi Master.

At first, Yoda had seemed perplexed by the visit. Pointing his gnarled gimer stick, he had almost lectured Obi-Wan right into a bacta tank of his own. But when Obi-Wan had voiced concerns regarding Anakin, Yoda had folded his claws and bestowed a listening ear. As he blundered his way through observation upon concern upon worry, Obi-Wan could only hope that the oldest living Jedi had also witnessed the events he recounted through the same formidable lens.

"He has a strong emotional connection to her," Obi-Wan had said, repeating the concerns he had voiced just after the Anakin's initial assignment as bodyguard and escort. "He has, ever since he was a little boy."

While he had cautioned the Council about the appropriateness of Anakin's assignment as bodyguard, he felt it essential to repeat his ongoing concerns. Even more so now that he strongly suspected the unfathomable possibility that, Senator Amidala, might actually return those affections. Her eruption at her captain of security hadn't done anything to dissuade those notions.

"Careful, you must be, Obi-Wan," Yoda had cautioned. "Matters of the heart, no consequence they are for a Jedi. But not a Jedi is Senator Amidala."

"But surely, she knows a relationship between them is impossible."

Yoda rose his crinkled, green brow in that observational, all-knowing way of his.

"What she knows or doesn't, what she feels or doesn't, of no concern, should it be to you. What your Padawan believes, feels, and knows, that, your priority should be."

And there it was. That cryptic guidance that Obi-Wan had been seeking.

Or at least as clear as any lesson from Master Yoda ever was.

Of course, Obi-Wan realized he had absolutely no authority over a Senator of the Galactic Republic. And while he couldn't control what he suspected were very real emotions, he hoped he could appeal to her sense of propriety and duty to help her understand that those nascent feelings were troublesome at best, dangerous at worst when they could only serve to inflame a crush that could derail Anakin's future as a Jedi. Could derail Anakin's ultimate destiny.

Cringing, Obi-Wan does not relish the conversation he now feels is inevitable. A conversation he has had endless times with his Padawan. Words floating in one ear and right out the other. Caution and warnings angrily rebuffed to the point that the armor Anakin wore was now so impervious to any guidance that he may as well have been encased in the galaxy's strongest bodysuit.

Padmé on the other hand hadn't had a decade to fortify her defenses. And realistically, how deep could her feelings really go after only a week? He'd like to think that once the adrenaline wore off, and once she had a moment to herself, she, Padmé Amidala, pragmatic, discerning and infinitely wise beyond her years, would realize the infatuation for what it was.

And if he was underestimating her again, surely, she would grasp the most undeniable argument of all. While he didn't want to cause either of them any further pain and anguish, Obi-Wan had to make them see that indulgence would only cause them both exactly that.

The turbolift door opens in dramatic slow-motion.

Obi-Wan steps out, his robes heavy on his shoulders. Unlike the last time he was here, he feels utterly inept for this current assignment. Protecting the Senator for murderous threat was one thing. Proctecting the Senator from herself was entirely something else.

I'm more worried about her doing something, than him.

A gray protocol droid that Obi-Wan doesn't remember from his previous visit to the Senator's quarters greets him in the foyer. Its cheery vocabulator is woefully at odds with its battered and beaten coverings.

"Good evening, how might I be of service? I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations."

"I'm here to see Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan explains.

"Certainly, right this way!" Despite its detailed programming, the droid seems oblivious to the undercurrent of unease emanating from the apartment's interior as it leads the short walk into the sitting room.

Padmé's forward motion stutters when she realizes the cause for her evening's interruption. He knew his arrival this late would likely catch her off guard. What caught him off guard wasn't the blatant shock in her voice, but the undeniable perilous hope glimmering in her brown eyes.

"Master Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan folds his hands into the sleeves of his robe. If Qui-Gon were still alive, he would have told Obi-Wan that the defensive curl had already positioned him as the weaker negotiator. Frowning at the thought, he straightens and forces himself to adopt a more relaxed posture.

"May I speak to the Senator alone?"

