Nostos

To some, Anakin guessed, grief might seem like a wet thing, liquid like alcohol and tears. 

To Anakin, grief was dry—dry, bitter, and cold. 

The twin suns of Tatooine beat down hot on the back of his neck and the black of his robe, but Anakin hardly felt it. He couldn’t feel the light on his skin. He stared hard at the familiar brown mix of sand and soil, unblinking. The knowledge that her body was buried below, cold and broken and still, was unbearable, and he was unable to stop picturing it. 

His mom was gone. 

She’d been alive in this place, living without him for a decade, but now that he was here, she was gone. 

This entire trip had made it painfully clear to Anakin that, on some level, he’d never really stopped thinking of his mom and their shabby, cozy rooms in Mos Espa as home. Obi-Wan had tried so hard to make him let go, but he never had, not really. 

His mom had always been his home, never the Temple, not ever. 

In the back of his mind, he’d always believed that he had that real home to go back to, where he was loved and wanted. When times were tough at the Temple, when other Padawans were cold or cruel, he’d fantasized about it. His memories of home had kept him going, kept him sane. It was gone. 

She was gone.

Anakin felt like he was drifting, with the desert flats of Tatooine spreading into infinity in his peripheral vision. He felt unmoored and homeless—so alone.

He wanted Obi-Wan to be there so badly it was like a physical ache, but he also was so angry at Obi-Wan that he could hardly imagine seeing him without hurting him. 

Obi-Wan had kept him back. 

This was all Obi-Wan’s fault.

Anakin should have arrived sooner—even by hours and it would have changed everything. He’d wasted so much time because he hadn’t known where she was. Obi-Wan hadn’t let him keep track of her, so he hadn’t even known that she’d moved! 

The very first thing he’d done on Tatooine was go to his old building in the familiar warren on the fringes of Mos Espa where the slaves were kept, hoping beyond hope to find her there—that she would open the door, and smile in confusion, and it would have all just been dreams and that Obi-Wan would have been right. 

Obi-Wan had been wrong.

There had been a stranger at the door, and the familiar scent of his childhood was gone. In the Force, he’d recognized a different kind of despair, layered on top of what he now understood had been his mother’s and his own suffering, leached into the Force around them. 

It felt like it had been years since she had been there. 

The trip through the streets of Mos Espa to Watto’s shop had been familiar bone-deep, the sights and sounds and smells pulling him deeper into himself, into the past. Without Padmé’s reassuring presence at his side, he thought he might have regressed into a boy, into a slave. The past decade might not have happened at all.

Watto hadn’t recognized him at first, a fact which had filled him with both pleasure and resentment. He felt real satisfaction that he wasn’t recognizable for the same slave he’d been. Time and freedom had changed him, and he’d grown into someone, a person with power—but what was the point of that power, if he couldn’t use it to save the people he loved?

His first reaction upon hearing that his mother had been freed and married was intense joy followed closely by suspicion. Anakin was thrilled she had been freed, that was beyond doubt—but had she really been willing? Did she love him? Or had she jumped for freedom from Watto when it was offered, no matter the cost? 

He certainly didn’t blame her, if so. He could never blame her for finding her way to freedom. He’d gotten the new owner’s address from the bill of sale—her husband’s— address, and left quickly. 

Finding the moisture farm had taken forever. 

If only he’d been faster.

He’d arrived in a rush, desperate to find her and see her happy in her new home—a home that he knew would smell like her, warm and comforting. He’d wanted to ask if she’d married for love. He’d wanted her to tell him that she’d really been freed, and for the right reasons, into a life she’d wanted. 

He’d never found out the truth of it. 

Thanks to Obi-Wan, he hadn’t had time to ask if she’d been happy. He hadn’t had time to know if she’d had a good life, with good, real freedom. She’d died in Anakin’s arms before he could know for sure. 

His mom was still and cold beneath the ground, and a part of him he felt like he was buried with her. 

Maybe the benign calmness in the Force around the farm could be enough—maybe he could accept that as a sufficient sign. Cliegg Lars had told no lies about how he’d searched for her, and Anakin had no doubts now that he’d genuinely cared for her. 

She had been free. She had to have been happy. She’d made a new home, somewhere Anakin had never been. She’d raised another woman's son in his place. 

How long had Anakin been fantasizing about a home in Mos Espa that was already gone? It was like realizing that he’d been navigating by the light from a star that had already burned out. That light was gone, and the true darkness behind had finally arrived. 

Had she still thought about him as much as he’d thought about her?

He was sure she must have. She’d loved him, loved him so much. She’d loved him enough to give him away, and set him free. The tombstone still said Shmi Skywalker—she’d kept her name, and he hoped it was because it was his name. She’d loved him. 

That love was all he had left of her. Their home was gone, her life was over, and he was alone. 

His tears were long gone—the heat of his first anger and despair had long since dissipated into nothingness. His heart felt replaced with a cold stone of guilt. If he’d been faster, he could have prevented it. If he’d been more powerful, he could have healed her wounds, stopped her death, saved her life.

“I’m so proud of you, Ani... so proud... I missed you so much... I love...”

“I love…”

Her voice echoed on a loop, as did the screams of terror of the Tuskens—women and children scrambling and cowering as their death came to them in a flash of blue light in the dark. He’d slaughtered them until the village was quiet and still, until the only sound he could hear was the pounding of his heart and the heaving breaths in his chest. 

“I know wherever you are, it’s become a better place.”

Cliegg’s voice was rough, startling Anakin. He blinked, and blinked again, trying to bring moisture to eyes so dry they ached. “You were the most loving partner a man could ever have. Goodbye, my darling wife… and thank you.”

The words were the right words, said with the right emotion—pain. Anakin respected Cliegg’s pain, needed to feel it in the Force, needed to know that he regretted what he’d lost, regretted his failure to protect something invaluable. Cliegg needed to be suffering, or it would have been intolerable.

The silence of the barren plain returned. 

Anakin stepped forward, feeling almost pulled to his knees on her grave. He stared hard at the gravestone, reaching down to touch the ground and feel the texture of the dirt. It was rough, and he dug his fingers in, grasping and squeezing hard. 

He stared as the sand slid between the fingers of his clenched fist, falling back to the ground, and tried to find words. “I wasn’t strong enough to save you, Mom…” He heard Padmé’s intake of breath, and ignored it. “I wasn’t strong enough, but I promise, I won’t fail again.”

He remained still as long as he could, before his restlessness bloomed inside like a desert flower—he needed to move, needed to run, needed to fight. His eyes still fixed on her name, inscribed in stone. Shmi Skywalker. It would remain here, at her last home, the home he hadn’t shared. 

“I miss you…” His throat went tight, and his face contorted, as if for tears, but he had none left. He grit his teeth and pushed through the discomfort, pushing his feelings down and away. “...So much.”

He had failed her. Why was he even alive, what was the point of all his power, if it couldn’t save the people who he loved?  All that existed to Anakin in that moment was his shame and guilt, hovering over a growing black void, an absence of feeling, a creeping numbness. Who did he even love? Obi-Wan? This was all Obi-Wan’s fault. 

An unwelcome breeze pushed his cloak against his legs, the hot air carrying tiny flecks of sand, creating a familiar irritation on his bare skin. He wanted to stay there forever, and he wanted to run and never return. He wanted Obi-Wan to hold him so tight that he could feel warm again. He wanted to never see Obi-Wan again.

The abrupt chirping beeps of a droid behind him were a reminder that life was relentless, and would continue despite his unwillingness to move on. He had to step back, move away, leave her behind, forever. 

“R2?” Padmé sounded so confused. “What are you doing here?”

Anakin turned as C-3PO translated anxiously, “It seems he is carrying a message from an Obi-Wan Kenobi. Master Ani, does that name mean anything to you?”

Anakin felt a swell of something close to hatred —a bubbling, seething resentment. He didn’t want to see him, hear him, talk to him. Obi-Wan had probably found out he had left Naboo, and was going to scold him like a youngling. 

Obi-Wan had caused all of this. It was all his fault! 

If Obi-Wan ever found out what Anakin had done to the tribe of Sand People—if he ever knew about the women and the children, Obi-Wan would be more than horrified. He would be cold, disdainful. He would reject Anakin, leave him, punish him. 

Padmé had given her friendship and understanding, would Obi-Wan do the same?  The idea was laughable. Obi-Wan would never understand, never forget, never forgive.

Anakin kicked his boot into the sand for a moment, sullen and reluctant. He did not want to listen to a lecture, about pointless rules, on top of all this grief. 

He went back to the ship anyway, giving Padmé a tight nod when she brushed his arm with her hand in a gentle show of support. He figured that she might be the first real friend he’d made since he’d left Kitster behind. He wasn’t completely alone. At least she was there, and hadn’t left him. 

Obi-Wan would leave him. 

Anakin wanted him gone so much it ached, and yet the idea was intolerable. Both were true, and both hurt.

The clinging sand from his mother’s grave was rough between his fingers as he walked, the silence filled with the familiar, anxious patter of C-3PO’s thoughts. Anakin at one point had become very used to tuning him out, and found it an easy habit to resume.

He leaned back against the wall of the ship and watched warily as Padmé activated the holo. Obi-Wan’s flickering blue form began to speak, his expression severe. “Anakin, my long-range transmitter has been knocked out.” Not a lecture then, just using Anakin as a tool. “Retransmit this message to Coruscant.”

Anakin gave Padmé a nod, and watched numbly as she manipulated the comm table to retransmit Obi-Wan’s message. 

“I have tracked the bounty hunter, Jango Fett, to the droid foundries on Geonosis.“ Obi-Wan’s voice was deadly serious, but Anakin felt the information slide in and out of his mind without much impact. Who cares? “The Trade Federation is to take delivery of a droid army here, and it is clear that Viceroy Gunray is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala.” 

Padmé sat up straighter and then scoffed. The message continued, with Obi-Wan speaking more quickly. “The Commerce Guild and the Corporate Alliance have both pledged their armies to Count Dooku, and are forming a—”

Obi-Wan’s gaze snapped up, his words breaking off. “Wait...” 

Anakin blinked, and refocused. Obi-Wan’s hand had jumped to his belt, removing and igniting his lightsaber in a moment. Anakin became suddenly very aware of his heartbeat beginning to pound as the familiar sound of blaster fire filled the room. 

The wavering, blue form of Obi-Wan began to reflect bolts, getting pushed back out of the range of the holotransmitter. An advanced battle droid, a destroyer, stepped into range instead, its twin blasters firing rapidly, and then the feed was cut. 

Anakin’s eyes remained fixed on where Obi-Wan had disappeared, his ears ringing with silence. His joints felt locked in place, his lungs unable to fill. All of his anger, all of his resentment at Obi-Wan’s interference with his mother—it all evaporated the moment blaster fire had touched Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. 

He knew, suddenly and certainly, that he forgave Obi-Wan. 

He also knew, suddenly and certainly, that Obi-Wan was his home now, the closest thing he had to one, and that Obi-Wan was under attack—or had been under attack whenever that message had been sent. 

How many more droids had there been? He’d said the words “droid army” in his message—how long could Obi-Wan hold off an army alone? Was he fighting at that moment, across the galaxy, alone against an army?

Was he even still alive?

The thought slammed through Anakin like blaster fire, the idea taking root and blooming into a full scale paranoia almost immediately. 

