Chapter Text
Anakin bows his head as respectfully as he can manage after giving his report. He tries to not let his impatience win the better of him as he waits for the Council to finally dismiss him so he can be on his way.
All he wants is to get to his wife and kiss her. He hasn’t seen her in almost two months. In the seven months they’ve been married, he has only seen her a handful of times—and half of those were official business, where they were surrounded by other people. He really hates this stupid war and hopes that it will end as quickly as it has started.
At least he is doing his best to help with that. All his missions so far have been a success. Even the most daring ones the Council has objected to, just for Anakin to carry them out the way he’d planned them anyway, claiming dire circumstances later on. Just now he has given the Council report of another victory that nobody really expected—especially not in such a relatively short time as this. But once again, Anakin has managed it, on his own terms.
His impatience gets the better of him, eventually. “Now, if you don’t need me anymore, Masters, I would like to start my leave with a long rest.”
“Of course, Skywalker,” Master Plo Koon says warmly—he might be the only one out of those stuffy old Jedi Masters Anakin actually likes. Even Fisto, who isn’t that old, at least for his species, falls under that category. It must come with the Council mindset, Anakin thinks, not with age. “It’s well deserved. May the Force be with you.”
Anakin sends him a small smile and bows again. “May the Force be with you, Masters.”
He’s already halfway on the way to the door when Master Windu calls after him, “Don’t get too comfortable, though. Master Secura is currently engaged in the Outer Rim and might need your help if push comes to shove.”
Before he can swallow it down, a groan makes its way out of his mouth. “Sure. If Aayla needs me, I’ll cut my leave short,” he sighs before stepping out of the Council room. “Again.”
Is he really the only one who can fight this Force-forsaken war for them? Is there really no one else who can go help in the Outer Rim? Is he not allowed one minute of rest after basically fighting non-stop for the past seven months? And it’s one thing for a Jedi Knight to go without rest, to push himself beyond what should be possible… But what about his men? They need some downtime badly. They need to rest and let loose for a bit, otherwise they will burn themselves out and go crazy on that Star Destroyer. If they’re too tired and exhausted, they will start to get inattentive and make mistakes. It would cost them not only victory, but also a lot of good men.
But he doesn’t say any of these things before the door closes behind him. The only reply he would get from the Council would be another callout for being selfish, unjedilike, and an inconvenience.
Shaking off his frustration, Anakin hastily walks to the turbolift to get down to the level where the speeders are kept, making disinterested small talk with a Padawan who joins him in the lift on the second level.
Once they arrive in the hangar, he excuses himself as unsuspiciously as possible before picking one of his favorite speeders. He makes sure nobody is watching as he slips inside and fires up the engines. He’s outside the Temple and in a skylane across Coruscant within seconds—yawning and rubbing his eyes as he is forced to slow down by traffic. Anticipation is probably the only thing keeping him awake right now.
As soon as he lands the speeder on the platform outside the familiar apartment on the top floor of the prominent Senate Apartment Complex, he lets out a long breath—exhaling his tiredness, giving it to the Force to replace it with excitement.
Force, he has missed her so much. He can’t wait to finally hold her in his arms again.
But when he jumps out of the speeder to make his way across the landing platform and the open veranda before hurrying through the hallway into the private living room, he isn’t greeted by his wife. Instead, there is a lanky boy in soft, green robes standing in the middle of the room, looking at him with large blue-gray eyes.
“Uh…” Anakin stops in his tracks, almost like a Loth-cat caught in the headlights, his eyes fixed on the boy. Well, boy—he’s probably more like a young man already. If he has to guess, Anakin would probably say he’s around 16 to 18 standard years of age. Either way, he shouldn’t be here. And nobody is supposed to know that Anakin is here. Where is Padmé? She knew his leave would start today… He expected her to wait for him on the platform, to be honest, not for her to entertain visitors. It’s been months! If it were her coming back, he would’ve ripped that speeder door open before she even had a chance to turn off the engine. “Uh… Who are you exactly?”
Wow, Anakin, congrats! This is probably the dumbest you’ve ever sounded in your life…
The young man snaps out of his stupor and inclines his head slightly, auburn strands of hair freeing themselves from behind his ears to cover large parts of his face. “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master Jedi. I’m Senator Amidala’s new apprentice.”
“Apprentice?” Anakin repeats stupidly. He had no idea senators could also take Padawans. Padmé never mentioned anything like that. And even if—he would have never expected her to take one. Just like he doesn’t want to have a Padawan, either. He is, even after three years, too hung up on his own Master’s death to burden himself with a Padawan. During a galaxy-wide war, of all things. What if he loses his Padawan to the Sith, like he lost his Master? No, he couldn’t handle that.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies, softly. Anakin, too deep in his own thoughts, still jumps at his voice. “I am to become the Senator of Stewjon, so Senator Amidala teaches me everything I need to know about the Senate and being a Senator.”
Anakin nods slowly. Stewjon… It’s almost as far out and as insignificant as Tatooine. He doesn’t know much about the planet. It is not involved in the war so far—he isn’t even sure if the leaders have picked a side yet. This early on in the war, most planets that are not part of the Republic—and even some within—are still hesitant to get involved. Hoping that it will blow over before it reaches them.
If Anakin could give them any advice, it would be to alliance themselves with the Republic sooner rather than later because this war will not spare them. And the more planets join the Republic’s fight for peace, the sooner this war will end—and with far fewer casualties, too.
“Very nice,” Anakin mumbles. “I didn’t know Stewjon joined the Republic.”
Obi-Wan’s smile falters. Suddenly, his boyish looks turn into those of a burdened young man. A feeling Anakin knows all too well. “Not yet. My success will determine the fate of my home world.”
“That’s a very—”
Before Anakin can finish his thought, Padmé appears from one of the hallways. Unable to see Obi-Wan from where she is standing, she exclaims a happy “Anakin!” But before she can fling herself into his arms, she notices the boy and immediately slows down and straightens her posture and clears her throat. “I mean… Master Skywalker. What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you were coming today. To what do I owe the honor?”
Obi-Wan looks between them suspiciously when Padmé stops next to him. “What are you still doing here, Obi-Wan?” She asks him quietly, a hand brushing over the young man’s shoulder to soften what might otherwise sound like an irritated question to his ears. “I thought I sent you home 20 minutes ago.”
“Well…” The poor boy blushes a deep crimson. “I was almost out of the door when I noticed I forgot my datapad and since I wanted to read up on the legislation you mentioned before our meeting tomorrow, I came back for it.” He holds up his left hand holding the pad. “I was just turning to leave again when Master… Master Skywalker arrived. I’m sorry, I will go now.”
Padmé pushes a stray curl back behind Obi-Wan’s ear and smiles at him. “No need to apologize, dear. I was just surprised. You’re always welcome here, and I want you to feel at home here. But either way, you work so hard. Please take the evening off.”
“Yes, Senator Amidala,” Obi-Wan promises. “I will only read this and then rest. Promise.” He turns to Anakin with a grin. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Master Jedi.”
Bemused, Anakin bows his head. “You too, Obi-Wan.”
They wait until the door closes firmly behind Obi-Wan before they rush at each other. Anakin wraps his arms around Padmé’s waist, lifts her off the ground, and spins them around. “Stars, I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers against her lips before he kisses her deeply, almost desperately.
Once they’ve both satisfied their aching hearts, they settle down on the sofa. Anakin has one of Padmé’s hands between his and plays with her fingers. “So, you have a Padawan?”
“An apprentice,” Padmé corrects, laughing. “Yes, I do. He’s very sweet, isn’t he? But also so earnest sometimes and always hardworking.”
“You never told me.”
She raises an eyebrow at him. “And when should I have told you about this, Anakin? I’ve been working with him for less than three months. The one day we saw each other alone since then, we had other things in mind than talking…”
Before Anakin can justify his protest—or get lost in the memory of what exactly they've been doing that time, Padmé continues. “That’s actually something I wanted to discuss with you,” she says. To Anakin’s dismay, she withdraws her hand as she speaks. “I want to use your leave this time for us to get to know each other. Go out on a date, do things normal couples do.”
“Why?” Anakin asks, frowning. He feels a headache coming on.
After everything he’s been through during the past months, he was looking forward to having a relaxing time with his wife. If it were up to him, he would've undressed her and taken her to bed already. Instead, she’s now talking to him in a stern tone Anakin knows just too well from his meetings with the Council. And nothing kills his mood quite as easily as thinking of those uptight, old-fashioned Masters.
“Because”—She puts extra emphasis on the word by getting up from the sofa and starting to pace in front of it—“I want to get to know my husband. Is that such a strange request? We’ve been married for seven months and I barely know anything about you, Ani.”
“But that’s bantha poodoo,” Anakin objects. “You know I’m a Jedi. You met my mom… You’ve–You’ve seen me at my worst.”
