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True fights with Anakin have become so rare that when Obi-Wan finds himself in the middle of one, he's unprepared for the intensity of it, for how something hot burbles into a knotted mass in his navel, tangling and choking until the world narrows at the edges. He cannot fit his fingers in the gaps to loosen the tension.
"Why can you not believe me?" he asks, dangerously near pleading, even though he can hear that's not what it sounds like to Anakin, sees how the question lands like a blow.
Anakin doesn't weep like he once did as a child, but Obi-Wan knows what that looks like, recognizes the slant of those brows, the ticking muscle high on his jaw.
“Why can you not explain to me why you want me to stay away from the Chancellor? How about we begin there?”
Obi-Wan shakes his head, exhausted. “You know that I can’t.”
He isn't meant to be letting on that the Council suspects Chancellor Palpatine may be corrupt, that too many coincidences are painting a dire picture for the universe.
He cannot divulge that even now, as the hours draw closer to the Senate ceremony to thank the 212th and 501st for liberating the Medalla Hyperlane Corridor, Jocasta Nu is scouring financial records that link the Assassin's Guild of Perythemia and the Chancellor's office. The same guild that the Council suspects is responsible for the deaths of key figures in the committee initiating an evaluation that would weaken Palpatine's unprecedented state-of-emergency control.
Anakin won't understand that, because even members of the Council have not wanted to believe the Chancellor is compromised. It is unthinkable and dreadful, but the possibility is too strong to ignore.
"All I'm asking," Obi-Wan tries again, aware that they've made a bloodbath of each other in what should be the hard-won peace of time together in their home, off the battlefield, "is that you distance yourself from the Chancellor while we're here. Surely that isn't too much?"
“You wouldn’t ask that for no reason.”
“Exactly,” Obi-Wan snaps.
A misstep. He recognizes it far too late. His heart falters and then thumps forward, heavy, painful.
Anakin’s eyes narrow.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan tries again, searching for a way to backtrack, tripping on his own tongue, which is oh-so-famous across the Republic, but can be counted on to fail him when it matters, when Anakin is looking at him with hurt, frustrated with all the secrets that Obi-Wan must keep, that are more important than their—situation.
“Windu decided I need to be there.” Anakin sounds too calm for how compressed his energy signature is.
If anything, Anakin is far more dangerous in this state. That calm is not true composure, there is no peace within him, he is as far from heeding the Code as…
As Obi-Wan is. By risking everything.
But something has nagged ever since Mace revealed Anakin’s presence will be the deciding factor on an important chain of events, which is why the Order agreed to this in the first place. As important as it is to lift the spirits of the people, the Senate has a well-paid PR machine for that, they don’t need to involve the Jedi. But the situation is different when a shatterpoint is involved.
Obi-Wan is a Jedi, and he is besieged by a fear he cannot shake. Enough that he's squaring off with Anakin instead of holding him close, running his hands over those dear shoulders, learning the shape and texture of new scars inflicted while they were apart.
Not that he should be doing that, either. But even he isn’t so in denial of reality that he can regret what he’s done. How his fingerprints are indelibly pressed deep into Anakin’s life, present in how Anakin’s gaze sticks in the direction of his mouth, how he leans in when they’re standing side by side.
Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling noisily, yet using those selfsame shameful thoughts to blunt the edge out of his words. Not an apology, not a retraction or a bowing out, but a softening. "He did, but please, darling, consider humoring me. Stay by my side while we're furloughed. It won't be long before we'll be on duty again. And there will be other chances for you to speak with the Chancellor."
By couching his request in this way, Obi-Wan is both revolted at his own weakness and at how sincerely he means it, and how important it is for Anakin to listen to him.
There have been many times when there hasn't been an opportunity to explain, and they've had to trust one another to survive. This predates even the war, with the galaxy being dangerous for a master and padawan involving themselves where they weren't wanted. Obi-Wan hopes that Anakin will remember this, that he's never asked Anakin to do anything that would hurt him.
Injure his pride, perhaps. But hurt him? Never.
