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The lamp itself is quite lovely, but rather unassuming and easy to miss, stacked precariously at the very edge of the shelf filled with filigree candelabra. Obi-Wan notices it only on his third or fourth look through the antique shop.
He takes it into better lighting, examines closely. Maybe few hundreds years old, if that. The glass nozzle is a little scratched, with a nick at the frilled top edge. The body and handle are dirty silver, fine work of flames and flowers embossed all over. It is perhaps the unusual subject that intrigues Obi-Wan. He doesn’t question it, not at the time.
He buys the lamp.
Few evenings later, back home after another strenuous day in court, Obi-Wan loosens his tie, pours himself wine and gets comfortable in an overstuffed armchair facing the west window of his day room. There, on the windowsill, sits the lamp.
After a throughout cleaning, the silver gleams beautifully against the streetlights, almost mysterious in the dark room. It doesn’t fit in. Amongst sleek, minimalistic furnishing of Obi-Wan’s apartment, the lamp stands out like a sore thumb. Exhausted and more prone to getting lost in thought, Obi-Wan can’t stop staring at it. There is… something. Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, the ‘crazy old man’ jokes of his friends finally coming true.
Obi-Wan scratches his beard, considering. It’s a lamp. It is meant to be used, not just admired.
He gets up, picks the small bottle of oil included in his purchase, fills the lamp. He uses a long matchstick to reach inside the glass bulb and lights up the twine wick.
Obi-Wan has only enough time to sit back down and look at the small flame for a moment before the smoke starts thickening.
A growing, raising cloud of fumes gathers atop the lamp and Obi-Wan has to rub his eyes. And then the smoke grows, forms itself, takes the shape of a human, materialises floating in air, as if sitting cross-legged above the lamp.
Obi-Wan freezes in place.
There is a young man, somewhat haggard looking, bundled up in a worn, brown cloak, still floating in air. He lifts his head and looks at Obi-Wan with piercing, yellow eyes.
Neither says anything for a painfully long moment.
“So,” the strange man breaks the silence in a voice hoarse from disuse, “What do you want?”
The man stretches out, mid-air, then stands on the carpet. He’s tall, with wider shoulders, the cloak hiding his body, though his sunken face suggests enough. Untidy, longish hair, matted and tangled, cover some of the hollow cheeks but not the dark shadow under his eyes.
He looks somewhat angry and very, very tired.
Obi-Wan can’t help himself and sighs, gets up from his armchair. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Twenty minutes later finds them sitting at Obi-Wan’s kitchen island, nursing half-finished cups of herbal tea. The young man is still bundled up his cloak, both hands around his cup, but there’s a little more color on his face. He keeps fidgeting and looking around, every other moment checking up on his lamp still on the windowsill.
“Excuse me if it’s rude, but my knowledge about genies happens to end on fairy tales. Would you mind running through ground rules? I assume there are some rules, yes?” Says Obi-Wan, trying not to stare at the really quite lovely looking man, failing.
“The usual, three wishes and bye bye. Can’t resurrect the dead or murder anyone.”
“But anything else is fine?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Look,” the man pushes away his cup and looks at Obi-Wan, all frowned brows and restless fingers tapping at the counter. “I’m not some genie how-to guide, just say what the hell you want.”
“Are you in a hurry?” Obi-Wan tilts his head, smiles a little.
“You didn’t put much oil there, so kind of, yeah.”
“Ah, I see. Do you need to grant wishes every time you’re out of… well, whatever is inside the lamp.”
The man looks down, visibly uncomfortable, hides his hands in the long sleeves of his cloak. “It’s about what you need, not me.” He mumbles eventually, voice strained.
Obi-Wan swirls his moustache in thought.
There’s an impossible being sitting in his kitchen. Obi-Wan knows he should be afraid or at least check his wine for drugs. And yet. There’s something that feels right about this entire situation, and though Obi-Wan can’t put his finger on it, he decides to go with his gut. He’s heard lawyers talk about weirder things than genies.