“Yes, but that’s not what I mean. I want to know what you think about certain topics, what is important to you, what you like to do when you don’t do Jedi business, what you hate most in the world. What your favorite food is, if you prefer holo-dramas over a concert…” She stops her pacing and taps a finger against his forehead. “I want to know what’s going on in there when your face suddenly grows all distant and your eyes gloss over.”
Anakin swallows heavily and looks away. “I don’t know… I know everything I need to know about you, Pads.”
“You really believe that?” He nods, still not looking up at her. “Okay… So, tell me what you know about me, then.”
He sighs before he finally looks at her again. Grabbing her hands, he carefully pulls her between his legs. She looks so beautiful—out of her senatorial costumes, just a simple dress and her curls falling naturally down her back. He smiles up at her. “I know that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I know that you’re amazing and a kick-ass senator. And I know that I am so in love with you.”
“But that’s so superficial, Anakin,” Padmé cries out, making him scrunch up his face. His head starting to pound. “Don’t you want to know more about me? What I like? What I think? How I grew up?”
“I don’t need to know these things to know that I love you. Do you? Are you saying you can’t love me if you don’t know these unimportant things about me?”
“No. Of course, I love you. That’s not—”
“Then what?” He interrupts her. Fighting against the urge to scream over the pounding of his head. “Do you think that will change once you know I don’t like holo-dramas? Won’t you love me anymore if I tell you that what I hate most is the condescending way the Council talks to me and how they just stiffly follow their stupid code without stopping to think if there isn’t something else that could be done, something better?”
Padmé sits down on one of his legs and wraps her arms around his neck. “Anakin… These things won’t make me love you less. On the contrary. I honestly don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”
“I’m not upset. Sorry, angel… I just don’t understand, I guess.” He pulls her closer and rests his head against her chest. “But if you want to go on a date, we’ll go on a date.”
She strokes his slowly growing hair, massaging his scalp. The headache slowly retreats as he closes his eyes, savors the moment. “I love you, Ani.”
“He’s your husband, isn’t he?” Obi-Wan asks when the Senator turns her back on him to pour them both some tea. He has been working up the courage to ask her about this for some days now, after figuring out quickly what’s going on between her and the beautiful Jedi.
He needs to know—even if he’s already sure he won’t like the answer.
Senator Amidala freezes, the movement of her hands stopping, albeit only for a split second, before she regains her composure and continues pouring tea into two cups. Anyone who wasn’t watching her as intently as Obi-Wan might have missed it. But he saw it, and he rejoices in the knowledge that he made her lose her bearings for even a moment. He doesn’t think that’s something a lot of people can claim to have accomplished.
It’s not that he wants to cause her discomfort or that he dislikes her or anything. On the contrary, he likes her a lot. She is an amazing teacher, and he has been looking up to her since long before he became her apprentice. Seeing her on the holonet ever since he can remember—first as a child queen and later as senator—he always told his mother that he wanted to be like her. As he got older, he realized it wasn’t only her elaborate way of dressing and the way she carried herself that impressed him. He likes her speeches, too, the things she stands for. They align in what they think is right and important, and how the galaxy needs to change—and even in the ways to reach these goals. So, when she finally agreed to teach him, Obi-Wan had been ecstatic.
It’s just that… Well, ever since he met Anakin for the first time, Obi-Wan has been head over heels.
At first, he didn’t understand what was going on with him. Why, ever since their first meeting, he keeps blushing as soon as Anakin looks his way. Why he would stutter whenever Anakin tries to talk to him. Why he can’t stop bringing him up in any conversation where it seems half-appropriate. Why he keeps going over and over the handful of times they met with his best friend Siri, who is more than exasperated by now. Frankly, it’s embarrassing at this point—and yet, Obi-Wan’s heart breaks a little every time he leaves Padmé’s apartment in the evening and Anakin hasn’t stopped by.
It was actually Siri who altered him to what’s going on. After a week of feeling out of his depth after their first meeting, Obi-Wan opened up to her and—after laughing at him for twenty minutes straight—Siri told him he was in love.
In love.
It sounded ridiculous to him. Obi-Wan has never been in love, and he doesn’t even really know Anakin—apart from that he’s the most beautiful being Obi-Wan has ever seen in his life. How could he be in love? These kinds of love stories only exist in holo-dramas… But the more they meet, the more he knows it to be true.
Obi-Wan is abruptly yanked out of his thoughts when Senator Amidala trusts one of the cups into his hands. He takes it and cradles it in his hands with a frown, slowly remembering that he asked her an important question. Watching her sit down at the table with her own cup, Obi-Wan tries to think of a way to insist on being answered.
Before he can, Senator Amidala puts her cup down. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Obi-Wan,” she sighs, picking up her holopad. “Should we continue?”
Obi-Wan, losing his confidence at the harsh dismissal, almost gives up, but then he remembers the cloak hanging over the chair next to her—Anakin’s cloak, unmistakably. Feeling only slight shame as he walks around the Senator’s chair, he pointedly takes the cloak and puts it on another chair to sit down in the now empty chair. “I’m sure you don’t.”
She looks at the cloak on the chair next to him, and Obi-Wan can see her swallow heavily. He almost regrets insisting—almost.
“Obi-Wan.” He’s sure it is meant to come out as a warning, but it sounds more defeated. “You’re a good kid, but please don’t try to get involved into things you’re much too young to understand, alright? And please, whatever you believe to know, I’m sure you understand it’s not something to gossip about with other people.”
Really? That’s what she thinks of him? He’s not some stupid child, and she should know that better than anyone. “That’s not true and you know it! I’m 17 standard years, almost an adult. Legally, on some planets, I already am! What would you have said when someone told you this after you became queen? That you’re too young to understand certain things?”
“You’re right,” Senator Amidala says after a long pause. She turns her gaze away from the cloak to look at Obi-Wan instead. A small, proud smile spreads across her face. “You’re so mature for your age. And you grow every day. It’s a pleasure to see, and I’m very proud of you, Obi-Wan.”
For a moment, Obi-Wan preens, but then he remembers his question once again. “So?”
“Persistence, yet another of your qualities. Well, I guess… Since he will be around more during his leave now, it makes no sense to hide it from you. Yes, we are married.”
It is what he knew she would say, and yet his heart sinks. He tries his best not to let it show, but from the way Senator Amidala looks at him and then proceeds to pat his shoulder, he isn’t so sure how well it is working. But she can’t know—if she did, she wouldn’t be sitting here and comforting him. She must think it is something else that has suddenly impacted his mood. She can never know, because Obi-Wan can’t lose this apprenticeship. It’s not only his future that is at stake—he would condemn his whole planet to an unknown, abhorrent fate.
Senator Amidala puts an arm around him and pulls him into her side to kiss the top of his head, making him blush in shame. “It’s alright, Obi. You will find someone, too, I’m sure. You’re still so young. And you’re smart and pretty. I’m sure girls your age are just waiting for you to notice them.” She pauses and presses another kiss to his forehead. “Or boys. Or both. Whichever you prefer. And I know whoever it will be, you’ll make them very happy.”
Obi-Wan almost snorts, but manages to reel it in and make it sound like a sniffle. “Thank you,” he mumbles and then looks up at her imploring as he realizes that she has involuntarily given him an in. “Like Master Skywalker makes you happy?”
“I–” Several emotions flicker across her face that Obi-Wan can not pick apart. “Yes.”
It doesn't sound very convincing, at least not to Obi-Wan's ears. Are they not happy anymore, is that it? He only feels slightly guilty about rejoicing at Senator Amidala’s possible unhappiness. Of course, he doesn't want her to be unhappy… But it could be his chance to weave his way in between her and Anakin and claiming the Jedi for himself. And if she's unhappy with him anyway, it won't even hurt her. She might even be relieved about getting rid of him without having to find a good reason and giving him a long speech.
Don't be ridiculous. It's Siri's voice resounding in his head. What could a Jedi Knight, a war general, who is married to a beautiful senator, possibly want with you?
Well, for one, he will soon be a senator, too—hopefully. And second, what does Siri know about what Jedi want, anyway? Or anyone, for that matter. It’s not like she has ever had a girlfriend or anything, either. According to Obi-Wan’s research on Jedi, they’re not supposed to have romantic relationships. Yet, Anakin is married—so obviously, he cannot be measured to the standards of what is considered the norm for Jedi. In conclusion: why should Obi-Wan not stand a chance if Anakin and Senator Amidala are unhappily married?
“Padmé?” Anakin calls as soon as he jumps out of his speeder and makes his way across the platform to the sitting room.
No answer.
He calls again, just to be greeted by her apprentice instead of Padmé herself. He frowns at—Obi-Wan, was it? According to Padmé, there is no need for secrecy in front of the young man. Apparently he found them out right after their first incidental meeting. So, Anakin proceeds to ask, “Where is she?”
