Chapter Text
Anakin goes ahead: a tall, dark phantom gliding towards the flashing horizon. His lightsaber, burning the wisps of dead grass around their ankles, casts the lean outline of him in blue; it is the only thing letting Obi-Wan keep sight of him.
Fighting at night is a stalemate of benefits: the cover of shadow, blaster bolts easier to see, but the dark also serves the enemy. And desperation festers more acutely in the gloom. The fear of the clones stains the air, thicker than the smoke and the dust, the clouds that choke the two moons of this latest battlefield they find themselves upon.
Still, Anakin’s men follow him like a wave. Inevitable.
It is both beautiful and terrible to see. There was a time not so long ago where Anakin rushing off ahead of Obi-Wan could mean only disaster. Less than three years ago, Anakin was a Padawan who still giggled when they passed an amorous couple on the Coruscanti streets. When they made him a General, he brought his podracing posters to decorate his bunkroom on the Resolute. He had draped one over Obi-Wan’s head while he was trying to work, laughing at his unimpressed face.
Obi-Wan has not heard Anakin laugh for months. He had to learn from Ahsoka that the posters are no longer there, because he also hasn’t heard Anakin’s voice for months, beyond the most perfunctory and professional communication.
It is not only the war, for Anakin was maimed by it already when he flashed those posters at Obi-Wan, both a limb and a Master cut away from him. It is terrible for Obi-Wan to wish that were the case. To prefer that Anakin’s spirit be broken only by the pettiness of war, instead of the truth.
But when that blue silhouette is all that remains of Anakin to Obi-Wan now— when he may only watch as it strides further and further away from him—
An incredible bang shakes Obi-Wan’s skull and the ground beneath his feet. An explosion of earth and rock in the distance ahead, and Anakin’s shadow disappears into a cloud of smoke.
The shockwave hits Obi-Wan a millisecond later, a rush of air as solid as steel. He stumbles backwards but stays on his feet, finding himself frozen where he settles, staring blindly into the ashy plume.
When he does move, his legs feel like duracrete fighting with quicksand. Forward, forward, towards where the ground blew apart, where Anakin was standing only a moment before, swiping at the fog with increasing violence when it does not immediately give way to him.
Shapes emerge from the gloom, scattered on the ground around him. He does not want to look, disconcerted even now by how armored limbs look when separated from the rest, but he must. He must look, because if anything becomes particularly recognizable, if one of those limbs is covered in navy-and-maroon instead of white-and-blue, then he will know—
What? What will Obi-Wan know? Will that truly be enough, for him to accept that Anakin is gone?
It had not been enough for Anakin. He had needed to hold the entirety of Obi-Wan’s lifeless form. To look into his undeniably vacant eyes. Perhaps that is one of the few ways in which they are similar. Perhaps Obi-Wan will need to dig out every last bloody shard of Anakin from the dirt before he will be assured.
With his ears still ringing, the silence in the Force has never been louder.
Clones stumble out of the smoke, some clutching at themselves, some with arms around wounded comrades. Obi-Wan waves them past, shouting some well-worn words about retreating to cover, reigniting his lightsaber as blaster bolts start hailing down again.
He isn’t expecting to see Rex alive and in one piece; it stops him in his tracks. A vicious stab of relief, but the thunderous noise around them fades when Obi-Wan takes in the expression on his face.
“Sir, General Skywalker, he—”
“Is he dead?” Obi-Wan’s voice says.
Rex shakes his head, but his expression remains grave, and Obi-Wan is moving forwards again, deflecting bolts without seeing them.
Finally, he finds the edge of the crater. It is vast: a huge concave circle of broken rocks and rubble, lumps of its carnage spread around it like orbiting comets. In the hole, a gaggle of clones are using the slope for cover as they shoot at the dark impression of droids in the distance.
Obi-Wan is briefly incensed that they aren’t retreating to safety as instructed, until he realizes why they remain.
“Anakin!”