In the end, that’s all there is to it. The genie is interesting and Obi-Wan is curious.
“I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. How may I call you?” Obi-Wan holds out his hand.
“What does it even matter,” the young man grimaces, ignores the hand shake. “Uh, Anakin is fine.”
“Let’s see if we have time for a quick dinner, shall we?”
When inside his lamp, Anakin sees only distorted world through the bulbous glass. Usually it means inside of a thrift shop or a dusty shelf in somebody’s room. He enjoys the windowsill, the little bit more of the world he can observe from there. He can’t hear it, in the silence of his lamp, and sometimes doesn’t understand everything he sees.
But he hopes Kenobi will keep the lamp there, even after his wishes are granted.
Kenobi summons him over twice more during the next week, each time fills the lamp to the brim. Anakin tries to be annoyed for all of an hour. Then he… tolerates it.
They talk, and Anakin learns. Anakin doesn’t like admitting to not knowing, but Kenobi tells him about things anyway, let’s him use the apartment. It’s been a long time since Anakin was allowed to just be.
The third time, Anakin agrees to use the shower. He keeps the water almost too cold. But when he brushes his hair off his face, he feels human again. There’s a neat stack of clean clothes just outside the bathroom door.
Anakin puts on his own robes, reminds himself what he is.
He forgets for a minute, later, when Kenobi says something silly and smiles at him, and Anakin, fascinated, smiles back.
That day, when he is back inside the lamp, Anakin thinks about everything he lost and cries about everything he can never have.
It’s been a month, and Obi-Wan summoned him a least few times each week.
It’s nice, he figures, to talk to someone, stretch his legs and get a meal every now and then. Sometimes Obi-Wan goes to work, says Anakin is free to do as he pleases. Anakin takes apart and fixes nearly everything he can find in the apartment.
Anakin no longer dreads it, no longer swallows down fear when he floats out of the lamp.
Today Obi-Wan hands him newly bought clothes and offers to go outside.
“Only if you want to, of course.”
Anakin wonders about his cloak and robes, dirty and battered. Obi-Wan is always wearing nice suits, and has an impeccable apartment filled with nice things. The world outside makes Anakin think he would fit right in, but he wants Obi-Wan to be happy so he changes into the clean clothes.
They spent hours wandering through the city. Anakin admires everything he sees. It’s bittersweet, and brings up memories, but he still absorbs every little detail. He never knows if there will be another chance.
“You seem to enjoy it,” says Obi-Wan.
Anakin looks up at him. They are on a bridge, above a busy street.
“It’s a little like home.” He answers. He’s not sure if it means yes or no.
Obi-Wan looks at him for a minute, then asks:
“What was it like?”
“Full of life. Wondrous. Endless.” Says Anakin. Swallows. And because Obi-Wan never questioned, adds: “Our technology was different, usually much better than yours. But so much of it looks similar. Well, some of our planets were incomparable to yours, of course.”
“Planets?” Obi-Wan turns fully to him, lifts his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I was a knight and spaceship pilot. I’ve been all over the Galaxy.”
“Huh, no wonder you worked out my laptop so easily.”
Obi-Wan smiles, his eyes twinkle with honest interest and joy.
Anakin tells him about every place he visited, every ship he flew. Tells him about holo comms and lightspeed and hovering speeders and lightsabers. Shows off katas, feels his muscles tingle at long forgotten forms. For the first time since everything happened, Anakin talks about his life before and smiles.
It’s already dark when they return to Obi-Wan’s apartment. Anakin’s lamp is still burning, the oil will be gone in an hour at most.
Anakin wishes he could pour more himself, but doesn’t dare ask Obi-Wan. He has no right to be greedy.
“Do you think our scientist will ever find your Galaxy?” Obi-Wan sits on the couch, next to Anakin, and hands him a glass of wine. Sips on his own.
“I don’t think it still exists,” whispers Anakin.