Obi-Wan returns his frown. “She’s in the Senate, A—Master Jedi,” he says, sounding not half as ailed as he should in Anakin’s opinion. “Did she not tell you? It’s an important meeting; we’ve been preparing for it for almost two weeks now.”
“Uhm… no?” Anakin mumbles uncertainly, a little guiltily, even. Maybe she has mentioned an important meeting at some point, but it’s not like he knows her agenda inside out. Or remembers all the boring Senate stuff she tells him. It’s not like she remembers all the things he tells her about, either. “Maybe… I don’t know. When will she be back?”
“I’m not sure. As far as I know, she was invited to dinner by Senator Organa. So, I think, she might be a while,” Obi-Wan explains with a slight, apologetic smile.
“Fine,” Anakin sighs, swallowing the jealousy down before it can emerge. He nods at Obi-Wan, already halfway turned to the exit, when he thinks better of it. What waits for him at the Temple anyway? A meager meal and a cold bed… Spending his time getting to know Obi-Wan a little better while he waits here for Padmé to come back sounds a lot more inviting, really. He turns back around to where Obi-Wan is still standing, looking at him. “What are you doing here all by yourself anyway?”
A blush spreads across Obi-Wan’s cheeks, and he looks down at his feet. It looks rather cute, Anakin has to admit. “Well, uhm… I was just finishing up here when I spilled tea over myself and the sofa cushion. So I had to clean up and sonic my tunic.”
“I see,” Anakin chuckles. He takes off his cloak and throws it over a chair. “Well, Obi-Wan… Did you have dinner yet?”
Obi-Wan shakes his head and his blush deepens. “No, Master Jedi. I wanted to grab a bite on the way home.”
“Forget about that. I will cook us dinner.”
“Cook?” Obi-Wan finally looks up from his feet, with an eyebrow raised. “But… I don’t think Senator Amidala has anything to cook here, Master Jedi. She usually has one of the handmaids bring something for us because she says she’s useless in the kitchen.”
Anakin, having already rolled up one sleeve, stops in his motions. “Oh, okay… Well, huh… Fine, I guess. But first of all, call me Anakin, please. Master Jedi makes me feel like one of those stuffy old guys on the Council. And I’d rather be dead than that, trust me… Also, I think we’re past the formalities, aren’t we?”
At that, Obi-Wan glows up—a bright smile lighting up his face. “I’d like that, Anakin.” He says his name with so much care, pronouncing all the syllables. A-na-kin. It stirs something in his stomach that Anakin can’t name, so he pushes it away.
“So, no food, huh?” He sighs, rolling up his other sleeve anyway, revealing his mechno-arm without second thought. “I guess then we’ll order something. What would you like to eat?”
There’s no answer, but he feels Obi-Wan’s eyes on his arm. He sighs. Sometimes he forgets how uncomfortable people get around it. Even Padmé doesn’t look at it very much and prefers when he has his glove on. “Sorry. I think I have a spare glove lying around somewhere here.”
“It’s beautiful.”
The whispered words stop Anakin before he can go off on his search for his glove. He looks at his hand and then up at Obi-Wan. “What?”
“Uh…” That cute little blush tinges his cheeks again. Anakin can’t help but smile softly at the sight. “It’s… I mean… It’s very—uh intricate. I’ve never seen anything like it. How does it work exactly? I can hear the servos whirring, so it must have a power cell, yes?” He looks up from the arm and directly into Anakin’s eyes. His blush deepens and he bites down hard on his lower lip with his teeth. “I’m sorry. That’s probably… It’s none of my business.”
That may be true, but Anakin is delighted about Obi-Wan’s interest. He never has anyone to talk mechanics with, but it seems like the aspiring Senator knows what he’s talking about. “There is a power cell next to the thumb,” Anakin explains, pointing with his flesh finger to where the cell sits, then he moves his hand up to where the mechanical arm is joined with his stump. He pushes his tunic further up to reveal his burnt, scared skin. “And here is a synth-net neural interface. It allows me to register feelings. It’s not quite the same… But it’s something.”
“Fascinating.” Obi-Wan moves closer, a hand slightly outstretched. Then, he startles, as if remembering himself. “Sorry. I—May I…?”
Anakin’s eyes widen in surprise, but he nods quickly and waits for Obi-Wan’s hand to make contact with his arm. When it does, a small gasp escapes both their mouths. Anakin didn’t expect the touch to be so soft, so warm. Carefully, Obi-Wan traces along the black alloy with his fingertips—down from the elbow all the way to his own fingertips, where he presses lightly against the golden tips. “How does it feel exactly?”
“Huh…” Anakin clears his throat and catches his breath. Nobody has touched his arm, his fingers like that in—well, never. “I’m not sure how to describe… I guess, the best I can say is that it feels more muted than it would on my flesh arm? I don’t think it’s something you can describe to someone who never had a prosthetic.”
“Hm. I see.” Obi-Wan squeezes his fingers lightly before he pulls his hand back—making Anakin immediately miss his touch. “So, how about Alderaanian for dinner?”
Anakin feels like he gets whiplash from the sudden change of topic. “Sure… Yeah. Why not? Do you know a place?”
Obi-Wan nods and only half an hour later, they lounge in the sitting room—Obi-Wan draped across the sofa with his legs outstretched while Anakin chose the floor, his back leaning against the plush fabric—various Alderaanian specialities spread out over the low coffee table together with a bottle of fine wine and two glasses filled to the brim with the dark-red fluid. “Tell me something about yourself,” Anakin says, throwing a look up at Obi-Wan before snatching an Aldera meatpie from one of the plates and stuffing it into his mouth. He lets his expectant gaze turn back to Obi-Wan while he chews, savoring the taste.
“I don‘t know what I can tell you. There‘s nothing really interesting about me to tell, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replies. His eyes linger on Anakin‘s face as he chews—or maybe, actually his mouth itself. Well… Padmé keeps complaining about his table manners, so maybe it‘s just not a sight for the delicate stomachs of senators.
“Now”—He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic once he finishes the meatpie—”I don‘t believe that for one second. You‘re a senatorial Padawan—apprentice, whatever… But I‘m sure there‘s much more to you. You also seem to know a lot about mechanics, for example. Is that something that interests you, Obi-Wan?”
Shrugging, Obi-Wan grabs his glass to take a big gulp. “Maybe. I don‘t know. It‘s just something I learned about during my education. Though, my parents would‘ve been much happier if I had shown more interest in etiquette and such things.”
“Really? Why? That‘s not really a requirement for a senator, is it?”
A somewhat uncomfortable look passes over Obi-Wan‘s face, but it disappears so fast, Anakin thinks he must have imagined it. “No, not for a senator,” he sighs eventually. “But for a prince.”
Anakin feels his mouth fall open as he stares at Obi-Wan in disbelief, but there is nothing he can do about it. Not even when he can hear his mother‘s disapproving reproach in his mind that you shouldn‘t stare at people, Ani. “Prince?” Once he gathers his wits and puts them back in his brain, he manages to close his mouth and shake himself out of his shock. “I mean… I didn’t know that… And you say there's nothing interesting to tell about yourself. I—You’re Prince and still want to become a senator?”
“It’s not really about what I want,” Obi-Wan mumbles, turning his head to the side, gazing away from Anakin and out of the window. Even though he doesn’t know why, Anakin wishes he wouldn’t.
When Obi-Wan remains quiet, Anakin grapples for words. There has to be something he can say—something smart, compassionate, something that will lift Obi-Wan’s spirit. After all, he knows a thing or two about your will, wants, needs, desires not being taken into consideration while your fate is decided for you. Actually, in fact, he has been an expert in that field ever since his birth. A plaything, a ragdoll for others to push around and shove him where they need him.
A slave.
Instead of him comforting Obi-Wan, it’s Obi-Wan who now puts a hand on his shoulder and asks him if he’s okay. Anakin nods slowly. “Yes, sorry. It’s just that… I know how that is. Nothing in my life has been about what I want, either.”
“You don’t want to be a Jedi?”
“No, yes…” Anakin huffs and grabs a paper towel to keep his hands occupied while he tries to think, folding it into smaller squares. “Maybe. But not like this.” The ‘like what?’ is written all over Obi-Wan’s face when Anakin looks up at him, so he tries to explain: “With everyone thinking I’m the Chosen One, or whatever. They just push me over the battlegrounds like I’m nothing more than a chess piece, an asset. But I’m a person, you know? I always have been. Even when I was a slave. Maybe I still am.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes widen. “You’re still what? A slave? Do you really believe that? But what about Padmé? Being with her is what you want, isn't it?”