He scrambles down into the crater, falling to his knees beside the body in the dirt. Anakin lies curled on his side with his arms clasped around his head, so Obi-Wan can’t see his face.
But alive. He is alive. Obi-Wan knows because he can see him trembling, hear him groaning.
“Anakin, can you hear me? Speak to me, please. Are you hurt?”
Obi-Wan can’t see any injuries, even any blood, which… doesn’t make sense. It had looked as though the bomb went off right underneath Anakin, and that seems confirmed by finding him in the middle of the crater. Even his apparel appears mostly unscathed, not a single dent in the plates of his armor. His lightsaber lies shiny and proud atop the loose dirt only a few feet away.
Perhaps the injuries are internal. The way Anakin is clutching at his head—
Gently, Obi-Wan lays a hand on Anakin’s arm, “Here, let me—”
At first, he thinks there has been another, stronger explosion. The air contracts and slams into him from all sides, knocking the breath from him.
When oxygen rushes into his body again, Anakin’s light comes with it. Bright and brilliant in the Force as he always was, as if he never severed their connection at all.
But something is wrong. The light is too bright now, burning Anakin from the inside out, twisting up his insides. So bright it burns Obi-Wan too, forcing him to retreat from the bond, panting as he’s released suddenly into the dark, cold air.
“General Kenobi?” Rex must have followed Obi-Wan back to the crater, because he is crouched beside Anakin as well. “Are you alright?”
“Yes. I— yes.”
Anakin is panting, too: pained, desperate notes catching on every breath. Through the acrid stench of smoke and earth and blood, there’s a hint of something sweet catching in Obi-Wan’s nose, on the back of his tongue. His mouth is watering.
“I don’t know what happened,” Rex is saying. “The bomb went off right behind us, but it didn’t— it just kinda moved me. Launched me into the dirt over there. And then the General disappeared, and I found him like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I don’t think he’s injured, but I didn’t wanna move him, just in case.”
Anakin shivers violently, curling tighter into himself. The nape of his neck, the only exposed skin that Obi-Wan can see, is flushed red and shiny with sweat, a few of his curls plastered dark against it.
If Obi-Wan touched him there, he’s sure he would find that Anakin is burning on the surface, too.
“He’s not injured,” Obi-Wan agrees. “But we do need to get him out of here, quickly.” The crater gives them shelter for now, but he can hear that the droids are rapidly approaching. “Can you carry him?”
If Rex thinks it strange that Obi-Wan assigned the task solely to him, he does not comment on it. As he hauls his General onto his back, Obi-Wan retrieves Anakin’s lightsaber.
Anakin makes more pained noises as he’s jostled, but otherwise doesn’t stir. His body sags over Rex’s shoulders, limp except for where he still clutches at his head, eyes squeezed shut.
After shouting at the clone stragglers to follow, they begin trudging up the slope. It is slow going, so Obi-Wan stays close to Rex, making sure no stray blaster bolts come their way.
“Stars, he’s burning up,” Rex huffs. “What’s wrong with him? Is he sick? He was fine before the blast.”
“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says, and it isn’t a lie. Because while he may know what it looks like, and what it feels like in his gut, it isn’t possible. It can’t be what it seems. “Get him to Kix. We’re falling back.”
*
They have to cede the campaign. They were losing ground anyway, but with confirmation of ground mines and one of their Generals out of commission, there is no question. It is one of the worst losses the 501st has ever suffered, an entire squadron almost completely wiped out. The 212th did not fare much better, but at least their General is still conscious to mourn the aftermath.
From the Resolute, Obi-Wan gives his preliminary report to Masters Yoda and Windu. He is past the brief and onto recounting statistics before they note that General Skywalker is not beside him. Obi-Wan might have found that irksome, had he not been quietly hoping they would not notice at all.
“Anakin was… taken ill.”
“Ill,” Mace repeats. “Not injured?”
“He was caught in the explosion, but it did not seem to injure him, physically. However, we found him incapacitated by fever shortly afterwards. We had to carry him out.”