Obi-Wan doesn’t answer right away, and Anakin is grateful for lack of questions. He wonders how long it’s been. How long it will be until he meets someone like Obi-Wan again. Doesn’t like the odds.
Anakin shifts in his spot. He didn’t touch another being in so long, ever since-- Obi-Wan is handsome and kind, and Anakin doesn’t think he would object to a hug. Anakin needs only a few seconds. But he knows he can’t ask for anything.
“Do all genies look like you?”
“Excuse me?”
Anakin stares, dumbfounded, as Obi-Wan gestures at him vaguely.
“Tall, pretty, with nice hair and golden eyes.” Explains Obi-Wan, reaches out a hand to Anakin’s hair but falters mid-way and coughs.
“As far as I know, there are no others.” Anakin sighs weakly. He did so well to ignore the sickly eyes for all this time. “Or maybe they just never invited me over for sunday gossip.”
The joke falls flat. Obi-Wan huffs a weak laugh, but otherwise doesn’t react. Anakin hates being pitied.
“You said your home might no longer exist,” Obi-Wan rests sideways against the couch, looks sad when Anakin turns towards him. “Do you ever want to see it?”
“Sometimes,” nods Anakin. He knows it’s just ruins and stardust now, by his own doing. Lately, with Obi-Wan, he forgets about it. He thinks he shouldn’t, ever.
“Then, I wish you could.”
Anakin stiffens at the words, his heartbeat picking up. He feels betrayed, knows it was his fault to hope in the first place.
Anakin lowers himself to the floor, breaths quick and shallow and tries to not cry.
He snaps his fingers, curls onto himself and burns.
A week later, Obi-Wan sits in his armchair facing the window. He looks at the lamp. Breathes deeply three, four, five times. Waits until his hands stop trembling. He looks at the glass of wine and wonders if he could drown himself in it.
Wishes there was a second glass next to it.
Wishes, he thinks, that’s what he gets for having wishes.
If Obi-Wan could change his wish now, he would ask to never see- that. He wants to erase the memory from his brain, doesn’t know how.
Anakin burned on his floor, in cries of agony and charring flesh, until there was enough smoke lifting off his body to make him disappear. And then he was gone.
It lasted maybe minutes, but to Obi-Wan it still feels like a lifetime.
He watched Anakin burn and-- and die, and he didn’t know how to help.
Obi-Wan looks at the exact spot on his floor, carpet pristine as ever.
That day, once he shook off the panic, he tried to reach out. His hand felt on fire, but there was no mark left. Before he thought about calling an ambulance, it was over.
What would he even say at the hospital, wonders Obi-Wan, ‘I killed a genie. I think we were friends. We were something, at least.’
Obi-Wan doesn’t dare touch the lamp even to dust it off.
Two more weeks pass by.
Each morning, Obi-Wan gets ready to work and nods at the lamp before he leaves. He clutches onto most complicated cases, and forces himself to not give out harsher sentences. Each evening, he sits in the armchair, looks at the lamp. Reads fairy tales, wonders if there’s one about a genie killer.
Finds plenty about friend murderers.
On the third week anniversary, Obi-Wan cries for the whole night. The next day he puts the lamp inside a dark cupboard, out of sight.
He doesn’t last even a full evening. Obi-Wan wonders if a part of him enjoys the suffering, but he cleans the lamp and puts it back on the windowsill.
Obi-Wan keeps his mind carefully empty, does his best to just focus on the actions, as he pours in a little oil and reaches for the long matchstick.
He lights up the lamp, sits back in his armchair.
When the smoke raises and thickens and forms into a shape, Obi-Wan jumps up and embraces Anakin before he’s even fully materialized.
It’s the weirdest sensation, feeling soft whiffs of smoke where Anakin’s arms have not fully stabilized yet, while the golden hair already tickles Obi-Wan’s nose.
He catches himself quickly, though. Swallows, steps back. Lifts his head up, knows Anakin deserves better than cowardice.
