Chapter Text
“Kenobiii—!” A man’s deep voice bellowed from the rubbish dump. Obi-Wan winced to hear it. He had not been scheduled to go to Naboo at all, but Anakin had managed to drag him along on his mission to protect Padme—Mrs. Skywalker. The only person in the galaxy who knew the truth about Senator Amidala and Anakin, aside from the Supreme Chancellor, was Obi-Wan, and Anakin wanted to keep it that way.
The kyber from Obi-Wan’s first lightsaber was calling to him. Padme had insisted that Obi-Wan make an effort to retrieve it, since it was technically a weapon and therefore dangerous in the wrong hands. Now that it was clear that a Dark Side Force-user, a crazy one at that, was living here, Obi-Wan had to admit that Padme had been right.
Obi-Wan idly pondered on his latent death wish as he found himself drawn toward the red-skinned Zabrak man who had failed to stay dead. This was not a smart move, not by a long shot, but Obi-Wan’s first lightsaber was near this man.
Obi-Wan rounded a corner and there it was, the hilt dirty but untarnished, glinting in the unstable light of the afternoon. Obi-Wan bent from the waist, plucked the lightsaber out of the mound of debris, and clipped it to his belt. It was good to have two sabers in case he had another run-in with the crazy Sith.
“Kenobiii—!” The voice was coming closer, the Force-presence getting more and more agitated. Lovely. The Sith must have felt Obi-Wan nearby and recognized him. Just as Obi-Wan was contemplating the logistics of getting out of there unseen, a horrifying creature clambered into view on six mechanical legs, bare arms flailing. “Keno—” The eyes widened in recognition, flashing yellow. Oh no.
“Hello there.” Obi-Wan defaulted to his standard mode for dealing with General Grievous.
“Kenobiii! Argh!” The Sith bared his shockingly-bad teeth, yellowed and decayed. A whiff of the foulest halitosis Obi-Wan had ever smelled assaulted his nostrils.
“Yes, that’s me. We meet again. I’m afraid I wasn’t introduced to you properly last time. May I ask your name?”
The man growled, but there was a look of confusion in those eyes. Perhaps he didn’t have one, or more likely, couldn’t remember it. Obi-Wan himself had once been mind-wiped or nearly so; he felt almost sorry for the crazed half-man in front of him. Half-crazed men Obi-Wan had seen before, but fully-crazed half-men were rarer.
“Master?” Anakin appeared out of nowhere, stepping up to loom behind Obi-Wan. As much as Anakin’s superior height rankled, it could be useful sometimes. Obi-Wan turned around to smile at Anakin. This was his tight-lipped, “Aren’t these gundarks loads of fun?” smile.
“Master. Argh! Kenobiii!” The red-skinned man screamed again, but neither of the Jedi missed the venom he had injected into his use of the word, “master.” He hated the Sith master, then, perhaps even more than he hated Obi-Wan. How interesting.
Obi-Wan smirked. If they captured this man and brought him home for questioning, they might gain valuable intelligence, especially if they harnessed his obvious fixation on Obi-Wan himself. Oh yes.
Anakin frowned for a moment before he joined his old master in smirking. Oh yes, this was going to be fun. He and Obi-Wan had already faced one Sith lord together, even gotten on rather friendly terms with Dooku, all things considered. Sith lords were their specialty, from a certain point of view. Padme and the Supreme Chancellor would be so impressed.
The red-skinned man bared his teeth, snarling like an animal. Obi-Wan knew that they were facing someone who was doubly dangerous as a man and wild animal. He approached cautiously, keeping his lightsabers clipped to his belt, hoping that Anakin would follow his lead.
A low growl reverberated through the trash dump, scaring the vermin. Obi-Wan came closer and closer, thanking the stars that Anakin was already a knight. He would not be an orphan padawan if anything happened to Obi-Wan. It was Anakin who let out a mighty cry, in imitation of a Krayt dragon. Even though this wasn’t Tatooine, the danger level felt similar enough.
The Zabrak stopped growling and began to look around in apparent confusion, probably thinking that there really was a dangerous beast present. Anything was possible in terms of hostile wildlife in a place like this.
Anakin let out another cry as he and his old master came even closer. It would be easiest to simply kill this man outright, but he didn’t have a good track record of staying dead. Besides, Obi-Wan was right about the intelligence value of capturing a former Sith alive. Given that a known Sith, Count Dooku, was the leader of the Separatists and claimed that his master was in the Senate yet was coy about the details, a raving lunatic might be a good source of information. He would be uninhibited enough, and if all else failed, he could be mind-tricked.