“The blast did not injure him at all? How is that possible?”
“Sensed the danger, young Skywalker may have,” Yoda muses. “Reacted on instinct, moments before, perhaps.”
Mace hums. “But not quickly enough to save his squadron. Only himself.”
“And Captain Rex,” Obi-Wan says evenly. “Who was right beside him, as always.”
“So, what is the source of this fever? Some sort of toxin from the blast?”
Obi-Wan shakes his head. “We are not yet sure what ails Anakin. His medic is still working on him. But he does not think the fever is related to the battle. Were it a toxin, for example, Captain Rex would likely be ill as well.”
“Then, was Skywalker sick when the battle began?”
“Not that I was aware of.”
There is a pause.
“Have a theory, you do,” Yoda discerns.
“I… would not go so far as to call it a theory,” Obi-Wan says reluctantly. “I only had a thought, based solely on what it appeared to be on the surface. But I have already dismissed it, because it does not make sense.”
“We will be the judge of that,” Mace says. “Go on.”
“Well. As I said, going purely on appearance, it seemed to be… a presentation heat.”
For a moment, there is only the sound of flickering static.
“As in, an Omega presentation,” Mace says. “In a Jedi.”
“I know. Historically, Jedi do not present as Omega. That is why I dismissed the idea. As well as the fact that Anakin is already a confirmed Beta, and far too old to be presenting now, regardless. Again I reiterate, it was based only on appearance.”
This is also not a lie. A sweet scent is not conclusive. And Obi-Wan had not been in the bond with Anakin long enough to truly discern the meaning of that bright, burning light. Their connection had been dulled for months before being so suddenly returned; it’s perfectly possible that the overwhelm of it all had skewed Obi-Wan’s instincts.
Even now, hours later and in the calm of hyperspace, he hasn’t adjusted to feeling Anakin’s presence in the Force again. To knowing on a continuous, subconscious level that he is nearby. Like a star in his peripheral vision, Anakin’s light shimmers at the edge of Obi-Wan’s mind, only a few corridors away in the med bay. Still so bright, still dangerous to look at directly. It would likely take a while before Obi-Wan felt comfortable making judgements about Anakin discerned through the Force.
He speaks hypothetically, because Anakin is sure to close himself off again as soon as he comes back to himself. This reconnection was clearly only due to Anakin’s lapse of control; he does not want Obi-Wan’s judgements, doesn’t want them to be close in that way. Obi-Wan may not like it, but that does not mean he won’t respect it.
It is a punishment well earned, after all.
“And how are you so familiar with what an Omega heat looks like, Master Kenobi?” Mace enquires.
Obi-Wan smiles. “Forgive me, but I am afraid that is none of your business, Master Windu.”
The hologram does nothing to diminish the ire of Mace’s look.
“True it is, that Jedi have never presented Omega,” Yoda intercedes. “But the reason for it, never known we have. If The Chosen One Skywalker is, then a sign from the Force this may be.”
“The reason is that Omegas are disruptive,” Mace says. “The Force knows they are not suited to our lifestyle. Their biology renders them unstable, unable to follow the tenets of The Code.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Obi-Wan begins, but Yoda interrupts again:
“Further research, clearly we must do. But likely it seems, that related to the prophecy this is. Return to Coruscant you will, Master Kenobi. By our Healers, Skywalker must be seen.”
“Do you not think y— we are getting ahead of ourselves? I told you this was only a thought, nothing has been proven. What of the other reasons it is unlikely?”
“For our Healers, these are questions now,” Yoda repeats firmly. “Know we must, whatever the answer may be. To Coruscant, at once you will return.”
Obi-Wan inclines his head. “Yes, Master.”
“Keep us informed,” Mace adds. “If your medic comes up with anything in the meantime, let us know.”
The hologram flickers and dies, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the quiet of the bridge. He had taken the call alone so he would not have to recite the figures of loss in front of Rex and his surviving brothers, but in the end, his Masters had not even let him get that far.