“There are no words to say how incredibly sorry I am, Anakin.” Says Obi-Wan, doesn’t give empty excuses.
“I thought you don’t want me anymore,” Anakin’s voice is hoarse. He looks almost as bad as the first time they met. “You didn’t summon me for so long. And then you hid away the lamp.”
“I killed you. I’m so sorry-”
“It’s fine. That’s just how wishes work.” Anakin smiles ruefully, “I should’ve warned you.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say.
He wants to cry and laugh at once, he thought he lost Anakin forever but here he is. Was inside the lamp, stuck there and alone, for three weeks, while Obi-Wan moped. He feels sick with himself for imprisoning Anakin like this.
“Do you want me to light up the lamp tomorrow morning?” He asks eventually.
“If that’s alright,”
“There’s not much- The oil soon- Anakin,” Obi-Wan looks at the sunken face, unnaturally pale and tired, “May I hug you again?”
Anakin breathes sharply, and Obi-Wan is sure he overstepped, but then the young man smiles a little and nods.
They stay embraced closely until Anakin disappears in smoke again.
It’s a little awkward, the first few days. Obi-Wan is being careful and attentive, and openly spoils Anakin. They have nicer food and go outside every other evening, and Anakin loves getting to drive a car or sometimes wandering around on his own during the day. He appreciates and truly enjoys all of Obi-Wan’s efforts. He does.
He just feels ashamed.
In the end, it is his own fault, not telling Obi-Wan enough beforehand. He knows it. He knows he let himself forget too often, felt too secure. But the lamp is a punishment, always. No matter how wonderful Obi-Wan makes it feel.
Anakin is still lost in his thoughts hours later, when they drink wine in Obi-Wan’s apartment.
Obi-Wan sits on the couch. Anakin wants to join him, sits on the armchair instead. Looks at his lamp.
“Tomorrow is sunday, where do you want to go?” Asks Obi-Wan, eyes on his phone.
“Anywhere you pick is fine.”
“You always do that,” laughs Obi-Wan, “Just choose something.”
Anakin is silent for a moment, sighs tiredly. “I can’t. I’m not allowed to ask for anything.”
“That’s… Anakin, that’s horrible.”
“It’s supposed to be, yes.”
Obi-Wan sips his wine, visibly perturbed.
Anakin waits. Is sure a question will follow, finally. Obi-Wan never asked about his pasts, aside from wondering about whatever stories Anakin shared himself. Not many people kept Anakin around for so long, but those who did - always asked.
When it comes, nearly half an hour later, it’s not the question Anakin expected.
“Are you allowed to be honest? To say no?”
“I’m not a slave, Obi-Wan.” Anakin lies, to himself most of all. Then, he clarifies. “I can’t refuse a wish that abides the rules. That’s all.”
“That’s good. Well, not good, but better at least.” Obi-Wan smiles at him like a blooming flower. “Would it help to form it as questions? If I want the same thing?”
Anakin’s stomach clenches, flutters.
“Are you really that curious what I might want?” He asks, feels his cheeks hurt from smiling.
“Yes.”
It takes no thought at all to come up with a question.
“Would you like to watch the sunrise with me?”
“I’ll keep the lamp burning as long as you want me to.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t.
The lamp is lighted up for over a week. Obi-Wan gives Anakin his guest bedroom, but the genie doesn’t use it much. Instead, he curls up with Obi-Wan, for few rare hours at a time. Stays atop the sheets, claims he’s burning too hot anyway, and Obi-Wan winces only a little at the phrasing.
They talk around things as well as they can, and argue every other day. Anakin laughs until he cries after the first fight, says he missed it. Obi-Wan wants to hold him and keep him close forever. Knows it’s not right, but tells himself Anakin wouldn’t be free anyway.
The argument is stupid, and Obi-Wan doesn’t even know what it is about at this point. But for the first time they scream at each other.
Obi-Wan isn’t sure what exactly Anakin said, everything is tangled and messy and they both meant to hurt. But it is Obi-Wan who gets angry enough to extinguish the lamp.