Anakin is watching him closely, still that thin slash of a mouth with the ticking muscle. His signature, however, has eased, like a ray of light escaping through the clouds. Rather than make a move and risk tipping the scales, Obi-Wan waits.
That, too, has been hard for him to accept, to negotiate. They're no longer master and padawan; Anakin is a Knight and a General now. But Obi-Wan is also his military superior, a Councilmember, and it's been a fine line to walk. Obi-Wan still has power over him.
But in moments like these, private, intense, personal, he can’t tell Anakin what he must do; he merely has to deal with what Anakin chooses.
Anakin’s eyes slide to the side, and his head follows, tilting. “I’ll consider it,” he says, quietly, which doesn’t mean he’s agreeing, but the high risk moment where everything brittle could crack into a million pieces is past.
It would have been so easy for Obi-Wan to have taken another misstep, for him to still do so, but he knows instinctively that they’ve navigated this—not to safe shores, but to less turbulent waters. Enough for him to step forward, confident that Anakin won’t shy away, that he’ll let Obi-Wan draw him in until they’re chest to chest, shoulder to shoulder.
Obi-Wan cannot say I love you. The series of components that are the sum of his self, the minute processes that tick and whir and turn Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, High General, Councilmember, forbid it.
He cannot say it, and so lets his grip on Anakin's tunics imply it, rubs his nose over Anakin's smooth jaw, breathing in his scent. Their quarters are quiet save for the hum of the air system, the world shut out, and Anakin isn't good at holding anger when he's offered something else to replace it with that he likes better. The tension seeps out of his body.
In another timeline, the bloodshed would have continued, and either he or Anakin would have stormed out. Obi-Wan would like to believe he'd deal with his temper better, but he isn't so sure, and thankfully, he's not living another timeline. He's living this one, and Anakin's arm is around his neck, nudging him up for a kiss that tastes like homebrewed caf and toothpaste.
The knotted mass in his navel hasn’t resolved, but at least Obi-Wan feels he can breathe.
Hours later, when he wakes up, he reaches for Anakin in a blind panic and nearly smacks him in the face.
“Whoa, ow,” is Anakin’s reaction. “I know we gotta get ready, but you couldn’t wake me up gently?”
Obi-Wan laughs, uncertain of why he'd jerked out of sleep like that with the immediate need to confirm that Anakin hadn't left, but it's fine. Anakin is here, rumpled, heavy-eyed. Neither of them have been getting enough sleep for years, and extraneous activities aside—no matter how mutually gratifying—they're soldiers who know to steal sleep when they can, even if the sky is still alight.
Though not for much longer, Obi-Wan notes, peering at the window. The sun is setting. Anakin is right; they do have to prepare for the ceremony.
While Anakin is in the fresher, Obi-Wan checks his comlink for updates that the plans have changed. Nothing. Then, rather than preparing a cup of tea or even indulging in the rare opportunity to watch something, he sits down and reviews the security for the event. The Jedi aren't responsible there; that's the jurisdiction of the Coruscant Guard. But they requested and received the plans without any issue.
Nothing jumps out at him as wrong. Obi-Wan sits back and rubs his chest, working his way up to a vaguely sore shoulder, twisting it back as he thinks.
Shatterpoints are a mysterious ability that even Mace struggles to convey the logic of, but they've learned to heed them. This event is somehow important, but the how is nebulous. Anakin's presence is needed, but what does that truly mean?
The door to the fresher slides open. Obi-Wan starts; he’s been staring at the holofield projection for too long, losing track of time.
"Your turn," Anakin says, towel-drying his hair. Despite Obi-Wan's best intentions, his eyes drift down and he flushes, faintly, at seeing the marks he left on Anakin, particularly the vivid red circles near the sternum.
He shuts the holofield off and ducks past Anakin into the fresher, chiding himself for being hardly any better than a randy youngling.
