Chapter Text
Obi-Wan looked awful.
Anakin had seen him look bad before — most recently in the Halls of Healing after the attack, where his Master rattled off an impressive list of injuries, argued with Anakin about taking his first solo mission seriously, and promptly passed out when Anakin argued back. He looked dreadful after Geonosis, when his injuries from Dooku’s saber landed him in the Halls next to Anakin (newly handless), and he looked positively ill when the motion declaring war passed in the Senate, naming him a High General. During Anakin’s first few months at the temple, Obi-Wan would disappear during the day, leaving him with a friend — usually Knight Vos or Eerin — who would help Anakin with his classwork and redirect his inquiries about his missing Master, who was too thin and too tired and only half there, even when he was standing right in front of him.
The figure that rippled in the blue hologram, however, looked worse than all of these disasters combined.
“Master, you’re not looking well.” An understatement. Only Obi-Wan’s torso was visible in the holo, but that was enough — gaunt beneath new robes, not quite lived-in yet, with too many half-healed cuts across his face. Was he sitting down?
“You’re imagining things, Anakin.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, but Anakin didn’t miss the catch in his shoulder as he did so, or the way that his stance favored his left side. “Now, do you want to hear about your mission?”
“Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes even as his concern rose higher. “But in case you think we’re done discussing this? We’re not.”
Obi-Wan, true to his word, explained the mission and immediately disconnected, leaving Anakin to gape at the blank transceiver. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. Something had been wrong ever since he woke ten days ago with a pit in his stomach, wrong enough that he’d brought it up in his debrief with Yoda and Mace, who had all but confirmed his fears in their expressionless faces. If Obi-Wan was fine, they would have said so, and they would have chastised him for his attachment. The fact that they didn’t had been worrying for several days now, until his stomach finally unraveled the slightest amount, allowing him to relax.
And then his Master showed up as a beaten and bruised hologram, and brushed off that worry as if Anakin’s opinion was insignificant.
His Padawan learner still sat in the corner, exuding hurt into the small space, as if her presence was what prevented Obi-Wan from explaining why he looked like he narrowly avoided joining the Force. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Don’t worry, he’s always like this’? ‘Evading medical is one of his favorite activities’?
He told Ahsoka to prep Rex for departure instead. Just to give himself a few minutes to think.
She hadn’t been there that day, hadn’t seen him bleeding out on the rooftop after the bombs shook the city. She’d seen the after — the neatly bandaged Master Kenobi on breathing support but very much alive — not the weakened Force signature and speech of a dying man.
Anakin had listened to many masters talk about the tragedy of war, how their Padawan years had been spent running diplomatic missions, late nights in the Archives, and choosing a specialty from their interests and talents. These days, it seemed the only acceptable interest was fighting in the war. At least, that was what Obi-Wan said between holos with the Council, when they were alone in the room and his Master dropped his guard somewhat. If Anakin had thought Obi-Wan was emotionless before, it was nothing compared to the blank slate that presented itself during their meetings now. Only afterward, when they were alone, would Obi-Wan slump into a less ramrod straight posture and brush a hand through his short red hair, looking increasingly worn out after every battle, every strategy meeting, every casualty report. And that was before he’d nearly been blown up on Coruscant.
How could the Council have even approved this mission? Obi-Wan had been in no state to do anything more than sit in the Archives and write lesson plans for the Senior Padawan classes he loved but hardly ever taught anymore.
He decided — they would complete the mission, and quickly, so that he could give Obi-Wan a piece of his mind, face to face. Until then, he would focus on the mission, and his excitable Padawan, who was skipping back into the cockpit with Rex in tow.
Even as they picked up an unexpected transmission from Artoo and sped through space towards his location, he found his mind was elsewhere.
“So let me get this straight, Anakin.” Obi-Wan may have been just a hologram, but Anakin resigned himself to the inevitable lecture. “You risked the mission, all your men, even your Padawan, to save a droid.”
Despite being a Jedi Knight, Anakin felt as though he was twelve years old again, being punished for sneaking out of the Temple or picking fights with other initiates. “Artoo found the listening post, and he saved our lives. We couldn’t just leave him there, Obi-Wan.” Force, he sounded whiny even to his own ears.
“Oh, Anakin. One day…” The hologram flickered and disappeared, and while it could have been a problem with the receiver, Anakin was pretty sure Obi-Wan cut the transmission himself. Again.
Ahsoka looked up at him from where she was kneeling next to the droid in question. “I’m glad we got Artoo back, master. But Obi-Wan does have a point.”
“Ahsoka, I knew you would complete the mission.” Even as he said it, Obi-Wan’s words echoed around him. He allowed Ahsoka to fight directly with Grievous with only a squad of troopers as backup. She was pretty tight-lipped about the encounter, but Rex gave him a detailed rundown of what had happened in the hallway. While his Padawan was strong, it was very nearly too much. “Besides, Artoo is more than a droid. He’s a friend.”
He didn’t want to be the same master Obi-Wan had been to him — he wanted to give Ahsoka some free reign, let her learn by doing rather than low-risk training and theory. But there was a difference between that and facing off with a leader of the Separatist forces, just like there was a difference between Anakin’s Padawan days in the Temple years ago and the Padawans accompanying their Masters into war now.
Ahsoka was overconfident in her abilities, unafraid of combat, and bordered on recklessness. Not for the first time, he wondered if Obi-Wan would have been a better Master for her.
They made the jump to hyperspace in silence, and Anakin settled into the seat next to Rex, watching the stars rush past. “Get some rest, Snips. We’ll be back to Coruscant before you know it.”
She rose and patted Artoo as she walked by, but her presence paused at the door, strangely unsettled in the Force. “Master…” He swiveled the seat to look at her, mentally scanning for any injuries he might have missed earlier. He found none. “Did Master Kenobi look,” she struggled for a word. “He didn’t look any better than a few days ago. I thought he was still at the temple, recovering from the attack.”
What were Masters supposed to do? Project peace, reassurance, calm? Anakin found that none of those were at hand. “He said he was sent on a mission. I didn’t get the details.” He buried his worry and pushed comfort across their training bond, but even as she accepted it, her concern didn’t ease. “I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll contact him at our next jump point to make sure. For now, you should rest. Take this time to recover.” Anakin smiled, and she hesitantly mirrored his expression. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything new.”
As she disappeared around the corner, Rex turned to him. “General, if you’re ready, I’ll gather my squad and we can debrief for the mission report.”
Blast, the mission report. He retrieved his datapad from the charging port and opened a new file, mentally preparing for his least favorite thing about missions. “No, they should have the chance to rest. From what I heard, it was quite an exciting day.”
Rex laughed, a bitter sound that died in the corners of the room. “Exciting is one way to put it, sir. I hope I never see a lightsaber that closely again.”
The atmosphere sobered quickly. “Me too, Rex,” Anakin sighed, and thought back to the manic energy his Padawan displayed earlier after escaping. Extending herself too far, fighting out of range of backup, somehow always running into scores of battle droids — she was going to get herself killed. “Me too.”
They stared out the viewport, watching stars streak by the ship. There was nothing left to say.