Obi-Wan could be dead already—already as still and cold as his mother, his eyes equally dim. Anakin could feel the weight of his mother’s body in his arms, but this time it was heavier, the body larger.

He swallowed thickly. Obi-Wan could be dead.

Anakin didn’t want to find out that he’d failed again. He couldn’t handle that. He needed to know and was terrified of knowing. Both were true, and both hurt. 

Master Yoda’s voice came through the comm. “More happening on Geonosis, I feel, than has been revealed.”

“I agree.” Master Windu’s flickering blue silhouette had appeared, nodding thoughtfully. He looked directly at Anakin, his gaze intense and his tone forbidding. “Anakin, we will deal with Count Dooku. The most important thing for you is to stay where you are. Protect the Senator at all costs.”

Anakin looked hard at the ground, processing the order. He was forbidden to go after Obi-Wan. He was forbidden to help. His home, his Obi-Wan, was under attack and he was stuck. 

There was an entire army of droids. 

Obi-Wan was alone. 

Obi-Wan was probably dead.

“Understood,” Anakin said, voice tight.

Master Windu gave him one more pointed look and disappeared. 

Padmé moved in his peripheral vision, her words filled with certainty. “They’ll never get there in time to save him. They have to come halfway across the galaxy. Look...” She pulled up a map of the sector. “Geonosis is less than a parsec away.”

Anakin looked, but said nothing. He knew that usually he would feel an immediate pull to action, but grief and fear had swallowed it whole. His mom was in the ground, on the other side of the ridge, because he’d failed. He’d promised her and was immediately failing. 

Padmé huffed a decisive breath and started to hit buttons and flick switches, bringing the ship’s engine online. Fear spiked—Anakin couldn’t go. He couldn’t find Obi-Wan’s body. He couldn’t. He reached out and put a hand over hers, stopping her.

She stared at him, incredulous.

“If he’s even still alive.” Anakin tried to keep his voice level, Master Windu’s injunction still loud in his ears. They weren’t allowed to go, they couldn’t save him. 

He was probably already dead.  

Padmé’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyes going wide and incredulous. “Ani, are you just going to sit here and let him die?” Anakin jerked back as it struck, and paced quickly away, her words a lash on his back. “He’s your friend, your mentor! He’s—”

“He’s like my…” Anakin cut her off, and then laughed once at the first thought to cross his mind, the sound bleak and empty. It had been months since he’d stopped lying to himself about that. 

Obi-Wan was nothing like his father at all, never had been. There was nothing paternal about the way he looked at Anakin, the way he touched him, kissed him. Anakin knew the taste of his come, his expression while he came, came on Anakin’s face, in Anakin’s mouth. 

He stared fixedly at the wall, finishing the sentence without thinking about it. “...Erastēs.”

“What?” Padmé sounded taken aback. “Did you say—”

Anakin cut her off, annoyed with himself. “You heard Master Windu. He gave me strict orders to stay here!” He couldn’t fail again. He’d already failed. He’d just promised his mom, and now he couldn’t do it. 

He’d already failed.

Padmé ignored his spiraling downward, her tone matter-of-fact. “He gave you strict orders to protect me, and I’m going to go help Obi-Wan.” She spun her chair back towards the controls, finishing the sequence that powered up the engines. “If you want to protect me, you’ll just have to come along.”

Anakin stared at the side of her head. He felt his lips curl up into a small smile despite himself. She was his friend, a good and real friend, and she wouldn’t let him fail. He wasn’t alone. 

Obi-Wan needed his help. 

Every second wasted put Obi-Wan in more danger. 

He sat quickly in the co-pilot’s chair, and the ship left the ground, pointing up and away from the flat, brown plains of Tatooine. C-3PO chattered nervously behind him, an unintentional guest on their trip. He hadn’t said goodbye to his mother’s husband, but that hardly seemed important now. 

It would take hours to get to Geonosis, to Obi-Wan. 

Once they’d broken atmosphere and jumped to hyperspace, the cockpit became very quiet except for the hum of the engine and the chatter of droids. Anakin’s stomach twisted as he saw Padmé turn her head to look at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Ani…” She sounded hesitant.

Anakin gave her a look and turned his chair away, standing up and walking to the opposite side of the cockpit. “Don’t, Padmé.”

“Did you mean what you said?” Her tone was so gentle, so curious. “How do you even know that word? That’s Heleenic.”

Anakin nodded stiffly. “We had a mission there, a few months ago.”

“So…” She turned her chair to face him completely, but did not rise. “Are you and Obi-Wan a… couple?”

“What?” Anakin laughed incredulously, feeling a spike of wanting, quickly crushed. “No. He’s my Master.” 

She was persistent. “But do you… you know that word is… intimate, right?”

Anakin felt cornered. He didn’t want to talk about this, not with her, not now. He looked down at the ground, unable to meet Padmé’s eyes. “I know what it means.”

“So are you?”

“Am I what?” Anakin evaded, fiddling with his tabard. He couldn’t help but picture Obi-Wan backing away from the destroyer droid and felt sick. Were they going to be too late?

Padmé stressed every syllable. “Intimate.”

Anakin felt himself blush. “We haven’t had sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You haven’t?” 

Anakin frowned at her, and tugged on his Padawan braid. She didn’t look judgmental, but she did look fascinated. He shouldn’t tell anyone this, but he’d already told her about the Tuskens, what couldn’t he tell her? “Obi-Wan is a good Jedi. He doesn’t let me touch him.”

“But you called him your erastēs.”

“He…” Anakin swallowed and looked away. “He will touch me if I ask him to.” Padmé frowned and opened her mouth, so Anakin kept talking, his cheeks feeling hot. “Just, you know. Hands. Kissing. Touching.”

Padmé hummed noncommittally. “From what I understand, that’s unusual for a Jedi.”

“I know,” Anakin said helplessly. “He breaks his own rules when I ask him to. I don’t know why he does.”

Padmé spoke with certainty. “He loves you.” 

Anakin exhaled hard as if struck, looking at her sharply and then dropping his gaze. He began to adjust his tabard again, unable to stay still with a thought like that. “Erōs is not the god of love. Desire is different from love.”

“I don’t think simple desire is enough to make a Jedi like Obi-Wan break his vows like that.”

“Maybe.” Anakin took a steadying breath. “Maybe not. ”

“I suppose how he feels for you isn’t as important right now as how you feel for him. You're in love with him.”

Anakin shook his head quickly. “I’m not allowed to think that.”

Padmé pressed her lips together, and said nothing. Anakin moved to C-3PO, deactivating him quickly and beginning to open him up, check on his processors. He was in great shape, all things considered. Needed an oil bath.

Obi-Wan was fighting, or captured, or dead. 

Out of nowhere, Padmé asked, “Would you die for him?”

Anakin blinked. “What?”

“I mean… Would you die to keep him alive?”

“Die to keep him alive?” Anakin repeated faintly, thinking it over despite himself. He gave her a cautious look, confessing slowly, “I… I couldn’t bear to live in a world without him. I can’t imagine surviving if he was gone. I know it’s probably selfish, it’s not the Jedi way, but…” He acknowledged to himself, his chest feeling tight. “...Yes.” 

Her eyes were full of sympathy. “What if he died for you?”

“Intolerable,” Anakin snapped, closing the droid casing with a firm click and restoring power. He strode back to the co-pilot’s seat, ignoring the squacks of indignation from behind. “I would never let that happen.”

“But if it did …. What if you were right and he’s already dead on Geonosis?” Padmé asked, tone apologetic. “Would you kill his killer, even if you knew you would die in the process?”

“What kind of question is that?” Anakin glared at her. It was one thing to think, another thing to hear said.  

She put up her hands defensively. “Humor me, Ani. What would you do if you knew where his killer was? Would you want to punish them?”

Anakin clenched his jaw and brushed his fingers over his lightsaber thoughtfully. The blue crystal inside hummed with its deep connection to the Force, not a weapon intended for revenge. “I would want justice.”

“At any cost, even if it killed you?”

He dropped his hand from his lightsaber, giving at her a dark look. “Yes, is that what you wanted to hear? Yes.”

Padmé shook her head, and sighed, sounding almost wistful. “You remind me so much of Akhilleus.”

Anakin frowned at the non sequiter. “Who?”

She ran her hand along the sleek metal of the control panel, expression thoughtful. “Have you heard of the Fall of Ilios?”

“No.” Anakin frowned. “Is that a planet?”

She shook her head. “It was a city on Helas 4. It’s the subject of one of the most famous Heleenic epic poems. I thought you might have heard references to it if you’d been there, or seen art depicting its story.”

“Probably.” Anakin shrugged. “I don’t care much about poetry. Or art.”

“I know you don’t,” Padmé said gently. “It has a pair of… friends. They were raised together, though Patroklos was elder than Akhilleus by quite a few years I think. Forgive me if my memory isn’t perfect on this, I studied it when I was nine.”

Anakin felt a surge of fondness. “Of course you did.”

“Well, anyway,” Padmé sounded embarrassed. “Patroklos seemed in the text a mix between a friend, mentor, and lover. The epic poem never put a name on it, but the later Heleens…”

“His erastēs.” Anakin completed the thought. 

Padmé nodded. “My favorite Heleenic philosopher Platōn wrote a dialogue where one of the participants argued that Akhilleus was the erōmenos, and that made his actions in the poem even more virtuous.”

Anakin had a sense of where this was going. “What actions?”

“It’s a long story, but Patroklos was killed. Akhilleus lost his mind with grief, and chose to stay and fight for revenge even though he knew that he would die as a result.”

Anakin huffed in exasperation. “This all isn’t very reassuring, Padmé, if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

She smiled, poking him on the arm. “I’m mostly trying to distract you, but I am also worried about you. I don’t want you to be reckless when we get there, even if Obi-Wan was killed. I don’t want you to die too.”

Anakin suppressed his reaction, turning away. “I promise that I will try not to die.”

“Thank you, Ani.” She was quiet for several long moments. “I do hope he’s still alive.”

“He’s the greatest Jedi ever,” Anakin reminded himself. “I shouldn’t doubt him. There is nobody better than him. A few droids won’t kill him. He would never let that happen.”

Padmé’s voice was soothing. “I’m sure you’re right.”

The rest of the short trip passed in uneasy silence. Anakin paced, sat, fiddled with the controls, and paced again. Padmé sat with all the composure of a Jedi, her face smooth and her body relaxed. Anakin envied her that ability. He could never sit still.  

The relief that he felt when they finally dropped out of hyperspace above Geonosis and he felt the faintest awareness of Obi-Wan lighting up their bond was almost overwhelming. His voice was slightly choked, saturated with emotion. “He’s alive.”

“What?” Padmé raised her eyebrows. “You can feel that from here?”

“Yes,” Anakin focused intently as they approached the planet, trying to get a sense of Obi-Wan’s location and state of mind. “He’s feeling unusually angry about something.”

Padmé smiled. “Can he tell that you’re here?” 

“He’s not angry at me,” Anakin said petulantly. “I don’t think.” 

He began navigating to the surface of the planet, aiming toward the location of the coordinates of Obi-Wan’s last comm. It wasn’t until they had put the ship down that he felt the moment that Obi-Wan sensed his arrival, an intense spike of relief followed by a tidal wave of caution and concern. 