Anakin growls angrily and disappears in a cloud of smoke.
It takes all of two minutes for Obi-Wan to realize with mortification what he just did. He promptly lights up the lamp anew.
When Anakin materialises, he stands stiffly but his face is calm.
“I’m sorry,” mumbles Obi-Wan with a grimace.
“I deserved it.”
“Maybe, but it wasn’t fair.”
Anakin looks at his feet, seems small despite his height. Obi-Wan hates their situation. Hates himself a little more each time Anakin wakes him up to watch the sunrise.
They end up on the couch again, shoulders and knees brushing.
Obi-Wan swirls his wine, wants to ask but worries about overstepping. He downs the glass before turning towards Anakin. Has to focus to not get lost in the soft honey glow of Anakin’s curls, the shape of his lips.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan starts quietly, “Can I ask you about my wish?”
The tensing shoulders are painful to watch, but Anakin nods his head, tries a weak smile.
“Have you- did you get to see your home?”
It takes a moment, but Anakin lets out a breath, relaxes into the couch. Obi-Wan thinks he shifted a bit closer.
“Yeah. I thought it’s gone, but… it seemed fine. Thank you.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t know if it was worth burning alive. Anakin smiles at him though, and Obi-Wan can’t imagine wanting more.
“Do you want to know? About my home, and me, and everything?” Suddenly asks Anakin. His voice is a little strained, but yellow eyes warm and honest.
“Everything you’re comfortable sharing,” answers Obi-Wan.
Anakin faces away, but this time definitely moves closer. Obi-Wan cautiously puts an arm around his shoulders, feels his heart stammer when Anakin sinks into the embrace.
“It’s been hundreds of years ago, close to a thousand I think. I was the strongest-” Anakin pauses, shakes his head a little. “I thought I was the strongest warrior in the entire Galaxy. And I fell in love. Padme was… she was the most beautiful being. And I ruined her. I was selfish, and I wanted so much- that I burned everything around me.”
Obi-Wan listens closely, at the same time hoping he never heard the pain soaked words.
“I thought I can have everything, that I’m strong enough to take it. In the end I burned her, and our world. I thought I destroyed it all. And then, somehow, the Force Priestesses locked me in this lamp. Said it was my punishment, for everything I’ve done. I was so angry, for so long. They threw me here, made me fulfill wishes and burn over and over again. Then, I had only pain. And myself.
I know I deserved all of it. Obi-Wan, you can’t imagine the horrors I did. But now, I saw my home again. It’s different, obviously, after so much time. It’s fine, though. The people were alive and seemed happy.”
Obi-Wan wants to pull him closer, into a proper hug, but resists. Lets Anakin sit against him, pretends he doesn’t hear his breath hitching on a sob.
Things are going… well. Obi-Wan tries not to worry. He packs his things, about to leave the court after a long day. The case was complicated, the man yelled threats after hearing his sentence. On such occasions, Obi-Wan always just wants to go home and be alone. Now he can’t wait to see Anakin.
It’s too easy to forget the stress when Anakin greets him with a smile.
They are toweling off the dishes after dinner, when Obi-Wan’s phone goes off.
He picks it up. Listens and agrees shortly. Anakin gives him a questioning look.
“It seems the convict from today escaped, it’ll probably be handled within a few hours, but an officer will arrive here soon. Until it clears up.”
“Sounds dangerous,” comments Anakin, his eyes bright.
Obi-Wan can’t help smirking back. Shakes his head.
“It’s just a formality. Do you want to stay around or…?”
“Do you want me to stay around?”
There’s something shaky about Anakin’s tone, Obi-Wan thinks.
“Always. I don’t mind the officer if you don’t.” He admits, realizes how much he means it. “But just in case, you wouldn’t be safe here.”
Anakin agrees, clearly reluctant. They both know Anakin would be fine after regenerating inside the lamp. But Obi-Wan can’t see him suffer, not again.
