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Anakin is pretty sure he’s made a mess.
In the heat of battle it had seemed fine. He wasn’t even surprised when what should have been an easy hit-and-run mission turned out to be an ambush, but aside from the orders to retreat which he’d blatantly disobeyed, he’d pulled it off without a hitch—he didn’t lose a single member of his battalion, and none of the starfighters sustained significant damage.
The council was not happy, but how could they condemn him? He’d evaded all fifteen TIE fighters which had appeared the moment they jumped out of hyperspace, then proceeded to do a solo run right into the mouth of the ion cannon, blast it into bits of space debris mere seconds before it could fire, and make the jump back with the rest of the starfighters. All while ignoring the orders screaming through his comm.
Anakin knows the aftermath is not about the numbers. It’s about how he's made the council look bad yet again, and about how more and more troops are beginning to question their judgement when Skywalker’s impromptus yield better results than the direct orders they have been very clearly given.
He hasn’t stopped moving for more than a few minutes to sit down or rest since he climbed out of his starfighter. That was yesterday.
Now it is today.
And Obi-Wan is angry.
Anakin hates it when Obi-Wan is angry. He gets all dark and red in the Force. Sure, the fire of his signature fizzles out each time he releases his anger like the perfect Jedi he is, but it hasn’t fizzled for a while now, and his voice is getting louder and louder—
Anakin doesn’t know how he hasn’t passed out yet. He’s exhausted, but the list of things he has to just keeps growing. He remembers he has to spar with Ahsoka — he’s not sure how well he’s going to do in his state, but it’s his duty to his padawan to keep her training schedule consistent.
“Do you know how many troops you could have lost?” Obi-Wan yells. Anakin winces, the sudden increase in volume sending a new wave of pain through his head, but Obi-Wan either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “You can’t keep being so selfish, Anakin! This war won’t stop for your antics!”
Anakin has his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table. He’s shaking, and for a horrifying moment Obi-Wan thinks he might be crying—but then he looks up, face drawn and eyes dull, and says, “Can we please do this another time?” He is a little paler than usual, and the blue glow of the datapad in front of him only accentuates his pallid complexion.
“No, we cannot!” Obi-Wan shouts. Anakin flinches, pressing the heel of his hand into his temple.
Obi-Wan expects him to yell back, almost hopes he does—if only so he has an excuse to raise his own voice. But Anakin only says tiredly, “Obi-Wan, I really don’t want to fight right now.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head. “This is not about us. This is about your utter incompetence in following simple orders.”
Anakin shuts his eyes tight and opens his mouth to say something but ends up coughing into his arm, the sound painfully dry. On any other day, Obi-Wan would bring him a glass of water, rub his back, kiss him on the forehead.
Today is not any other day.
“You can’t pretend to be tired to get out of this confrontation,” Obi-Wan says coldly. “You got back yesterday. You’ve had plenty of rest since your mission. I know what you’re trying to do, and it might have worked on the council but it will not work on me.”
Anakin wants to tell Obi-Wan that he’s not pretending, that he’s truly is exhausted—that he hasn’t eaten or slept since he came back because he’s been debriefing troops who deserve a better general, and training his padawan who deserves a better master, and repairing starfighters that nobody else knows how to fix. He wants to tell Obi-Wan that he’s sorry, and he knows he was reckless and selfish; and he knows it’s not his place to say it, but right now he just wants to be held. Preferably by the person he loves most in the galaxy.
But that person is currently harshly lecturing him on his own mistakes, and Anakin has never felt more helpless.
“Are you even listening?”
Anakin blinks hard, double vision merging back to one. His head spins when he tries to focus on Obi-Wan.
“I am, and you’re not giving me a chance to explain,” Anakin says, frustrated. He’s unusually shaky and his heart is beating much too fast, even for the state of stress he’s in. “I had to fly in. If I’d turned back, they would have fired that cannon and we would have been picked off one by one. I had a choice to die fleeing or die fighting! What would you have done?”
He coughs into his arm again, and it’s worse than the last time—it feels like the air is being punched out of his lungs, ripped from his too-dry throat.
Obi-Wan slams a fist down on the table. Anakin recoils at the loud bang, drawing back into himself.