Anakin pushed hard to send him the feeling that he was not alone, and would be safe soon. He didn’t like how much doubt about that fact lingered in Obi-Wan’s mind. “We need to hurry. He’s in a lot of danger, I can feel it.”

“That’s not a surprise,” Padmé said, wrapping herself in a thick, white shawl. “Don’t rule out a diplomatic solution to this, Ani. Let me try first. As a member of the Senate, I may be able to negotiate his release.”

“I…” Anakin said doubtfully, and then closed his mouth at Padmé’s look. “Of course, my lady.”

She rolled her eyes and marched away. “Let’s go.”

Anakin followed after, full of resolve. 

He wouldn’t fail again. 

The residential hallways of the Temple were always quiet. 

The main, common areas were often full of the bubbling enthusiasm of younglings, the spirited conversations of Padawans, and the genial conversations of Knights and Masters. The interior of the Temple on Coruscant was not austere or forbidding, despite the intimidating size and scope of the ziggurat from the outside. 

The hallways of apartments were hushed due more to politeness than anything else. There was soft carpeting and lower ceilings than the occasionally cavernous public spaces, so noise was muffled, and it was rarer to run into others, rarer still to stop to talk. Droids zipped around, chattering quietly as they performed the cleaning and maintenance beneath eye level.  

It had been six days since Geonosis, and Anakin was still adjusting to his new hand. The arrival of a galactic civil war loomed over everyone, and Anakin wondered when and where he and Obi-Wan would be deployed. He appreciated the quiet of the halls as he walked, and the privacy. 

He was dreading this.

He stood before the doors to Obi-Wan’s rooms for a long moment, trying to prepare. His breathing seemed too loud, his heartbeat too fast. He couldn’t get calm, stay calm. He’d tried, tried and failed. Why wasn’t he a better liar, a better actor? He took a deep breath and requested entry on the small keypad to the right, and the door slid open immediately. 

He lingered on the doorstep, taken aback as always by the green of Master Qui-Gon’s old apartment, now Obi-Wan’s. Anakin was always surprised by the number of plants, and the amount of strange art and other memorabilia from Qui-Gon’s and Obi-Wan’s travels. Obi-Wan’s preferred decorating style was far less minimalist than people expected, and he’d kept up Qui-Gon’s habit of collecting and displaying tokens from missions.

Obi-Wan’s distracted voice came from inside. “Anakin?”

“Hello, Master,” Anakin replied cautiously. He stepped in, taking a deep breath and trying to allow the familiar, fresh scent to calm him slightly. It didn’t work. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t be allowed to know what Anakin had done on Tatooine. He was probably already furious at him for disobeying his orders. He should be. 

Anakin couldn’t be near him, shouldn’t risk this, but couldn’t think of an excuse to stay away.

Obi-Wan appeared from the entrance to his bedroom, his hair and beard neatly trimmed. “You’re back from Naboo early. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

Anakin nodded, taking in Obi-Wan’s casual clothing, his lack of tunics and tabards. He looked away as soon as he realized that he could see one of Obi-Wan’s collarbones peeking out of the wide neck of his shirt. How could he possibly look so attractive wearing two shades of beige? “I got back a couple hours ago. What did you want to discuss, Master? Do we have an assignment?”

Obi-Wan studied his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Anakin’s smile was forced. He turned his attention to the small horticultural droid caring for Obi-Wan’s plants. “Nothing important.”

“Nothing important?” Obi-Wan scoffed. “Anakin, you’re a crackling thunderstorm in the Force. I could feel you across the Temple, and then you didn’t come to check in.”

Anakin wrinkled his nose at the confirmation at his failure at shielding. He’d tried, and he’d failed. “I had to drop off my things in the Padawans’ Hall.”

“For two hours?”

“Sorry, Master.” 

“It’s fine.” Obi-Wan studied his tense posture, his tight expression. He uncrossed his arms, and reached out a hand for Anakin, offering consolation. That was rare. “Come here, paidika.”

Anakin stared at the hand, and wanted more than anything to curl up against Obi-Wan’s chest, burrow into his warmth and strength, and let go of all of his fear. 

Obi-Wan should hate him. 

Anakin held himself back. “I can’t.” 

Obi-Wan lowered his hand, his voice and eyes full of concern. “Why?”

“I just…” Anakin took a deep breath, and threw up his hands. “I can’t!” 

He crossed to the far side of Obi-Wan’s room, looking fixedly out of the window at midday Coruscant. He wished the sun were setting, and that the endless city were burnished with orange and pink. Coruscant did not look its best in the harsh light of daytime.

“What’s going on, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked curiously, joining him beside the window.

Anakin remained silent, and shook his head. 

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s tone demanded an answer, and Anakin wanted to laugh and he wanted to cry. He wanted to leave. Where even to begin? 

He held up his new metal hand and waved it. “I almost got you killed, Master! Count Dooku almost killed you, because I failed to protect you! I disobeyed your orders, the Council's orders! Why aren’t you angry with me?”

Obi-Wan blinked, and furrowed his brow. “It hadn’t occurred to me to be.”

“What?” Anakin asked, incredulous. He tugged on his braid. “How can you possibly say that?”

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan’s voice was gentle. He laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and Anakin flinched. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, and dropped his hand. “Any frustration I had on Geonosis has long since faded into concern. I am worried about you.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” Anakin pulled away, retreating toward the small kitchen. 

Obi-Wan watched him go. “Why not?”

Anakin leaned against the counter in the far corner, his back to the wall. “I’d rather you were angry.”

Obi-Wan approached toward him cautiously, his presence in the Force filling the back of Anakin’s mind with his concern. “That’s too bad, Anakin. I’m not.”

Anakin studied the patterned tile of the kitchen floor, breathing in the scent of a mug of tea left steeping too long on the counter beside him. “You… you should be.” 

“Why?” Obi-Wan stood before him, arms folded over his chest, stroking his beard in thought. His gaze pierced through Anakin, making him feel exposed. 

Anakin cringed back, feeling too full of shame to be seen, to be touched. “Because I karked everything up!” 

“Can you be more specific?” Obi-Wan’s voice was tinged with exasperation. 

Anakin felt hunted, and panicked. “I… everything I did was wrong, Master. I didn’t do anything right.”

“From what I heard, the Senator is unharmed, and my message made it to Coruscant. Just because it nearly didn’t happen doesn’t change the fact that it did. You succeeded at your task, Padawan.”

Anakin laughed without humor. “No, I didn’t.”

“I sense you are not talking about your mission.”

Anakin swallowed, trying to keep his composure. He shrugged.

Obi-Wan spoke like he was information gathering from a reluctant witness. “Is this about why you were on Tatooine?”  Anakin nodded reluctantly. “Your mother?” Another nod. Obi-Wan sighed. “What happened, Anakin? Tell me, paidika.”

Anakin wanted Obi-Wan to make it all better, but knew that telling him was a mistake, a terrible mistake. He needed this. He couldn’t have this. He was speaking before he could stop himself. “The dreams were true, Obi-Wan. I was too late. She died.”

Obi-Wan inhaled, and then his shoulders dropped. His eyes were so blue, so apologetic. “I am so sorry.”

Anakin cringed back from the comfort he had sought. “It was terrible, Obi-Wan. She was so hurt! I should have been there sooner. I could have saved her!”

Obi-Wan grasped his arm, and held it tight. “It is not good to dwell on counterfactuals, Anakin.”

“You told me not to go!” Anakin tried to keep the accusation out of his voice, and failed. 

It took a moment for the blame to register, and then Obi-Wan looked frustrated, and dropped his hand. “Anakin, be fair. Remember your training. You had responsibilities here on Coruscant, tasks appointed to you by the Council. You are almost a Knight, almost vested with the full agency and responsibility to the Order.”

“I still should have gone!” Anakin struggled to keep the whine out of his voice, and the pout off his face. 

Obi-Wan sighed deeply, his eyes losing focus and looking blankly over Anakin’s shoulder. “Perhaps.”

Anakin felt a swell of uncertainty. Was Obi-Wan admitting he was wrong?

Obi-Wan read the question in the Force. He shrugged slightly, helplessly. “My old Master had dreams too, you know. He was so sensitive to the currents of the Living Force, in a way I am not. I remember once, on Pijal he… You remind me of him so much sometimes. I never understood him either.”

“You…” Anakin shook his head. “You understand me.”

Obi-Wan shrugged again, this time apologetically. “For what it’s worth, I am very sorry that she died, Anakin. I hope it helped for you to be there at the end. Did you arrive in time to say goodbye?”

Anakin’s throat was tight, and his words came out with the hint of a tremble. “She was in my arms when she died.”

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan seemed to reach for him instinctively, without thinking, his palm cupping Anakin’s cheek, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. 

Anakin leaned into the touch, craving it, ashamed of how much he needed it. “It was so awful, Master. I hated it. They killed her, and I had to feel her die.”

“They?” Obi-Wan looked at him sharply. “Who?”

Anakin wanted to put his face in his hands and scream. He wanted to run away. He wanted to go back in time. He adjusted the new glove over his prosthetic instead. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Anakin…”

“Master…” Anakin met his piercing gaze for a long moment before looking down. “Please don’t make me.”

“I sense that you need to, Anakin.”

Anakin clenched his fists. He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t lie to him. “They… kidnapped, hurt her. I was... so angry. It felt like the Force was burning. I wasn’t thinking.” He licked his lips and took a shaky breath. “I killed the guards.”

Obi-Wan’s words were quiet, cautious. “What did you do next?”

“I…”  Anakin’s eyes were fixed on the floor. “I barely even remember, Master. It all happened so fast—too fast. It felt like I was moving out of sync with time, faster than time. It was all over before I could even…” 

“Even what?”

“Think about it.”

Obi-Wan pressed him. “Think about what?”

“I… I hated them.” The words were difficult to shape in his mouth. “They died. I killed them, the Tuskens.” He spat the word. ”I killed them all.”

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply. “You what?”

Anakin squeezed his eyes closed, a tear falling despite his best efforts. Grief was dry, but despair was wet. He clenched his fists. “I killed them, the village. Every single one of them.”

“Anakin.”

There was a swell in the Force, their bond crackling with a flicker of incandescent fury that quickly transformed into a seemingly endless sea of grief. 

Anakin could feel Obi-Wan’s realization, and worse—his understanding. He could see Obi-Wan’s imagination of his deeds, pictures floating up, inaccurate in detail, correct in the whole: broken bodies, Anakin’s wrath, blind and brutal.

“I know, Master. I’m sorry.” Anakin pushed forward, accidentally knocking Obi-Wan’s shoulder with his own as he strode out of the kitchen. He walked blindly forward for a few paces, before looking back from a safe distance. “I still hate them.”

Obi-Wan turned slowly, his voice choked. “I can feel your hatred in the Force.”

“You can?” Anakin withdrew further, sitting on the couch, feeling defeated. Now Obi-Wan knew. Now it was all over. Now Anakin was alone.

Where would he go? 

Home was here, and he’d lost it. 

“I can feel it.” Obi-Wan stepped closer. “Anakin… It feels a lot more like fear.”

Anakin’s head snapped back slightly. “I’m not afraid of them!”

“No… not of them.” Obi-Wan looked at him intently, his feelings churning in the Force. “You’re afraid of me.”

“Well...” Anakin wiped his cheek hastily with the back of his hand, more tears had fallen without his notice. “What are you going to do?”