The automated reply is on his lips, but it won’t come out as he thinks of the awkward dates Padmé made him sit through over the past weeks. So this time, he is the one to abruptly change the topic. “You know I came here tonight to tell her that I have to leave tomorrow? They’re sending me to help Aayla, even though they finally promised me a long leave. Of course, I shouldn’t have expected them to keep their word… But won’t they even think of my men? They need this break.”
“So do you, though,” Obi-Wan whispers, his hand still on Anakin’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Having to fight in a war all the time must be exhausting.”
“I’m a Jedi, I don’t get easily exhausted.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head, his eyes growing ever more sympathetic. “Not physically, maybe. But I meant mentally.”
That makes Anakin swallow heavily. It’s not something he likes to think about, much less talk about. Not that usually anyone would mention anything like this or ask him how he feels about this war. He’s a Jedi, a general, the Hero with no fear, Chosen One—everyone just expects him to do his duty without any further consideration of the person behind the titles.
Again the word slave shoots through his head.
Will he truly never escape this status he was born into without his consent? He thought, leaving his mother behind at only nine years old, he was following Qui-Gon into a better future. But has he really?
He has talked about this with no one, not even Padmé—especially not her—and nobody has mentioned his past since his early years in the Temple when the other Padawans used it to bully him. But here now is this young man—prince, boy, soon to be senator—opening him up like a clam, cutting through his chest like a scalpel to pull out his heart and lay it bare.
Anakin doesn't know what to think of it, so he just grabs another meatpie and pretends his scarred heart is still beating normally in his chest.
“I should go,” he mumbles suddenly when he realizes his heart simply won't calm down. He stands just as abruptly, almost knocking over his untouched glass of wine. “Will you tell Padmé about my deployment? I'm not sure I can catch her in the morning before we leave.”
“Of course.”
Obi-Wan stands from the sofa as well to accompany Anakin to his speeder. A hand on his shoulder stops him before he can hop in and Anakin turns around to look into blue eyes. “You are no slave,” Obi-Wan whispers, his eyes shining with something Anakin can't pinpoint. “You don't have to do anything you don't truly want. No matter if it's fighting a war, being a Jedi—or whatever. You just have to dare to say no.”
“I—” He bites down on his lip and worries at it, rendered speechless. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.”
The other man smiles softly at him. “Please take care of yourself and come back safely.” He hesitates for several moments. “Senator Amidala would not be happy if something happened to you.”
“Yeah… Yeah… I know. I will.”
As Anakin navigates his speeder back to the Temple, he wonders if this is what Padmé wanted to achieve with these dates. Deep conversation where they leave each other raw and bare.
Oddly enough, he cannot imagine himself sharing with her what he told Obi-Wan. She would never understand what it's like, how he feels and why he feels like that. As always, she would just try to reason with him, calm him—and make him feel belittled with all her good intentions.
But Obi-Wan gets him. Even if he hasn't, not by far, lived through any of the things Anakin had, he can relate to him.
It's easy, it's mutual understanding, it's speaking without having to say anything. It's everything Padmé wants from him, but can never coax out of him.
Anakin doesn't know what any of that means.
Time after Anakin's deployment passes way too slowly and Obi-Wan yearns for him to come back to him, worries for him every day, and prays to the Stewjoni Gods every night to keep his Jedi safe.
Meanwhile, Senator Amidala seems to thrive in her husband's absence.
It makes Obi-Wan’s blood boil. How can she be like this when she could get news of Anakin being gravely injured or much worse at any given moment? She doesn't deserve him! She should be in constant dismay, even more worried than Obi-Wan, calling Anakin's comm every other minute in the hopes of a break in his fighting, so that he can answer her calls to make sure he's alright. But none of that. Instead, she goes about her business as usual and enjoys evenings out with her senator friends as if nothing is amiss.
So, when after almost a month of Anakin's absence, her private comlink beeps insistently while Senator Amidala is in the next room having taken a call from the Chancellor, Obi-Wan feels no shame as he picks up the call.
His heart jumps out of his chest when Anakin's silhouette appears in front of him. He looks away from the camera, signing something off on his datapad as he greets him, “Hi, angel. Just one sec…”
Angel.
Obi-Wan knows it's not meant for him, that Anakin expects to see the face of his wife once he turns to look, he knows, and it makes jealousy burn in the back of his mind, but… He can pretend, can't he? Just for a moment, he can devour the idea of being called ‘angel’ by Anakin. The thought makes his whole body heat up with want and he has to press his knees together before that heat can settle somewhere it shouldn't.
“Oh.” When Obi-Wan comes back to reality, Anakin is looking at him. “It's you.”
A guilty blush creeps up on Obi-Wan's cheeks. Moreso, when he sees the disappointment in the other’s eyes that Anakin is nice enough to try to hide from him. “Hello there. So sorry, but the Chancellor has called the Senator shortly before you did.”
There's a long moment of silence that Obi-Wan doesn't know how to interpret, but eventually Anakin nods, albeit with a sigh. “Of course. Duty comes first.”
“Is there anything you want me to pass on to her?” Obi-Wan asks, grasping at anything just so that Anakin won't end their conversation.
“Uh… No, nevermind. But thank you, Obi-Wan.”
He raises an eyebrow and leans forward to get a better look at his Jedi. “But there must've been a reason you've called.” After a month of silence, he doesn't dare to add.
“It's just that…” Anakin starts and breaks off with another sigh. “She wouldn't care anyway.”
The “I care” is out of his mouth before Obi-Wan can stop himself. Embarrassed, he considers to end the call without another word and blame it on a bad connection, but just before he can press the button, Anakin lets out a heavy sigh and suddenly, Obi-Wan can see beyond his beautiful face—the defeat in his eyes, the dark rings underneath, the thin line of his lips, the scar over his eye that wasn’t there when he left Coruscant for the Outer Rim. Obi-Wan’s worry wins over his shame and he bites his lip before he sputters out, “What happened?”
“It’s…” Anakin lowers his gaze and his voice sounds hollow, as if it’s about to break. “It’s not going well here. At all. We have… I have lost a lot of good men today and I don’t even know what—I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan swallows thickly. This is not the conversation he’d hoped for when he picked up the call, and he’s probably not mentally prepared enough to comfort a disillusioned war general, but he will try his best. Surely, he can do better than said general’s wife who probably hasn’t thought about him once since he left and who apparently couldn't care less about the horrors her husband has to go through at the hands of her administration. “I’m really sorry, Anakin,” he whispers softly. His hand reaches towards the holographic image of the man as if to caress. “That must be so hard. I cannot fathom what you must feel, but… You also mustn’t forget what you’re fighting for.”
“And what exactly is that, Obi-Wan?” Anakin cocks his head to the side, his intense eyes never leaving Obi-Wan as he paces in front of the table. “Please remind me, because every day, every fallen soldier, it seems more and more pointless to me, honestly.”
Biting his lip, Obi-Wan tries to think of the right words to lift Anakin’s spirits, to make him see his purpose again. He thinks of his own doubts regarding his future, his purpose, his choices and what helps him make peace with whatever comes.
“For the people of the republic,” he says eventually. “For all the billions of innocent beings that never wanted a war to begin with, but yet stand up for their planets and for what is right. They don’t have the means to defend themselves and yet they risk everything to keep democracy alive.”
Anakin sighs. “Politics. Is this really what this is about? What does it matter to some worker on a backwater planet who barely manages to feed his family which politicians stuff their mouths full in the Core?”
“That’s not what—” Obi-Wan starts to protest, but then he stops himself. From what the Senator told him once, Anakin has neither interest nor love for politics and therefore, that is probably not the right way to argue with him. “Freedom, then,” he says, knowing it’s something Anakin will understand much better. “It’s about their freedom. Their freedom to live and to choose.”
A thoughtful silence follows his words and Obi-Wan wonders if he has completely misinterpreted the situation. But then Anakin lets out a long breath and smiles softly, “Thank you, Obi-Wan. I really needed to hear that.”
“Yeah? I’m glad… Of course, it doesn’t compensate for the loss of your men. But maybe, at least, it will feel less pointless. You’re fighting for something good, Anakin, and once this war is over, people will thank you and honor the lives lost.”
“I think you will be the first politician I like,” Anakin grins.
Obi-Wan blushes again and digs his fingernails into the sleeves of his robes, hoping to find some much needed stability. His head floats and his heart beats too fast in his chest for him to keep up with. “Really?” He asks and Anakin nods already before Obi-Wan can finish. “But what about Senator Amidala? And as far as I heard the Chancellor is also a good friend of yours.”
“Padmé and I don’t really talk about her job. Or mine, for that matter,” Anakin explains, the smile gone from his face now. Obi-Wan tries not to gloat at that. “And the Chancellor has always been a great mentor to me, that’s true… But sometimes I’m not so sure about his politics.”