The ceremony isn't open to the public, but there are still hundreds of people present. The majority are Senators, but it also includes their families, their assistants, and assorted lesser members that serve the Senate in other functions. Present as well are the Coruscant Guard and a few of Obi-Wan's and Anakin's men, to represent that freeing the Medalla Hyperlane Corridor from Separatist control was a combined effort. It isn't just the Team that won this battle; it was the Open Circle Fleet.
The speeches are tedious but Obi-Wan is on alert. He scans the audience, the ceiling, the walls, presenting a serene facade while internally he’s coiled for violence.
Anakin notices. How could he not?
But thankfully, he doesn’t question Obi-Wan’s hypervigilance. He just casts his own, casual glance around, pose seemingly at ease, if more irreverently so than Obi-Wan’s. That’s alright, he’s the Hero with No Fear, young and unstoppable; the people love that. Holotransmitter cameras are capturing and broadcasting his image to the Republic, to later be cut up for evening news segments that spare the viewers from the political droning.
Obi-Wan does his best not to dwell too long on that—this fame they've gained, he's gained. When the war is over, he won't merely be relieved that the galaxy is safe and to no longer have the lives and deaths of so many weighing heavily on him; he'll also be relieved to return to anonymity, to give the masses no reason to ever be interested in what he's up to.
Chancellor Palpatine is doing a better job at pretending not to be bored than most of the other officials on the stage. They'd greeted him when arriving at the Senate Building, but Anakin hadn't gone off with the man for a private chat like he usually did, and Obi-Wan had flashed him a small, grateful smile.
This is an acknowledgement ceremony. They're not receiving medals or titles or rewards for this—the Order does not accept such frivolities—so Obi-Wan and Anakin aren't meant to do anything but stand there. When it's the Chancellor's turn to speak, that's the final part of the event, and then they'll leave, because neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin have the patience or interest in politicking.
As Palpatine approaches the podium, the Force flickers.
They both sense it at the same time, surprisingly. Anakin’s more in tune with the Force, but Obi-Wan picks up on it just the same, in spite of it being a weak ripple. Their eyes meet without their heads turning to each other, acknowledging that it happened. What now?
They should usher the Chancellor off the stage. It's the most practical move, even though the podium itself has an invisible shield and is arguably one of the safest spots to stand at. Palpatine is nevertheless the most valuable person in the entire building. The Republic cannot afford a power vacuum.
Obi-Wan doesn't move.
Anakin’s head does turn slightly now, in Obi-Wan’s direction. A frown is forming between his brows, and Obi-Wan wishes he had the time to reach up, smooth it away with his thumb, to tell Anakin that it’s alright, it’ll be fine.
But there is no time. That’s the problem. There never is when it matters.
Because Obi-Wan remembers now, as he does every single day, when it’s too late to stop what happens next.
And what happens next is this: the Force fluctuates, no longer a ripple but a wave, and Anakin sees the laser dot bloom on Obi-Wan's chest.
Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to close his eyes to the sight of Anakin taking the blaster shot meant for him, refusing to spare himself from witnessing how it blows a hole straight through layers and bone and muscle to still hit Obi-Wan.
It won’t kill him. In dozens of repetitions, it hasn’t been that merciful.
But Anakin is another story.
Obi-Wan hears his heart beating against his eardrums more than he feels the burn of the shot. The blood in his body has lost gravity, because Anakin is collapsing, his expression surprised. Obi-Wan can never decide whether it's disbelief or just shock, and Anakin can't tell him.
Because he's dead already. That hole that Obi-Wan could put his fist through is where Anakin's heart should be.
The thing that Obi-Wan is holding isn’t Anakin anymore. Anakin is dispersing
—million pieces
and rejoining the Force.
But the Force won’t let this stand. It’s wrong. This isn’t how Anakin Skywalker is meant to die. Mace’s shatterpoint can’t be allowed.
Obi-Wan closes his eyes, cradling the corpse as tenderly as he held Anakin only hours before, which is already different from what happened the first time, though he doesn’t know how many loops ago that was. Forty? Seventy? Two hundred?
Two hundred failures and counting.
That’s acceptable. He’s willing to do this two hundred times more.
He only needs to get it right once.