“That is not the point, Anakin. I don’t care that you didn’t lose any ships. I don’t care that you didn’t lose any troops. Hell, I don’t even care that you managed to take out a karking Seperatist superweapon!” He’s really shouting now, and he’s sure the knights in their quarters along the corridor can hear every word. “The point is that you directly disobeyed orders from the council, and in your arrogance, you jeopardised the lives of your own battalion!”
Anakin knows why Obi-Wan is so angry. One, he assumes Anakin pulled the stunt for his own entertainment—he thinks Anakin cannot resist a space-chase, cannot resist the adrenaline rush which comes with every dangerous situation. Two, he assumes Anakin defied orders out of hubris—he knows Anakin will go great lengths to prove the council wrong.
Three, he can’t bear to think of what he would do if Anakin didn’t make it back.
This isn’t only about Anakin defying orders or putting the 501st as risk. This is about Obi-Wan’s fear of losing him.
This is about Obi-Wan’s attachment.
“Just because your mission was a success does not mean you should be taking risks like this! Do you have any idea how catastrophic the fallout would be if anything went wrong?” Obi-Wan says, his emotions almost blinding in the Force.
“I’m sorry,” Anakin says hoarsely. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
Against his body’s protests, Anakin stands from his chair, and black spots flood the edges of his vision. He grabs the edge of the table before he can pass out.
Obi-Wan shakes his head angrily. “That’s not good enough. ‘Sorry’ won’t bring back dead troopers.”
‘Sorry’ won’t bring back dead Jedi.
“I know,” Anakin says, the sound a broken rasp in his dry throat, another round of coughs building in his chest. He’s devastated, and Obi-Wan somehow manages not to see it.
“You ‘know’? That’s all you have to say? You really don’t care, do you? I taught you better than this.” Obi-Wan’s voice is dangerously quiet, and somehow it makes Anakin feel even worse than when he was screaming.
But he does care. He cares so much. Obi-Wan doesn’t understand.
“Please leave,” Anakin says quietly. Saying the words feels sick and cruel and out of line, but he knows it is his right. Obi-Wan may be higher ranking but he’s not his master anymore. Anakin can tell him to leave his quarters if he doesn’t want him here.
No—he doesn’t want General Kenobi here. He doesn’t want the Negotiator here.
He wants Obi-Wan.
“Something to consider, Anakin. Maybe try to think of the people around you. Maybe try not to only think of yourself,” Obi-Wan says stiffly, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm, before turning on his heel and walking right out the door. He doesn’t bother to close it behind him.
Try not to only think of yourself.
Anakin collapses back down onto the chair, even more drained than he was a few minutes ago. In an hour, Ahsoka will come knocking, and he will have to uphold his promise to spar with her again, because he can’t turn her down when she’s done nothing wrong. He wants so badly to be angry at Obi-Wan, to blame him for how he feels, but he can’t even bring himself to do that.
One thing Obi-Wan can say for sure is that walking does not make it onto his list of top-ten cooling-off methods. He’s made his way around the upper levels of the temple, not stopping to talk to any Jedi Masters or Knights he sees in the halls, trying to calm himself before his anger festers, releasing those messy emotions into the Force.
The temple is huge, so he knows he must have been walking for hours when he passes the medbay, having done a full round of the building.
It’s safe to say he’s shocked to find Ahsoka pacing by the entrance. She’s all riled up and agitated, twirling her saber hilts in both hands. Her tunic is damp with what looks like sweat.
“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asks. “What are you doing here?”
She stops pacing for a second, only to glare at him and say, “I was going to ask you the same question.”
Obi-Wan ignores the snappy edge to her voice and asks, “Are you alright?” followed by, “Are you hurt?” Aside from the quickly drying sweat on her brow, she looks fine. A glance at her saber hilts tells him she’s probably been sparring.
“I’m fine,” she says, too quickly not to be suspicious. Obi-Wan knows something is wrong.
And that is when he notices the absence of what is usually the brightest Force signature in the room.
“Where’s Anakin?”
Ahsoka only looks to the door of the medbay and back to him.
Oh, no.
“He collapsed while we were sparring. Barely fifteen minutes into the session.”
“What?”
“I had him on his back and he just yielded. Didn’t even try to fight.”
That wasn’t Anakin at all.
Ahsoka presses her lips into a thin, hard line. “And then he didn’t get up.” She takes a breath, lets it out slowly. “So I called a healer. And they took him here.”