Oh? That’s not something Obi-Wan expected to hear… Apart from Senator Amidala and some of her close circle, he hasn’t heard anyone as much as make a comment that could be even slightly interpreted as critical. “What about them are you not sure about?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling,” Anakin sighs and then runs his fingers through his curls. Obi-Wan never wanted to be a finger so bad in his life. “Anyway. It’s not like I know anything about politics.”
Obi-Wan needs way too long to focus back on their conversation. “I think you actually know a lot more than you let on.”
Before he can say anything else, they are disrupted by a voice calling for Anakin in the background—Master? Obi-Wan frowns. That’s not how one of his subordinates would address Anakin. It’s, from his research, how a Padawan would address the Jedi who teaches him. But, again according to his more personal research, Anakin doesn’t have a Padawan.
“Sounds like you’re needed elsewhere,” Obi-Wan says quietly, trying to neither let his curiosity nor his annoyance at their talk being cut short show.
“Ugh. Yeah…” At least Anakin doesn’t sound too happy about it, either. “I didn’t even get to tell you the worst part yet.”
“The worst part?”
Anakin pinches the bridge of his nose as he nods. “Yeah. All of this and what does the Council decide would be a great idea? Giving me a Padawan! A kriffing Youngling to take care of in the midst of the war. I’ve just lost a platoon of well-trained, experienced men, including their lieutenant, and they send a child on the battlefield? She’s a child, Obi-Wan, a child. I don’t know what they’re thinking.”
“That you’re a capable leader and teacher,” Obi-Wan suggests, veiling his compliments in someone else’s views.
It makes Anakin laugh out loud, throwing his head back—and Obi-Wan has never seen anything more beautiful. Even if it’s just a holo. The long stretch of Anakin’s neck, his wild curls falling down to his shoulder, the sound a melody that rhymes with Obi-Wan’s heartbeat. “Good one, Obi-Wan. I think that’s the furthest from the Council’s opinion on me that you can get. Either way, I gotta go… My captain got injured today and I hope she has some good news for me about him.”
“I hope so, too,” Obi-Wan says honestly, albeit he’s sad to end the call. Who knows when his next chance will be to talk to Anakin. “Maybe you can text me later if all is okay?!”
“Oh… Sure! Just send me your contacts and I will let you know,” Anakin agrees, already on his way out of whatever room he was in, another call of his Padawan can be heard from outside. “Thank you for listening, Obi-Wan. This was… very nice. It’s nice to have someone to talk to about this. Thanks.”
Obi-Wan should probably say that he could always talk to his wife—should talk to his wife, but he just smiles happily. “Anytime, Anakin. I mean it. You can call me if it gets too much again. I’m happy to listen.”
“Good night, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says before ending the call.
Obi-Wan puts the comlink down and sinks back onto the sofa, grabbing a pillow to hug to his chest as his smile widens into a stupid grin.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Well, first of all, apologies for making you wait so long!!! I just wanted to get something out before the DDL, but then it turns out the mods have seemingly abandoned the event anyway... Oh well. I pulled the fic from the collection/event/prompt for this reason. It's been unrevealed for over 4 months now, I don't think it will happen anymore. I hope the person who gave the prompt, has/will still be able to find it!
Thank you all for your sweet comments! Since a lot of you have been asking for updates, I've decided to split it into further chapters than just 2, so I can post something... As the plot has been getting in the way of the smut. I hope chapter 3 will not take another 4 to 5 months to write, but life is cruel. Please be patient with me. I promise I will finish!! <333
Chapter Text
As soon as their fleet is in hyperspace, coordinates set for Coruscant, Anakin sends a message to Obi-Wan to let him know about the success of their mission and his expected arrival time in the capital.
They have become friends over the past weeks since their call. First, they just exchanged messages about Rex’s improving condition, with Obi-Wan seeming to genuinely be interested in the state of Anakin's man. But then their conversations broadened; Obi-Wan telling him about his progress and the going-ons on Coruscant, while Anakin complains about his Padawan, the war, the Council.
The only thing they never mention is Padmé.
Padmé, who he has yet to inform of his return. Padmé, his wife, whom he has only talked to once during this two months long mission.
Some days, he misses her—most days he has a vague feeling it's just the idea of her he misses. The idea created by a nine-year-old boy and kept alive by a lonely teenager. An idea that he took with him into adulthood, but when eventually confronted with reality, can't survive for too long. Because his wife is a person, not an idea. A person who has grown far beyond the child queen he met 15 years ago; maybe even beyond the woman—the idea of a woman?—he married a little over a year ago. A person he doesn't really know and who doesn't know him either because they’ve been apart more than then they’ve ever been together since they’ve started their relationship in the arena on Geonosis.
And maybe that’s what Padmé has been going on about all this time… Maybe he should’ve put more effort into understanding what she was saying to him. Maybe he should’ve been less dismissive during their dates, and more attentive, open, and caring.
Maybe…
But now he isn’t too sure anymore if things could still be turned around—and much less sure if he wants them to. Padmé is great, that much he is clear on. She truly is, even if he doesn’t know her as well as he thought he did… Sometimes, he likes to believe that he himself isn’t so bad, either. It’s just that they’re not great together. And while there is some part of him trying to hold on to the hope that they could be if he only tried harder, the other part of him has already given up on his childish dream of a happy marriage with the most beautiful woman he has ever met and will ever meet.
Obi-Wan, though… Anakin shakes his head. Even if there is truly nothing to save between him and Padmé, he can’t go there. It would be inappropriate on so many levels. He is already a Jedi breaking the code–he really can’t go and break it all over again. With Padmé’s apprentice, who’s only 17 years old, of all people.
His comlink goes off with an incoming call, but he ignores it. Once the ringing stops, he sends a vague message that he’s on his way back to Coruscant.
That’s all. No arrival time, no farewells, no kisses.
Sometimes he feels guilty for his lack of effort… But then he remembers that the one time Padmé called him during this mission, it was for Republic business and not to check how her husband is doing. So maybe neither one of them is as invested in their marriage anymore as they should be. And maybe he should stop going in circles in his head and just talk to his wife to find out where they stand.
“Master?”
Anakin snaps out of his thoughts and looks at his Padawan who has entered the bridge without him noticing. She looks at him questioningly—almost suspicious—and returns the gaze. “What can I help you with, Padawan?”
He is reluctant to admit it, but she has grown on him. And while he still disagrees with the Council’s decision to send a child to war, she has proven herself to be capable. She will make a great Jedi some day; far better than him, probably. Albeit, there’s still a lot she needs to learn, but Anakin feels himself grow excited at the prospect of getting to teach her more and more.
“Just wanted to let you know that I packed our things since we’re about to drop out of hyperspace any minute now, Master.”
“Oh.” Anakin looks around him and at the displays in front of him. He hasn’t realized they are already so close to home, too preoccupied with his own thoughts. Not very jedi-like of him, once again. “Well, thank you, Ahsoka.”
She nods, but lingers, making Anakin frown. “Anything else?”
“No, Master…” Ahsoka mumbles hesitantly. Her mouth moves without making a sound for a moment before she finally continues. “I was just wondering… Do you know how long we’ll be on Coruscant?”
Anakin raises an eyebrow. “Until the Council assigns us our next mission, young one. Why? Do you have any special plans?”
If she were human, Ahsoka would probably blush a bright red. As it is, Anakin can only feel her embarrassment in the Force. He grins to hide his amusement as he patiently waits for her to answer him. When she does, she stutters and stumbles over her words, “Uh… no, Master. No, n-nothing… Just meeting a friend… you know… The usual…”
“Right”, Anakin replies, unable to further hide his grin. “Well… You go and enjoy yourself with your friend, Ahsoka. I will let you know whenever we’re to be deployed again.”
She stares at him, eyes wide in shock. Then she quickly scrambles to gain her composure and just scowls at him before she turns around to leave. He chuckles as he looks after her disappearing figure.
“You two are definitely one of a kind.”
Anakin raises an eyebrow yet again, but doesn’t turn to look at the man who steps up next to him on the bridge. “It seems like you have recovered well, Captain. Maybe you could put your energy to use while doing inventory.”
“Oh no, sir, no”, Rex immediately backpaddles. “I think I definitely need some more time to recover. Been hit quite hard, after all. Not the best idea to put me on inventory, sir.”
When, an hour later, he steps out onto the landing platform, Anakin is only half-surprised to see a figure in elaborate robes that look entirely out of place between the browns and grays of the Jedi Temple standing there.
Anakin can’t help but smile. His mood is suddenly much improved, and he feels lighter—as if the mere sight of Obi-Wan has taken the burden of war off his shoulders. And what a heavy burden that is to carry. For every soldier and every Jedi, but for Anakin even more so. The expectations for the Chosen One come at a high price. He cannot fail, he cannot make mistakes, he cannot show his exhaustion or his fear. Never. Because if the Chosen One fails, if he’s exhausted, scared, wounded, how is everyone else supposed to do it? How can the public believe that they will bring home victory when even the Hero with no Fear loses hope?