Obi-Wan was very quiet, his eyes flicking between Anakin’s and at the door, his presence in the Force radically unsettled. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” Anakin shook his head. “You’re… you’re supposed to report me, disavow me, kick me out, never see me again! That’s what you’re supposed to do!”

Obi-Wan’s grief was overwhelming. “I know that.”

“So...” Anakin said weakly. “What?”

“You touched the dark side, used the Force in anger, and killed innocent people…” Obi-Wan shook his head, his shoulders dropping. “This is my fault. I have failed you.”

“What?” Anakin was aghast. “This is not your fault!”

Obi-Wan was the one who did not meet Anakin’s eyes, his words speeding up. “They should have let a more experienced Master train you. I demanded to because of my attachment to Master Qui-Gon, and that alone should have ruled me out. You were too old and I was too young—still a Padawan. I’d never even been a Knight when they made me your Master. I didn’t do it right. I broke the Code, and let us become involved when I knew better. I... touched you, failed to teach you restraint—”

“Master—” Anakin tried to interrupt. 

Obi-Wan continued over him. “—I told the Council you weren’t ready for a solo mission, but I didn’t argue hard enough. Master Yoda called me arrogant for assuming I knew best, but I did know. I knew you weren’t ready. I am so sorry that I let them send you alone.”

“It’s not your fault I…” Anakin swallowed, having trouble saying it. “It’s not your fault I touched the dark side.”

“No,” Obi-Wan acknowledged, bowing his head slightly. “You made that choice yourself, I’m afraid.”

“I know.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan ran a hand down his face to smooth his beard, still radiating in the Force how unsettled he was. “Why are you still so afraid?”

Anakin shuddered. “I don’t know what you’re going to do! I don’t want to lose you too!”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. “You won’t.”

“I will. I know I will. Even if you and the Council don’t send me to prison now...” Certainty rose up, memories of endless battle droids marching, blood in the sand. “You’ll die. I won’t be there to protect you and you’ll die. The war will kill you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head with finality. “It won’t.”

“It could, Obi-Wan.” Anakin said, filled with a surge of energy. He stood and crossed back, getting in Obi-Wan’s space. “I won’t let it. I promised my mom, I promised. I won’t let it happen again! I will not let you die!”

Obi-Wan gave him a measuring look. “You don’t have control over that, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, I do.” Anakin set his jaw stubbornly.

“I will die someday, Anakin.” Obi-Wan was incredulous, annoyed. “You cannot stop death.”

Anakin almost snarled. “Well, I should be able to!”

“Relax,” Obi-Wan grabbed the back of his neck and pressed his forehead to Anakin’s forehead, his voice low. “Feel me. I know you hate meditating, Anakin, but please, for a moment, try. The Force is not just a tool for you to use. It surrounds and binds us. Remember that.”

“What’s the point?” Anakin huffed, his stomach churning. 

Obi-Wan’s voice was intent. “You are like a kriffing hurricane right now, and I can’t think because of it. I need you to calm down, or I can’t be calm. I need you to find the eye of the storm, find the quiet place at the center.”

Anakin gave in, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan and holding him as tight as he could. It felt like he was drowning. “I can’t.” 

Obi-Wan leaned into the embrace, his other arm wrapping around Anakin’s back, his mouth near Anakin’s ear. “You can, paidika, I know you can.”

“How?” Anakin whispered.

Obi-Wan ran a hand up and down his spine. “Here is your center, stand up straight.” Anakin’s posture straightened, his head aligned correctly. “Very good.” Anakin whimpered at the quiet praise, at Obi-Wan’s gentling presence in the Force. 

Obi-Wan murmured, “Now is your center, here is your center. This moment is your center. Be here with me, let the past and future go. Be here with me.” It sounded like he was reminding himself, too. 

Anakin inhaled and exhaled shakily, his eyes falling closed. He tried to let everything go, but it was like standing in the middle of a windstorm, and each thought spinning by was as sharp as a knife, cutting him with emotion. He tried to stand still, tried to find solid ground. He focused on Obi-Wan’s hand, gently moving up and down his spine, grounding him. 

That touch was a link, and the bond with Obi-Wan was a lifeline. He clung to it, tied himself to it, fell inside it. Obi-Wan’s presence was so calm, so reassuring. The painful storm inside retreated, buffered by Obi-Wan’s presence. 

Anakin swallowed thickly and said, “I’m here.”

“You are, yes.” Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force was so warm, so comforting, even now, when it was laced with Obi-Wan’s anger and regret. 

Anakin felt tension he hadn’t even noticed sliding out of his body as he relaxed into Obi-Wan’s embrace. “So what now?”

“Can you feel my Force signature?”

Anakin shivered, lost in the warmth of it. “Of course.”

Obi-Wan’s bubbling energy was rapidly leveling out, and Anakin marveled at his discipline, his ability to not allow his emotions to rule him—he was a true master at meditation. Anakin sunk into Obi-Wan’s growing sense of peace, letting it become his own.

Obi-Wan’s voice was calm now, and seemed to Anakin to come from far away even though they were wrapped around each other, holding each other tightly. “Do you feel a boundary, a border? Between you and me?”

Anakin tested and probed, his sense of the Force deepening and sharpening. He frowned with confusion. “...No, not really.”

Obi-Wan nodded, brushing his lips against Anakin’s neck before pulling his head back. Anakin could feel his gaze on his face, but did not open his eyes to see. 

“You can’t lose me because we’re one thing.” Obi-Wan was insistent, “We’re not separate, Anakin. Can’t you feel how you are me?”

Anakin felt his forehead crease. “What?”

“Feel that we are one and the same. My whole life... everything, my whole identity, Anakin, is tangled up in yours in the Force. Relax, and look. Can’t you feel it?”

Anakin opened himself as far as he could to the Force, letting his intuition flood with awareness, looking past the visible into the unseen. The Temple hummed with a gentle harmony with all the Living Force embodied in the sentients inside, surrounding and binding them together. 

Alone in the rooms saturated with Obi-Wan’s presence, Anakin couldn’t really distinguish himself away, except for a writhing alienation that he knew must represent something essential about himself. He released that energy, letting himself spiral out and fall into Obi-Wan’s embrace in the Force. It was easy, so easy. 

There was no real difference between them, not at all. They were one, here, behind and beyond reality. 

He felt slightly awed. “I can feel it.”

Obi-Wan squeezed him in affirmation. “We’re together, always, in the Force—always, outside of time, Anakin. Can’t you tell?

A sense of completion and sufficiency washed over Anakin as he acknowledged the depth and stability of what they shared. “Yes.”

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment, and Anakin matched his breathing. Meditation was hard for Anakin for so many reasons, but the worst one was how sensitive he was. Whenever he closed his eyes and really opened himself up, his awareness of the Force was overwhelming. He was so powerful, so attuned, it could be a terrifying experience. 

It was so much easier when Obi-Wan was there so keep him stable, keep him present. Obi-Wan’s arms tightened, a feeling of protective understanding washing around him. 

Obi-Wan’s voice was low, reassuring. “Don’t you see that you will not be alone in the Force in death, but rather more together with me than is ever possible in life? We are one in the Force, Anakin. You are one with everything you love.”

“I am?” Anakin swallowed, his heart pounding. A question slipped past his lips, his desperation to know swelling. “My mother?”

Obi-Wan gripped the back of Anakin’s neck again and pressed a kiss to his forehead. To Anakin, lost in the Force, it felt like a benediction. “Yes, paidika. She is part of the Cosmic Force—she is surrounding and supporting you even now, can you feel it? Reach into the Force, feel for her, feel her love, you know how it feels.”

Anakin let out a shaky breath, letting himself disappear again, fade into the fabric of what is and was and will be. He reached out, seeking. The moment stretched into eternity, until he found a constellation of feeling, a harmonic of love written inside him, inside the shape of reality. He gasped, “I can feel it.”

“Good, darling, good.”

Anakin felt almost euphoric. “I can feel her!”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said gently. “I know, Anakin. I can feel my own Master too, when I need to look.”

“She’s not hurting.”

“No, she’s free of suffering now, Anakin. She is her purest self, her heart is what endures. It surrounds you, embraces you. She lives inside and through you. ” 

“I can feel it.”

Obi-Wan hugged him close. “Are you afraid to join her?”

“No.” Anakin almost wanted to laugh; his eyes felt wet. Despair was wet, but apparently relief was too. “I’m not afraid.”

“Are you afraid to lose her?”

“No, she’s here.” Anakin knew, now, that his true home was both within and beyond him—inside both himself and others, safe, enduring, and eternal in the Force. “I can’t ever lose her.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan kissed his forehead again. “Are you afraid to lose me?”

“No,” Anakin said immediately, and then grimaced. Droids, blood, sand, pain. “Yes.”

Obi-Wan hummed. “We will be together forever on the other side of eternity, Anakin. We already are together, we are one. Can’t you feel it?”

“I can feel it.” The room was quiet, and the Force was so bright—a living, coiling eddy of energy surrounding them both, including them both. “Do you…”

“Do I what?”

Anakin felt himself blush. He didn’t open his eyes. “Do you love me, Obi-Wan?”

There was a long moment, and before Anakin could regret the question bitterly, Obi-Wan spoke. It was like he was saying water is wet, or space is cold. “Yes, Anakin. I love you. More than anything.”

Anakin’s eyes opened wide. He stared at Obi-Wan, heart pounding. “More than the Code?”

Obi-Wan gave him an exasperated look, and kissed him on the forehead again. “Obviously, paidika. I love you, and I feel certain that I will love you for the rest of my life. I can feel it in the Force. I can feel how we’re together. I will love you, even after death. Especially then.”

Anakin felt a smile begin, an incredulous, tentative thing. It bloomed as he studied Obi-Wan’s face, understood the promise there. His eyes welled up again. “I love you too, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh. “I know. I know you do.”

Anakin nodded decisively, his heart racing. He tipped his head forward, seeking Obi-Wan’s lips, vowing, “I love you.”

Obi-Wan kissed him softly, and then let go. He rolled his shoulders back, and pulled himself away slightly in the Force. He appeared to be thinking hard. 

Anakin squirmed slightly as Obi-Wan retreated, wanting to pull him back. “So... what happens now? Am I going to be punished?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan’s voice was thoughtful. “You need to resign as Padawan. You will not be a Knight, or a General.”

“What?” Anakin choked. He moved quickly, grabbing Obi-Wan's arm and pulling him back. “Are you going to tell the Council what happened on Tatooine?”

“Yes... “ Obi-Wan adjusted his arm, and Anakin dropped it. The Council. He was going to tell the Council.  

Obi-Wan’s expression was severe, but his eyes were kind. “They need to know that you touched the dark side, Anakin, and that our attachment is dangerously strong. We require their supervision, their counsel. I know they will support my request to retire from the Knighthood, especially if we pledge to let our powers lapse from disuse or something similar.”

“Your request?” Anakin’s stomach dropped. 

Obi-Wan nodded crisply. “I’m resigning too.” 

“Oh,” Anakin said, slightly stunned. 

“Yes, oh.”

Anakin’s thoughts were churning. He’d ruined Obi-Wan’s life. Being a Knight meant everything to him. “What about… what about the war?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “It would be rather more dangerous for us to fight, don’t you think?” Anakin frowned, and Obi-Wan huffed. “You touched the dark side, Anakin. I shudder to think what would happen if you fell completely.” 

