Chapter Text
Change, to Anakin, was usually a subtle, gradual thing. Something that happened alongside him, moving and shifting as he moved and shifted, growing as he grew. It was something that he didn’t notice, most of the time, and would only take note of large differences much later after he’d looked back at the course of his life. Some changes were good- his relationship with Ahsoka, for one, (she was still a very young, reckless little teenager, but he was finally beginning to understand her) and some were bad, like how the war was dragging on and on, and how he was losing touch with his identity as a Jedi, and how he couldn’t see Padme anywhere near as often-
Some change was immediate. Like the loss of his arm or the loss of his mother. That day Qui-Gon had come to take him away from Tatooine. Between one day and the next his world was different, and it always happened out of the blue, and it was always devastating.
But what happened to Obi-Wan was somewhere in the middle. At least, that was how Anakin perceived it. He didn’t notice the moment it happened. Looking back, he definitely registered something going on within the first few days, but it had been more of a peripheral awareness of something being different rather than an outright shock. A slow realization of a sudden change, perhaps. It was as if Anakin had gone to bed one day and had woken up in a universe slightly to the left of the one he knew, and it took him a little while to catch on.
Obi-Wan changed. It was hard to describe. If Anakin had to name one key difference, it was like he...softened, somehow. In every way, from his clothes to his voice- the hard edges were smoothed out. Suddenly, he no longer wore his hair so perfectly styled, or so short. He forwent his armor and resumed wearing his traditional robes, only remarking that I simply want to remind myself of who I am, Anakin, and I am a Jedi- the ones with the big swirling cloaks and the soft, worn fabric that swished around like a sandstorm in the desert.
And his Force-signature...Anakin knew his own Force-signature was overwhelming to some. He ran hot and he ran loud and especially when he was angry, other Jedi could find it jarring and uncomfortable. Secretly, he'd always been a little proud of that fact. It made him feel...powerful.
Obi-Wan's new Force-signature looked, at first glance, to not even be there. Anakin knew his Master didn't have the highest midichlorion count, but he'd never felt so...subdued. Usually, Obi-Wan appeared to be like a controlled fire, burning with the light side of the Force, visible from far away. Now, he was more like a solitary candle, burning low but constant, all his power tucked away like an unseemly blemish beneath shields so smooth, they appeared to blend into the Force itself. Warm, constant, steady, but low. Anakin really didn't know what to make of it.
*
At first, the changes were subtle enough that no one looked any closer. Not even the soldiers who’d been nearest at the time.
They were on a large moon in the outer rim- on one of a hundred campaigns that had all begun to blur together for Anakin. The 501st and the 212th, together as they often were. Ahsoka and Rex sat nearby, giggling at something, and Obi-Wan sat a little ways away, speaking in a low voice to Cody as they went over some mission plans Anakin probably should be a part of. But Anakin was currently sitting against a rock, and it was a comfortable rock, and he was drifting in and out of wakefulness. He'd just overdone it a bit in that last battle, that was all. He'd be fine after a small nap. And anyway, if Obi-Wan needed him for anything, he'd surely call him over. Yes, all was well, Anakin could sleep-
Rex made Ahsoka laugh, and the sound cut through their sleepy camp like a bell, and Anakin startled awake to watch his Padawan make a sweeping gesture that knocked over their jug of water. The thing seemed to fall in slow motion as his eyes widened, and he threw a hand out to stop it-
"No!"
But he wasn't the only one. The jug froze in midair, every drop of water frozen alongside it, reflecting the firelight of their camp like a perfect glass sculpture. And it wasn't Anakin who'd stopped it. Lowering his hand, heart thudding in his chest, he looked over to see Obi-Wan, hand outstretched, a look of panic on his face before it was smoothed away so quickly that Anakin wondered if he'd seen it at all.
Noticing the eyes suddenly upon him, Obi-Wan gazed back at them all steadily, as if challenging any of the troopers to object.
"We can't waste water, gentlemen." He paused and raised his eyebrows at Anakin. "If you would be so kind...?"
"Oh. Yes, right," he stuttered, pushing himself away from the rock and going over to the jug, grabbing it with his hands and scooping up the frozen water, every last drop. He placed the jug back on the table, in front of Ahsoka's surprised face.
"Sorry, Master," she said, sounding sheepish. "I didn't mean to do that."
"That's alright, Snips," he replied. "It happens." And he turned back to go sit down again, and barely caught her next words as she whispered them to Rex.
"I didn't know this was a water-scarce planet," she said close to his ear, sneaking a glance at Obi-Wan who'd turned back to his conversation with Cody as though nothing had happened.
"It's not," said Rex. "At all. But maybe the General just didn't want to deal with a spilled jug."
Perhaps he hadn't. But even after more than ten years away from Tatooine, something in Anakin still shrieked in horror whenever a drop of water was spilled, an instinct drilled so deeply into his bones that he never thought he'd be over it. Objectively he knew nothing would have happened if the jug had been allowed to spill (it was a military-issue, metal jug. It wouldn't even have broken) but the idea of it galled him all the same. It was no surprise that Anakin had reacted the way he had- but Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, who used to pour tea down the drain if it wasn't made right, much to the horror of his once-Padawan?