He wishes there was someone he could talk to about this, confine in, share his feelings, be vulnerable with… He tried, with Padmé, he really tried during one of their dates. But then he saw the look on her face when he talked about the more gruesome parts of the battlefield and his own deeds to turn a battle thought lost around, and he had quickly changed the topic. Sure, wanting to support him in theory sounds all nice and well, but confronted with reality it just doesn’t hold up.
“It’s good to see you alive and well,” Obi-Wan says when Anakin stops in front of him.
Is it his imagination, or does he look even more beautiful than the last time they saw each other in person? His robes are elaborate and blue, bringing out the blue in his own eyes more than usual. Anakin tries really hard not to get lost in them. He doesn’t think he’s very successful and tries to cover it up with a little cough. “Good to see you, too, Obi-Wan.”
In a moment of weakness and utter madness, Anakin grabs the young man’s shoulder and pulls him into a hug. More weight falls off his shoulders, before he remembers who they are and where they are and lets go again.
He tries to say something, but when he looks at Obi-Wan again, he can’t find any words. The blue eyes shine even brighter now and a wide smile spreads across the beautiful face from one ear to another. Clearly, Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to think that was inappropriate. He seems different in his mannerisms, too—compared to the shy, somewhat clumsy, and constantly blushing, sometimes stuttering boy from a couple of months ago.
Anakin likes it more than he should.
They remain there, looking at each other for several moments, neither of them speaking until Anakin can feel Rex approach from behind him. “General, sir, your comlink has been going off since we arrived,” the captain says as he reaches them. “It’s Sen–”
Obi-Wan, to Anakin’s absolute surprise, interrupts him as he steps up to Rex. “You must be Captain Rex,” he says with a smile. “It’s so good to see you up and about, Captain. General Skywalker has kept us updated about your recovery. I wanted to thank you very much, in the name of the Republic, for your continuous bravery and service.”
Rex looks at him, a little stunted. “Uh, thank you,” he eventually manages to mumble. Anakin raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh, sir.”
Rolling his eyes, Anakin turns back to Obi-Wan. “You have to excuse his manners… It seems the head injury has left a more permanent mark.” At that, Obi-Wan throws his head back and laughs loudly. It's a melody, playing straight to Anakin's heart, while his eyes linger on the exposed throat and the knob of his Adam's apple. Anakin has a hard time pushing the heat down before it takes over his body—and his mind. “Anyway… Rex, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Senator from Stewjon.”
“Not yet,” Obi-Wan interjects, still laughing a little. “I'm merely apprenticed to Senator Amidala.”
Anakin can feel Rex’s eyebrows rising more than he can see them, but decides to ignore it either way. “You don't give yourself enough credit. It will happen sooner rather than later, if you ask me.”
“You think so? Jedi instincts?” Obi-Wan cocks his head to the side with a mischievous grin, and it makes Anakin's insides churn with longing.
“No, it's just–” Before he can finish, Rex clears his throat from next to him. “Sorry, sirs,” he says when both turn to him. “If you don't need me anymore, I'd like to retire now.”
“Of course, Captain,” Anakin says with a nod, hoping his face doesn't feel hot because he's blushing. “Have a good rest. We need you at your full strength.”
Rex salutes. “Sir,” he says in a manner of a farewell and turns, after shooting Anakin a look that makes him feel caught red-handed doing something he doesn't even know he's doing. Anakin knows that whatever is going on here should concern him more than it does, but before he can delve into that thought, a hand settles on his gloved forearm. When he looks up, he’s greeted by Obi-Wan’s smiling face once more. “I’m really glad you’re back, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says lowly, almost in a whispering tone.
Like what he’s saying shouldn’t be overheard, like it’s forbidden. Like it’s not a senator telling a general, but a lover telling the subject of his yearning. Anakin can’t help but blush. Is that it? Is Obi-Wan flirting with him? It seems like such a ridiculous thought, but what other explanation is there, really?
He gapes at the young man helplessly, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times without any words coming out. “Me too,” he eventually manages, his voice sounding hoarse.
“Well, I’m sure you must be tired after your travels,” Obi-Wan says, his hand on Anakin’s arm brushing aimlessly over the glove. “I should let you rest, you deserve it after another successful mission. But maybe… well, we could have lunch together tomorrow? If you’re not busy.” The busy with whom is left unspoken, but hangs in between them anyway.
“Not busy,” Anakin blurts out quickly. He wants to bite his lip at his eagerness, but instead just blunders on. “Also, I’m not really tired at all. So, we could go for dinner. If you want, I mean. Or, I don’t know… You probably don’t have time. You’re a busy senator to be, after all.”
Now it’s Obi-Wan’s turn to blush ever so slightly. It looks more coquettish than truly embarrassed, and Anakin wants to kiss the pink spots on his cheeks so bad. Oh Force, what has he gotten himself into? “Well, I guess… Yes, why not.”
“Yeah?” Obi-Wan nods and moves to Anakin’s side and links their arms in one swift move as a reply. Anakin’s heart stutters as much as his voice does when he asks: “W-where should we go t-then?”
Obi-Wan starts to lead the way. “Oh, I know a place. You’ll love it!”
Happily, Obi-Wan looks over the table at Anakin, who’s holding his stomach and groans lowly after finishing the last bits of his meals. “I told you, you’d love it,” he says with a grin, leaning forward and planting his elbows on the table to lean his chin on the back of his hands. “You want some dessert?”
“I don’t think I can fit anything else in there,” Anakin sighs, patting his stomach. Obi-Wan tries very hard not to follow his hands. It’s not like the Jedi robes reveal even a slimmer of the abs he knows are hiding under the layers of fabric. But his imagination is bright and colorful… “You’ll have to roll me back to the Temple.”
Obi-Wan laughs and throws his head back just like Siri taught him, and he can feel Anakin’s eyes on him as he does so. Just like early at the landing platform. It seems like the flirtation tactics are actually really working. At first, he would’ve never thought so—he’d felt ridiculous as Sith’s hell practicing with Siri. But now, seeing them work on Anakin? It’s worth every moment of embarrassment, ashamed laughter, ridicule, and powering through repetition after repetition of the same gestures, mimics, tones, and words until he got it just right.
He lifts his chin from his hands to wrap a curl around one of his fingers. “Really? I thought we could maybe share some ice cream? I would really like some… But I can’t eat it all by myself.”
The thought process is visible on Anakin’s face, even for someone who can’t use the Force. So Obi-Wan watches with fascination and admiration as the most beautiful face he knows goes through the motions. Eventually, Anakin’s eyes close for a moment and then soften. “Well, we can’t rob you of your dessert now, can we? Order away.”
“The Senate thanks you for your sacrifice,” Obi-Wan chuckles and taps on the datapad to send his order to the kitchen before placing his hand on Anakin’s on the table, making it look like somewhat of a coincidence, silencing Anakin’s laugh as the man looks down at their hands with wide eyes.
Anakin remains quiet for a long while, looking at their hands, before clearing his throat. “The Senate, huh?”
“Well, this part of the Senate,” Obi-Wan grins. He rubs his thumb over Anakin’s knuckles and then pulls his hand back as the waitress arrives with their ice cream. She places the bowl in the middle of the table and places one spoon on Anakin’s side and one on his. He picks up his spoon and looks over the ice cream to his companion, who is turning his spoon in between his fingers. “See why I couldn’t finish this all by myself now?”
“Yeah, I don’t think we can even finish this off together,” Anakin grins and digs his spoon into a glowing green ball of ice cream. “They don’t do anything in small portions here, do they?”
Obi-Wan shakes his head, laughing. “I don’t think Dex even knows the meaning of that word.”
“Dex, huh? So you come here often if you know the owner?”
“For food and council,” Obi-Wan nods. “Thankfully for my weight, mostly for council, though. I’ve known Dex for a very long time.”
Anakin cocks his head to the side and frowns, a smear of ice cream in the corner of his lips that Obi-Wan wishes he could just lick away before kissing him. He looks so gorgeous like this, the fighting uniform he’s still wearing suiting him perfectly, bringing out the blue in his eyes even more than his usual dark-brown and black robes, as he looks at Obi-Wan with that particular, intense gaze of his. “Really? How come? As far as I know, this diner has been here forever, and you have only come to Coruscant recently.”
“That is true. But Dex is somewhat of an old family friend. He visits Stewjon frequently for supplies,” Obi-Wan starts to explain and then loses himself in the tale of how Dex has become something like an uncle to him and how he has helped Obi-Wan a lot ever since he arrived in the capital.
Of course, Obi-Wan knows that eavesdropping is not polite and that one shouldn’t do something like that, but when he hears Anakin’s voice the moment he enters Senator Amidala’s apartment, he can’t stop himself. He shuffles forward silently until he’s at the door to the sitting room and can press his ear against it, listen to what is going on the other side.