Obi-Wan fights the nausea which threatens to climb up his throat. “What did Vokara Che say?”
Only now does Ahsoka meet his eyes, and Obi-Wan immediately sees the worry in hers.
“You don’t know?” she asks, bitterness lacing her voice. “I thought that out of everyone in this Force-forsaken temple, you would be the one to make sure he was taking care of himself.”
Know what? Obi-Wan wonders. He wracks his brain for the events of the previous day. Taking care of himself? As far as he’s concerned, Anakin had returned from his mission, cleaned up the mess he’d made, given his report and went to his quarters. To rest.
Unless he hadn’t.
“I thought—“ Obi-Wan swallows, taking a breath to calm himself before he breaks down in front of Ahsoka. “I thought he went back to his quarters. I didn’t see him all day. I assumed he left his battalion—“
“He went back to them,” Ahsoka says softly. If he didn’t know any better, Obi-Wan would think it is sympathy which is written all over her face, but he knows it’s more along the lines of pity. “He sat with them and he talked with them and he apologised. He was really upset at himself for being so careless.”
Obi-Wan remembers how he’d snapped at Anakin, cut him down at every chance, not given him a single opportunity to speak. He’d admonished Anakin for ignoring him, when in reality Anakin was simply so exhausted and that there was no way he could stood strong under Obi-Wan’s relentless verbal assault.
Obi-Wan wants to throw up.
“And he told them they deserved a better general than him. Rex argued with him on that.”
Rex was right, Obi-Wan thinks.
“Where did he go after that?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.
Ahsoka looks at him with an expression he can’t read. “We sparred. I told him to rest, but he insisted on keeping the promise he made to me—that he would train with me for an hour when he got back.”
And he’d called Anakin selfish.
He’d been so wrong.
The image of Anakin comes rushing back into Obi-Wan’s mind, and suddenly it all makes sense. The bags under his bloodshot eyes—too prominent for someone who had supposedly gotten a full night of sleep. The tremors in his hands—not a tell of nervousness, but of hunger and exhaustion. The sluggish movements reminiscent of dehydration. The desperate, feverish gaze. The almost unnoticeable wince when he stood up too quickly.
“Can I see him?” Obi-Wan asks. He barely hears himself over the roaring in his head.
Ahsoka barks out a frustrated laugh, and the sound chafes in his ears. “Master Che kicked me out. She said I didn’t need to be there. You can try, if you like—I think she likes you more than me.” She sounds a little resentful at that.
On any other day, Obi-Wan would be scolding her for her rude tone and lack of courtesy, but he knows exactly how she’s feeling right now, and he would be a hypocrite to admonish her for caring about her master the way he does.
“Did she say what was wrong with him?” he asks.
Ahsoka grimaces. “He hasn’t eaten or drank anything since he came back yesterday, so his blood sugar levels are dangerously low—according to the Healers— nd he’s so dehydrated they told me he should have collapsed earlier,” Ahsoka says. “I can’t get him to take care of himself. You’re the only one who can.”
It sounds very much like she’s blaming Obi-Wan for not forcing Anakin to care for his health, and while it’s not her place to tell him what he should do—caring for Anakin isn’t the job he applied for—he’s made countless promises of his own to make sure Anakin doesn’t neglect his health the way he seems so fond of doing. The least he can do is keep them.
“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says hoarsely. “I didn’t know.”
Ahsoka’s glare softens, and the hard knot in Obi-Wan’s chest loosens just a little, so it’s only squeezing his heart and not crushing it.
“I’m not the one you should be apologising to,” she says softly. “I know what happened between the both of you. Though I’m sorry as well, Master Kenobi. I had no right to speak to you that way.”
“It’s okay, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says. “I understand.” This, he does.
“You should talk to Master Che,” Ahsoka says. “She might let you see him. He’s alright. He just really needed to rest.”
Not be yelled at by his old Master.
Obi-Wan shoves the thought aside. Regret won’t do him any good at this point. He pushes the door open, leaving Ahsoka to resume her pacing.
The clean, sterile scent of the medbay, though familiar, is anything but comforting. Some of the transparisteel walls of the closed-off rooms are fogged over for privacy. The clear ones are all empty. He picks up hushed voices from a room on his right, and recognises one of them as his former padawan’s.