Padmé doesn't take her eyes off of him. Even when her handmaiden inclines her head politely at him before turning expectantly towards her lady, she continues to stare at him, no doubt waiting for some silent indication as to what the request for a private conversation may mean. Her face falls ever so slightly, as she tears her gaze away from him to the woman at her right.

"Yes, that will be fine," Padmé says.

The handmaiden dips her head in an acknowledging bow to each of them before collecting the battered protocol droid that had greeted him and making herself and the machine scarce.

Turning her attention back to Obi-Wan, Padmé smiles tensely at him. Even as she tries to cover her unease with perfect hostess' manners, her polite entreaty to "Please sit" resonates with a stiffness not normally found in her warm demeanor.

Mirroring their reunion almost two weeks ago, both Senator and Jedi take their respective seats opposite each other. The third member of the previous meeting is glaringly absent. Despite the person this conversation is to be about, Obi-Wan misses Anakin acutely. His moment of pause carries on one second longer than Padmé can stand, because she boldly crosses the threshold directly into that forbidden topic.

"I'm glad to see you up and about. How is Anakin?" Padmé begins.

Her composure is truly remarkable. It's only too easy to see where the Senator from Naboo gets her reputation for disarming genuineness and authenticity. The lightness in her tone, the polite interest in her face all convey the hallmarks of a professional inquiry. Obi-Wan almost believes it.

"Anakin will be fine, Senator."

Padmé straightens a bit, the movement so infinitesimal that if Obi-Wan hadn't felt the invisible tremble from her in the Force, he could have almost convinced himself he had imagined the tell. Holding her stare with his own, he searches her, trying to decide whether further information about Anakin would help or hinder his ultimate cause. In the end, Obi-Wan decides to press his advantage.

"He is being fitted with a prosthetic limb as we speak."

Padmé swallows hard once. "Good, I have been concerned about him since our return to Coruscant." Obi-Wan doesn't miss the slight hesitation before she quickly adds, "I am also happy to see you are on the mend as well, Master Kenobi."

His brow raises slightly at her own formality returned at him.

"Yes, thank you, milady. I -," he pauses, ill at ease, but he straightens a bit before soldiering on. "We are most appreciative of your concern for the Jedi, but I can assure you that is no longer needed. On either of our behalf."

"Oh," she says neutrally. "Are you and Anakin to be assigned elsewhere?"

"We are," Obi-Wan responds with equal reserve. Though Yoda hadn't overtly mentioned a change in assignment, it was probably better for everyone if they all went their separate ways as soon as possible.

"Has the threat against my life been neutralized then?" She knows full well it hasn't. She knows he knows this as well.

"Not entirely," Obi-Wan acknowledges, then adds information that he hopes will be enough to stave off the argument he fears is coming from her, "though since Master Windu dispatched the bounty hunter responsible for the assassination attempts against you, we feel the threat against you specifically has diminished."

He doesn't offer anything further, waiting for her to call his bluff. Her dark eyes flash at him, distinctly unamused, but she lets the topic drop.

"Then might I express how deeply indebted I am for your service and sacrifice while protecting me. When he is able, I would like the chance to thank Anakin, as well."

"I will tell him for you," Obi-Wan says.

Nothing in her posture betrays her this time, but no sooner are his words spoken when the simmer in her Force signature boils over to full on fury. Obi-Wan works hard to keep his expression neutral.

"That is very kind," Padmé allows, her words carrying a noticeable edge, "but the Naboo believe it is of the utmost importance to convey gratitude whenever possible in person and…"

And that is quite enough of this line of argument for Obi-Wan.

"The Jedi Council does not believe any further contact between you and my Padawan other than the necessary civilities is…" he pauses, searching for the best way to convey gravity without threat. "…advisable."

Despite his implication, Padmé looks at him as if he had done nothing more than comment on the current weather, though her voice almost carries the clipped inflection from her monarch days. "I'm not sure I understand your tone, Master Kenobi."