It sounds like Anakin and the Senator are having an argument. Something about Anakin being distant and not trying hard enough. Apparently, they haven’t been in touch during his last mission, and he hasn’t informed her about his arrival back on Coruscant. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was there, waiting for him at the Temple’s landing platform. His heart skips a beat and then starts pounding rapidly. It has to mean something, right? It has to…
“Angel, look,” he hears Anakin say. His spirits sink a little immediately. Again this word; again he wishes, longs for it to be addressed towards him and not her. “I’m sorry. I just– I need to end this war. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t see anymore of my men dying. They’re good man, and they die on me like… And for what, Padmé? For what? I’m not sure, I know anymore. And my Padawan deserves better than to grow up on starships and active war zones.”
“Your Padawan who you haven’t even told me about,” Senator Amidala interjects angrily. “See, this is exactly what I mean! I learned about your Padawan on the holonet. On the holonet! And I didn’t know you were so disillusioned by the war, either. Because you never talk to me anymore, Anakin.”
“Well, it’s kind of hard to talk to you about these things when all you tell me when you call me is what the Republic wants me to do.”
Obi-Wan knows he should feel bad about witnessing what was probably once a happy marriage go down the drain right in front of him, but he can’t bring himself to. Not when it means that he might have a chance. Not when he thinks about the way Anakin looked at him yesterday on the landing platform and in the diner. It’s obvious there is something between them—and if Anakin’s marriage is failing anyway, why shouldn’t he take advantage of that? He’s a prince, after all, he is kind of used to getting what he wants.
After taking a deep breath to calm his hammering heart, Obi-Wan shortly knocks on the door before letting it slide open. “Oh,” he says in his most surprising tone. “I’m sorry, Senator, I didn’t know you have a guest.”
Senator Amidala visibly reals her anger in, straightens her robe and plasters on a smile within milliseconds. “It’s alright, Obi-Wan. Come on in.”
Nodding, he steps into the room. His eyes are immediately glued to Anakin, who sits on the sofa, frustration and a bit of anger written all over his face and tense posture. But then he looks up to see who’s interrupting their little feud, and—unlike the Senator—his smile is genuine. “Hello, Obi-Wan. Good to see you again.” There is a small pause, and Obi-Wan thinks that Senator Amidala must catch on to it. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”
It seems Anakin has not only kept his Padawan and his feelings about the war secret from her, but also his friendship with Obi-Wan. Interesting. “Good, thank you. I heard your mission was yet another success, Ana–Master Jedi.”
The mishap was absolutely on purpose, and he triumphs just a little upon seeing the Senator falter at it. “Anyway,” he quickly adds. “I can come back later. I don’t want to disturb you.” He keeps his eyes locked on Anakin as he speaks, hoping for signs that the other doesn’t want him to leave.
“Nonsense,” Anakin says as he gets up from the sofa. Obi-Wan’s heart flutters, but then quickly sinks again when Anakin continues. “I’m the one who should leave. Clearly, the two of you have work to do… And I have a mission report to write.”
“Ani,” the Senator begins to object, but then she resigns. “See you later?”
Anakin shrugs non-committally, but presses a light kiss to her cheek as he passes her. When he moves to step around Obi-Wan, he quickly says, “I’ll see you to the door,” and turns to walk Anakin to the door before either of them can say anything. Neither of them speak, but once they reach the door, Obi-Wan leans against it and looks up at Anakin through his lashes. “Is everything okay with you and the Senator?”
Hesitation and conflict are written all over Anakin’s face. He seems to be weighing between waving it off or actually telling Obi-Wan that it’s not going well. Obi-Wan hopes he will decide on the latter. He really wants to hear the confirmation from Anakin for what he’s been suspecting for some months now. And Anakin doesn’t disappoint; after several quiet moments of contemplation, his face falls. “No, to be honest, not really.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Obi-Wan says in his sweetest voice as he grabs Anakin’s arm in a gesture of comfort. “Is there anything I can do?”
“That’s… very nice of you. But no. I’m not even sure there’s anything I can do. Or even if I want to do anything,” Anakin whispers, and Obi-Wan has to bite his lip hard to keep himself from whooping. This is even better than what he had hoped for. Not only is Anakin admitting to their marital problems—he also indicates that maybe he doesn’t want to fix them. “I feel like… It’s as if we don’t truly know each other anymore. Maybe we never did, I don’t know… But now it seems impossible to bridge that gap between us. Instead, it just seems to get wider with every day and every conversation. I’m not sure how to reverse that. Not when it feels like she purposefully misunderstands every single thing that I say and do.”
“Maybe she just doesn’t understand you,” Obi-Wan inputs helpfully—well, helpful at least for his own purposes. Because no, she doesn’t understand him; not like Obi-Wan does.
Anakin sighs. “Or I don’t understand her.”
“Well. I guess, in the end, the outcome is the same,” Obi-Wan muses. Before he can add anything more, he is interrupted by a shout from the living room, “Obi-Wan, are you coming? We have work to do!” He has to refrain himself from rolling his eyes and take a deep breath before he calls back, “Yes, coming, Senator.” Apologetically, he turns back to Anakin and steps up to him to give him a tight hug. “Call me tonight, and we can continue our talk.”
“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” Anakin mumbles against his robes as he presses closer for the shortest moment before letting him go and stepping into the elevator.
Obi-Wan stares after him until the door is fully closed. With a sigh, he gathers himself and walks back inside, where Senator Amidala is waiting for him. She is standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of her chest. “I didn’t know the two of you have become friends,” she says quietly, and Obi-Wan can’t help but think that it sounds like an accusation. Like it’s forbidden—which it would only be if she believed it to be more than friendship.
“We have,” he replies simply, the smile spreading across his face probably betraying him. And then he can't stop himself from rubbing it in: “We’ve been talking a lot since Captain Rex was injured gravely. Anakin was very worried about him. But when I met them at the landing platform yesterday, the Captain seemed to be doing much better.”
Senator Amidala looks at him with wide eyes, hugging herself closer than before. “You met with him when he arrived back from his mission?”
Obi-Wan nods. He feels only slightly guilty from thriving at her realizing right in front of him that her marriage is maybe even in more trouble than she thought it would be. But if she can't see it herself, he's actually being kind in making her, isn't he? It's not good for her to keep holding on to something that isn't hers anymore; maybe wasn't hers to begin with.
“I–Sorry, do you think we can postpone your lesson to tomorrow? I'm suddenly not feeling very well…”
Before the glee can take over his posture and facial expressions, Obi-Wan schools his features into concern. “Of course, Senator,” he says softly as he steps up to her and puts one hand on her shoulder, the other on her forearm. “Maybe you should go lie down. Do you want me to get you some tea?”
She shakes her head. “No, thank you, Obi-Wan. It's very nice of you… But I think I just need to lie down and be alone for a bit.”
“Of course. But do call for me if you need anything, Senator.”
Quickly, Obi-Wan throws a soft robe over his shoulders when his doorbell rings well into the evening. He was just about to put down his datapad and get ready for bed, not expecting anymore visitors at this late hour—he even gave up on hoping Anakin will call after all. Probably he feels ashamed already for his outburst in the Senator’s apartment and admitting to such things with his wife just on the other side of the door.
But when he looks at the small screen next to his door to see who it is, Obi-Wan gasps in surprise. He lets the door slide open with a press of his thumb and stares at the man standing in front of him. “Anakin!”
“Hi, hello,” Anakin replies cheerfully, a grin spreading across his face. “Good to see you, Obi.” He takes a step forward, then halts, leaning against the door frame—big blue eyes looking anywhere and nowhere. “Uh, I–may I come in?”
Obi-Wan’s first instinct is to pull his robe tighter, but then he remembers his many lessons with Siri, and instead lets it slip from his shoulders in a carefully arranged accident. Immediately, Anakin’s eyes zoom in on the sliver of skin and he stumbles as his arm slips from the door frame. “Yes, please, come in,” Obi-Wan smiles and steps aside to let him into his apartment.
“Thanks.” Anakin stumbles again as he follows him inside. And as much as Obi-Wan wants to believe it’s because he’s going crazy over his naked shoulder, he’s starting to suspect it’s something else. “I know you said I should call... But well, when I was on my way back to the Temple, I thought why not stop by instead?” Anakin rambles as Obi-Wan leads them to his sitting area.
“Anakin,” he says as he sits down on the plush sofa, looking up at the Jedi. “I don’t mind, but... Are you drunk?”
“Drunk?” Anakin splutters. “I’m not drunk, Obi-Wan. I might have had a drink with Rex and the guys...” He fails to notice the seat in front of him and bumps into it. “Well, okay, maybe two drinks... But I’m not drunk, I promise. Jedi don’t get drunk.”