The door hisses open and Rex enters, looking relieved. “General. Sorry to interrupt, but Kix is asking for you.”
“Anakin is awake?”
“No, sir. But Kix thinks he’s figured out what’s wrong, and he says it’s not life-threatening.”
At the good news, Obi-Wan feels a spike of dread. When Kix meets him outside of Anakin’s room in the med bay, wearing an uncomfortable frown, he knows he cannot deny it anymore.
“It appears that General Skywalker is presenting as an Omega.” Kix imparts the news like any other diagnosis, if with a little more intrigue than usual. The clones are all Betas by way of genetic engineering, and so Kix’s knowledge comes only from theoretical learning.
Obi-Wan is glad of it. Clinical, logical dissection. “How is this happening, Kix? Why now?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Kix admits. “I’ve heard of Betas having latent presentations, but not at twenty-two years old. I can’t find anything that might be the cause for it. Nothing on the scans, nothing in his blood work. But the heat seems normal, if a bit stronger than what’s average, and aside from how quickly it came on. He should come out of it in a standard week or so.”
“Losing consciousness is not normal for Omegas in heat,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “Disorientation, maybe, but not complete incapacity.”
Kix gives him a look reminiscent of Master Windu earlier. “Well, he isn’t unconscious. He still responds to normal stimuli. He’s just… overwhelmed. And that can be explained by the higher intensity of the heat. And his advanced age. You know, he isn’t used to it yet.”
Yet.
The grief is sudden. As if Anakin needed another burden to shoulder. Another thing to distinguish and distance him from his peers.
What will this mean for him? Not in the entire known history of the Jedi has there been an Omega at the Temple. They simply aren’t Force-sensitive: a fact well known. Such an event has the potential to upheave the entire Jedi Order. Could the Grand Master be correct in thinking it related to the prophecy?
In the Force, there is a flare of pain from the other side of the door, as if answering Obi-Wan’s grief. Startled, he shields himself quickly.
But that doesn’t stop the sudden, intense desire to enter the room. To find that pain and take it away from Anakin, kill it utterly.
“Sorry, General, but I can’t let you in there,” Kix says, as if hearing Obi-Wan’s thoughts. “He shouldn’t be exposed to any Alphas during his presentation.” A pause. “Not because I think you would… do anything, it’s just—”
“No, I know.” Obi-Wan is already retreating from the door. “It’s alright, Kix. I agree, I should not be anywhere near Anakin right now.”
“Well, no, I only meant—”
“But I feel confident leaving him in your capable hands. For now, I really should return to my own ship. I cannot expect Cody to babysit it forever. Do let me know if anything changes, though.”
Kix is frowning, but he nods. “Yes, General. Of course.”
*
Obi-Wan spends the forty-hour journey back to Coruscant finishing his report. He is meticulous in his detailing: each and every failing which led to their defeat, each grave number of the results. He omits only the actual cause, for there is no way to cite a broken relationship in a way that will sound reasonable to Command.
It is not a happy task, but it is one Obi-Wan does gladly. With his head buried in his datapad, he can focus on nothing else. His attempts to meditate do not go well; it is always more difficult when he must maintain a shield at the same time. Even on two separate ships with ample space between them, Anakin’s light remains bright, insistent.
When they finally arrive at the Temple, Anakin is whisked away immediately to the Halls of Healing. It only takes half a day before the Jedi Healers confirm Kix’s diagnosis. Anakin is indeed an Omega, the first in Jedi history. And he will be locked away— or isolated and monitored, as it is diplomatically phrased— while he goes through his first heat.
It is yet unknown what will happen after that.
Obi-Wan is summoned to the Council chamber later that evening. After they have him recount the event in person, Mace proposes that a recess be taken to allow for consultation of the Archives before any further discussion be had.
Obi-Wan frowns. “Should we not wait for Anakin to come around first?”
“I don’t see what difference that would make,” Mace says. “The Healers have confirmed what he is. The sooner we get ahead of this, the better.”