"Padmé, please don't take me for a fool," Obi-Wan says, a hint of warning in his tone. Surely, she knows he regards her with much more respect than to engage in such an evasive maneuver. Senator Amidala is not one to equivocate. And neither was he. "You must know that he has strong feelings for you. And to allow him to continue to serve as your bodyguard does nothing to dispel those feelings."

"He is clearly very dedicated to his assignments and…" Padmé agrees, adeptly reframing the bold points he is trying to highlight.

For a second, Obi-Wan feels like he is talking to his sharp-witted Padawan, his temper flaring with long-conditioned reflex.

"Dedicated to his assignment?! He is willfully disobedient, sometimes arrogant and even rash. His attachment to you distracts him and clouds his judgement. You have to look no further than Geonosis to see how dangerous this can be…"

Padmé's eyebrows jump with blatant surprise, whether with the realization of the sudden nerve she's struck or the open display of emotion Obi-Wan hardly ever lets gets the best of him. With a barely suppressed derisive snort, Obi-Wan actually sympathizes with Anakin. Leave it to Senator Amidala to pull all sorts of dangerous emotions from two Jedi. Lost in the irony of that thought, he almost misses her question.

"So, you're blaming Anakin then?"

He fails too late to recognize the significant shift in her tone.

"No, but his actions likely increased an already tense situation when he got involved and it put you directly in danger."

"No, Obi-Wan," she retorts, leaning forward with renewed purpose. The trap was set and he had walked right into her snare. "I suggested we go to Geonosis to save you. Anakin was very against this and wanted to obey Master Windu's orders to stay on Tatooine. But in order to protect me, he had to come along."

"Very creative of you, Senator," Obi-Wan says flatly. "Did he follow you to Tatooine as well, or was that his own decision?" He hopes she thinks the mention of Anakin's previous home world is entirely her own slip-up, a piece of information that he can utilize to unmoor her fierce defense of his Padawan's rogue side trip. Instead, Padmé seems to think nothing of the blunder. On the contrary, it seems only to embolden her.

"Obi-Wan! His mother needed help! He couldn't just leave her!"

So, Anakin had shared his ongoing dreams with her as well, no doubt knowing that his petition for a wellness check on his mother would have struck pangs of empathy in the woman who had personally known Shmi.

"He should have!"

Padmé gasps, and he freezes.

"You don't really believe that," she says, softly, mortified.

Obi-Wans deflates a little.

"I know it is hard for Anakin to overcome his history with his mother. I can overlook his side trip to Tatooine if it involves her. But this is why you must see that attachment is something Anakin cannot afford to indulge. Despite whatever may be between you."

Finally, Padmé's body completely betrays her. She stiffens visibly, even as her Force signature pulses with riotous emotion. On invisible and yet full display, Obi-Wan catalogs the quick succession as if he is speed-reading the dossier of her feelings. Anxiety. Excitement. Fear. Hope. Passion.

"There isn't anything more between Anakin and I than friendship," she says, guardedly.

Obi-Wan looks at her again, clearly not taken with her denial. A host of images roll through his mind, each more damning than the last. Fingers interlocked with impropriety. Gentle touches and glances that had made even the clone troopers uncomfortable.

"You and I both know that is not true. I am not blind. Your feelings were quite on display in the hangar and the transport back to the command center…"

"My feelings do not concern you," Padmé interrupts, her voice is cold with a warning all its own.

"They do when they involve my Padawan!"

His raised voice stuns them both into a strained stare-down. The tension in the sitting room builds to a level that borders on suffocating. Two adversaries eye each other with tense sits and harsh breaths. With immense effort, Padmé softens her posture and her gaze.

"Obi-Wan, can't you understand, I am worried about him? After everything that happened on Tatooine and then when I bullied him into following me to Geonosis…"

Obi-Wan interjects with the only way he thinks he can dam the sudden emotional floodgates that Padmé lets loose.

"What happened on Tatooine, Padmé?"

"Anakin hasn't told you?" The skepticism in her statement cuts Obi-Wan keenly.