By the time the Zabrak was aware of what was happening, it was almost too late. Obi-Wan was upon him, still not resorting to his weapons, as he pressed, hard, at the base of his bare tattooed skull with one hand. Golden eyes flashed as red and black arms flailed, trying to grab the human who was standing at his right, just behind him.
Obi-Wan sent the strongest sleep suggestion he could as he stayed out of the way of the six kicking mechanical legs, gripping the red man’s waist with both hands to keep him from charging at Anakin, who now had his blue lightsaber ignited. Its light illumined his face, casting eerie shadows, magnifying the blue of his eyes, as he came within striking distance.
The ex-Sith fixed his eyes on the blade, a dim memory of pain warning him away from lashing out at it in an attempt to knock it out of the young human’s hands. There was something intensely familiar about young human males wielding blue lightsabers; a muddled, distant memory of long walkways, swishing long hair, and the rush of air all around him as he fell, down, down, down, tried to bubble to the surface.
“You want to come with us.” A pleasant voice whispered from behind. The red-skinned man twitched. Master. Master used to whisper in his ear with a dangerously sonorous, pleasant voice, making offers and suggestions that were really commands. Noncompliance meant a shock of blue Force-lightning. If he came with these people, one of whom seemed to be Kenobi, he might be able to please his Master.
Anakin could barely believe it when the deranged being in front of him stopped resisting. This was not in the script. Anakin nodded to his old master as he put away his lightsaber and activated his comm instead.
“Captain Typho? I’d like to request pickup. We ran into a complication who was supposed to be dead.”
“All right, give us your coordinates and I’ll be right there.”
Meanwhile Obi-Wan had pulled out a pair of Force-inhibiting cuffs, which he placed on the red wrists. With his arms pinned back and his head bowed, the assassin from all those years ago looked deceptively harmless. Now that the situation was slightly less tense, Obi-Wan had a chance to examine his new prisoner.
The man had clearly had a hard life, but he looked to be about the same age as Obi-Wan himself, perhaps slightly younger. He must have been an apprentice in his early twenties at the time of their fateful first encounter. That begged the question of how young this man must have been when he first appeared in Theed ten years ago, and seeing how well-trained he was then, how young he must have been at the start of his training. Perhaps he had been a lost padawan who Fell.
The smallish transport arrived, hovering over the trash heap, merely letting down its ramp but not landing. Captain Typho’s face appeared at the top of the ramp and registered confirmed dread. He recognized the red and black figure. Of course he did, footage of the Battle of Naboo was now shown to cadets as part of their education, and older professional security personnel saw it too as part of their ongoing professional development training.
Obi-Wan kept his hands on the Zabrak’s waist as the two Jedi steered him up the ramp. Captain Typho updated someone on the situation over his comm as his team provided backup for Obi-Wan. The former Sith remained oddly quiet as Anakin sat down next to him. From this vantage point, Anakin could see the flaws of the makeshift metal legs quite well. He mentally went through all the upgrades he would make if they were not allowed to have this man fitted with better cybernetics. Anakin flexed his own metal fingers as he entered into a pleasant daydream of tinkering.
For his part, the Zabrak kept quiet as he observed the men in Royal Naboo Security Forces uniform. There was something disturbingly familiar about them. Master was from Naboo and had access to senatorial security. He must hold very still, be ready to submit to any torture, if he was on Naboo. All he knew was that Naboo was a dangerous, painful place.
Obi-Wan sat on the Zabrak’s other side, his eyes open, but his mind replaying that duel from a decade ago over and over. The rayshield. Running down the long walkway, chasing after green and red. Another rayshield. Green and double red, twirls and flips, the unthinkable as Master Qui-Gon sank to his knees, the red blade protruding out through his back. The rayshield finally opening, running into the circular room with the raised platforms around the gaping hole of the reactor shaft. The clatter of his lightsaber falling far down below, leaping up onto the platform as Master Qui-Gon’s lightsaber came to life in his hand, the flash of green as he bisected the gloating Sith, the latter’s look of horror in that moment when the two halves of his body plummeted down into oblivion. Obi-Wan felt the hilt of his old lightsaber and remembered.
When they laded by the dungeons of Theed Palace, Queen Jamilia’s guard came to meet them as the Zabrak was escorted into a cell. He was shivering and leaking fear. Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow and summoned the warden wordlessly. “Make sure to give him a blanket or a poncho. He’s not wearing any clothes. I know the palace can get draughty.”