“It is proper that the subject of debate be present,” offers Master Plo Koon.
Obi-Wan nods. It would be courteous, if nothing else.
“This is not a debate,” Mace says flatly. “Not yet. We need more information before we may have a debate. That is the point. There’s nothing Skywalker could tell us that the Healers have not already.”
“You cannot know that,” Obi-Wan points out. “He may have insight we do not. He is, after all, The Chosen One.”
Mace gives him a skeptical look. “You never truly believed that, Kenobi. It was always your Master who sang that song, not you.”
And it was you who never listened. You never particularly cared for the wisdom of the Archives before; why do you claim to value them now?
“Well,” Obi-Wan says. “Regardless, Anakin is the one who this is happening to. I do not think it a ridiculous notion he may have relevant things to say about it.”
“And he will have his chance to say them,” Mace says with a note of exasperation. “I am not suggesting he shouldn’t. But there is no point in delaying our research until he is fit to do so.”
“He will have a chance,” Obi-Wan repeats, huffing. “Ah, so he may be permitted to speak at his own trial, then. That is good to know.”
“Nobody is on trial, Master Kenobi,” Plo says in his calm baritone. “General Skywalker has done nothing wrong. We are only trying to decide how best to adjust to this new reality we find ourselves in.”
Abruptly embarrassed, Obi-Wan falls silent. His eyes flicker to Yoda, who has been unusually quiet thus far.
The Grand Master is already looking at him, eyes narrowed over the bony green hands clasping his gimer stick. “Harm I do not see, in beginning our research now. Masters Ti and Windu, assist me you will?”
The named Masters confirm their agreement.
“Then reconvene soon, we will.”
The dismissal clear, all except the Grand Master begin to stand and bow. But catching Yoda’s eye again, Obi-Wan remains in his seat.
Once the room is clear of everyone except the two of them, he says, “I apologize for my outburst.”
Yoda nods. “Unlike you that was, Obi-Wan.”
“I know. I am sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Worried for your friend, you are. Understandable, it is. But managed, your emotions must be. Tell you this, I should not have to.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan repeats, thoroughly chided. “Please, Master, forgive me. I will meditate on what troubles me, and it will not happen again.”
“Attachment,” Yoda says heavily. “Wary of it, always you must be. Out of your hands, Skywalker’s fate now is. Accept this, you must.”
Obi-Wan swallows, nods. “It is just— I promised Qui-Gon that I would watch over him. But since the Hardeen mission, Anakin will not speak to me.”
Yoda hums, a rare hint of derision in the wrinkles of his brow. “Made his choice, Jinn did. Stayed he could have, and himself done the watching. To do your duty, free then you would have been. For his former Padawan, responsible you are not.”
“True,” Obi-Wan admits. “And were Qui-Gon still here, no doubt he would only embrace the tumultuous tides of fate, anyway.”
Yoda regards him for a moment. “Speak you still do, with your old Master?”
“Yes. Though we do not discuss anything related to the war. For the sake of both our sanities.”
“Tell him of this, also you should not.”
Obi-Wan frowns. “You believe this phenomenon to be related to the prophecy, correct? If there is anyone I would consult regarding prophecy—”
“Tell him of this, you should not,” Yoda repeats.
Obi-Wan waits for an explanation, but it quickly becomes apparent that he will not receive one.
Still, he can extrapolate: Qui-Gon Jinn is not to be trusted. The man who dedicated his entire life to the Jedi and service of the Force. The man who almost lost his life in that service, rooting out the first Sith Lord to be seen in centuries. The man who raised Obi-Wan, loved him, made him the Jedi he is today. The man who found The Chosen One and did the same for him.
No longer. Now, only a figure of suspicion, distant and removed as any radical, nameless Separatist.
It makes sense. It is even understandable. Trust is perhaps the very first thing to be sacrificed upon the altar of war.
Unfortunately, As Obi-Wan has learned, understanding does not always temper sadness. Nor other inconvenient emotions.
But that is where the work comes in. That is where the test has always lain.