“I wouldn't have if you were there.” Anakin gave him a stubborn look.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “In a war, I wouldn’t always be able to be there. We would be separated.”

“I don’t want that… but I still want to help, Master.” The idea of doing nothing while the galaxy was dying was intolerable. “You can’t tell the Council. We have to fight!”

“We don’t, Anakin. It’s too dangerous. What would you do if I was in danger, if I died?”

“I’m not Akhilleus or whatever.” Anakin wrinkled his nose. “I’m a Jedi. I know my duty.” 

Obi-Wan looked distracted, and bemused. “How do you know that name? Did you remember that from the Helas 4 briefing dossier?

Anakin laughed at the very idea. “No, Padmé told me about it. They both died. Him and… Pat… Pat something.”

“Patroklos, and yes, they did, Anakin. Akhilleus lost his mind, didn’t want to eat or drink until he had vengeance, tried to send his men into battle without food, almost killing them with his recklessness. He lost perspective, not that he ever had much in the poem, but anyway...”

“But isn’t it our duty as Jedi to fight?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s not the only way to be a Jedi, Anakin.”

“But… what about our honor?”

Obi-Wan squinted at him. “What?”

“Our honor?” Anakin felt slightly foolish. “As Knights?”

“Battle is not the only honorable deed, Anakin.”

“It’s not? Isn’t it the only one that matters?”

Obi-Wan scoffed. “I’d hope not.”

“But...” Anakin felt so lost. “What else is there?”

“It is more honorable to withdraw, Anakin. More honorable to recognize we aren’t available candidates to be generals. We’d be putting the Republic at risk—ourselves and the Jedi too. We might get people killed. It’s not our duty to serve. It’s our duty to stand aside.” 

“Won’t people get hurt? We can protect them, so we should.” Anakin said emphatically. “We won’t let it affect us.”

Obi-Wan thought for a long moment. “I don’t think that’s possible, Anakin. Our choices are made, our feelings are what they are. If we choose to fight, we put ourselves in a situation that is destined for failure. It’s not the only option. Akhilleus could have chosen to leave the war, live in obscurity, die of old age. He chose to stay and die, glorious and young. He could have left, Anakin.”

“Isn’t that selfish? We’re better than that, right?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan kissed him gently and pulled his head back. “I would say pretty clearly not. It would be more selfish to break the Code as Knights and continue as we are, and I’m… I’m not willing to stop, so… What honor do we really have? It’s a false honor, a lie. We’ve had that path ruled out by the way we’ve acted. Besides... Knighthood is not the only honorable path.”

Anakin grumbled, “Again, what else is there? Fighting’s the only thing I’m good at.”

Obi-Wan suddenly looked tired. “That is not true, and violence isn’t the only way to help. The Jedi aren’t just Knights, even if they are the flashiest members of the Order. There are many parts we can play, many roles we can fill, many ways to help.” Anakin still felt skeptical, and Obi-Wan grabbed his shoulder and shook him slightly. “We’re just men, not heroes out of stories. You’re not Akhilleus, Anakin. We can grow old.”

“But…” Anakin voiced his secret burden, the biggest one. “Aren’t I the Chosen One? Don’t I have to be?”

Obi-Wan squeezed him reassuringly. “No, darling. You don’t have to do anything, be anything. Prophecies have many ways of coming true.”

Anakin felt so unsettled, he hadn’t processed, couldn’t understand. “You really think we should withdraw and grow old?”

Obi-Wan gave him a wry smile. “It would be my honor, Anakin.”

“And I can still help people?”

Obi-Wan shook his head fondly. “I cannot imagine that you will not.”

Anakin looked around the green room, the bright windows, the colorful art. Maybe he could move here. Maybe they could live together, make a life. Make a home. “Alright, Master.”

“It’s Obi-Wan. If we’re leaving… you really shouldn’t keep calling me that.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said the words slowly, looking Obi-Wan up and down, his eyes jumping from his eyes to his strong arms, to his soft pants. “If we’re both leaving, if the Code isn’t important anymore…” He trailed off, looking hopeful. 

Obi-Wan gave him a confused look. “What?”

Anakin closed the gap, and kissed him hard. He tried to communicate what he wanted—what he needed.

Obi-Wan hesitated for a heart-stopping moment, before leaning in, and kissed him back with intent. He’d agreed. He’d understood. Anakin realized with a jolt of arousal that the final layer of inhibition had been stripped away from Obi-Wan like solvent on paint—Anakin had stripped him of what he had always tried to be, revealing what he really was. His Obi-Wan.

Anakin kissed him harder, and brushed his tongue against the seam of Obi-Wan’s lips, and Obi-Wan opened his mouth. Anakin moaned loudly as their tongues met. The kiss deepened quickly into something filthy, something full of promise. 

They’d left. The Code didn’t matter.

Anakin felt like he was melting, his knees felt weak. All the blood was rushing quickly out of his head, and his cock throbbed almost painfully. He felt like he was falling into Obi-Wan, that they were merging. 

Obi-Wan pulled his head back, breathing heavily, and Anakin whimpered at the loss of contact. Their eyes met, and Anakin searched Obi-Wan’s gaze for permission. “Please, Master. I want... Let me touch you.” His words came out almost desperate, months of denied requests preparing him for another rebuff. “Please.”  

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply. His eyes flicked down to Anakin’s mouth, and Anakin licked his lips. When Obi-Wan tracked the movement, Anakin felt his knees want to give out—he was so hard, so eager. “Let me suck your cock, Master, use my mouth, please.”

Anakin waited eagerly, scarcely breathing, for a long moment for Obi-Wan’s usual denial, but it never came. Instead, Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “I have a condition.” His voice was much rougher than before. Anakin nodded breathlessly, and Obi-Wan continued. “I need you to cut your braid.”

Anakin’s eyes widened, and his weight shifted back on his heels in surprise. “Now?”

“Now,” Obi-Wan stared at him intently, as if he were memorizing his appearance, and stepped back. “You can’t wear it, not anymore. Not after what you did. I need you to go to the ‘fresher and remove it. There is a medkit under the sink, with small scissors inside.”

“Are you…” Anakin swallowed, feeling so lost. His arousal had been doused by fear. “Are you going to come with me?”

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head decisively. “You must do this alone. I need a moment to myself, anyway. I need to request a meeting with the Council to discuss our options.”

Anakin licked his lips, and looked at the ‘fresher door. He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said gently. “Go, and come back. I will be here waiting.”

Anakin squared his shoulders, and went. The 'fresher was large, the light bright and artificial. He quickly found the medkit under the sink, and opened it with easy familiarity. His prosthetic was working so smoothly, he was beginning to forget it was there.

He tugged on his braid and stared at himself in the large mirror, thinking of his mother, the promises he’d made her. He was failing to become a Jedi Knight, and was going to fail to free the slaves. He’d lost control, and misused his training. It was not a surprise Obi-Wan asked him to do this. 

He’d known there would be consequences—known he was too intimate with Obi-Wan for Obi-Wan not to notice his lying, his anger. He’d known this would happen, had almost craved it to be over with and done. 

It was almost done.

He held the scissors up, and placed the braid between the blades. He took a deep breath, nervously tugging on his hair one last time. He met his own eyes in the mirror, and stared for a long, tremulous moment. 

He closed the blades, and felt the braid come away. His head moved back slightly without the pull from the braid, and his hand dropped, squeezing the woven hair tightly. He quickly raised the scissors to the back of his head, and cut off his ponytail too. 

He felt slightly unbalanced by the changes, and also lighter, freer. He’d done it. It was over.

Anakin looked at the severed braid in his hand, thinking of the years he’d spent together with Obi-Wan. All of that training, now technically wasted, and yet invaluable to him. His skill with the Force, the control and discipline to control his powers, was the greatest gift that had ever been given to him, after his freedom. 

He looked at himself one last time, and then turned away from the mirror and left the ‘fresher. 

Obi-Wan’s face was complicated when he saw Anakin without the braid, his feelings swirling in the Force. “It’s done, then.”

Anakin nodded and held out the braid, offering it to him. “I want you to have this.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, voice thick. He accepted it carefully, and turned away, moving to one of the shelves on the far wall. He pulled down a wooden box, engraved with flowers. 

Anakin followed after, and studied the box. “Is that…” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan’s face was pained. “That’s mine.” He laid Anakin’s braid next to his own in the box, and then closed the lid with a snap. He sighed as he put the box back on the shelf. “I cut my braid alone too, you know. After Master Qui-Gon passed.”

“That’s different,” Anakin said, surprised. “You earned your Knighthood.”

Obi-Wan gave him a sideways look. “By slicing someone in half?” 

“A Sith.”

“Still,” Obi-Wan looked rueful, stroking the box with his fingers once more before turning away. “Not an auspicious beginning.”

Anakin reached out, touching his arm. “Master, I did what you asked. I’m not your Padawan anymore.”

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply. “I can see that.” His hand rose to the place where the braid had been, and stroked along the uneven shorn base. Anakin leaned into the touch, turning his face to kiss the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. 

Obi-Wan smiled slightly, and slid his hand around the back of Anakin’s head, feeling where the ponytail had been as well. Anakin watched his expression closely. “Obi-Wan, please. Let me. I need you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked up to meet his own. “Do you?”

Anakin placed his hands on Obi-Wan’s chest, sliding them up and feeling the soft texture of Obi-Wan’s shirt. He stopped with his hands resting on either side of Obi-Wan’s neck, his thumbs stroking his collarbones. His words came out low, and needy. “I do.”

Obi-Wan used the hand lingering on the back of Anakin’s head to pull him close. He kissed Anakin like he was exploring him, like things were different and new. They were. 

Anakin moaned into his mouth, the feeling of Obi-Wan’s soft lips moving against his own was almost overwhelming. He wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, swaying into him, and Obi-Wan caught him, held him close.

Anakin broke the kiss to rub his cheek against Obi-Wan’s beard, savoring the soft, rough texture of his hair. “Please, erastēs. I want you inside me.”

Obi-Wan exhaled hard, his arms tightening their hold. “Do you?”

“Yes, I need it,” Anakin panted, pulling back to look into Obi-Wan’s eyes, communicate just how much he cared. “However you want, I want it.”

“You want…” Obi-Wan was blinking rapidly, his voice was rough. “You would want my cock in your mouth? Down your throat?”

Anakin nodded, attempting to sink to his knees. Obi-Wan let him, his arms opening and falling to the side, hands clenching and releasing. Anakin settled, and looked up, making eye contact. He felt so excited, so curious.

Obi-Wan groaned at his expression, “Anakin."

Anakin nodded and leaned forward, rubbing his face against Obi-Wan’s trousers, feeling his cock thicken in response. “Let me, Master. Let me make you feel good. Please.”

“V-very well,” Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. “Alright.”

Anakin’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment at the permission, almost overwhelmed already. He couldn’t help but rub his palm on his own hard cock, moaning slightly as the pressure somehow both made the ache better and made it worse. 

Obi-Wan began to unfasten his pants, ordering gently, “Touch yourself at the same time, Anakin. I want to see you come too.” His voice became slightly lower, more intent. “I want to feel you come with my cock in your mouth.” 

Anakin shivered, opening his own pants. “Yes, Master.” 

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, spitting into his hand and stroking himself, growing harder. His cock was so big, so long, so thick, how was Anakin going to do this? “Have you done this before?”