Anakin sits on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling off the side. He glances up when Obi-Wan enters, and the relaxed expression is instantly wiped from his face, replaced with something harder and something that looks almost like fear. He’s awake, at least, and looking significantly better than he did when Obi-Wan saw him earlier.
(Though that could also be credited to how there isn’t a Jedi master screaming at him about how selfish and arrogant and reckless he is.)
Vokara Che stands beside him, calm and poised as ever. She doesn’t look happy.
“You do not need to be here,” she says, steely but not unkind, as Obi-Wan steps through the doorway.
“I think I do,” Obi-Wan says softly. He notices the half-empty glass of water and opened ration pack on the table beside the bed. They must have forced him to eat, then.
The twi’lek healer glances at Anakin, who has gone rigid, hands clenched in the sheets next to his thighs. “That is up to the patient.”
She says something to Anakin, too quietly for Obi-Wan to hear, but her shift in demeanour tells him it’s in a gentler tone than what she used with him. Judging from how Anakin shakes his head stiffly, he thinks it might be “Do you want him here?”
It hurts. But he’s not surprised.
His suspicions are confirmed when Vokara turns sharply to face him, stepping between him and Anakin protectively.
“Master Kenobi, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. My patient doesn’t want you here.”
Behind her, Anakin flinches at the callousness of her words.
Obi-Wan is unshaken by her candor. He nods politely and turns to leave, halfheartedly hoping by some chance Anakin might change his mind at the last moment and tell Vokara to let him stay, but even that selfish desire withers when the room remains silent as he steps out.
Ahsoka will ask him why he’s not staying, and he will have to tell her it’s because her master doesn’t want to see him.
He doesn’t want her to have to choose a side, but if she does, he hopes she picks Anakin.
Barely a day later, Obi-Wan forces himself to try again. He has to speak to Anakin. He takes the long way to those familiar quarters, walking slower than he usually would. He knocks more lightly than usual, shifting his weight between restless feet as he waits for the door to open and hopefully not slam shut in his face.
But instead of the light pad of feet against the floor, he hears a muffled “come in.”
He keys in the code. The door slides open silently. Obi-Wan steps past the threshold and sees Anakin standing with his back to him, the unmistakeable blue glow of a datapad outlining his figure. The faint smell of fresh caf wafts through the air.
Anakin turns to the side a little and Obi-Wan finally catches a glimpse of his face. He looks so much better—rested, fed, clean. He’s finally changed out of the stuffy layers of tunics and tabards, now only wearing a thin, half-buttoned sleep-tunic and loose pants.
Anakin glances over at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. He expects Anakin to go cold again, to turn away from him just as he did earlier. But to Obi-Wan’s shock, Anakin smiles. It’s faint, but a smile nonetheless, the corners of his eyes crinkling up ever so slightly—Anakin wasn’t expecting Obi-Wan to try and seek him out a second time, not after being rejected so harshly the first.
And Obi-Wan is stricken by the fact that Anakin looks beautiful.
It’s not that he isn’t beautiful at any other time. It’s just that Obi-Wan hasn’t looked at Anakin—really looked at Anakin—for a long while now. Their moments of privacy are spent rushing the other to completion, or stealing kisses between beeping comms and unexpected knocks on the door. They simply have not had the luxury of time— not as jedi, not as generals, not as friends or even lovers.
And it’s barely been a week, but Obi-Wan already misses the feel of Anakin’s hair between his fingers, and the brilliant shades of blue in his eyes, and the contours of his lithe muscle under scarred skin. He misses the warmth of Anakin’s lips on his, and the touch of his skilled fingers over every surface of his body, and the way Anakin says his name like a benediction.
He misses Anakin, even though that is more than he deserves.
Especially after how he rewarded Anakin’s selflessness with caustic words and razor-edged accusations.
It’s selfish of him, but Obi-Wan can only describe what he feels as relief. He knows Anakin must still be shaken by the hurtful events of the previous day.
If Obi-Wan is right, Anakin doesn’t show it. He sets the datapad and his cup of caf down on the counter and walks over to Obi-Wan, who is still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. A heartbeat later, his arms are wrapped around his old master, face buried in his neck.
The moment of shock passes. Obi-Wan slips his hands around Anakin’s waist, a little concerned at how lean he’s gotten—though that would be a result of skipping meals and over-training.