He bows. “I understand, Master.”
*
Within a few days, the Temple is an uproar. It never fails to astound Obi-Wan how fast rumor and gossip travels amongst them; one would think the Jedi to be above such juvenile pastimes. Never mind that Anakin’s personal medical business should have the highest degree of privacy, regardless of how unusual it is or how titillating people may find it.
It is good that Obi-Wan is already adept at deflecting probing questions, since his own presence in these miraculous events has also become public knowledge.
The looks are harder to dismiss. That incredulous frown as people wonder at his lack of knowledge, his apparent indifference to the man he always held so dear.
But he knows that Master Yoda is right: Anakin is not his responsibility. He never has been, not in any official way. Save that very brief period when Anakin’s care was assigned to him while Qui-Gon recovered from their battle with the Sith, Obi-Wan’s concern for Anakin has never been mandated by anything except himself. His old Master simply made the charge explicit.
But Anakin has never wanted it. Even before they had their falling out, Obi-Wan’s concern was always a burden to him, an irritant to be shrugged off at best and a hideous offense to be shouted about at worst. He wanted it even less when Qui-Gon left. Really, Obi-Wan is surprised he did not sever their bond even sooner.
In the end, perhaps it was for the best that he did, however much Obi-Wan regrets the circumstances of it. There are many who would argue such a bond should never have existed in the first place. That connections between Jedi other than training bonds are improper, set only to invite problematic attachment.
Obi-Wan has never disagreed. He had known it was improper even at the beginning: the way Anakin had latched on to him, his own reluctance to return him to Qui-Gon, his desire to remain close by as he grew.
But he was young. He had felt unmoored, thrust suddenly into Knighthood by such fraught circumstances, the shadow of the Sith he had killed still looming over him. Anakin had been an anchor, a refuge for his focus. And once Obi-Wan had moved past the ridiculous jealousy the boy had first provoked, he had realized how much they actually had in common.
Had Qui-Gon been a different sort of Master, a different sort of man, he would not have allowed them to remain close. And perhaps he should not have. For all that Obi-Wan has loved Anakin, for the strength and fulfilment their friendship has brought, it has also caused relentless problems. If it is not a catalyst for Anakin to be reckless in one way or another, then it is a source of distraction and worry for Obi-Wan, and none of that helps anybody.
And now he has his starkest proof the bond was always ill-advised. With how he acted in the Council meeting, and how he reacted to Anakin’s pain on the Resolute, it clearly still unbalances him when they are connected in the Force. It is only worse now because it is exacerbated by his guilt.
So, it is good that this will not last. That Anakin’s light, still shimmering incessantly in the Force at the edge of Obi-Wan’s senses, will soon fade. It will be better for the both of them. He will be able to meditate again, for one.
But then it is six days later, and word comes that Anakin has made it through his presentation, that he is lucid again.
And the light remains.
It remains still after seven days. Then eight days, when he hears that Anakin has left the Halls of Healing and returned to his empty quarters. It is duller; Obi-Wan can tell that Anakin is shielding now too, but it is there all the same.
No doubt it is only a sign of Anakin’s fatigue. He always did struggle with controlling his Force signature, especially when under stress. But as his strength returns, surely his presence will disappear again.
At day ten, there is a knock upon Obi-Wan’s door, and Obi-Wan can sense who it is before he opens it. For that same reason, he knows he can’t pretend he isn’t in.
“Anakin.”
He looks much the same. Tall and lean in his dark robes, brunet curls dusting his neck. Eyes blue and hard, plump lips pressed straight above his dimpled chin and sharp, shadowed jaw. Obi-Wan isn’t sure what else he expected.
“Hi,” Anakin replies.
After scrambling for appropriate words, what leaves Obi-Wan’s mouth is, “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m great,” Anakin says tonelessly. “Never better. How about you?”
“I am fine, thank you.”
Anakin raises his scarred eyebrow. “Not going to invite me in?”
“Oh— yes, of course. Sorry, do come in.”