Unbidden and unwanted, he shoves the hurt she unknowingly provokes aside and shakes his head.

Padmé sits back, and presses her lips together while digesting that information. She considers for a moment, but when the cool flavor of defiance radiates from her, she settles on a response that Obi-Wan already knows he is not going to like.

"Well, I am sure he will speak about Tatooine when he is ready," she says. Her attempt at aloofness is aggravating.

For a moment, Obi-Wan doesn't say anything. She can see that her refusal to elaborate shocks him, and angers him. Sharp focus blazes to life in his blue gaze. She can almost hear the remonstration building with the swell of his shoulders. Instead, Obi-Wan exhales a long weary sigh. Collecting himself, his right hand pulls briefly once through his beard before his eyes lift to hers again.

"What do you remember about Anakin's acceptance to the Jedi Order, Padmé?"

Padmé blinks once at Obi-Wan's sudden drop of formal titles and the seemingly sudden detour in the conversation. Sitting a little straighter, her eyes wander over his shoulder, distracted by something in one of the panoramic windows, before she turns back to him.

"His acceptance?" she repeats, wistfully. "I remember the Jedi Council testing him when we finally made it to Coruscant. I remember there seemed to be some deliberation but all I knew was he was ultimately accepted."

"The deliberation was over his advanced age," Obi-Wan explains. "It was an extremely unorthodox decision to allow him admittance so late in his life."

Her beautiful face pinches with wariness.

"If it was so unorthodox, why allow Anakin to join at all?"

"His midi-chlorian reading was off the charts. The initial reading Qui-Gon ran on a field screening exceeded the limits of detection of the test."

Padmé fixes him with a bewildered expression, as if he had switched languages mid-discussion. For all intents and purposes, he had. On his way to her apartment, he hadn't thought he would really need to reach this far into revealing the Jedi prophecy to bring Padmé around. He sighs once softly, his mind churning with how to make her understand.

"What do you know about midi-chlorians?"

Her shoulder rises swiftly in a short shrug, her head shaking back and forth in the negative.

"Midi-chlorians co-exist within all life forms, but higher ratios per cell seem to correlate to the Force potential of an individual," he tries to explain.

"I'm not sure I understand."

She watches him carefully, no longer trying to hide her skepticism behind a politician's mask.

"To put it in context," Obi-Wan continues, "in recent history, the highest count ever recorded belongs to Master Yoda. His sits at eighteen thousand."

"But Anakin's is higher…" she offers, trying to show her attempt to comprehend their discussion.

"Much higher." Obi-Wan leans forward, his elbows on his knees, willing her to understand. "Later when he returned to Coruscant with you, his test was re-run at the Temple lab for better qualification. His final test result was thirty-eight thousand per cell."

Obi-Wan pauses to let the magnificence of that revelation sink in. Her practiced façade does her justice once again, giving away nothing even as she processes and re-processes his detonating information. Only when he's confident that she's reworked the puzzle until she recognizes the picture it presents does he drop the next bomb on her sheltered view.

"There's more."

She raises her gaze at him, her dark eyes tired and unenthused.

"There is an ancient prophecy that predicts a Jedi would be born with unmatched potential. Destined to become the most powerful of all the Jedi, this individual is said to be the Chosen One capable of bringing the Force back into balance."

For a moment, Padmé's attentive mien slips, and she regards him with obvious disbelief. "And you believe Anakin is this… Chosen One?" This time, she doesn't even try to hide the incredulity in her voice.

"Qui-Gon believed it. The High Council believes it." He sighs audibly, before bowing his head and hoping she recognizes the uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. He needs to find a way to connect. "He has a great destiny before him. It is my belief that it is imperative that he achieves it."

Obi-Wan watches her process all that he has divulged.

"I see," she says, slowly.

"No one really knows what Anakin is capable of," he presses, willing her to understand.

At this, Padmé freezes. Unfocused eyes continue to stare at him, but Obi-Wan knows she is seeing something he never will. Abruptly, her Force signature swirls wildly, emotions tumbling round and round like leaves caught in a windstorm. He can't make them out individually this time, so quickly do they flutter though her.