“You know I haven’t,” Anakin replied, mesmerized by the movement Obi-Wan’s hand on his cock. 

He’d seen Obi-Wan touch himself before a few times—every time he’d helped Anakin come, Anakin had asked, and sometimes Obi-Wan had agreed, letting him watch—but he’d never let Anakin taste his come again, not since the night when they’d been dosed with the aphrodisiac and lost control. 

Obi-Wan’s inhibitions were gone, now.  

Anakin looked up, curious and obedient. “Tell me how, erastēs.”

Obi-Wan exhaled hard. “Suck saliva into your mouth.” Anakin nodded, making his mouth as wet as he could. Obi-Wan watched, his hand moving slowly. “Use some of that for yourself.”

“Thank you,” Anakin said, spitting into his left hand and rubbing his cock once. He left his hand in place, squeezing himself gently. He was too close to coming already. 

“Look at me,” Obi-Wan ordered, and Anakin obeyed, his eyes meeting Obi-Wan’s. “Good. Show me your tongue.” Anakin opened his mouth, eagerly showing Obi-Wan the shine of saliva. “Very good, paidika.”

Anakin whimpered at the praise, his hand squeezing his cock harder. “Please, Master.”

“Patience, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was so fond, Anakin wanted to cry again. He could feel Obi-Wan’s love in the bond so clearly now that he knew what it felt like, now that he could give it a name. Obi-Wan’s tone was instructive. “Relax your jaw, and hold your lips so they cover your teeth.”

Anakin did his best to obey, and then made an inarticulate questioning noise that made Obi-Wan smile and praise him. “Very, very good.” Anakin waited, trembling as Obi-Wan laid a gentle hand on his head and scratched his hair. “Are you ready?” 

Anakin nodded, and Obi-Wan guided the tip of his cock to line up with Anakin’s mouth. “I’m going to put the head of my cock in your mouth, and you’re going to lick it, suck it, gently. Can you do that for me, paidika?”

Anakin whimpered excitedly, sticking out his tongue to signal his readiness. Obi-Wan smiled, his hand stroking Anakin’s hair affectionately. “Very good, darling.”

Obi-Wan took one last deep breath, and then placed the tip of his cock on Anakin’s tongue, rubbing it and letting Anakin lick along the slit, taste his precome. Anakin’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he whined at the taste, at the pressure. He couldn't believe it was happening, finally happening.

“Relax,” Obi-Wan encouraged him gently, and then used his hold on his cock and the back of Anakin’s head to slide deeper inside, pushing in past Anakin’s lips and filling his mouth. Anakin sucked reflexively, happily. Obi-Wan made a noise low in his throat. “Good, gently.”

Anakin sucked again, and opened his eyes, making eye contact. Obi-Wan’s hips jerked forward, hitting the back of Anakin’s throat. Anakin coughed, unused to the sensation, and Obi-Wan pulled out. Anakin panted, swallowing reflexively and catching his breath. 

Obi-Wan pet his hair in apology. “Sorry, Anakin.”

“No, I liked it,” Anakin leaned forward again, trying to put his mouth back on Obi-Wan’s cock. “Do it again.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Obi-Wan murmured. He let Anakin lick up the underside of his length along a vein, hissing as Anakin’s tongue swiped a sensitive place on the bottom of the head. Anakin smiled slightly, and took the cock back into his mouth, sucking gently. He was sure that his own bliss was radiating in waves in the Force—Obi-Wan’s eyes were so dark, his pupils blown, his cheeks flushed. Anakin could feel his incredulous pleasure too, still laced with guilt. 

Anakin wanted to remove that emotion. 

He maintained eye contact and relaxed his jaw, pushing his head forward and letting Obi-Wan’s cock slide down his tongue deeper into his throat. He didn’t choke this time, knowing what to expect. Obi-Wan groaned, and Anakin felt his cock twitch in his hand. Obi-Wan stroked his hair, his gaze intense. “Do you like that? Do you like my cock in your mouth?”

Anakin hummed in response, and Obi-Wan seemed to barely resist thrusting deeper. Anakin let his head bob up and down, sucking gently, popping off to breathe heavily. Obi-Wan pet his hair again, the Force vibrating with his pleasure. “Touch yourself too, you feel so good, Anakin, darling, I don’t know if I can hold back."

Anakin felt like he was glowing at the knowledge that he was breaking through Obi-Wan’s control. He smiled and nodded, bracing his metal hand against Obi-Wan’s thigh as he took Obi-Wan’s cock back into his mouth and began jerking his own cock at the same pace. 

It felt so good, too good, Anakin knew he was going to come, he was going to come so soon. 

Obi-Wan gasped as Anakin hit upon the right rhythm, his cock buried deep in Anakin’s mouth, the head rubbing again and again against the back of Anakin’s throat. Anakin hummed as he felt Obi-Wan’s orgasm approaching in the Force, and jerked himself faster. He pulled his head back to gasp for air, and Obi-Wan made a low appreciative noise. “I want you to come for me, paidika. Come with my cock in your mouth.”

Anakin whimpered, and sucked him back in, appreciating how it felt to have Obi-Wan’s cock buried deep in his mouth. He’d dreamed of this for so long, it felt so good, Obi-Wan was so pleased with him, he was doing it right, he was doing it well.

It didn’t take much more at all to come—the tightness in his stomach released in a wave, his rhythm breaking off. He sucked instinctively hard on Obi-Wan’s cock, his control gone as his orgasm shook through him. His hand was filling with come, his balance was shaky, it felt like Obi-Wan was holding him up.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groaned, and came too.

Anakin’s mouth filled with the familiar, precious taste of Obi-Wan’s come—the taste he’d been dreaming of for months, and had been so sure he’d never have again. Obi-Wan’s face had tightened in pleasure, his hand gripping Anakin’s hair, keeping him still. “Yes, Anakin.”

Anakin swallowed as best he could, but some escaped his lips and dripped on his chin. He wanted to be covered in it. He'd done a good job, Obi-Wan had like that, he'd felt good, Anakin had made him feel good.

Obi-Wan pulled his cock out, and watched intently as Anakin licked his lips. Their bond in the Force was coiling, writhing, alive. Their connection was so deep and overwhelming, Anakin tipped his head forward to rest it against Obi-Wan's thigh. Obi-Wan stroked his head again. "Did you like that, Anakin?"

Anakin gave him an unimpressed look at his need to verbalize what they both could feel so clearly. "More than anything. I loved it. I love you."

Obi-Wan swallowed, and said it back. "I love you too. Come here." He pulled Anakin up to standing, and kissed him. Anakin leaned into it, his orgasm making him shaky, blissful. Obi-Wan smiled fondly at him, and sat him down on the couch. "I am going to get you a towel and make you some tea."

"Thank you," Anakin laughed as Obi-Wan moved to the kitchen. "Can I move in?"

Obi-Wan laughed too. "We have a meeting tomorrow with the Council, but yes. I think so."

"Great," Anakin said, relaxing, some knot unwinding deep inside. He looked around the small set of rooms, so green and warm, and home. "I like it here."

Obi-Wan returned and wiped his hands, his face. He said simply, "I like it when you're here."

"Great," Anakin repeated quietly. "Thank you, Obi-Wan. I needed you. I need this."

"I know," Obi-Wan sat beside him and pulled him against his side. They watched the Coruscant traffic for a long, quiet moment. "Where you go, I go. Don't lead me to a path I cannot follow."

"I won't," Anakin agreed quietly. "Help me."

Obi-Wan held him tight. "I will."

“Accept your resignation from the Knighthood, the Council does.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and nodded his head in acknowledgment. He looked sideways at Anakin, who was radiating pain and anxiety in the Force. Good. Obi-Wan hoped that seeing the consequences of their actions play out would be instructive, in a way that his words alone had not been.

Anakin had failed him, and yet he was the only thing that mattered. 

Master Yoda’s voice was both resigned and smug. “Knew something like this might happen, I did.”

“You did?” Obi-Wan said, taken aback. He remembered their conversation on Naboo a decade before, and knew that Yoda hadn’t supported his request to take Anakin as a Padawan. He hadn’t known why.

“Concerns about attachment I had at the time. Overruled, they were.” Yoda gave Master Windu a sideways look, and Obi-Wan fought the instinct to smile. Windu looked like he had a headache, and wasn’t looking directly at either of them. Had the shatterpoints shifted that much? 

“Grow deeply attached, you always have.” Yoda gave Obi-Wan a long, evaluating stare. “Grateful, I am, that told us, you did. Your decision, the right one it was, yes.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head again. “In light of recent events—” He swallowed thickly, squaring his shoulders. “—There was no other viable option.”

Anakin shifted uncomfortably when Yoda’s eyes landed on him instead. 

Obi-Wan felt like the spotlight had been removed, and appreciated it greatly. The entire Council had been called for the meeting, but more than half were in holo—already on the field, already fighting the war. Only Yoda, Mace Windu, Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and Saesee Tiin were present. 

Other than Shaak Ti on Kamino, Obi-Wan had no idea where the rest of them were.

Anakin asked hesitantly, “What’s going to happen to me, Master?”

It was Windu who answered, his tone flat. “The Republic has no jurisdiction on Tatooine, and there is no legal system there in which to file a complaint. There will be no civil prosecution.”

Anakin exhaled hard.

“However,” Windu continued, his tone severe. “No matter where in the galaxy you went, you were still a Jedi Padawan when the acts were committed. You are under the jurisdiction of the Jedi disciplinary process.”

The Council chamber was very quiet. 

“What does that mean?” Anakin said, his words rushed. “What are you going to do?”

Windu shifted in his seat, giving Yoda a sideways look. “We are not going to send you to the Chamber of Judgement at this time. Your resignation would have been asked for, and it has already been offered. We accept your resignation, with conditions.”

“Conditions?” Anakin sounded breathless, and Obi-Wan could feel relief radiating in the Force from him in waves. He looked at Yoda and realized from Yoda’s exasperated expression that he could feel it too. 

Windu sighed. “You are on probation, Skywalker, for the duration of the war, after which point we will reconvene on the case.”

“I’ve never heard of probation?” Anakin turned a statement into a question, and Obi-Wan pursed his lips in mild annoyance. Was he ever going to stop doing that?  

“Work, you must.” Yoda said, his tone oddly pleased. “At the Temple, you must remain. Socialize with politicians, you may not! Wander the galaxy, you may not!”

“Politicians, you mean—” Anakin sounded taken aback.

“The Chancellor,” Windu said immediately, cutting him off. “Your strange friendship with the leader of the Galactic Republic ends now, Skywalker. That was a privilege, not a right. You lost that privilege.” 

Anakin nodded reluctantly as if that made sense, though he was a roiling mess of indignation and sadness in the Force. He fixed his posture, clasping his hands politely. “What do you want me to do?”

Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the ground. “The most valuable part of the Temple to the Jedi Order, know what it is, do you?”

“No.” Anakin wrinkled his brow, and looked at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow back, telling him nothing. Anakin turned his face back to Yoda. “The Archives?”

Yoda hummed. “Knowledge, very precious it is. A good guess. Obi-Wan?”

“The younglings,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and then corrected himself. “The elders and the younglings.”

“The heart of the Order, they are.” Yoda nodded. “Its future and its past, yes.”