*
The strangeness continued. It wasn’t something overt- not something that would ever cause anyone to doubt his competence, or wonder about his ability to make decisions. Obi-Wan’s decisions were as sane as they had ever been. To anyone who didn’t know Obi-Wan, nothing looked out of place.
And yet… and yet. Things were just…off. In little ways. Anakin was so confused.
*
A scorpion crawled across his path, and, striking deadly and true, Obi-Wan skewered it on the end of his metal chopstick.
"I didn't think I'd see this species out here," he remarked blandly as he twisted the stinger off, and held the rest into the fire, where the legs curled up and the exoskeleton charred and smoked. After a moment, he stuck it into his bowl with the rice they'd been eating instead of their usual ration bars- when the locals offered them food, they weren't going to refuse, not when their only other option was that tasteless stuff.
He then proceeded to grip it with his chopsticks, along with some rice, and pop it into his mouth. Anakin could hear the crunching from across the fire.
"What?" said Obi-Wan, finally noticing the staring.
"It's just," said Ahsoka, "a week ago you were yelling at Anakin for doing something similar and eating a bug off the ground..."
Rex was nodding thoughtfully at her statement. "You, uh, also might've said they were disgusting. Sir," he added.
"Did I? Ah, well, I've had a change of heart. Besides, at least I cook mine. Truly, Anakin, has no one told you about parasites?"
Anakin's mind was filled with white noise. "Eat another one," he said, shaking his head like a wet dog. "I won't believe it until I see another one."
"I did notice a small nest further down that way- would you like one too?"
They all had scorpion that day, even if only out of sheer incredulity. Anakin thought they weren’t half bad, as far as bugs went. He’d certainly eaten worse in his life.
He sort of recognized that type of scorpion- didn’t they have those on Tatooine? But the memories were too hazy.
*
It went on for weeks. From one planet to another, from one campaign to another. Sometimes it was subtle enough that Anakin doubted himself- sure, Obi-Wan refused to wear armor now, but that didn’t have to mean anything. Sure he’d changed his hair and his voice was rougher and less accented (to Anakin’s ears anyway) and sure he used rim slang sometimes without even realizing but- that didn’t mean- it didn’t mean anything.
In hindsight, it was really kind of obvious.
*
“Thank you. Have a good day,” said Obi-Wan to the vendor, and Anakin paused.
“You speak Huttese? Since when?”
“Just a little,” said Obi-Wan. Maybe that was true, but his accent had been nearly perfect. He held out the fruit he'd bought- something red and bright. "Want some?"
"When did you learn? Why didn't you tell me?" said Anakin, taking the fruit and biting into it aggressively. Obi-Wan shrugged and began to walk back with him.
"You know I have a penchant for languages, Anakin. Perhaps I’ve only been refreshing my knowledge."
"Your accent was good. Say something else, let me hear it."
Huttese was his first language. The language of the masters, the language of people who bought and sold other people. An ugly, dirty language, for an ugly, dirty empire. Anakin was, unfortunately, fluent.
"Well- alright," said Obi-Wan, and cleared his throat. “Oh Jabba, great and powerful, intelligent as a snail, beautiful as a barnacle, may your warts be forever pustulant and your mouth full of sores.”
Anakin was startled into laughing, and then quickly looked behind himself. They weren't near Tatooine, but they were in Hutt space- the Hutts had control of huge swathes of the outer rim-
"Obi-Wan!" He said breathlessly, seized by that old fear- where he came from, people died for speeches like that, and here Obi-Wan was just-
…somehow, it was funny.
"You can't say things like that around here!" he said, giggling despite himself as he took another bite of his fruit.
Obi-Wan had the audacity to shrug, smirking. "But my dear, I am merely expounding upon the virtues of the glorious Hutt empire and its dear, beloved leader."
"You better stop expounding," said Anakin, trying to be serious and failing. In the beginning of the war, Obi-Wan had been forced to deal with Jabba as part of a mission. Anakin tried to put it out of his mind, but he remembered how Obi-Wan had been, so- so polite, so respectful when talking to that slaver. It had been necessary for the mission, but still. It left a bad taste in Anakin's mouth.
"If only you could actually say that to him," he said, that thought bringing him down again. Would the Hutts reign in the outer rim forever? Why was Anakin fighting in a stupid galactic civil war when he should be out there, trying to free his people? His mother would be ashamed of him.
There were other reasons, reasons he tried not to think about, for his mother to be ashamed of him.
Obi-Wan appeared to be visibly swallowing his words. "Yes," he said, finally. "If only."
The pure anger with which this was said startled Anakin. Why should Obi-Wan care about the politics of the outer rim? Why, for that matter, had he bothered to learn Huttese in the first place? Anakin certainly never spoke it around him- or anyone, really. He viewed it as useful skill he had, something to be pulled out as one does a pocket knife. But it was certainly nothing to be proud of, only a reminder that he'd once known that language and had spoken words like yes, master, how may I serve you, master, and forgive me, master. A language of servitude, a language of pain.
Hearing Obi-Wan make jokes in a language like this was as disorienting as it was…strangely hilarious.