Obi-Wan hugs him while he puts out the flame. And then he’s alone.
Settling in his armchair, Obi-Wan looks at the lamp on the windowsill.
He can barely remember the life before Anakin, can not imagine a future without him. Wonders if Anakin truly has a choice. Or other options.
It’s a good half an hour before the doorbell rings.
Obi-Wan opens the door and feels a hot pain in his chest.
The man he sentenced today is pushing him farther inside, through the short hall and then inside the living room, pulls the knife out and stabs again.
Obi-Wan fights, as much as he can, feels blood in his mouth.
He’s pushed against the armchair, falls to the floor. This is where Anakin burned and died, Obi-Wan thinks absently.
It’s not the worst place to die, he decides.
The room is looking blurred, when he hears a loud scream and then a series of crashes.
He must be hallucinating, dreaming maybe.
Anakin’s face, burned black and red, horribly scarred, and still the most beautiful face Obi-Wan has ever seen, is hovering above him. Gentle hands are cradling his head, pushing on the wounds in his chest. Tendrils of smoke are floating off Anakin’s body.
“Don’t you dare, Obi-Wan! You can’t! You can’t! Hold on, please, please just a moment longer, Obi-Wan, please, you have to say your wish! Say you want to live, please-”
Obi-Wan feels hot tears falling on his face. He wants to say something, comfort Anakin, but can’t.
I wish you were safe, Obi-Wan thinks, I wish the one person I love the most in this entire world had a chance to be happy.
Even if he could speak, Obi-Wan knows he wouldn’t burn Anakin again.
He thinks he hears sirens, voices.
Anakin’s voice is becomes more distant, weak.
He disappears into smoke the same moment Obi-Wan closes his eyes.
Obi-Wan wakes up in a white room with cracks on the ceiling.
He stares at them for a long time, tries to remember what happened.
Only when the memories hurt too much, he moves his eyes sideways.
The room is sterile, clean, with hospital equipment stacked on one side of his bed. He looks down at himself, at a white mass of bandages covering his chest. Turns his head to look at the other side, where his arm hurts almost as much as his lungs.
Anakin half-sits on a low chair, while his head lies across Obi-Wan’s arm, hands limply curled around it. Honey blond curls sprawled on the bed sheet.
Obi-Wan slowly draws the arm free, touches Anakin’s cheek.
Anakin mumbles something as he wakes up, lifts his head and stares at Obi-Wan with brilliantly blue eyes.
“You’re awake!”
Obi-Wan can’t answer before Anakin shots up and hugs him around the multitude of IVs.
“How are you here? What happened?” Obi-Wan smiles without intending to, ignores the pain to cling back at the young man.
“I saw you getting hurt and I had to help, I had to do something, so I think I broke through the lamp? Doesn’t matter, it worked, and you’re safe, you’re alive, Obi-Wan, I was so afraid I’m gonna lose you,” Anakin talks quickly, stops every other word for a sob or a laugh. “Obi-Wan, I really want to kiss you.”
Obi-Wan takes a moment to process through it all. Feels his chest expand with joy.
“You want to.” He repeats.
“I might be really bad, though. It’s been a couple hundred years.”
Obi-Wan drags him into a kiss.
“You’re free,” marvels Obi-Wan between kisses.
“This time, I got the burning part right.” Laughs Anakin, blue eyes wet with tears. “The Priestesses even gave me an Earth ID, my birthday looks weird though, your months are all wonky.”
Obi-Wan hears his monitors going up, his heart rate alone must’ve already alerted the personnel, but he can’t stop himself.
“You’re free, and you’re here,” he says, as much a crying mess as Anakin.
“Come on, wish us luck,” Anakin grins at him.
“I wish we could go home,”
Anakin snaps his fingers.
When nothing happens, Obi-Wan kisses him again.
A second later a nurse runs inside, panicking about the monitors. Obi-Wan smiles, tells her he was never better. Anakin squeezes his hand.
They keep the lamp, but never light it up again.