“Right.” Obi-Wan grins and watches as Anakin slides onto the seat across from him. The way he half sits, half lies on it, is definitely very unjedi-like. Similar, his robes—his standard Jedi robes, Obi-Wan notices, not his armor—are just slightly disheveled. “I hope you at least took an air taxi and didn’t drive here yourself.”
Anakin pouts, jutting out his lower lip, making Obi-Wan laugh. “I’ll have you know that I could’ve! But unfortunately, Rex is as much of a spoilsport as you and took my keys.”
“Good man, that Rex.”
“He’s the best,” Anakin agrees. Then he halts and frowns at his hands before looking up at Obi-Wan in utter disbelief. It might be the cutest thing Obi-Wan has ever seen, especially with those shiny puppy eyes. “You tricked me. I can’t believe you would just do that to me, Obi-Wan!”
Laughing, Obi-Wan leans forward on the sofa to get a better look at Anakin—and to let his robe slide further off his shoulder in the process. “I would never! Also, from what I know, you can’t trick a Jedi since they would be able to sense your malicious intentions. I mean, unless they’re drunk, probably. I feel like that would inhibit even a Jedi’s senses.”
“Pfff. You’re unbelievable,” Anakin tuts in mock outrage. He looks like he wants to add something, but then his eyes fall down to Obi-Wan’s shoulders yet again, and he just stares at him with his mouth hanging half open. Obi-Wan lets him and counts down the seconds it takes Anakin to blink himself out of his stupor, licking his lips. “Uhm… Uh, I guess I–I might be a little drunk. Who knows what Rex and Fives put in my drink. I think they find it hilarious to see their General a bit uh…”
“Out of control?”
Anakin splutters. “I’m not out of control. I’m just a bit tipsy, come on… And it will wear off soon enough. That’s the good thing about being a Jedi. Even if you get poisoned or drugged or something, it won’t stay in your system as long as for a non-Force-sensitive person. So, I’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.”
“You want some water to help with the process?” Obi-Wan asks, getting up from the sofa to walk over to the small bar to pour both of them a glass of fresh water, looking back over his shoulder questioningly. “That is an interesting fact, though. How does that work exactly?”
“I think it’s just, uh…” Anakin loses track of his words once again as Obi-Wan lets the robe purposefully fall off his shoulders completely, revealing his back—his tunic leaving a triangle of skin exposed from his shoulder blades down to the small of his back. “Uh, the Force… protecting us… Uhm, like the midiclorians take care of the toxins and uh… make them go away faster, you know? So more of those and well, uh… less time to recover from something like poison or alcohol... Uhu, yeah. At least, I think. Yepp.”
“Oh, thank you for explaining. That’s indeed fascinating. Maybe sometime, when you’re less… intoxicated, you could teach me more about all of this,” Obi-Wan hums as he walks back over to the sitting area with the two glasses in his hands. After setting one down on the coffee table, he turns around to hand the other one to Anakin. But before Anakin can reach for it, he feigns clumsiness which Anakin, albeit poorly executed, won’t notice in his current state, and tips the glass over, spilling half of the contents over Anakin’s lap. “Oh Force… Oh dear, I’m so sorry, Anakin. I’m so clumsy, how terribly unbecoming… Let me get something to dry you off with.”
When Obi-Wan comes back with a cloth, Anakin still sits there looking at his wet lap. But upon Obi-Wan’s approach, he looks up and his eyes look much clearer. Uncertainly, Obi-Wan bites his lower lip. He’s unsure if a sobered up Anakin will still be as open and welcoming towards his flirtation. Nevertheless, he decides to continue anyway—it would be more awkward not to. So, he bends forward and starts dabbing at Anakin’s lap.
Seconds pass before Anakin’s flesh fingers wrap around Obi-Wan’s wrist. “Obi-Wan,” he whispers roughly. Obi-Wan stops, but doesn’t take his hand away, instead slowly looking up at Anakin through his lashes. Blue, sober eyes stare back at him, suspended between confusion and hunger. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean? I’m trying to dry your leggings,” Obi-Wan replies, his hand shaking in Anakin’s wrist. This is the make or break for the way forward. Either Anakin will push him away now or he will have to acknowledge that he likes what Obi-Wan is doing.
“That’s not—I mean... What are you doing to me, Obi-Wan?”
He sounds almost desperate, making Obi-Wan feel almost ashamed and rueful for getting him in this kind of situation. Almost. Before it comes that far, however, a durasteel finger is hooked under his chin, gentle tipping it up. Obi-Wan holds his breath while he waits for Anakin to make the next move. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long.
Soft lips press against his and Obi-Wan can’t help but moan softly at the contact, at finally getting what he has been wanting for weeks now—months, even. He presses back and reflexively darts his tongue out to taste the Savareen brandy off of Anakin’s lips, thinking that if he can still taste it, Anakin must have had way more than he led on. The thoughts quickly drown out when Anakin opens his mouth for him. Obi-Wan inhales deeply, incredulous that he is breathing in the air coming straight from Anakin’s lungs, that something that has been inside of Anakin’s body is now flowing down his throat and into his own lungs. It makes him feel a little dizzy, and he takes it as an excuse to sit down on Anakin’s lap.
Strong, big hands grab onto his hips, making Obi-Wan buck forward and moan in surprise. But he catches himself, mindful not to startle Anakin and remind him that this is probably not what he is supposed to be doing right now.
Not the Obi-Wan knows what he’s supposed to be doing. With a jolt, he realizes that this is his anticipated first kiss, and he has no clue how to kiss. All the practice with Siri was always only theoretical, neither of them ever feeling comfortable with a practical lesson. Well, he will have to make due and do his best based on the holo-romances he watches.
Before he can contemplate too much, Anakin pulls him even closer by his hips—so close, Obi-Wan can feel the bulge in his pants, making him blush coyly. A tongue slipping between his lips shifts his focus from their groins to their mouths. Giving up on trying to remember what Siri tried to teach him, Obi-Wan lets himself fall into Anakin’s capable hands, trusting the man to take control and guide him through it.
And his trust is not misplaced.
Anakin’s tongue immediately finds his own and engages it in a soft play. Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter shut, while the last of his conscious thoughts melt away leaving only pleasure, desire, and want in their wake. Obi-Wan reciprocates the kiss to the best of his abilities, his mind filled with a chant of Anakin, Anakin, Anakin and more, more, more.
But then it’s suddenly over—as unexpectedly as it had begun—and Obi-Wan finds himself sitting on his ass on the soft carpet on his floor, Anakin standing above him breathing as heavily as Obi-Wan himself. While he doesn’t look drunk anymore at all, he looks more debauched than before, and Obi-Wan realizes it's his fault, that he is the one who further messed up his clothes, has raked his finger through those curls to make them so messy and tangled, and has reddened and swollen those pretty lips with little bites.
“I’m sorry,” Anakin says, making the proud, giddy grin disappear from Obi-Wan’s face even before it can fully bloom. “I–I don’t even... I should not have done that. I’m really sorry. Maybe I was more drunk than I thought I was. I’m very sorry, Obi-Wan.”
Anakin is by the entrance door with a few strides, while Obi-Wan still sits on the floor, trying to hold his heart together. He waits for the swoosh of his door opening and closing, knowing the sound will shatter his heart, but it doesn’t come. Through the first couple of tears coating his lashes, Obi-Wan looks over to the door. Anakin has stopped in front of it, his hand suspended mid-air in front of the release.
Out of his mind with relief, Obi-Wan scrambles to his feet and stumbles over to Anakin, grabbing his arm. “Please... Don’t go,” he croaks through his tears. “It’s not your–I’m sorry... Please, don’t leave, Anakin. We can just... We can pretend this didn’t happen if you want.”
“I don’t think I can do that, Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers and his finger presses the button to open the door after all. He steps outside, with Obi-Wan’s arm stretching as he won’t let go of Anakin.
A soft, handless push removes Obi-Wan’s hand and then the door closes between them.
Obi-Wan sinks down on the floor again, sobbing freely now. He doesn’t know how long he sits there until his eyes dry, no more fluids to shed. As some clarity returns to his mind, he replays their encounter over and over again, trying to find where he went wrong, where he could’ve stopped Anakin from leaving.
I don’t think I can do that, Obi-Wan.
An ember of hope emerges slowly, as Obi-Wan rolls Anakin’s last words around in his mind again, and he gathers himself to get up from the floor with new conviction.
Anakin doesn’t think he can forget what happened because he doesn’t regret it, because he wanted it too—wants Obi-Wan as much as Obi-Wan wants him. That is the only reasonable explanation and the only thing stopping Obi-Wan’s heart from imploding. Anakin wants him and Obi-Wan will make sure he will get him.
No matter the cost.
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