Plo Koon spoke up. “Your resignations come with remarkable timing. All of our Knights are being called up to act as Generals for the Republic. They will be sent out to fight.”

Obi-Wan completed the thought. “Leaving few here to teach and protect the Temple.”

“Yes,” Yoda nodded, his ears drooping. “Many teachers, Generals they have become. Knights, you are not, but the skills of Knights, you have. Taught to defend themselves, the younglings still must be. Protected, the Temple must be. Many enemies, the Jedi have. Vulnerable, we cannot be.”

Anakin looked baffled. “You want me to teach? After what I—” 

Yoda scoffed. “Much to teach you, the younglings have. Discipline and focus, you sorely need.” He nodded with finality. “By teaching, one learns.”

“Your skills have never been in question, Skywalker.” Ki-Adi-Mundi’s tone was neutral. “The application of those skills has always been the concern. For the duration of the war, it is safest and most productive for you to focus on passing on those skills to others. You would do no good to anyone locked up.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, shaken. 

Windu’s voice was fierce. “Break probation, use the dark side, abuse our trust, and you will find out the full measure of the Order’s justice, do you understand?”

Anakin swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

“What do you want of me?” Obi-Wan asked, watching Anakin’s face with concern. “Am I on probation as well? I violated the Code.”

“Resignation is sufficient for you,” Windu said, almost amused. “Your punishment is supervising Skywalker’s probation.” 

“What?” Obi-Wan said, surprised. Windu spoke jokingly, as if being responsible for managing Anakin was a punishment in and of itself. It wasn’t, and they both knew it.

“Teach too, you must,” Yoda gave Windu a chiding look. “A group of initiates, nearly of age to become Padawans they are. Sent into the field as Commanders, they will be. Prepared, they are not. Prepared, they must be!”

Obi-Wan dipped his head. “I understand.”

“We’re going to teach, together?” Anakin’s voice and presence in the Force was beginning to settle and glow with excitement. “Lightsaber combat? Flight training?”

Windu and Yoda nodded in unison, and Anakin smiled, relieved. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Yoda said, satisfied. “Learn from this, you will. Dismissed you are.”

Obi-Wan bowed in unison with Anakin, and they left the room together. The doors slid shut behind them, closing with a soft click. 

Anakin threw his arms around Obi-Wan and hugged him tight, and Obi-Wan realized that he was shaking. He hugged him back, rubbing a hand soothingly and looking around at the empty halls. So many Jedi, gone off to war. There was no one here to see, no one to judge. 

“Shall we go get your things?” Obi-Wan asked quietly, pulling back to look at Anakin’s face. 

Anakin smiled and nodded, trailing after as Obi-Wan began to walk to the lifts. “That was… that was so much better than I expected.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed. “I think the war has changed their priorities. They are more pragmatic than I expected, but it’s good. We don’t have to search for a way to help.”

When they were in the lifts, descending rapidly from the top of the tower, Anakin spoke again, almost sounding shy. “I wonder if I’ll be a good teacher. They didn’t like me when I was a student. The other Padawans.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan rested a hand gently on his shoulder. “I think you will be a phenomenal teacher. You are attentive and skilled. I will be there to help, but I don’t think you’ll need it. It will be different when you aren’t in competition with them.”

“I hope so.” Anakin sighed, and ran his hand through his short hair. Would he grow it out now? How long? “I’m still glad you’re going to be there.”

Obi-Wan let his hand slide down Anakin’s back comfortingly, and Anakin shivered and shot him a hot glance that was full of want. Obi-Wan felt a responding pulse of desire, and pulled his hand back as though burnt.

“Master,” Anakin began, “Can we—”

The lift doors opened, and Obi-Wan smiled. “Later, Anakin.”

Anakin sighed and followed him again. “Fine.”

The dormitory floors for Padawans were airy and spacious. Anakin’s room was located near the back, and the walk there was uncanny—it was so quiet. Most of the Padawans must have been sent out with their Masters, leaving rows of rooms standing empty. 

Obi-Wan hoped fervently that their occupants would return soon.

He let Anakin punch in his room code and enter first, waving off Anakin’s apologetic noises about the mess. “I’ll go get some moving boxes. You get started… cleaning up.”

Anakin nodded, and began to pile his clothes haphazardly on his bed. Obi-Wan sighed and left him to it, searching out some boxes from a supply closet. He knew that Anakin didn’t have too many personal belongings, no Jedi did, but he did have spare clothes and a slowly growing collection of tools that he’d borrowed on a semi-permanent basis from the communal tool supply. 

Obi-Wan returned with boxes to find a more organized form of chaos. Anakin was carefully taking down his posters of podracing stars and ship schematics. He placed them in a box with a sideways, hopeful look at Obi-Wan, that Obi-Wan understood to mean a request to hang them in his apartment. He nodded, and Anakin beamed.

He seemed to get distracted by the realization that they were alone, and his hands jumped to Obi-Wan’s tabards, pulling him close. Obi-Wan huffed, and allowed himself to be moved, and then kissed, for a long, pleasant moment. He fell into Anakin, the addictive taste of his lips, his warm proximity, the Force shimmering with want. 

All it had cost was everything Obi-Wan had thought he wanted—everything he had thought he was, traded for this. 

It was worth it.

Obi-Wan pulled back, trying to catch his breath. He stared at Anakin for a long moment, and then disengaged, moving back to the other side of the room, adjusting his pants slightly uncomfortably. 

Anakin whined, “Erastēs, can we please, there’s nobody— ”

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head.

Anakin groaned, and got back to work. Silence stretched out, the room emptying quickly. Obi-Wan heard Anakin sigh wistfully at the small collection of tools and droid parts he had piled on his small desk, and felt a surge of fondness. He said casually, “You know, HD-9 has been complaining that the large fern from Takodana near the windows has outgrown the apartment. It apparently needs to be moved to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. I could let the droid have its way, and ask that a workbench be put in its place.”

“What? Really?” Anakin’s eyes were wide, the Force blooming with his excitement. “You’d do that?”

“You need room for your things,” Obi-Wan shrugged and picked up one of the boxes, moving it to the desk. “It’s going to be your home too.”

“It is,” Anakin said, like a revelation. He set down a hydrospanner in a box absently, causing an audible slide of smaller parts underneath. He grimaced apologetically at the box, and then looked at Obi-Wan again. “You really mean it.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, smiling slightly in exasperation. “I said so, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Anakin acknowledged. “I just…” He began to quickly place the rest of his tools in the box, his haste jumbling it all together. “It didn’t seem real. It still doesn’t.”

“It is real,” Obi-Wan said warmly. He sat on the bed, waiting for Anakin to finish. “I meant it.”

It didn’t take much longer to pack, and it only took one trip between the Padawans’ Hall and Obi-Wan’s rooms, with Anakin insisting on floating the extra boxes behind them. His hurry had only increased as the minutes passed, and Obi-Wan had a good sense of why. 

The door had just slid shut behind them, when Anakin turned to face him, his eyes dark and intent. “Obi-Wan, now can we—”

Obi-Wan cut him off with a smile. “I want you to go use the ‘fresher. Clean everywhere you want me to touch.”

Anakin looked surprised, and then Obi-Wan watched understanding wash over his face. He grinned and moved quickly toward the ‘fresher door.

Obi-Wan called after him. “And, Anakin?” 

Anakin stopped, and looked back expectantly. 

“Thoroughly.” 

Anakin blushed and nodded, smiling at him shyly. 

Obi-Wan gave him a fond look, and waved a hand, dismissing him. “Go.” 

Anakin hurried away, and Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders back, tilting his head from side to side, cracking his neck. He moved the boxes of Anakin’s things further into the living room, and tapped a request for HD-9 to move the over-large fern. He put down the datapad with a sigh, looking around the messy room. Much left to do.

He heard Anakin moving around in the ‘fresher, his clothing hitting the floor, and allowed himself to think about Anakin’s naked body. For obvious reasons, most of the time Obi-Wan had rigorously kept down any thoughts when they bubbled up after Helas 4—memories of Anakin’s golden skin and strong shoulders, his long legs, spread wide, the tight, pink entrance between them.

Obi-Wan glanced at the ‘fresher door and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.  

His memories supplied him instead with Anakin, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, standing so close, whispering in his ear, “Please, Master. Just this once. Will you please fuck me?”

Obi-Wan was glad beyond measure that he hadn’t fucked him then, because it mean that he was getting to fuck him here and now, when it really mattered and really counted. They were both sober, and both civilian members of the Jedi Order. They were equals in every way that mattered, and so Obi-Wan was going to fuck him, finally get to take him, press his cock inside, fuck his ass like he’d wanted to, hear him moan. 

Suddenly a flood of new images all at once: Obi-Wan pushing Anakin down on the bed, kissing his neck, whispering lowly that Anakin was doing so well, being so good for him, letting him touch him. Obi-Wan’s head snapped toward the ‘fresher, and he wanted to laugh. Anakin must have sensed his thoughts, and was returning the favor. The images kept coming. Obi-Wan taking Anakin up against the wall in the ‘fresher, bent over a counter in the kitchen, sitting on the sofa with Anakin in his lap, sliding up and down on his cock, panting.

Obi-Wan gave up thinking about anything else, and headed into the bedroom. He dug around in his bedside table and located a small bottle of lubricant that he’d had for years, and checked the expiration date. It seemed to be fine. 

He began unfastening his belt, and was unwrapping his sash when the Force suddenly spiked with want again. Anakin’s voice was husky. “Can I help?”

Obi-Wan looked at the door, his hands freezing in place. Anakin had neglected to put his clothes back on. Convenient, and distracting. Obi-Wan’s voice came out strangled. “Anakin…” 

Anakin beamed, and moved closer, taking over removing Obi-Wan’s clothes with enthusiasm. Obi-Wan let it happen, allowing Anakin to enjoy the process. He seemed to find great satisfaction in removing Obi-Wan’s tunics, layer by layer. His voice was full of it. “I’ve dreamed of doing this.”

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan asked, obediently raising his arms as Anakin tugged off his undershirt. 

“Yes, perfect,” Anakin breathed, his left hand stroking down Obi-Wan’s bare chest, feeling the hair there with an intoxicated look on his face. “Master.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured in reply. He looked Anakin up and down, eyes lingering on his cock, already so hard. “Go lay on the bed.”

“I’m not done,” Anakin scowled, his hands moving to unfasten Obi-Wan’s heavy wool trousers.

“Patience.” Obi-Wan caught his hands, and squeezed them. “Go lay on the bed, paidika, I want to look at you.”

Anakin huffed and withdrew his hands, giving Obi-Wan a mutinous look and a firm kiss before moving away. Obi-Wan watched him walk, the flex of his strong muscles moving smoothly under soft skin. 

Anakin sat heavily on the bed, pushing back to lay flat, his head thumping back on Obi-Wan’s pillow. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as Anakin turned his head, inhaling Obi-Wan’s scent and sighing in satisfaction. He caught Obi-Wan’s eye, and his face flushed. “It smells like you.”

“I should hope so,” Obi-Wan said, laughing. He moved next to the bed, stroking Anakin’s thigh. It trembled slightly, and Obi-Wan met Anakin’s eyes, and he looked so vulnerable, so open.

“Obi-Wan, I haven’t…” Anakin licked his lips and tried again. “I don’t actually know….”