“Yes, sir, Master Jedi.” The warden nodded and retrieved a flannel poncho, which he slipped over the prisoner’s head. The man shuddered, apparently unnerved by the brief moment in which his head was covered and he couldn’t see his surroundings, although he seemed to calm as soon as the cloth settled over his shoulders and he could see.
Once he was firmly locked in his cell, a Force-inhibiting collar around his neck, Padme herself appeared in the dungeons, a safe distance from the bars of the cell. The red-skinned man looked up when he heard the light footsteps of a very petite woman and stared. Padme met his gaze, brown eyes boring into his gold. He shuddered. Perhaps he recognized her from the brief moment in which she saw him at the entrance to the reactor complex all those years ago.
Padme’s eyes took in the metal legs and the prison poncho, not to mention the gaunt face. This man needed food, certainly, and probably medical attention. He was not technically under arrest; as a witness in custody, he had certain rights. The only thing he could be charged for was the killing of Master Jinn, but that was an act of war. She remembered watching the handsome ginger senior padawan biting his lip, holding back tears, at the funeral for Master Jinn. While she no longer had a crush on Master Obi-Wan, she well remembered his pain and trauma. He looked calm now, but seeing the way his fingers closed and loosened over the hilt of the second lightsaber clipped to his belt, she resolved to remind Anakin to be solicitous of his old master. She could arrange for two Jedi to stay in the guestroom of her senatorial residence here in Theed.
Anakin caught sight of Padme and approached her, hoping that the palace guard would interpret this as a gesture of increased security in the face of a possible threat from a Force-user. Obi-Wan knew the truth, but nobody else needed to. Anakin prodded his old master over their training bond to come join him and Padme toward the entrance to the dungeons, by the office of the security manager.
“I want him fed and treated with dignity and kindness. He’s not under arrest. If anything, he’s in custody for his own safety. Have a medic come by and look at him as soon as possible. It’s too bad that we don’t know his name. Master Kenobi, do you need to inform the Jedi Council?” Padme took charge of the situation, almost forgetting that she was no longer queen.
“Yes, I do. But not necessarily the full Council, and certainly not here. I believe discretion is called for.” Obi-Wan seemed to shake himself out of his stupor as he and Anakin followed Padme out of the dungeons, through the Palace, and toward her speeder. It was all Obi-Wan could do to keep his face neutral as he pushed down flashbacks from the traumatic Battle of Naboo. If Satine were here to hold him, he might have lost the battle not to cry.
Anakin casually placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, sensing his best friend’s turmoil. Even though he had been a child at the time, it was not lost on Anakin what kind of angst his old master must be feeling. Qui-Gon’s death had been horrifying for Anakin as well, even though he had only known the man a short time. Now that Anakin had experienced the loss of a parent and a Dark impulse as a result of that, he could better imagine what those days must have been like for Obi-Wan.
In the speeder Padme sat next to her driver in the front, letting the two Jedi sit together in the back. She would have plenty of family time with them later. She debated with herself whether to contact Satine. Her friend would be a big comfort to Master Obi-Wan, especially if she scowled at him and scolded him. He seemed to like that. It was comical how Anakin had not caught on yet that the mysterious special lady who was the mother of Master Obi-Wan’s child was Duchess Satine.
With an evil smirk that went unnoticed by everyone else in the speeder, Padme fished out her datapad and typed up a preliminary report to send to Satine. The official excuse for keeping her informed would be that she was going to share intelligence that would help the Duchess keep the neutral systems safe. There, hit “send.”
By the time they had reached Padme’s home, there was a short response from Satine. Of course she was proud of Master Kenobi for his nonviolent taking into custody of the potentially-dangerous man who had killed Master Qui-Gon. Padme could feel the concern between the lines. Satine knew, perhaps better than almost anyone, how complicated Obi-Wan’s relationship had been to his master and how deeply Master Qui-Gon’s death had affected him. Now he was faced with his master’s killer.
Padme dismissed her driver with a grateful smile and ushered the two Jedi into her home. She had considered bringing them to her parents’ house, but she needed an air of officiality. Instead she opted to let her mother know that she was in town and that Anakin was with her. She was glad that she had told her family about her secret marriage. They liked Anakin, anyway. Maybe Sola could bring little Pooja and Ryoo later, for some child therapy.
Obi-Wan fought the urge to install himself permanently on Padme’s living room sofa as he joined her in preparing tea. He needed to keep himself busy. For his part, Anakin had no qualms about plopping down on the sofa. There was no need to pretend in front of Obi-Wan.