Obi-Wan stands aside so Anakin can enter his quarters, closing the door behind them. They move into the living area, but Anakin doesn’t sit, wandering over to look out of the windows.
Obi-Wan remains standing too, hovering near the kitchenette, crossing his arms over his chest. He is glad of the space between them. Just this physical proximity has made Anakin’s presence in the Force seem brighter, heavier.
He does not understand it. Anakin appears perfectly well. Perfectly capable of renewing that wall between them. Obi-Wan can feel that he is still shielding tightly, but he does not understand why Anakin would take that route now, when he has already demonstrated his preference for a far simpler alternative.
“I wasn’t sure if they had released you yet,” Obi-Wan says when Anakin doesn’t speak.
“Liar,” Anakin says mildly. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I just— didn’t want to overwhelm you. I know this must all be very— difficult.”
“This,” Anakin repeats. He huffs, turning back to Obi-Wan. “Yeah, actually, I was kind of hoping you could tell me more about this.”
“Me? What should I know about it?”
“You were there. Rex told me how you both found me.”
“Then… he has already told you as much as I know, too.”
“You were behind us,” Anakin says impatiently. “When the bomb went off. I don’t remember it. I was going forwards, towards the clankers, and then— nothing. I’m just waking up in the Halls of Healing and I feel like bantha shit and they’re telling me I’m a fucking Omega. I need to know what happened in between.”
“I saw the mine explode,” Obi-Wan recalls slowly. “You were right on top of it. I thought—” His voice wavers. It takes him a moment to carry on, “But then I found you in the crater. You weren’t injured, but you were… unresponsive. We carried you back to the ship, gave you to Kix, and then to Master Che here. I’m afraid that is all I know.”
“What does unresponsive mean?” Anakin demands, a faint flush on his cheeks.
“You were…” Obi-Wan takes another moment to answer, “feverish. Curled into yourself. You would not speak to me.”
“Did you—” Anakin cuts himself off suddenly. His voice is quiet when he speaks again, “And there was nothing… odd? Nothing that might explain—?”
“No. Until that point, everything was as usual.”
With a rough exhale, Anakin turns back to the Coruscanti skyline. For a while, there is only the hum of distant traffic.
“We had to pull out,” he says eventually. “We failed.”
“Yes.”
“How bad was it?”
“I finished the report on the journey home. You can find it where they always are.”
“I want you to tell me.” Anakin finally moves away from the window, coming to stand before him. “Obi-Wan. How many did we lose?”
Obi-Wan tenses at their proximity, Anakin’s hard eyes right in front of him. The use of his name, with no formality or titles attached. He can’t actually remember the last time Anakin addressed him as such. But he is not so foolish as to hope it means Anakin is feeling warmer towards him.
“Many,” he answers.
“Mine?”
“Mostly, yes. But I certainly did not escape unscathed. It was a terrible failing for us both.”
Anakin shakes his head. “You weren’t the one cowering in a hole while your men were dying.”
Obi-Wan frowns. “You were not cowering, Anakin.”
“Then what was I doing?” Anakin erupts. He throws up his hands, stalking around the living area as he shouts, “What in Sith’s Hell is this, Obi-Wan? I’m an Omega? How? I already had my presentation, when I was fifteen. I’m a Beta, I have always been a Beta. How can I suddenly have— I didn’t think Jedi could even be Omegas!”
The Force reverberates with the strength of Anakin’s anger, forcing Obi-Wan to scramble to keep his shields intact. But he does not tell Anakin to calm down, to lower his voice. Such advisements have rarely gone over well with Anakin at the best of times.
And this is the first time Anakin has allowed Obi-Wan to see his emotion since—
“Historically, they have not been,” Obi-Wan says. “As far as anyone knows, you are the first.”
“How. Why.”
“I don’t know, Anakin. I have as much information as you do.”
Anakin sneers, “You’re lying again. I know the Council is doing research. The Chancellor told me.”
“You… have already seen Chancellor Palpatine?”