Obi-Wan shushed him. “I know. It’s good, paidika. Will you let me teach you how?” 

“Please,” Anakin whined, one of his hands moving to press on his cock. 

Obi-Wan smiled, and hummed negatively. “Hands to your sides. If you come too soon, you might be oversensitive before we even come to…” His hand stopped its stroking of Anakin’s leg and gripped tighter. “What you’ve been begging me for months to do to you.”

Anakin’s hands clenched tightly into fists by his side, his cock flushed and thick. “Fuck me, Master.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan laughed again, making Anakin’s eyes sparkle. “That.”

Obi-Wan removed the rest of his clothes, letting his pants pool on the floor and stepping out of them. Anakin’s eyes were jumping between fixing on his cock and flicking up and down his body. “I haven’t seen you naked before. Like this.”

Obi-Wan nodded, moving to kneel on the bed, sliding around to be between Anakin’s spread legs. “Not an accident, darling.”

Anakin’s breathing was shallow, his eyes wide. “What now?”

Obi-Wan made a thoughtful noise, stroking up Anakin’s legs and parting his thighs slowly. Anakin obediently shifted his weight, letting Obi-Wan press his legs further apart. “Give me a pillow.”

“What?” Anakin asked blankly. Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, and let the question compute. Anakin blushed and pulled one of the pillows from beside his head into Obi-Wan’s hand. “I’m listening.”

Obi-Wan leaned down and kissed the inside of Anakin's thigh fondly. “I know you are.” He sat back, moving the pillow. “Hips up, let me try to make your back more comfortable while I open you up.”

Anakin nodded, his cheeks flushed red. He let Obi-Wan position the pillow and his hips, and spread his legs as wide as he could, which was impressively wide. Obi-Wan smiled at his eagerness, at his willingness to expose himself. He wanted this, so badly, he wanted Obi-Wan to touch him. He loved him. 

The thought made Obi-Wan shiver, and sit back. He looked around his room, the familiar room he’d spent so many anxious night after so many exhausting days. To have Anakin, here, like this—to be allowed to do this, choose this, devote himself to this.

“You are very beautiful, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, running his hands up and down Anakin’s inner thighs, moving slowly higher and higher up. “Let me look at you.”

Anakin whined and shifted, opening his legs still wider and tipping his hips. “Please, touch me. I would do anything.”

“Would you be patient?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, and Anakin groaned.

“Anything but that.”

Obi-Wan laughed, and reached for the bottle of lube. Anakin’s presence in the Force felt simultaneously like a hot bath, a massage, and three glasses of good wine—Obi-Wan let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, appreciating the feeling of Anakin’s desire hovering in the back of his own mind, in the Force around them, in Anakin’s supernova of a Force signature. 

“Ugh!” Anakin started moving his hips impatiently, “Fuck me, Master, stop feeling me up in the Force, fuck me!”

Obi-Wan made eye contact and they smiled at each other. “Sorry, dearest. You are magnificent in the Force, you know. Beautiful. It’s distracting.”

The praise made Anakin blush, spreading down his neck to his chest and to the tips of his ears. His cock was flushed and hard, leaking precome onto his stomach. He shifted his hips again, almost involuntarily. 

Obi-Wan popped the top of the lube, slicking up his finger liberally. Anakin watched, fascinated. “What are you going to do?”

“First?” Obi-Wan hummed in mock deliberation. “I’m going to finger you, loosen you up a little. I might suck your cock a little while I do it, but I don’t want you to come yet, so…” Obi-Wan brushed his slick fingers lightly back from Anakin’s balls, spreading the lube over the sensitive skin. 

Anakin gasped at the first contact, and slammed his head back on the pillow. He tried to spread his legs even wider. “Master, please. I want to feel you inside me.”

Obi-Wan made no reply except gently pressing on Anakin’s hole, testing the muscle. He smirked when his fingers pressed easily inside. “Did you finger yourself in the ‘fresher, love?”

Anakin nodded, panting. “Yes, Master.”

“Very good,” Obi-Wan murmured, leaning forward and sucking the head of Anakin’s cock into his mouth at the same time as he slid two fingers inside. Anakin made a noise like he’d been punched in the gut, his back arching slightly. 

“Obi-Wan, that feels, Obi-Wan…” His voice was almost disbelieving. Obi-Wan began moving his slick fingers in and out gently, getting Anakin used to the sensation of getting fucked by something other than his own fingers. After only perhaps a minute, Anakin was whining, “I’m ready, I want you to…” 

Obi-Wan pulled his mouth off Anakin’s cock, his voice coming out much lower than usual, much more intent. “Have you ever used toys, Anakin? Put anything in your ass other than your fingers?”

“No,” Anakin swallowed nervously, his cheeks so red, his chest heaving. “Never.”

Obi-Wan scissored his fingers apart, stretching Anakin wider, making him moan. “My cock is thicker than my fingers, longer too. It will feel different, be harder to take. So have patience, alright, my darling?”

Anakin nodded obediently, “Sorry, Master, I know you know best, I just… I want it.”

Obi-Wan quickly added another slick finger in reply, making Anakin groan and tense. Obi-Wan licked up his cock in apology, sucking gently on the head, letting him adjust to the sensation. 

“Please, I…” Anakin whined as Obi-Wan slowly and methodically fucked him with his fingers. Obi-Wan hummed around Anakin’s cock, and Anakin’s hips jerked dramatically. “Master, I want, I want it, please.”

Obi-Wan sat back, watching his fingers slide in and out of Anakin’s ass. “You are taking them so well, Anakin. I think you’re ready. Do you feel ready?” He asked in a teasing tone, just to see Anakin’s exasperation. He was so perfect. 

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin’s expression was fierce. “I swear by the Force if you are not in—”

Obi-Wan pulled his fingers out, and slicked up his cock quickly, tossing the lube aside. He was hovering on his elbows over Anakin before Anakin could stop complaining, the tip of his cock pressed against Anakin's slick entrance. 

Anakin gasped, his eyes going wide. Obi-Wan leaned down, kissing him on the forehead, the tip of his nose, and then his open mouth, gently sucking on his bottom lip for a moment before he pulled his head back. He watched Anakin’s face closely as he began to push his cock inside. He was so beautiful.

It only took a moment before Anakin tensed, and Obi-Wan kissed him again quickly. “Push down, against it, let me in, Anakin, let me in.”

Anakin nodded, his expression focused. Obi-Wan pressed his hips forward, and the tight heat of Anakin’s body accepted him, deeper and deeper. He made a noise low in this chest with satisfaction, his voice a low rumble. “You feel so good, darling, my paidika.”

“I do?” Anakin asked, sounding overwhelmed, intoxicated, so very eager to please. “I’m good?”

“So good,” Obi-Wan nodded, and kissed him again, pushing his hips in deeper before pulling back out. Anakin whined at the change of sensation, and Obi-Wan’s hips fucked forward at the sound, thrusting deeper than before. 

So close... he was so close to being completely buried inside Anakin. His cock was so deep in Anakin, and Anakin was so hot, so tight, the lube was so slick, it was easy, so easy, so perfect to fuck him. 

His hips finally met Anakin’s and they stared at each other, the moment lasting a lifetime and an instant. Anakin wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s back, tugging him closer and holding him tight. Obi-Wan didn’t move, letting them both adjust. 

“I love you, Master,” Anakin whispered in his ear. “I love having your cock inside me, it’s just like I wanted, I love it.” 

Obi-Wan groaned, Anakin’s murmuring driving him insane. He flexed his hips forward, beginning to fuck Anakin in earnest, falling into the warmth of his embrace and the soft pressure around his cock. “You feel so good,” Obi-Wan said in disbelief. "So good, Anakin."

Anakin whined, holding him closer. Obi-Wan adjusted his hips, trying as best he could to rub his cock against the place that he knew would make Anakin come. With a few exploratory thrusts, he found the right angle. “Master!” Anakin gasped. “Obi-Wan, what the kark was, how, that—”

Obi-Wan laughed and began to fuck him faster, the angle making Anakin shudder and moan, “I’m going to… You only just started, and I'm... I'm so close, Obi-Wan, I'm sorry, I'm—”

“Just come, Anakin.” Obi-Wan ordered with a grin, “Can you come from me fucking you? I'd love to see you come on my cock, love to see you come, I love you, Anakin—”

“Obi-Wan, yes!” Anakin gasped, and then moaned loudly, come beginning to spill onto his stomach, his untouched cock twitching as he came.

Obi-Wan felt the echo of Anakin's orgasm in the Force and saw stars—the sight and sound of Anakin’s orgasm mixed with their bond was more than enough to push him over the edge, his own pleasure spiking and releasing in a tremendous wave. He slammed his hips home one last time, and he came too, his head dipping forward and meeting Anakin’s lips for a messy kiss.

Their pleasure was a feedback loop in the Force, their joy and satisfaction resonating and harmonizing with each other. Obi-Wan pulled his head back and slid his cock out, watching to see his come trickle out behind. He’d come inside Anakin, he’d marked him, he was his, he was home. 

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan’s fascination with amused understanding, and then pulled him back down against his chest, holding him tight. “Thank you, Master. That was perfect. I'll last longer next time, I promise.”

“No need to worry, Anakin, it was perfect.” Obi-Wan agreed, kissing him gently. “However, I need both of us to be clean before we keep laying on my bed. Our bed.” He corrected. 

Anakin grinned. “You make a good argument. It is ours.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and pulled away. “Come on, to the ‘fresher. I’ll request new sheets.”

Anakin sighed dramatically and then did as instructed, moving gingerly to the ‘fresher as Obi-Wan fiddled with his datapad. “That was intense, Master.”

“Worth the wait?” Obi-Wan caught up with him, his question half-sarcastic, half-serious. 

Anakin just kissed him, and pulled him inside the ‘fresher. “Obviously.”

A droid had changed the sheets on the bed by the time they’d returned, and though it was still early afternoon, they both instinctively returned to a similar position to the one they’d left, curled around each other. 

It was so quiet, and so calm. It was beginning to sink in that this was theirs, they didn’t have to fight for it, they didn’t have to hide. They could have this, every day. It was impossible, and it was perfect. 

Anakin’s comm chimed, and he rolled lazily to the side, reaching and grasping it with his fingers. 

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked, curious despite himself.

Anakin shrugged and tossed the comm back to the bedside table. “The Chancellor wants to have dinner.”

Obi-Wan made a thoughtful noise. “I need to report to the Council that he’s continuing to contact you. I’m sure that he was just informed that the terms of your probation involve confinement to the Temple.”

“He’s probably just worried, he has no idea what happened on Tatooine, I hadn’t seen him before I saw you. I already miss him, he was so nice to me,” Anakin sighed, and rubbed his cheek on Obi-Wan’s chest, burrowing into his warmth. “But I don’t need him. I need you.”

Obi-Wan kissed his head in response, smelling his hair and smiling. “You can nap, paidika.”

“Yes, erastēs,” Anakin murmured. His head grew heavier on Obi-Wan’s chest as he relaxed completely into his embrace. “You sleep too, Master.”

“I will,” Obi-Wan said, already feeling drowsy. It was strange to feel sleepy without his usual routine of counting the problems in his life and then devising solutions. Anakin's breathing was slowly growing even, and Obi-Wan smiled fondly at him before closing his eyes. Everything was going to be fine. They would figure it all out—later, together. They had all the time in the world.