Once they had settled in the living room, Padme next to Anakin, her head on his shoulder, Obi-Wan activated his comm, taking care not to show the couple sitting diagonally across from him. “Hello? This is Kenobi.”
“Hello, Obi-Wan. Last I heard you were on Naboo. Is anything the matter?” The gentle rumble of Master Plo Koon’s voice was exactly what Obi-Wan needed to hear right now. It must be Master Koon’s turn to sit at the comm controls in the Council spire. Obi-Wan noticed that the small blue holoprojection of the Kel Dor master was not alone. A pair of still-small montrals were barely visible in the bottom of the frame.
“I see that Ahsoka is with you.”
“Yes, she is. Little Soka wanted to keep me company. That, and she wanted help with her homework.” Master Koon chuckled as he placed a clawed hand in the dip between the girl’s montrals.
“Senator Amidala asked me to investigate reports of a rogue Force-user living in the rubbish dump, and I found not only my old lightsaber, but the same Sith apprentice I thought I killed ten years ago. He’s lost not just his lower body from the waist down, but his mind as well. He remembered my name but not his own.”
Plo Koon drew in a sharp breath. “How is this possible?”
“I don’t know. Am I still a knight, since killing him was my field Trials?”
“Of course you are. You’re still a master, too, since Anakin is a knight.”
“The Supreme Chancellor told me that the Dark Side is a pathway to many abilities we Jedi consider unnatural.” Anakin got up and moved behind Obi-Wan so that Plo Koon could see him.
“And how does he know that, when he’s a politician and not a Jedi?” Ahsoka asked. She had straightened her posture so that her face would be visible.
“Good question.” Obi-Wan stroked his beard. It was true that the Supreme Chancellor had been reading reports submitted to him from the Jedi Council for years, but those were written for a lay audience. Unless Supreme Chancellor Palpatine had an academic interest in the Sith and was something of a gentleman scholar, there was no reason for him to know this. Of course, it was possible that he had thought it prudent to be informed about the threat that had first caused havoc on his own homeworld and was responsible for leading the Separatists.
“Could you come to Naboo to see the prisoner? I don’t think he’ll divulge anything to me, given our fraught shared history. He’s never met you, and you tend to be soothing.” Obi-Wan blurted out. If anyone could be trusted to interview the mentally-damaged ex-Sith and be discreet in the face of seeing Anakin and Padme together, doing a poor job of hiding their marriage, it would be Plo Koon.
“I’ll see if that can be arranged.” Plo Koon nodded.
“Can I come too, Master Plo? Skyguy is my master.” Ahsoka asked.
Plo Koon chuckled. “All right, you can be my assistant. I’ll need someone nonthreatening to help record whatever that man tells me. You look deceptively harmless but can more than protect yourself in a pinch.”
Both Anakin and Obi-Wan could feel Ahsoka’s happy glow even through the holocall. The Zabrak wouldn’t know what hit him. Anakin smirked, earning a return smirk from Master Plo.
After Obi-Wan ended the call, Anakin drew his wife into a hug and kissed her on the nose and cheeks. He could feel Obi-Wan’s tacit approval in the Force. The Supreme Chancellor was wrong about how Obi-Wan would react to Anakin’s secret. He hadn’t said anything about the Tuskin Raiders, but seeing Obi-Wan faced with the red-skinned ex-Sith, Anakin began to suspect that he could tell his old master about that, too.
Obi-Wan’s datapad pinged; Obi-Wan smiled as soon as he saw who had sent him a message. Padme must have told Satine. Wait a minute, how did Padme know to contact Satine when Anakin didn’t? He eyed Padme warily, only to be greeted with her devious smile. She was indeed responsible, then.
“If you want a little privacy, Master Obi-Wan, you can have the guest bedroom.” Padme shifted to her innocent look. All three adults present knew that there were only two bedrooms. On the other hand, Obi-Wan knew about Anakin’s marriage, anyway. He turned his face toward the bedroom door in a vain attempt to hide the way his cheeks were flushed. Padme knew, then, that his silly, pedantic arguments with his own secret wife were actually their form of love talk.
“Can Pooja and Ryoo come tomorrow? Uncle Anakin wants to play.” Anakin tried his best to lighten the mood. His little nieces were already big fans of the Hero Without Fear, especially when he levitated toys with the Force and tickled them.
“I’ll comm Sola and find out.” Padme appreciated the domesticity of the scene after the rather tense retrieval mission. She had a strong suspicion that the red-skinned former Sith had not had a happy family growing up.