In her own atypical display of unease, Padmé fiddles with her hands in her lap. She looks down to watch her fingers, and Obi-Wan is grateful that she chooses to avert her eyes. When the whirlpool of her feelings finally stagnates, he drowns in an unexpected flood of overwhelming sadness.

He thinks he may be finally getting through to her.

"I realize that I have no authority over you, Senator, but if you truly care for Anakin the way you claim, you must understand that any relationship between you other than civil cordiality not only jeopardizes his future, but could ultimately have far-reaching catastrophic consequences… for you both."

I'm so sorry, Padmé, but please hear what I am telling you.

Padmé continues to stare at him, completely immobile and rigid. Her Force signature shimmers before her natural shields shroud her emotions from view. The skin across her knuckles loses the stark whiteness as she unclenches her small fists from where they practically shake in her lap. Though the movement is almost infinitesimal, Obi-Wan sees the betraying tell.

She considers him as much as he considers her. An emotion Obi-Wan has never seen before flickers across her delicate features. He isn't prepared at all for what that nameless clue tried to forewarn him with.

"You have to let me see him," she pleads, her yearning palpable and dreadful in its honesty.

Obi-Wan frowns, already shaking his head in denial. "I'm not sure that's…"

"I need to put an end to what has started," she says swiftly. "But he'll never believe it if it comes from someone else." She swallows hard, and Obi-Wan can see the genuine pain this is costing her. "It has to come from me."

Wide with shock he doesn't even attempt to hide, Obi-Wan isn't sure what to make of her unexpected capitulation to his original request. He wonders if he's being duped. From someone known to fiercely guard her private life, her admission to forbidden feelings floors him. Outwardly, she holds steady, even as he blatantly searches her person for any indication for the unanticipated change of motive.

Every fiber of his being tells him any further interaction between Anakin and Padmé will lead to disaster. Every ounce of his soul screams at him that this moment of discomfort will be nothing compared to the pain to be endured in the future. But the sincerity in her voice, the very real depth of feeling in her plea, the truth in her words is powerful in its offering compromise.

She's right. If there was any hope of navigating Anakin through this mishap without the possibility of endless resentment and further strife, his Padawan had to hear it firsthand. Words from Obi-Wan, Yoda, the High Council, or everyone combined would mean nothing to a man blinded by the empyrean of love.

Sighing heavily, Obi-Wan collapses. "If you can get to the Temple tomorrow morning, I can get you in to see him," he concedes. Despite his hard-won victory, he feels utterly defeated.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," she says. The immense pain behind the grateful platitude is worrisome.

Standing to leave, he touches her shoulder before he moves past her in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Her body tenses a bit but she doesn't pull away. "Have a better evening, Senator," he says with open empathy.

Silently, she nods. Her lips fold in on themselves. He doesn't miss that she won't bring herself to meet his eyes.

In the short walk back to the turbolift, Obi-Wan waits for the sense of peace to settle over him as so often does when an uncomfortable but ultimately correct event has passed.

He waits the whole trip back to the Temple.

Even then, peace remains out of his reach.

A/N: Here's hoping and praying that I accomplished what this character was trying to tell me. As much as this is Anakin and Padmé's story, I thought Obi-Wan's perspective was sorely needed. I've always seen the events from AOTC to ROTS as a self-perpetuating series of everyone trying to do what they felt was best in their own way. One of the most heart-breaking perspectives for me is Obi-Wan's. The irony of this epitome of a Jedi Knight is his attachment to Anakin. An attachment that is borne out of a pledge to Qui-Gon. We never get to see it play out on-screen, but as some point, canon details between the events of Geonosis and ROTS heavily imply that Obi-Wan knowingly chooses to look the other way when its come to Anakin and Padmé. He did so out of "love" for Anakin. I hope I was able to convey the beginning of that willful blind eye path he starts down here. As always, reviews greatly, greatly appreciated.