He’ll have to talk to Anakin about that at some point.
But not now.
Anakin pulls away just enough to touch his forehead to Obi-Wan’s, and exhales softly, then closes the space between their lips.
The kiss is soft, and slow, and everything Obi-Wan wishes he was with Anakin when he needed it most. It is nothing like the fervent clash of lips and hot bodies that has grown to become the norm when they are alone.
Obi-Wan so badly wants to forget everything that has happened in the last day. He wants to wipe his and Anakin’s memories clean of every harsh comment, every cutting remark. And he knows it is selfish. He knows it would only benefit him; only rid him of his guilt.
Of course, that is too much to ask for.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, pulling away like it physically pains him to do so. “We need to talk. About—everything. Yesterday. This.” He gestures helplessly at the air in front of him.
Obi-Wan sighs. “I know.”
“We can talk about it later, if you like,” Anakin says gently. He’s respecting Obi-Wan’s boundaries. Not pushing him to talk if he isn’t ready.
“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan replies. “I have—some things. That I need to say.”
Anakin nods. “I need to ask you something first, if you don’t mind.”
Obi-Wan meets Anakin’s eyes, giving him his full attention.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said—when you told me to think of the people around me,” Anakin starts. He swallows, already uncomfortable just from recalling everything Obi-Wan said. “I don’t think you were talking about the council, were you? You weren’t talking about the clones, either.” He pauses. “And you weren’t talking about Ahsoka.”
Obi-Wan’s mouth goes dry.
“No,” he says softly.
“You’re attached,” Anakin says simply. You were talking about yourself.
“Yes.”
I can’t lose you.
Anakin already knows this. They never established it, exactly—never acknowledged their attachment with those exact words. It had remained an unspoken subject between them. Talking about it would only have made matters more difficult to bear.
This was why the Code banned attachment. It disrupted rationality, threw logic out the window. It clouded the judgement of a Jedi. And now Obi-Wan had fallen victim to the very circumstances he had been taught from young to avoid.
“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispers. “The things I said were—inexcusable. No—“
Anakin opens his mouth to interject, but Obi-Wan places a finger over his lips before he can make a sound.
“—don’t try and argue with me on this. You were upset.” You kicked me out of the medbay. “I understand. I do. I was wrong to call you selfish—“
Anakin closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Obi-Wan.”
“I’m sorry, Anakin.”
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, smiling sadly. “You were right. I am selfish. I am selfish because I want you all to myself, and I cannot bear the thought of anybody else having you.” He pauses, giving Obi-Wan a chance to respond if he needs to, but he’s so shocked he can’t find any words to say, so Anakin continues. “Yes, I am attached. I’m more attached to you than this prosthetic arm is to me.”
Obi-Wan huffs out a laugh, and Anakin pulls Obi-Wan to himself so his head rests on Anakin’s shoulder. He combs his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Obi-Wan hums contentedly.
“I don’t like it when you’re angry,” Anakin says quietly.
Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything, but Anakin feels the wave of apology wash over him through their bond.
“It’s not your fault,” Anakin adds. “It’s okay that you’re angry. It’s just that—everything you feel, I feel, and it’s hard. Feeling anger which isn’t mine. Feeling anger at myself.”
I’m sorry about that too, Obi-Wan murmurs across the bond.
It’s okay, Anakin replies.
For a moment, it’s easy to believe that they never fought, and that tonight is just another night spent together after a mission. They’ll eat dinner, curl up on the couch, pretend to write their reports. They are not normal Jedi. Normal Jedi do not make the mistakes they do, or fall into the same traps. Anakin wonders—is he really not selfish? To want to be the exception in a thousand-year long history of tradition?
“No,” Obi-Wan says softly, suddenly.
“What?” Anakin asks, starting to pull away, but Obi-Wan holds him tight.
“You’re not.” He says. You’re the most selfless person I have ever known.
Anakin doesn’t say anything, just holds Obi-Wan tighter.
“We’re bad Jedi,” Anakin murmurs.
Obi-Wan sighs, but leans further into Anakin’s shoulder. “We are.”
Anakin holds him for a long time, until the world around him goes soft and slow and warm, and the tears no longer threaten to well up in his eyes.
And he knows, even when they finally break apart, that everything will be okay.