“Why shouldn’t I? He’s my friend.”
Obi-Wan opens his mouth, but no words emerge.
“And nobody else will fucking speak to me,” Anakin rants on. “Ahsoka is still in the Outer Rim. Master Yoda came to see me, but all he did was tell me to be patient.”
Obi-Wan takes a slow breath. “The Council called a recess so research may be done, yes. But I am not involved with that. I have not heard anything else about it since then. So no, I am not lying to you.”
Again.
At this, Anakin stops pacing. “Why are you not involved?”
“They did not ask me.”
Anakin barks a laugh. “Why not? They don’t like you anymore?”
Something so childish has no right to sting as much as it does.
But it was not only Obi-Wan’s relationship with Anakin that changed after the Hardeen mission. Though he had done everything asked of him by the end, the mess it had become along the way, the extent to which Anakin had gone to avenge him, were alarm bells not easily unrung for their Masters.
Such cruel irony. That in going to such lengths to prove the opposite, Obi-Wan had only validated the notion that he and Anakin were dangerously attached.
“I am sorry this has happened to you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says flatly. “If being angry with me helps you cope, then by all means, continue to attack me.”
Anakin scowls. “I am not angry.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, failing to keep his exasperation from the word. “You must know that I can feel it, if not see it plainly before me.”
Anakin retreats at once, in both the Force and in physical space, stepping back from Obi-Wan as his shields clamp tight again. “Stop it. You don’t get to do that anymore.”
“Well, apologies, but it isn’t something I can help. Feel free to cut yourself off from me again, if you cannot handle the fact I will perceive reality and respond accordingly.”
“I can’t do that,” Anakin grits out. “I have tried.”
“What do you mean, you can’t do it? Did you not do it before?”
“I just can’t, alright? Ever since I woke up, it’s like I can’t control—” He trails off with a snarl of frustration.
“What do you think the problem might be?” Obi-Wan asks hesitantly. “Have you meditated on it?”
“Yes, I have fucking meditated,” Anakin grumbles. “Or… I have tried to. I can’t really do that either. Because you are always there.”
“I assure you, I have not been—”
“No, I know. I can feel your shields. Doesn’t seem to matter. I still can’t stop… sensing you. Everything else is the same— I still feel the same, even now I’m—” He exhales through his teeth. “It’s just you. For some reason, I can’t get rid of you now.”
“Oh,” Obi-Wan says. “Just— just me? What about Master Qui-Gon?”
Anakin shakes his head, face stony.
“Perhaps the proximity. Us being— nearer. Makes it more difficult.”
“We lived in this Temple together the last time too.”
“You are still recovering. And… well, Omegas have never been Force-sensitive before. There is no precedent for what is normal or strange.”
“I told you I feel the same,” Anakin says, anger threatening to spill again.
“Well, I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says, his own voice rising. “What do you expect me to say, Anakin?”
Anakin smiles without humor, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he says. “Fucking nothing.”
Obi-Wan takes another breath, in and out. “I am sure you will figure it out eventually. You always do.”
“I will,” Anakin agrees. “I will get my control back. I will get everything back. Whatever this Omega thing means— whether it’s the prophecy or not, I don’t care. I will not let it stop me.”
“Stop you from doing what?”
Anakin only shakes his head again. His expression has returned to that same blank look he was wearing at the door, the look he has been wearing for months.
The look he was no doubt wearing when that bomb exploded underneath him.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. “I—”
His comlink chimes.
Biting back a curse, Obi-Wan answers, “Kenobi.”
“The recess is over,” Mace tells him. “The Council is meeting now.” A pause. “Is Skywalker with you?”
Obi-Wan finds himself reluctant to answer. “Yes.”
“Bring him with you.”
The call ends.
Anakin goes immediately to the door. Obi-Wan follows, but he falls behind as he stops to don his outer robe.
In the corridor, Anakin’s long legs quickly take him even further ahead, looking forwards as he strides, until Obi-Wan cannot see his face anymore.